"Everything is as it should be."

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HBO series The Gilded Age: A Review

The HBO series ‘The Gilded Age’ is fool’s gold for ‘Downton Abbey’ fans

The series eschews historical realism and undermines its 19th century drama by embracing 21st century wokeness.

The first episode of ‘The Gilded Age’, the long-awaited, highly anticipated new HBO series from ‘Downton Abbey’ creator Julian Fellowes, which dramatizes the ruling class clash between old money and the nouveau riche in New York in 1882, premiered on January 24.

‘The Gilded Age’ once again tries to follow Fellowes’ well-worn formula of mining the opulent lifestyles of the exorbitantly rich for some drawing room drama.

To be clear, ‘Downton Abbey’, which ran from 2010 to 2015, wasn’t some dramatic masterpiece, but it was a charmingly benign, escapist soap opera that hit at the right time with the right tone to capture the imagination of audiences.

Unfortunately, ‘The Gilded Age’ is a pale imitation of both ‘Downton Abbey’ and the literary works of Edith Wharton and Henry James, as the show lacks both Downton’s charm and Wharton and James’ dramatic specificity and dynamism, resulting in an exceedingly joyless and painfully pedestrian program.

The first episode of ‘The Gilded Age’ introduces the less-than-compelling protagonists in this New York based, 1880’s cultured clash.

From the old money van Rhijn house are high-priestess of the old guard hierarchy, matriarch Agnes (Christine Baranski), her spinster sister Ada (Cynthia Nixon), their niece Marian (Louisa Jacobson), and Agnes’ son Oscar (Blake Ritson).

Across the street, in a pretentiously large mansion, are the nouveau riche Russell’s. The patriarch, George (Morgan Specter), is an amoral railroad robber baron. His wife Bertha (Carrie Coon), is determined to climb the highly provincial and restrictive hierarchy of New York’s elite. Their adult son Larry (Harry Richardson) and teenage daughter Gladys (Taissa Farmiga), are less ambitious and more open-hearted if not naïve.

You’d think the ‘The Gilded Age’ would focus fiercely on the clash between the van Rhijn and Roberts clans and everything they represent, but you’d be wrong.

Instead, a main thrust of the show is about Marian and a young black woman, Peggy Scott (Denee Benton), who serendipitously become friends on a railroad journey to New York from Pennsylvania.

 Downton Abbey’ received criticism for not being “diverse” enough, and Fellowes obviously wanted to pay his woke tax in full on ‘The Gilded Age’, so he scuttles the realism of the show by conjuring up this dramatically self-defeating, racially harmonious storyline to appease the diversity police.

Despite the fact that all Agnes talks or cares about is appearances and what other people think, when the black Peggy Scott comes into the van Rhijn house on 61st and Fifth Avenue, she is warmly welcomed by the family with soft-smiles and a job offer and not the historically accurate, racist and classist shrieks of outrage one would expect.

In one disjointed scene, Agnes scolds Marian for what people will say after she walked alone in the streets of New York with a suitcase, but then turns and smiles broadly at Peggy asking her to live with them and be her personal secretary.

This sort of preening progressivism and historical revisionism reared its head on ‘Downton Abbey’ too. On that show, which took place between 1912 and 1926, one of the butlers is discovered to be gay, and everyone responded in the most 21st century way by embracing him with open hearts and gentle smiles.  

In contrast, on the series ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’, the terrific original British period parlor piece which ran from 1971 to 1975, a butler was discovered to be gay and after being aggressively shunned he ended up being hanged.

It should come as no surprise that there is, of course, a gay character on ‘The Gilded Age’ too, and I doubt he meets such a grisly end.

Julian Fellowes is not interested in any such uncouth ugliness, he just wants to show off his, and his character’s, woke world view as well as the lavish lifestyle of the aristocracy.

Besides the self-defeating woke nonsense, what is most striking about ‘The Gilded Age’ is the abysmal writing and acting.

Christine Baranski is a great actress, but as Agnes she is tasked with being like Maggie Smith from ‘Downton Abbey’, a matriarch who unleashes incisive, witty barbs with a knowing smirk and a gleam in her eye. But Baranski is no Maggie Smith, and her dialogue is delivered with a dead eyed dullness that is shocking to behold.

The problem with Louisa Jacobson, who happens to be Meryl Streep’s daughter, isn’t that she’s no Meryl Streep (who is?), but that she gives a thoroughly lifeless and utterly anemic performance as Marian. She is so lacking in magnetism she’s nearly translucent if not transparent.

Denee Benton as Peggy is just as listless, and when Peggy and Marian are on-screen together it feels like the universe may collapse into a black hole of anti-charisma.

Most alarming of all is Carrie Coon, an actress of great skill and talent, giving a miserable misfire of a performance as Bertha. Coon furiously flails, and ultimately falls into the abyss of nothingness that is non-specifics and bland generalities.

The entirety of the cast seems adrift in the same endless ocean of lifelessness.

Maybe the problem is that the actors all have to recite the most cliched and trite of dialogue imaginable. Fellowes’ script is so devoid of any original spark that it’s no wonder the cast seem to be sleep-walking through the festivities.

‘The Gilded Age’ runs for eight more episodes with new shows premiering every Monday to March 21. But the bottom line is, if you’re looking for another ‘Downton Abbey’ or even just a decent tv show, the cheap knock-off that is ‘The Gilded Age’ sure as hell isn’t it.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

Ozark: Season 4 (Part One) - A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

‘Ozark’ is back in all its brooding, blood-soaked, brilliant glory.

The dark Netflix series kicks off its final season with a binge-worthy cavalcade of crime and corruption.

The first part of the fourth and final season of ‘Ozark’, the hit Netflix show about a middle-American family that launders money for a murderous drug cartel, is finally here.

‘Ozark’, much like ‘The Sopranos’ before it, has split its final season into two parts, and premiered the first 7 episodes of its final season on January 21, with the last 7 coming out later this year.

When ‘Ozark’ first appeared back in 2017, I had little faith it would be a worthwhile watch. The premise, a regular guy getting caught up in the drug trade, seemed derivative, and its star, Jason Bateman, while being a terrific comedic actor, didn’t strike me as having the chops to carry a dark drama.

After watching the first episode of season one, it quickly became apparent that I was fantastically wrong. Yes, ‘Ozark’ certainly owes a debt to ‘Breaking Bad’, as it borrows the “regular guy gets into the drug business” blueprint, but it’s no cheap ‘Breaking Bad’ knock-off. It’s an original, captivating, stylish series that boasts scintillating performances and searing social commentary.

Just to remind you, the show follows the trials and tribulations of accountant Marty Byrde (Bateman), a middle-aged, middle-American accountant who happens to be a money launderer extraordinaire.

When Marty gets in too deep with the Navarro drug cartel, he and his wife Wendy, teenage daughter Charlotte and son Jonah, leave Chicago for the backwaters of the Ozarks, where the whole family must navigate their internecine conflicts while also dealing with the perils of drug lords and law enforcement.  

The show’s cast is tremendous, but it’s Jason Bateman as Marty Byrde that is the straw that stirs the drink. Bateman’s Marty is a masterwork of skilled, subtle and intricate acting.

Marty is a problem-solver, and while it’s his original sin that sets the story in motion, he’s now blessed/cursed to be surrounded by a coterie of combustible women who seem to cause all his problems.

For example, there’s Marty’s wife, Wendy, gloriously played by Laura Linney in full Lady Macbeth mode, who is a ferociously ambitious sort who hides her ruthless nature behind her smiling mom exterior. Wendy’s reach often exceeds her grasp and leaves the whole family in danger, but it’s Marty who must be the calm and cool voice of reason that has to clean up her mess.

Then there’s spitfire Ruth Langmore, Marty’s protégé, phenomenally portrayed by two-time Emmy winner Julia Garner. Ruth is a firebrand, vicious, volcanic yet vulnerable. When Ruth’s deep-seated wound is sufficiently agitated and she unleashes her existential fury, she’s a diabolical dervish that can destroy everything and everyone in her orbit, including Ruth herself.

And then there’s the queen of the Redneck Riviera, Darlene Snell, the local drug boss and all-around low-rent lunatic. Darlene (fiercely portrayed by Lisa Emery) seems like she could be the in-bred sister of the backwater rapists in ‘Deliverance’, and her shotgun-toting, mama bear energy, is as unnerving as she is relentless.

It’s a stroke of cultural/political sub-textural genius that the women of ‘Ozark’ are, almost universally, the catalysts of the story and are also consistently irrational, incorrigible and violently narcissistic. They are equally as diabolical and depraved as any of the men, if not more so. And it always falls on Marty, flaws and all, to put the pieces back together after one of these witches casts a wayward spell.

Too often nowadays movies and tv shows want to empower women without having them grapple with the insidious shadow that comes with power. ‘Ozark’ though, empowers women, but also lets them wallow, flail and drown in the same deep, dark waters that engulf men when they venture too far from shore, and it’s utterly delicious to watch.

Another great thing about the show is that it’s persistently a brooding, blood-soaked meta-commentary on life among the ruins of an American empire in steep decline.

For example, the stench of desperation and the rot of corruption, both personal and institutional, is absolutely everywhere.

The Byrdes start out trying to do the right thing, but their moral and ethical corruption spreads like a virus, and contaminates everyone with which they come into contact, leaving a trail of broken bodies and spirits in their wake.

Also corrupt are every law enforcement agency, both local and federal, every politician, and every corporation that shows their ugly head and bare their teeth in the Byrdes direction.

Another stroke of creative genius was having the Byrdes get into the riverboat casino business, as ‘Ozark’ is a running commentary on the absurdity of our casino capitalist system, where the little people are cannon-fodder, the rigged shell game is never ending, the money is made up out of thin air, and nothing is built on solid ground.

As an artistic endeavor, ‘Ozark’ is fantastically well-crafted. Creators Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams, as well as season four directors Andrew Bernstein (one of the very best directors in television), Alik Sakharov, and Robin Wright (the famed actress), consistently set the menacing mood with ominous atmospherics using a stellar score and masterfully-executed cinematography.

Ultimately, despite some minor plot missteps I felt didn’t work, the first part of season four proves ‘Ozark’ is as good as it gets on television. It’s not for the faint of heart, but it’s remarkably compelling and thoroughly satisfying. I’ll be sad to see the series go, but I’m glad it’s here for a little while longer.

A version of this article was originally published at RT.

Munich: The Edge of War - A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!*!!***

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A middle-of-the-road, paint-by-numbers thriller without the thrills.

The new Netflix film, ‘Munich: The Edge of War’, which premiered on the streaming service on January 21, is a pseudo-historical thriller that mixes fact and fiction, resulting in a middle-of-the-road movie that is fundamentally, and at times forcefully, at odds with itself.

The film, directed by Christian Schwochow, is based upon the best-selling novel ‘Munich’ by Robert Harris and tells the story of two men, a Brit, Hugh Legat (George McKay), and a German, Paul von Hartmann (Jannis Niewohner), who were once chums at Oxford but had a falling out over politics when von Hartmann embraced Hitler in the mid-1930’s.

Now, years later the two are mid-level diplomatic staff members, Legat for Britain and von Hartmann for Germany, but they end up working together to try and thwart Neville Chamberlain from signing the Munich Agreement in 1938.

You see, von Hartmann has seen the light regarding Hitler’s malevolence, and he is supporting a secret plot by some German generals to have Hitler arrested if he invades Czechoslovakia. But if Chamberlain signs the Munich Agreement, then no crime will have taken place when the German army rolls into Sudetenland as it won’t technically be an invasion, and thus the generals will waver, the plot will crumble and Hitler will be left to run amok.

In order to convince Chamberlain to leave the Munich Agreement unsigned, von Hartmann enlists Legat to show the Prime Minister a top-secret classified German document that details Hitler’s plans for the Third Reich’s aggressive expansion across Europe.

The major problem with ‘Munich: The Edge of War’ is that the film desperately wants to be a thriller but due to it being a historical drama, it is devoid of thrills.

All the trappings of a thriller are present in the movie. For instance, there are a bevy of scenes at restaurants where passionately whispered conversations between men with furrowed brows come to a screeching halt when the waiter arrives and takes his time serving drinks while all the characters give each other intense, knowing glances.

There’s also a bunch of scenes where Legat frantically runs through the streets, bumping into random people (I hope these extras got combat pay), as he rushes to deliver a message of great import to the British Parliament or to the Munich Conference.

There are also multiple scenes where von Hartmann quickly walks, eyes forward, head down, past nasty Nazis bullying unfortunates on the streets of Germany hoping to avoid danger.

And then there’s the plethora of hand-held, floating camera shots and and purposeful music used to try and build suspense.

But the reality is it’s very difficult for a film to be a thriller and to build suspense when the audience knows exactly how the story ends, and obviously, spoiler alert, we know World War II happens and millions die.

Another failing of the film is that it tries to personalize history with the fictional relationship between Legat and von Hartmann. But the film’s dual narratives, which jump between Legat and von Hartmann, never allows sufficient time for either character to be developed enough for the viewer to be fully invested in their individual journeys. When the two narratives merge, the friendship between them isn’t established enough to carry any dramatic weight.

Unfortunately, director Schwochow also does not imbue the film with any distinct style, as it is visually indistinguishable from any second rate, made-for-tv movie with its staid framing and conventional camera work.

On the bright side, the cast is, for the most part, proficient.

For example, George McKay and Jannis Niewohner give solid if unspectacular performances as Legat and von Hartmann.

Ulrich Matthes plays a credibly creepy and slightly weird Hitler.

Jeremy Irons is particularly good as an enigmatic Chamberlain, embracing nuance and avoiding caricature.

The same cannot be said for the usually stellar August Diehl, who plays Franz Sauer, von Hartmann’s former schoolmate and current bodyguard to Hitler. Diehl’s retread of a performance as the cackling, crazy-eyed Nazi is a tired and over-used caricature.

Ultimately, ‘Munich: The Edge of War’ is as painfully pedestrian and paint-by-numbers a film as you’ll find. The most striking thing about it is not how banal and boring it is, but how fundamentally self-defeating it is. It isn’t an awful film, but it also isn’t a remotely interesting one.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

Scream (2022): A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A dull blade, short on scares, devoid of the winking wit, wisdom, vibrancy and vivacity of the original.

The original Scream, directed by horror master Wes Craven and written by Kevin Williamson, hit movie theatres in 1996 and revolutionized the form with its giddy self-awareness of its genre after a cavalcade of inane ‘Halloween’ and ‘Friday the 13th’ sequels had drained slasher movies of all signs of life.

Now, twenty-five years and three sequels later, and for the first time without the brilliance of late director Wes Craven and sans writer Kevin Williamson, Scream is back to take another stab at the box office with the new, aptly yet oddly titled movie, Scream.

You see, even though Scream is the fifth movie in the franchise and is a direct sequel to 2011’s Scream 4, it is not titled Scream 5, which to quote Spinal Tap, is a mystery “best left unsolved, really.”

The original Scream was a breath of fresh, blood-soaked air and a box office bonanza back in ’96, as it brought in $173 million on a measly $14 million budget. Not surprisingly, over time the budgets for the sequels grew and the box office haul shrunk, with the most recent film, Scream 4, bringing in $97 million on a $40 million budget.

This new Scream, which is written by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick and directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett, has a manageable budget at $24 million, and in spite of potential audience hesitancy born by the Omicron surge, it hopes to be the first blockbuster of 2022. There’s a very strong possibility it earns enough in its opening weekend to be the first film to knock the juggernaut  Spider-Man: No Way Home out of the top spot of the weekend box office for the first time in a month.

Scream defines itself, through the franchise’s formula of slasher movie self-awareness, as a “requel”. It’s not a reboot and it’s not a sequel, but instead it’s a “requel” that features fresh new characters but also connects back to the original movie in order to revitalize the franchise.

Back in supporting roles for the fifth installment of the franchise are original cast members Neve Campbell, David Arquette and Courtney Cox reprising their roles as Sidney Prescott, Dewey Riley and Gale Weathers respectively.

They join the main cast of Scream newcomers, including star Melissa Barrera as Samantha Carpenter, Jack Quaid as Samantha’s boyfriend Richie, Jenna Ortega as Samantha’s sister Tara, Mikey Madison as Amber and Dylan Minnette as Wes, among others.

The storyline for the new Scream is like all the other Scream movies. In the unfortunate town of Westboro, there’s a killer on the loose targeting a group of friends, who dons a ghost face mask and calls to torment his victims before brutally stabbing them to death.

The original Scream was vibrant, vivacious, incredibly clever and as sharp as a serial killer’s blade. But after beating, stabbing and shooting this dead horse to near dust, the franchise on its fifth outing is as dull as a baby’s plastic spoon by which they feed their audience this thin gruel of watered-down nostalgia.  

The movie tries desperately to re-ignite the fire from the original, but it just cannot, for the life of it, find a spark anywhere. The new cast are a bunch of unappealing dullards and even the return of David Arquette, Neve Campbell and Courtney Cox falls flat and feels like a sign of the franchise floundering rather than flexing.

In an attempt at being coolly self-aware, Scream admits its creative bankruptcy when it has characters discuss how “Hollywood is out of ideas”, but admitting you’re out of ideas isn’t actually an idea.  

And when the film has characters muse “how can fandom be toxic?” and declare that “this time the fans are gonna win!”, it feels pathetically patronizing because the fans aren’t winning when they shell out their hard-earned money to see this tired, unoriginal old retread.

While I found some of the more subtle, inside jokes regarding the Halloween franchise and particularly Once Upon a Time in Hollywood to be mildly amusing, the truth is they aren’t exactly insightful and they’re certainly not worth the price of admission.

Scream labels itself as a slasher-whodunnit, so I won’t give away any twists and turns, but let me assure you, after sitting through this dull and derivative, two-hour mess of a movie that in its final third descends into an orgy of utter incoherence, I’d say it’s less a slasher-whodunnit than a blood-stained-who cares?

The greatest sin of Scream is that unlike the original film, it isn’t smart, it isn’t clever, it isn’t fun, and worst of all, it isn’t scary. Scream isn’t a horror movie, it’s just a horror of a movie.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

The Tragedy of Macbeth: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3.75 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT. Denzel Washington’s ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’ is one of the very best films of 2021, but be forewarned, it is for cinephiles and Shakespeare afficionados, others will probably find it pretentious and boring.

The Tragedy of Macbeth, which after a very limited Christmas day theatrical release, premiered on Apple TV+ on January 14, is an intriguing film for a variety of reasons.

The first of which is that it boasts a bevy of star power, including two-time Oscar winner and American acting icon Denzel Washington as Macbeth, as well as three-time Best Actress Oscar winner Frances McDormand as Lady Macbeth.

Secondly, it is the first film directed by a single Coen brother. Academy-award winners Joel and Ethan Coen are one of the most iconic directing duos in Hollywood history, but for Macbeth, Joel Coen is flying solo without Ethan, a first for the brothers.

And finally, it’s Shakespeare’s Macbeth for god’s sakes, it’s one of the greatest plays of all-time, written by the greatest playwright of all-time.

The end result of this witch’s brew of star power, directing style and Shakespeare is a film that, while flawed, may very well be the best film of 2021.

That statement obviously requires context, but the art of cinema was in such a dismal and dire state for the year of 2021, that any discussion about it, if it were done, when ‘tis done then ‘twere well, it were done quickly.

In brief, cinema in the year of 2021 has been a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets its hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

If I saw a dagger before me, I would grab it and plunge it deep into the heart of 2021 with its abundantly awful films and put them out of their misery and me out of mine.

That is to say that The Tragedy of Macbeth is both not as great as it could be but much better than most, making it akin to being the tallest dwarf in the Lilliputian land of cinema in 2021.

What I liked about The Tragedy of Macbeth was that Joel Coen made a bold stylistic choice and did not deviate from it. The film is made in the style of German Expressionism, with its black and white color scheme, sparse sets, straight lines, sharp angles and great heights.

German Expressionism came to the fore in Weimar Germany in the 1920’s, with the most famous films of this school being The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Nosferatu. As German directors came to Hollywood, their style came with them and became prominent in horror and film noir movies.

Joel Coen’s decision to use German Expressionism to tell the tale of a Scottish warrior falling victim to his own ambitions, speaks to the current, decadent state of America, where unbridled ambition isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.

Just as some interpreted the German Expressionism of the 1920’s as a manifestation of the fragile collective unconscious of Weimar Germany and the impending embrace of stark totalitarianism in the form of Nazism and the Third Reich, Coen’s use of it on Macbeth could be interpreted as a bold statement regarding America’s dire future as well as its current sickened consciousness, political polarization, violent impulses and moral degradation.

Regardless of why Coen used German Expressionism on Macbeth, the stark style and intimate staging on display suits the story and is very pleasing on the eye. It also helps that German Expressionism is, like live theatre itself, less beholden to realism, which makes the very diverse/colorblind casting where many people of color, including Denzel Washington, play the nearly colorless to the point of near translucence Scots (I know because I am one), in context, much more believable.

Also pleasing are some of the performances.

The great Denzel Washington plays Macbeth with a profound weariness that infects his every thought and movement. With Denzel’s Macbeth, heavy lies even just the thought of the crown, nevermind the actual wearing of it.

As good as Denzel is, and he is very good, veteran stage actress Kathryn Hunter, who plays the three witches, steals the show. Hunter’s acting mastery is stunning to behold and combined with Joel Coen’s creative staging of the witch’s scenes makes for truly glorious cinema.

With all that said, and as much as I liked The Tragedy of Macbeth, it isn’t flawless.

For example, Frances McDormand’s Lady Macbeth is surprisingly subdued and seemingly out of sync. As strange as it is to say about an actress with such a stellar resume, McDormand seems overwhelmed with the mantle of Lady Macbeth, and gives an uneven performance as a result.

Another issue was that the hour and forty-five-minute film felt a bit rushed and lacking in deeper emotional connections which could have flourished if given more time. Denzel’s Macbeth and McDormand’s Lady Macbeth, in particular, lack a coherent and visceral emotional connection to one another, which undermines the power of the film.

The thing that galled me most though was Coen’s staging of the great “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow” soliloquy which is among the greatest ever written.

In the film, Coen has Denzel do that powerful monologue as he aimlessly walks down a flight of stairs, which distracts and dilutes the potency of that sacred speech, rendering it, unfortunately, flaccid and forgettable.

All that said, I did greatly enjoy The Tragedy of Macbeth, as it features a powerful performance from Denzel Washington and striking style from director Joel Coen, making it one of the very best films of the year.

But be forewarned, The Tragedy of Macbeth is not popular entertainment, it is solely for cinephiles and Shakespeare afficionados, everyone else should stay well clear. If you’re not an adherent of the arthouse and a devout classical theatre fan, then you’ll probably just find the movie pretentious and frustrating. 

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

Peacemaker: Review of First Three Episodes

***THIS IS A SPOILER FREE ARTICLE. THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!***

James Gunn’s HBO superhero series ‘Peacemaker’ isn’t great, but it’s good enough.

DC Comic’s show is a mixed bag, but it’s elevated by the relentless effort of star John Cena.

Peacemaker is the new DC Comics superhero series for HBO Max which premiered its first three episodes on January 13, with new episodes being released every Thursday until February 17.  

The show, which stars John Cena and is written and directed by the controversial James Gunn, is a spin-off from Gunn’s The Suicide Squad movie from last summer.  

Peacemaker is DC’s first foray into prestige tv, and it’s in direct contrast to Marvel’s bevy of family-friendly Disney Plus tv shows in that it is decidedly raunchy, racy, irreverent and R-rated.

You see, Peacemaker the superhero isn’t the pretty poster boy for perfect patriotism like Marvel’s Captain America, no, he’s more like Captain America’s unbridled shadow. At best, Peacemaker is a morally ambiguous, sociopathic, white trash, trailer park superhero who demands the Dove of Peace be branded on all his weapons and who “loves peace so much he doesn’t care how many men, women, and children he has to kill to get it”…which sounds like something that should be chiseled in stone above the entrance to the Pentagon.

Of course, that’s what makes Peacemaker an interesting character is that while he is a lovable lunkhead, he’s also a walking, talking monument to America’s unadulterated adolescence and unabashed addiction to militarism, colonialism and fascism.

When the series opens, Peacemaker is given a clean bill of health after recovering from the grievous wounds that he received in The Suicide Squad. Upon his release from the hospital, he’s supposed to go back to prison to serve his life sentence, but instead gets co-opted by a “black ops” squad to assassinate some bad people under the moniker of “Project Butterfly”.

The very best thing about Peacemaker is unquestionably John Cena. I remember the first time I saw John Cena act it was in the 2015 Amy Schumer comedy Trainwreck. Cena had a small role in the film but stole every scene in which he appeared. The movie was awful but he was the best thing in it. He did the same thing in last summer’s The Suicide Squad, nearly stealing the whole movie.

What makes Cena so compelling is that he obviously isn’t a natural comedian, but he is absolutely fearless if not shameless, and works relentlessly hard to get a laugh, which is why he wins over audiences.

Admittedly, at times Cena’s act can wear a bit thin, but overall, it does work well on Peacemaker. Cena, with his cartoonish, comic book, pro wrestler’s body, comes across as a charismatic, magnetic and endearingly goofy on-screen presence.

The other driving force on Peacemaker is writer/director James Gunn. Gunn has grown a cult following for his work on the Guardians of the Galaxy franchise and the signature bawdy banter he writes for his projects.

A few years ago, Gunn got into hot water when old tweets surfaced where he made some offensive rape and pedophilia jokes on Twitter. Not surprisingly considering our hyper-sensitive era which only grows more sensitive with every passing day, Disney fired him from future Guardians of the Galaxy movies because of his bad jokes. Incredibly, after actors and media outlets pushed back against Disney’s Gunn cancellation, the studio relented and brought him back into the Guardians of the Galaxy fold.

But while he was in Disney/Marvel purgatory he signed on with DC and Warner Bros. to make The Suicide Squad and now the spin-off Peacemaker.

Gunn’s work is an acquired taste and to be frank, I’m not exactly sure I’ve acquired it just yet. I liked his The Suicide Squad (2021) considerably more than the dreadful original Suicide Squad (2016), but that isn’t saying much.

I think what sort of grates me in regard to Gunn is that while he may pose as a rebellious edge lord, at his core he’s a kiss-ass sycophant who lacks the testicular fortitude to speak truth in the House of the Woke.

For instance, in typical flaccid fashion, on Peacemaker every white, male character is either an imbecile, a cuckold or an outright Nazi. How original.

According to Gunn, the second lead on the show is the character Leota (a poorly cast Danielle Brooks), who is, of course, a black lesbian, for no apparent reason other than blatant woke tokenism. How edgy.

To be fair, Gunn does at least occasionally get a bit clever with the woke stuff, like when he has hard-nosed beauty Emilia Harcourt (an excellent Jennifer Holland) give a passionate monologue to Peacemaker about how sick and tired she is of the oppressive and aggressive sexism of men in the world, and then cuts to a naked woman as Peacemaker has aggressive sex with her. But even that bit of self-awareness only results in highlighting Gunn’s overall weak-kneed woke acquiescence on the show.

Other issues are much more obvious, such as the action sequences being less than stellar and the production value being painfully thin.

But with that said, and even though the show is more amusing than laugh out loud funny, thanks to John Cena I still found Peacemaker compelling and entertaining enough that I will watch the rest of the series over the next month as the final five episodes become available.

Thus far the show isn’t anywhere near as good as say, The Boys, the more profound and less pubescently profane, brilliant superhero series on Amazon, but it is good enough.

The bottom line is that if you’re looking for some rather mindless, mildly amusing, bawdy and base, family unfriendly superhero fun featuring John Cena, then Peacemaker is definitely for you.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

The Tender Bar: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!!****

My Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Another in a long line of painfully pedestrian, poorly made films from director George Clooney.

It’s easy to forget now, and it feels foolish in hindsight, but there was a time, long ago, when I got excited when I saw that a movie directed by George Clooney was coming out.

Back in the early to mid-2000’s, Clooney put out two pretty intriguing movies. In 2002, Clooney’s directorial debut, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, told the fictional tale of tv game show host Chuck Barris and fantastical claims about being a CIA assassin. It was a flawed but energetic film buoyed by a strong lead performance by Sam Rockwell.

In 2005, Clooney won critical acclaim with Good Night and Good Luck, his black and white historical drama about Edward R. Murrow’s clash with anti-communist zealot Senator Joseph McCarthy. The film, which featured a strong performance by David Strathairn, was nominated for six Academy Awards, but won none.

At this point Clooney’s directorial career was bursting with promise and he seemed to be following in his fellow Hollywood lothario Warren Beatty’s formidable footsteps in being a movie star who also directed well-respected, serious films.

But then, slowly but surely, things started to go downhill and Clooney was eventually exposed as a cinematic fraud.

First there was 2008’s Leatherheads, an empty-headed comedy, which garnered a 52% critical score and a dismal 38% audience score at the review aggregator site Rotten Tomatoes.

Clooney rebounded a bit in 2011 with The Ides of March, a political thriller starring Clooney and Ryan Gosling that other critics liked considerably more than I did.

But then the wheels really started coming off the wagon and fast.

In 2014 Clooney churned out the World War II drama, The Monuments Men, which went over like a lead balloon with a 30% critical score and 44% audience score at Rotten Tomatoes.

This was followed by the utterly abysmal, Matt Damon starring catastrophe Suburbicon, which cratered with a 28% critical and 25% audience score.

Then last Christmas Clooney gave us the cinematic equivalent of coal in our stockings with the limp, apocalyptic sci-fi of The Midnight Sky. And while critics gave it a 50% score at Rotten Tomatoes, audiences felt the same way about it that I did, loathing it to the tune of 26%.

Which brings us to Clooney’s latest directorial offering, The Tender Bar, which premiered on Amazon on December 7.

The Tender Bar is a coming-of-age story based on the popular memoir of J.R. Moehringer, a writer and journalist who was raised by a single mother on Long Island.

I’ve not read Moehringer’s memoir but I have to say, if his life is as dull, and insipid as Clooney’s film, then I genuinely feel sorry for the guy.

The Tender Bar feels like a two-hour episode of the late 80’s sitcom The Wonder Years minus the charm.  

Like The Wonder Years, The Tender Bar tells the story of a kid growing up on Long Island, features popular music of the day, and guides viewers with an all-knowing, voice-over narration. It’s also relentlessly sentimental and little more than a nostalgia delivery system.

Clooney still has sway among fellow actors in Hollywood so the cast of The Tender Bar includes notables like Lily Rabe playing J.R.’s mother, and Ben Affleck playing his cool Uncle Charlie.

While Affleck brings his movie star, cool guy A-game, the talented and terrific Rabe is under-utilized and left with next to nothing to do.

Tye Sheridan plays J.R. as a teen and young man, and despite his best efforts, he simply lacks the charisma and magnetism to carry a film like this.

Sheridan, like the rest of the cast, also mangles his Long Island accent. As someone with a plethora of family on Long Island, I couldn’t help but notice when many of the cast slipped into Boston accents instead of Long Island ones, which may have been a function of the film shooting in the Boston area.

The screenplay for The Tender Bar is written by Oscar-winner William Monahan, and is a disjointed and derivative piece of work that jumps from one dramatically incoherent and unsatisfying sequence to the next.

For instance, there’s a love story thrown into the film about halfway in that is so absurd as to be ridiculous, but it ends up, out of nowhere, being the major motivational force driving the feckless protagonist on his tedious journey.

But the majority of blame for The Tender Bar falls on the salt and pepper head of George Clooney.

Clooney as director, once again, brings nothing interesting or imaginative to the festivities, and he fails at even the most rudimentary of filmmaking tasks. For instance, his film skips or stumbles over the most easily attainable dramatic beats, and never gathers any storytelling momentum, or clearly sets out and accomplishes any narrative or character arcs.

The end result is a movie that is a staggeringly pedestrian, dramatically inert, cinematic venture.

Considering Clooney’s previously documented precipitous decline as a director, and The Tender Bar’s current tepid 52% critical score, I think it’s time for Clooney to hang up his director’s hat and go sit in his mansion made of gold and count his billions of dollars.

The entirely forgettable, sub-mediocrity of a movie that is The Tender Bar, isn’t a spectacular failure or the Hollywood equivalent of the Hindenburg. No, The Tender Bar is just one more monument to Clooney’s directorial malfeasance and a case of his filmmaking career going out with a whimper instead of a bang. Let’s all raise a glass and toast to Clooney’s latest dismal directorial effort being his last.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2022

The 355: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!***

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A dreadfully-made, abysmal girl power action movie misfire that wastes its all-star cast on a forgettable, formulaic, neo-feminist fantasy.

The 355, which premiered in theatres on January 7th, is another one of those pieces of girl power propaganda that is more interested in activism than entertainment.

The idea behind the movie was born when the film’s star, Jessica Chastain, spoke with writer/director Simon Kinberg about making a female led James Bond/Mission Impossible type of spy/action movie.

Kinberg then wrote an egregiously unimaginative script that featured a derivative plot and trite dialogue, and slapped female leads onto it as a twist. The end result is the almost instantaneously forgettable The 355.

The 355, the title of which is derived from Agent 355 – the codename for a female spy for America during the Revolutionary War, tells the story of a diverse group of female super spies from across the globe who come together to stop a deadly computer weapon which can infiltrate any system and crash everything from planes to stock markets, from falling into the wrong hands.

Of course, in order to check all the right boxes in this feminist fantasy and woke wet dream, the lady super spies must all be of different skin colors and ethnicities.

Jessica Chastain is the white CIA agent, Lupita Nyong’o the black MI6 agent, Diane Kruger the hard-edged German BND agent, Penelope Cruz the fish out of water Columbian DNI psychologist, and Fan Bingbing the mysterious Chinese MSS agent. It’s like the united colors of Benetton ads except with bad-ass lady super spies.

Not surprisingly, all of the heroes in the film are women, and all of the men are villains. These brave women fight to save the world from not only the murderous mansplaining misogyny of turncoats and terrorist but also from the structural sexism of the all-powerful patriarchy in the form of the web of corrupt global intelligence agencies.

What’s so disheartening about The 355 is that the film’s leading ladies are incredibly talented dramatic actresses, with six Oscar nominations among them (and two wins), but they are woefully ill-suited for an action movie.

Producer and star Chastain has made a great deal about how in order to keep costs for the film down she did many of her own stunts. Unfortunately, it shows. Chastain is among the best dramatic actresses in the business, but she, and her co-stars, are embarrassingly unathletic, and their fight and action scenes are uncomfortably awkward.

This is not to say that women can’t be action heroes, they can, Angelina Jolie and Charlize Theron are very good at that sort of thing for instance. It is to say that being an action hero requires an athleticism and physical presence that none of the women in The 355 even remotely possess.

Just like I wouldn’t want to see Jason Statham do Shakespeare, I don’t need to see gifted thespians Jessica Chastain, Penelope Cruz and Lupita Nyong’o attempting to do mindless action sequences.

Another issue with the film is that director Simon Kinberg, who has been a successful screenwriter for a long time in Hollywood – scripting Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Sherlock Holmes and X-Men: Days of Future Past among others, is simply not a proficient filmmaker.

Kinberg’s directorial shortcomings are on full display on The 355, as the poorly shot film is saddled with amateurish fight choreography and egregious editing errors.

Kinberg’s script is also painfully pedestrian, as he repeatedly uses tired tropes like ‘accidentally spilling drinks on a bad guy as a way to distract them and pick their pocket’ in order to keep the plot moving. His dialogue too is clunky and cliched, featuring such eye-rolling gems as ‘Because we’re spies, asshole!”, and “James Bond never had to deal with real life!”, which was followed up by the lament “James Bond always ends up alone.”

The 355, which was supposed to be released last January but was delayed due to Covid, has a production budget of $40 million, but despite being so economical (by Hollywood’s bloated standards), it faces an uphill battle to break even at the box office.

Spider-Man: No Way Home is simply an unstoppable juggernaut right now and the second rate The 355 is going to be lost deep in its box office shadow.

The film will also suffer because it’s just another in a long line of recent girl power propaganda movies that were obviously more focused on getting their neo-feminist “women should behave like men” message out rather than making a quality film.

Ghostbusters (2016), Ocean’s 8, Charlie’s Angels (2019), Terminator: Dark Fate, Birds of Prey and Black Widow, all put their neo-feminist message first and entertaining their audience second, and they either bombed or underperformed at the box office, struggling to break even.

The only reason many of the above-mentioned movies, as well as The 355, were made, was because they appeased the pussy hat wearing brigade by featuring women as action heroes.

The problem though is that The 355, and many of its predecessors, are just dreadful movies, and fairly or not, their failure is seen by many to be a referendum on not only the future of female led-films, but also on the insipid cultural politics these films espouse.

A wise man, and it was most assuredly a man, as pop culture tells me my gender compulsively mansplains things, once said, “get woke go broke”. In regards to The 355, that statement definitely holds true, as this shoddy, vacuously neo-feminist movie has earned the right to be entirely ignored.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

The Matrix: Resurrections - A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.25 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Just a dreadful, awful movie that does nothing but undermine the brilliance of the original.

At the very end of Matrix: Resurrections, the movie perfectly sums up its sole reason for existing as well as what is so dreadfully wrong with it.

Back in 1999, when The Matrix came to its conclusion after its astonishing action sequences and mind-expanding/blowing storyline, the song “Wake Up” by Rage Against the Machine blasted out of studio speakers as an aggressive rallying cry and call to arms. It was a stunning moment that perfectly captured the volcanic frustration born out of the ennui and malaise of post-cold war and pre-9/11 America.

In contrast, after two and a half hours of impotent fight sequences and flaccid philosophical musings in Matrix: Resurrections, the fourth movie in the Matrix franchise - which is now in theatres and streaming on HBO Max, the same song, “Wake Up” by Rage Against the Machine, plays once again, but this time the ferocious and rebellious growl of Rage Against the Machine is replaced, and the song is played by a flaccid cover band, Brass Against, and the singer is a woman.

To give an even deeper context to that music cue, Brass Against is a watered-down, truly shitty cover band, and they’ve only ever made the news once, for an incident where their female lead singer literally urinated on a male fan on stage during a show.

Chef’s kiss.

It would seem, with all of the ridiculous, gender-based changes made to the Matrix in Matrix: Resurrections, the girl power revolution will most definitely be televised, but it will also be an abysmal, derivative and boring fucking show that’s only redeeming value is that it is almost instantaneously forgettable.

What grates about Matrix: Resurrections, is that it apparently only exists in order to undermine the story, meaning and power of the original film. In Matrix parlance, it’s like the filmmakers want their audience to vomit up the red pill and gobble up the blue pill.

This of course would seem to be an asinine course of action for the filmmakers, who have never made anything even remotely worthwhile since The Matrix. But when seen in context, it all makes perfect sense on a meta level, as the creators of the Matrix have literally castrated themselves and now have succeeded in castrating their greatest work, The Matrix, as well.

You see, the Wachowski brothers , who wrote and directed the ground-breaking The Matrix in 1999 and both of its dismal sequels in 2003, are now in 2021, the Wachowski sisters. Lana Wachowski, who was Larry Wachowski back in the day, directed this new Matrix movie solo as her former brother and current sister Lilly (formerly Andy), wasn’t involved in the production.

Obviously, a lot can change in the Matrix over twenty years. Besides brothers becoming sisters, action sequences that were once so revolutionary back in ‘99, are now just derivative and dull and the original mind-bending Matrix story is now reduced to a masturbatorial homage driven by limp cultural politics and painfully inert and cliched narratives.

Back for Resurrections are veterans of the original trilogy, Keanu Reeves and Carrie Ann-Moss, but gone for no discernible reason are fellow trilogy vets Laurence Fishburn and Hugo Weaving. But at least Matrix: Resurrections casts heavyweight Doogie Howser…oops…I mean, Neil Patrick Harris, in a critical role. Yikes. Was Urkel/Jaleel White not available?

Keanu, always an understated actor, seems to sleep walk through the film and Moss looks oddly detached from the foolish festivities into which she wanders. I understood their weariness, as I too fought to stave off slumber.

I’d recount the specifics of the plot of Matrix: Resurrections, but its just so supercilious and self-defeating as to be inane if not insane. The brilliance of The Matrix was that it was narratively complex without being complicated. This was why it was so effortless to fall under the spell of the film and go along for the ride. Matrix: Resurrections on the other hand, is needlessly labyrinthine but also remarkably stupid. It repels audience interest by building barriers of banality cloaked in contradictions and incoherence.

I remember when I first saw The Matrix in ‘99. I was going to London the next day and took my lady and a friend to the movie after we had dinner in Manhattan. I had extremely low expectations as I considered Keanu to be a bit of a joke at the time. I left the theatre a few hours later gobsmacked. The movie blew me away. And what made it all the more fascinating was that as the days, weeks, months and even years went by I thought more and more about the movie. Quite an accomplishment for what I assumed was just an action movie.

Unfortunately, the sequels to The Matrix, Matrix: Reloaded and Matrix: Revolutions, were abysmal disappointments, with Revolutions in particular being nearly unwatchable.

Besides the original Matrix movie, the Wachowski’s filmography reveals them to be quite dreadful filmmakers. Speed Racer, Cloud Atlas and Jupiter Ascending is a murderer’s row of cinematic dogshit, and Matrix: Resurrections is an equally odious addition to that line-up.

I’ve read that Lana Wachowski wanted to use Resurrections to take back The Matrix’s “red pill” symbology that had been pirated by right-wing radicals, most notably during the Trump years. This strikes me as a sort of “cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face” type of situation.

The Matrix: Resurrections seems like an attempt to retroactively ruin a classic film, The Matrix, in order to piss off the original’s fans who found meaning within it, because the meaning they found wasn’t what the filmmakers intended.

I’ve heard this Matrix right-wing conundrum equated to when Ronald Reagan usurped Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” back in the 80’s. Springsteen wrote the song as a protest about the injustices against the working class in America. Reagan used it as a patriotic rallying cry.

The problem with “Born in the U.S.A.” is that while the lyrics astutely lament America’s treatment of the working class, the music accompanying them is written like an anthem. The music is a celebration, while the lyrics are a lamentation. (To see how the musical context changes the song, listen to Springsteen’s sterling acoustic version on the 1999 album 18 Tracks)

Music, like movies, makes people feel first, and think second. Audiences of both Born in the U.S.A. and The Matrix responded to the pride and anger respectively of those two works.

Trying to reverse the effects of that is near impossible, and no matter how much Springsteen corrects the record regarding his song, or the Wachowski’s try and go back and change the meaning of The Matrix, the cat is already out of the bag, the horse is out of the barn, and the genie is out of the bottle. Audience response is solidified and deeply held and there’s nothing that can change that.

Ultimately, Matrix: Resurrections is wrestling with a ghost, and while that may be interesting for the ghost and for the wrestler, to outside observers it just looks like an idiot having spasms during a psychosis-fueled conniption.

My advice is to skip Matrix: Resurrections. It is truly awful. Don’t see it. Don’t even acknowledge it exists. Stay stuck in the delusion that only The Matrix exists and all the other Wachowski films are just bad dreams to be brushed off and forever forgotten.

©2021

Licorice Pizza: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT/SEE IT: A rather disappointing work from the usually brilliant PT Anderson that you can skip at the theatre and check out when it comes to a streaming service.

If Paul Thomas Anderson isn’t the greatest filmmaker working today, he is certainly in the discussion. From his earliest masterpiece Boogie Nights to his most recent, Phantom Thread, as well as with There Will Be Blood, The Master and Magnolia in between, Anderson has shown himself to be a true auteur and master craftsman.

After having suffered through this apocalyptically awful year of cinema, my hope was that PT Anderson would ride in and save the day with his newest film Licorice Pizza, which opened in L.A. and NY on November 26th and went nationwide on Christmas Day.

Unfortunately, Licorice Pizza cannot redeem 2021, as it is not a great film. Yes, it’s well shot and occasionally amusing, but also often meandering and repetitive. Ultimately, it’s little more than an endearing and pleasant but mostly forgettable movie. That said, cinema this year is the land of the lollipop kids and Licorice Pizza may very well be the tallest midget.

When glancing at PT Anderson’s filmography, it’s a staggering collection of brilliant works, and Licorice Pizza wouldn’t even come close to cracking his top 6, despite arguably being one of the best film’s of 2021, which is more an indictment of the cinema of 2021 than it is an endorsement of Licorice Pizza.

The film is a coming of age story that revolves around Gary, a 15 year old child actor, and Alana, a 25 (or so) year old ne’er do well, as they navigate their tumultuous friendship/relationship. Making their feature film debuts, Cooper Hoffman (Philip Seymour Hoffman’s son) plays Gary and Alana Haim (member of the pop-rock sister band Haim) plays Alana.

Cooper Hoffman and Alana Haim are fine in the film, a bit one-note, but fine. They aren’t particularly charismatic or compelling, but they aren’t repulsive either. They don’t seem overwhelmed on-screen, but they also don’t quite have the tools to do the work necessary to make the rather thin story work.

Less a coherent narrative than a series of loosely related vignettes, the film deftly transports the viewer back in time to Los Angeles in the 1970’s. The 70’s were a great time for music and a lack of bras, both of which are duly highlighted in Licorice Pizza.

This loose cinematic structure results in an often meandering movie that lacks heft, both dramatically and psychologically, and creates an absence of character evolution and dramatic arc.

The film’s decided lack of character arc, development and depth, and its superior sense of setting, transform the film into a “hang out” movie, one of my least favorite genre of film (other famous hang out movies are American Graffiti, Dazed and Confused and Frances Ha). Gone is a driving narrative and in its place the audience just gets to hang out and experience rather than being taken for a ride.

The one thing I found somewhat intriguing about Licorice Pizza was that it often seemed like a savvy but subtle meditation on American capitalism, as the movie’s de facto lead character, Gary, is incessantly entrepreneurial. Also feeding that notion are the featured gas shortages of that era - and their accompanying rage, as well as upper class tyrants like Jon Peters (a savage Bradley Cooper) and “Jack” Holden (Sean Penn) preying upon those beneath them.

The film is, not surprisingly, beautifully shot, with PT Anderson and Michael Bauman sharing Director of Photography credit, and boasts a terrific and well utilized soundtrack that features The Doors, Paul McCartney and Wings, David Bowie, Gordon Lightfoot and Blood, Sweat and Tears.

But while the beautiful visuals and luscious soundtrack elevate the movie, they also highlight its lack of substance and dramatic vigor. Licorice Pizza isn’t a case of the emperor having no clothes, it’s more a case of a beautiful wardrobe having no emperor.

There just isn’t enough meat on these bones to satisfy the most basic hunger for drama and character, and thus Licorice Pizza ultimately feels fanciful but also fleeting and forgettable.

The bottom line is that Licorice Pizza is a disappointment, a beautiful disappointment, but a disappointment none the less. If you’re a fan of PT Anderson, lower your expectations and try to find a 35 mm screening, and then it might be worth it. For everyone else, just wait for it to come out on a streaming service and check it out then…when you can “hang out” with it in the comfort of your own home.

©2021

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota : Episode 57 - Spider-Man: No Way Home

Barry and I show off our new technical and audio prowess in this scintillating episode that is the season three premiere of everybody's favorite cinema podcast. The film discussed on this glorious episode is blockbuster Spider-Man: No Way Home. The wide ranging discussion touches upon such diverse topics as the Sony-Disney soon to be not-so-civil war, good guy Andrew Garfield, stealing from the Dennis Hopper film Colors, and dreams of The Flash and Jack Nicholson's price to reprise the Joker.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota : Episode 57 - Spider-Man: No Way Home

Thanks for listening!

©2021

A Very British Scandal: A Review

BBC’s ‘A Very British Scandal’ is a frigid, flaccid and frustrating affair

The mini-series about the scandalous divorce between the Duke and Duchess of Argyll doesn’t trust its audience to learn the proper lessons from its tale of aristocratic lust gone wrong.

The new BBC mini-series, A Very British Scandal, recounts the tumultuous marriage of the Duke of Argyll, Ian Campbell, and his third wife, Margaret Whigham, and their very public and seedy divorce in 1963.

The scandalous part of this very British story is that during the divorce proceedings, Ian accused Margaret of adultery and had the pictures to prove it. Most notable of these saucy photos showed Margaret performing oral sex on a mysterious ‘headless man’, so dubbed because his head was not visible in the picture.

Margaret ‘The Dirty Duchess’ giving a blow job to a “headless-man” sounds like either the strangest horror movie porn imaginable or the wet dream of a tabloid headline writer, but this very British scandal is all too true.

A Very British Scandal is an often frustrating, uneven, mixed bag of a drama. It stars Claire Foy, best known for her role as Queen Elizabeth II on The Crown, as Margaret, the rich and beautiful socialite who claims to “love sex” and be “very good at it”. Margaret is sort of like a 1950’s Kardashian as she is a socialite celebrity with a bevy of paparazzi trailing her every move.

After Margaret divorces her first husband, she meets the caddish Captain Ian Campbell (Paul Bettany), the newly anointed Duke of Argyll, who is married to his second wife and apparently actively looking for his third.

Foy is an appealing actress, but as beautiful as she is, she seems somewhat miscast as the “highly sexed woman” Margaret. Foy is a rather rigid and frigid on-screen presence, and therefore is not a comfortable fit as the libidinous Margaret.

Like Foy, Bettany too is a skilled actor, but doesn’t quite work as Ian. While Bettany certainly looks like an often crazy and lazy lord, he does not strike one as much of a lothario.

Despite its flaws, what is appealing about A Very British Scandal is that, at first anyway, it appears to be more interested in telling a semblance of the truth rather than pandering to its lesser cultural political instincts.

For example, neither Margaret nor Ian come across as the good guy in this tale of woe. In fact, the show most often seems like a case of two horrible people doing horrible things to each other.

Margaret is a shameless, near-compulsive liar and her non-sexual sins are substantially more egregious than her alleged sexual ones. For instance, she forges love letters to Ian’s ex-wife and sends them to Ian, forcing him to doubt the paternity of his children. She also tries to run a scam where she would buy a baby (she’s incapable of carrying a child after an accident) and claim it’s her and Ian’s and thus an heir to the Duke of Argyll title. And then there’s the time she publicly accused her step-mother of having an affair with Ian…thus basically stressing her already ill father to death.

Ian is a real piece of work too. At best he’s a lazy aristocratic womanizer suffering from WWII prison camp related PTSD. At worst, he’s an erratic, volatile, violent, abusive, alcoholic, amphetamine-addicted sociopath. Ian is like a vampire who sinks his teeth into women and drains them of their life force and their bank accounts of any money.  

Like I said, these are two horrible people doing horrible things to each other.

There is no hero here and no noble victim, just two entitled upper-class twits trying to entertain themselves while their worthless lives slowly pass.

Unfortunately, after spending its three-hour run time allowing its audience to see the ugly and unvarnished truth about its subjects, A Very British Scandal makes the most curious of decisions when concluding.

After the action ended a post-script popped up on-screen that set out to remove all agency from the audience by informing them what they were supposed to think about the preceding drama.

The ham-handed post-script tells viewers that what they just witnessed was the “first time a woman was publicly shamed by the UK mass media”. Oh, is that what it was?

It also informs the viewer that the dastardly Duke of Argyll married an American heiress five months after the divorce, and just to prove in contrast how noble Margaret truly was, it also tells the audience that she never revealed the name of the “headless” man she sexually serviced.

It’s utterly pathetic that the producers of this show felt they needed to hammer the audience over the head with the “proper” conclusions they were supposed to reach. God forbid anyone walk away from this series without understanding that what it’s really all about is feminist victimhood and the suffocating power of the patriarchy.

If you thought this was maybe a story about two hurt and wounded people hurting and wounding each other because they were raised in a vapid and corrupted aristocracy devoid of any substance, purpose, meaning, or moral and ethical grounding, then the producers want you to know that you’re not only wrong but bad.

By so shamelessly not trusting their audience and their own storytelling ability, the producers of A Very British Scandal not only undermined the power of their drama but also neutered their own credibility.

A Very British Scandal is at best a forgettable mediocrity, and the people who made it would be wise to worry more about putting out a quality product than about insulting their viewers by trying to control the conclusions they reach.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

The Book of Boba Fett -Episode One Initial Reaction

‘The Book of Boba Fett’ series is bursting with potential but is off to a very slow start.

The new Disney Plus show can go either way after its uneven first episode is a mixed-bag of flashbacks and mediocre fight sequences.

This article contains minor spoilers for The Book of Boba Fett.

In the wake of the critically and commercially successful Star Wars series The Mandalorian, streaming service Disney Plus has gone back to the well with the new spin-off series, The Book of Boba Fett.

Boba Fett, the bounty hunter who famously bagged Han Solo in The Empire Strikes Back, is a character that has long been adored by Star Wars fans, and when he made his surprising return in The Mandalorian (surprising because he had seemingly died in Return of the Jedi), it was met with raucous applause from the Star Wars faithful.

Now Boba is no longer a background or supporting player, his name is on the marquee, but after watching the somewhat uneven first episode of The Book of Boba Fett, it’s too soon to tell if the infamous bounty hunter has the star power to hold audience’s attention over the course of a seven-episode series.

The Book of Boba Fett, which stars Temuera Morrison as Fett and Ming-Na Wen as Fennec Shand, a mercenary and assassin, premiered its first episode on Wednesday December 28, and will release a new episode for the next six Wednesdays, for a total of seven in all.  

The opening episode, written by Jon Favreau (director of Iron Man and creator of The Mandalorian) and directed by Robert Rodriguez, is titled ‘Stranger in a Strange Land’, and it uses flashbacks to show some of Boba Fett’s strange journey after he went into the Sarlacc’s mouth on Tattooine in Return of the Jedi, up to the present day where he is a crime boss sitting on Jabba the Hutt’s old throne.

Fett’s history deeply informs his present, and so the flashbacks make complete narrative sense, but that said, they also slow down the pace of the program, leaving it at times on the precipice of tedium.

Also hampering the show, at least thus far, are some pretty sub-par action sequences. One fight with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand against a group of anonymous ninja assassins on the streets of Mos Espa, is very poorly choreographed and shot, so much so that it looks amateurish.

Although in contrast, there is a solid sand battle between Boba Fett and a very cool looking sand beast in one of the many flashbacks. Hopefully this sequence, and not the predictable and dull fight in Mos Espa, is a preview of the type of action we can expect in the coming episodes.

The visuals of the show also leave something to be desired, as the cinematography of the first episode is painfully rudimentary, and lacks imagination or cinematic flair.

As for the cast, again, thus far it could go either way. Morrison is not a particularly compelling screen presence, and neither is Ming-Na Wen, but there’s always the possibility that they find their sea legs and grow into their characters as the series continues.

As the show moves forward, there are some potentially intriguing storylines. For example, the mayor of Mos Espa refuses to pay tribute to Boba, and his representative even delivers an ominous threat to the crime boss, something which should lead to some fireworks down the road.

Another somewhat intriguing angle in the story is that while Boba Fett is obviously no shrinking violet as a crime lord, he also doesn’t want to be an arrogant and brutal tyrant like Jabba the Hutt.

For instance, Boba demands he walk around “on his own two feet” as he patrols the city of Mos Espa, because unlike Jabba he won’t be “carried around like a useless noble”. He follows that up with, “Jabba ruled with fear. I intend to rule with respect.”

Fett is no Jabba, he’s a working man’s crime boss. And he isn’t the cold-blooded bounty hunter of the past either, he is more forgiving. For example, he pardons two of Jabba’s bodyguards because they were loyal, and by sparing their lives they become loyal to him.

That said, Boba Fett still has the killer instinct when he needs to, like when he gloriously obliterates one of the ninja assassins who ambush him on the streets of Mos Espa in the best shot of the show so far.

This conflict within Boba Fett, and between Boba Fett and the world, has a great deal of dramatic and narrative promise, but the first episode leaves me uncertain as to whether this promise can ever be fulfilled.

I have to say, I felt the same way about The Mandalorian at first too. And the reason I am so cautious in my criticism of The Book of Boba Fett is because The Mandalorian got better and better with each episode, and I ended up absolutely loving the series even though I’m not much of a Star Wars aficionado.

Ultimately, after just one episode The Book of Boba Fett is too much of a mixed-bag and too uneven to make any judgements on whether the overall series will be worthwhile or not. Hopefully, this flawed series opener is the bottom and everything goes up from here.

A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 56 - Don't Look Up

On this episode, Barry and I brace for impact as we critique Adam McKay's polarizing, darkly comedic, climate change satire Don't Look Up starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence. Topics discussed include the trouble with satirizing the already absurd, the genius of Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove and Barry's continuing obsession with Timothee Chalamet. Make sure to stay tuned for a post-credit nude scene!

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 56 - Don't Look Up

Thanks for listening!

©2021

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 55 - West Side Story

On this episode, Barry and I don our dance belts, flash our jazz hands and dance/fight over Steven Spielberg's remake of West Side Story. Topics discussed include pondering why on earth Spielberg would make this movie, Barry's resistance to Janusz Kaminski's cinematography and my brush with greatness starring Rita Moreno.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 55 - West Side Story

Thanks for listening!

©2021

Don't Look Up: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. An ultimately instantly forgettable cinematic venture that tries to satirize our already-absurd reality in vain. The allegorical climate change comedy wastes its star-studded lineup’s brilliant performance in a flaccid and unfocused attempt at comedy.

The new Netflix movie, Don’t Look Up, an apocalyptic black comedy that uses the narrative of a huge meteor heading towards earth as an allegory for climate change, seemingly has a lot going for it.

For instance, the movie, which premiered on the streaming service on December 24th, boasts an impressive cast, as Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence star with Cate Blanchett, Meryl Streep, Jonah Hill, Mark Rylance and Timothee Chalamet in supporting roles.

In addition, the movie is written and directed by Adam McKay, who has shown himself, most notably with his stellar film The Big Short, to be a clever and ambitious filmmaker.

Despite bursting at the seams with comedic potential and its bevy of formidable assets, the laughs of Don’t Look Up unfortunately never blossom, but instead die on the vine. Unfortunately, the comedy and the film just don’t work.

The film opens with Kate Dibiasky (Jennifer Lawrence), a PhD candidate at Michigan State, discovering a mammoth comet as she does research at an observatory.

Her professor, Dr. Mindy (Leonardo DiCaprio), does the calculations and realizes that the comet is heading toward earth and will arrive and destroy all life on the planet, in roughly six months.

From there, Dr. Mindy and Dibiasky try and warn humanity but constantly run up against the worst of mankind, from the vapid, vacuous and venal President Orlean (Meryl Streep) to the sociopathic tech guru Peter Ishwell (Mark Rylance) and everyone in between, trying to thwart them and subvert the truth.

Part of the problem with Don’t Look Up is that it intends to be an ambitious satirical social commentary about media, big tech, social media, celebrity culture and our politics, but how do you successfully satirize things that are already so absurd as to be parodies of themselves?

For example, The New York Times, which the film briefly pokes fun at, wrote an article titled “A Comedy Nails the Media Apocalypse” about Don’t Look Up and the media’s alleged inability to focus on climate change because it keeps getting distracted by superfluous side stories.

In the article, as the writer, Ben Smith, opines about two empty-headed tv hosts in the film who can’t stay on topic even when that topic is the potential end of humanity, he himself gets distracted by a superfluous side story and ends up writing an aside where he chastises director McKay for having the film’s female tv host (a Mika Brzezinski type played by Cate Blanchett) sleep with DiCaprio’s Dr. Mindy character.

Smith writes, “I did ask Mr. McKay if we could have a moratorium on fictional female journalists sleeping with their subjects, even if they’re Mr. DiCaprio in the guise of a nerdy scientist.”

Mr. Smith is oblivious to his inane ridiculousness and only succeeds in raising the question in regard to this movie and the media, namely, how can you satirize something that is so absurd and obscene as to be beyond satire?

There are some bright spots in the film. The first of which is that both Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence give solid performances. DiCaprio, who plays a somewhat Dr. Fauci-esque scientist the media and public falls madly in love with, is particularly good in moments.

Lawrence is terrific as well, as movie star charisma, as well as her dry delivery and impeccable timing, show themselves at times to great effect.

The supporting cast, most notably Mark Rylance as the creepy tech guru and Jonah Hill as the chief of staff and son to the president, give delicious performances. As do Cate Blanchett as the aforementioned horny tv host and Meryl Streep as the shameless, Trumpian president.

But despite such a bevy of top-notch performances, the comedy of Don’t Look Up just never coalesces enough to make it a compelling cinematic venture.

The main culprit in the failure of the film is writer/director McKay.

McKay is trying to make Don’t Look Up be to climate change what Stanley Kurbick’s Dr. Strangelove was to the cold war.

The problem, of course, is that for as interesting as McKay can be as a filmmaker, he is no Stanley Kubrick. Not even close.

Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove works because he never preaches or panders or allows his film to become a pure partisan political polemic. In contrast, McKay is unable to restrain his more-base impulses and simply cannot resist needlessly preaching and pandering. The result is an often-times partisan political polemic that comes across more as self-righteous, pretentious and smug than comedically insightful or enlightening. 

The ironic thing is that McKay’s film is commenting on the short-attention span and scatterbrained nature of our current culture, but it fails as a film because it is scatterbrained and lacks the unflinching focus of Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove. Ultimately, Don’t Look Up tries to say too much about too many things and ends up saying nothing of any substance about anything.

Like so many films this year, Don’t Look Up isn’t a great movie, or a funny movie or even an interesting movie, it is just a movie you sit through and when it’s over you move on and never once think about it again. Which is a shame, because it could have been, and should have been, so much better.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

Being the Ricardos: A Review

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars.

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. This is a sub-mediocre, made-for-tv type of movie that is at times, insufferable.

Being the Ricardos, the Aaron Sorkin written and directed bio-pic that attempts to tell the tale of a very tumultuous week in the life of iconic comedienne Lucille Ball and her husband Desi Arnaz Jr., has been making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

The film itself, which made its streaming premiere on Amazon on Tuesday December 21st, is a rather pedestrian affair that suffers from an unsound narrative structure, tonal inconsistencies and a painfully poor script.

Sorkin’s writing style, which can best be describes as ‘walking, talking and exposition’, is an acquired taste, one which I have yet to acquire. I find his dialogue to be insufferable and his storytelling ability flaccid.

Making matters worse is that Sorkin’s quirky writing desperately needs a master craftsman director to make it work, like David Fincher on The Social Network, but Sorkin is a hack behind the camera and thus Being the Ricardos falls flat on its phony face.

The movie feels like a very special episode of a bad sitcom about a good sitcom. Adding to the lack of genuine drama is the fact that every sentient being with half a brain in their heads with a minimal relationship to the history of television knows exactly how the story ends. All of the drama is therefore devoid of any power.

But the reason Being the Ricardos is making headlines is not because it’s a mindless and middling affair. No, the film is getting attention because it’s mired in the most manufactured of controversies.  

Apparently the film committed the most unforgivable of sins by casting Oscar winning actor Javier Bardem as Arnaz opposite Oscar winning actress Nicole Kidman as Lucy. Why is Bardem playing Desi Arnaz a problem? Well, Bardem is a Spaniard and Arnaz a Cuban, which somehow violates some sacred woke law of diversity, inclusion and representation. To quote Colonel Kurtz from Apocalypse Now, “The Horror. The Horror.”

One know-nothing guardian of the grievance culture complained that Bardem was, like his Spanish ancestors, being a “colonizer” by playing the Cuban Arnaz.

“They (the Spanish) came in and erased who we (Latinos) were, and I can’t help but feel the same way when Bardem gets roles meant to share the Latinx experience.”

That bit of hysterical hyperbole overlooks the fact that many Hispanic and Latino families proudly identify not just with their national origins but with their distant Spanish roots out of class-consciousness, and that Desi’s wealthy, upper-class Cuban family most likely did too.

Director Sorkin tried to defend his casting of Bardem, saying, “it’s heartbreaking and a little chilling to see members of the artistic community resegregating ourselves.”

Considering Sorkin’s long-time, mealy-mouthed complicity with Hollywood’s diversity-obsessed woke warriors more interested in ‘representation’ than in artistry or quality, that statement is the equivalent of someone who made it rain outside complaining about the weather.

Another amusing thing about this contrived controversy is that no one is making a stink about Nicole Kidman, an Aussie non-comedienne, playing the most iconic American comedienne of all time, Lucille Ball. OK, Kidman may have technically been born in Hawaii, but to Australian parents only there on student visas. I’ve heard her ‘g’day mate’ accent and I bet she likes cricket, wombats, and ‘Men at Work’ too. She’s not a real American.

No one ever cares when British or Australian actors play Americans, and do so with their tone deaf, nasally attempts at an American accent. For instance, why isn’t there an uproar over Brit Tom Holland playing all-American hero Spider-Man, whose friendly neighborhood is Queens, New York? Are there no actors from Queens available?

These woke fools bitching about Bardem’s Spanish ancestry also rarely care when British actors of color, like Daniel Kaluuya, play African-Americans, like he did in Get Out and Judas and the Black Messiah.

The truth is, American actors of all colors and ethnicities miss out when British, Irish, Canadian and Australian actors play American roles. This injustice must be stopped!

Obviously, I’m joking. When casting, focusing on the specificity of an actor’s national background rather than their talent and skill is irrational and imbecilic and runs completely counter to the art and craft of acting.

As the ever-eloquent Bardem astutely pointed out in a Hollywood Reporter article,

“I’m an actor, and that’s what I do for a living: try to be people that I’m not. What do we do with Marlon Brando playing Vito Corleone? What do we do with Margaret Thatcher played by Meryl Streep? Daniel Day-Lewis playing Lincoln?...if we want to open that can of worms, let’s open it for everyone…we should all start not allowing anybody to play Hamlet unless they were born in Denmark.”

Bardem is a great actor, as evidenced by his Best Actor Oscar nominated performance as, ironically enough, gay Cuban writer Reinaldo Arenas in the Julian Schnabel’s As Night Falls (2000).

His being attacked for his improper ethnic or national background is, unfortunately, something that is becoming common place in Hollywood when it comes to casting Latino roles.

For example, In the Heights shamelessly marketed itself as a celebration of diversity as its Asian director (John Chu), Latino writer (Lin Manuel-Miranda) and mostly Latino cast told the story of a Latino neighborhood in New York City. But the movie came under fire from the woke brigade for its lack of “Afro-Latinx” representation.

Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story was sold as the righting of a historical wrong as, unlike the 1961 original movie, it cast only Latinos in Latino roles. Some still complained though that the lead role, Maria, was played by a woman of Columbian descent instead of a Puerto Rican.

The funny thing about this Being the Ricardos casting controversy is that Javier Bardem and Nicole Kidman, despite not being Cuban or American respectively, and despite the vacuous script and dreadful direction guiding them, are the two best things in this awful movie.

Thankfully, neither actor tries to do an impersonation of their famous character. Instead they attempt to create actual human beings and not caricatures. Unfortunately, Sorkin’s script does not support them in this endeavor, but Kidman and Bardem should at least be recognized for their honest attempt, no matter how far they fall short.

The lessons that needs to be learned from Being the Ricardos and the surrounding casting contrvoersy are that, one - Aaron Sorkin is a truly terrible director. And two, within reason, we just need to let actors actually, you know, act…and we should leave the social justice preening for the college campus and the New York Times. Hollywood, its movies, its audiences, and the art of acting, would be much better served if we did.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

Spider-Man: No Way Home - A Review

****THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!! THIS IS AN ENTIRELY SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!****

My Rating: 2.75 out of 5 stars

My Popcorn Rating: 4.75 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT. A nearly perfect piece of pop entertainment that gives fans all they could ever want.

In preparation for seeing the highly-anticipated Spider-Man: No Way Home, which stars Tom Holland and premiered in theatres Friday December 17, I re-watched Holland’s two previous Spider-Man movies, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) and Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019).

Upon re-watching those movies, I found them to be even worse than I vaguely remembered. Far From Home in particular is just abysmal. I share that thought only to give context for my thoughts on No Way Home.

When watching a Marvel movie, one must temper their expectations. You know going in that you’re not going to see cinema on the level of Citizen Kane but rather an attempt at mainstream entertainment designed to maximize profit above all else.

The question then becomes not is Spider-Man: No Way Home a great piece of cinema, but whether it’s a good piece of popular movie making.

Having witnessed the movie the verdict is clear, Spider-Man No Way Home is not Citizen Kane, but it sure as hell is a phenomenal, nearly perfect, piece of pop entertainment.

I believe the best way to see this movie, and I definitely think you should see it, is to go into it knowing as little about it as possible, so I’ll refrain from writing about the plot or even the cast. Instead, I’ll try to describe why the movie works so well without ruining it, or even tainting it, for anyone who hasn’t seen it.  (I will write a more in-depth, spoiler-filled analysis of the movie in the near future after more people have seen it.)

Let’s start at the beginning of this current run of Marvel movies.

Since Marvel’s twenty-three movie Infinity Saga, which began with Iron Man in 2008 and concluded with Avengers: Endgame in 2019 (Marvel claims it ended with Spider-Man: Far From Home but that is nonsense), came to a close, the Marvel movie behemoth has been creatively and financially floundering.

Part of the reason for that is the post-Endgame Marvel movies have often been more interested in preaching from the woke gospel than in entertaining their audience.

For example, Black Widow was little more than a middling movie designed to be a stiletto to the groin of the patriarchy.

Eternals, which boasted both a gay and a disabled superhero, was a miserable misfire of a movie dedicated to “diversity” and “inclusion” over coherence and entertainment value.

Shang-Chi was half of a good movie, but it too was riddled with a limp girl power narrative and empty woke sloganeering.

Disney, which owns Marvel, has obviously gone all in on the woke stuff, and that is reflected in the majority of their films and tv shows.

It’s important to note that while Marvel is owned by Disney, and Spider-Man is a Marvel character, he is not entirely owned by Disney. Sony actually owns the film rights to Spider-Man.

In 2015, Sony came to an agreement with Disney that allowed Spider-Man to be a part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and both studios have benefited from the arrangement. But the deal is clear, Sony finances, distributes and has final creative control on all the solo Spider-Man movies.

As explained earlier, the Sony produced Tom Holland Spider-Man movies haven’t been particularly good, but unlike the Marvel/Disney movies, they thankfully haven’t been aggressively woke either.

Which brings us to Spider-Man: No Way Home, which is entirely dedicated to fan service and obviously only cares about giving audiences what they want, as opposed to doing what Disney does which is giving audiences what Disney wants them to want.

Spider-Man: No Way Home is devoid of woke preaching or virtue signaling, and aside from a well-executed running joke that makes fun of Alex Jones and Infowars, there’s no cultural politics in the movie at all.

Instead, Sony delivers a deliriously fun movie that hits all the beats and delivers all the goods. No Way Home is so chock full of goodies for fans it’s nearly bursting at the seams and so gloriously deferential to fan’s desires one wonders how Sony or Marvel can ever follow it up.

Part of how the movie succeeds is that while being deliciously fun and funny it also takes itself and its subject matter seriously. For instance, the film is really about consequences and the permanence of consequences, so every action Peter Parker takes in the film has consequences that desperately matter.

The movie doesn’t try to have it both ways, it doesn’t short shrift its story or undercut its power by softening the edges, it commits to its reality and narrative and sticks with it through thick and thin.

The result is easily the best Spider-Man of the Tom Holland era, and also easily the best Marvel movie post-Endgame. Where it lands on the list of all-time Spider-Man movies and all-time Marvel movies will vary wildly from person to person, but I think it’s safe to say it’s at the very least in the conversation for the top spot in both categories.

No Way Home is set to make anywhere from $150 million to $240 million at the domestic box office on its opening weekend (potentially nearing $400 million worldwide). From my anecdotal observations I think the higher end of that projection is very likely. That is an astonishing amount of money for any movie to make, but when factoring in the pandemic and some people’s reluctance to go to a movie theatre, it’s all the more astounding.

As Uncle Ben once told Peter Parker, “With great power comes great responsibility.” It’s good to see Sony profiting by using its great power responsibly by giving fans what they want with the terrific Spider-Man: No Way Home. Disney/Marvel would be very wise to learn the same lesson.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 54 - Dopesick

On this combustible episode, Barry and I talk about the Barry Levinson produced Hulu mini-series Dopesick, which examines the opioid epidemic sparked by Purdue Pharma's alleged wonder drug Oxycontin. Topics discussed include Michael Keaton's brilliance, Purdue Pharma's villainy, the scourge of government and corporate corruption and the hell that is addiction. Love me or loathe me, if you’ve ever wanted the briefest of glimpses into the heart of darkness beating within me...listen to this episode, particularly the last ten minutes.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 54 - Dopesick

Thanks for listening!

©2021

'And Just Like That...' - I Threw Up in My Mouth.

Old HBO warhorse Sex in the City is back with the new show ‘And Just Like That…’, which is devoutly committed to “inclusivity” and also apparently to being dreadful.  

The new show claims it eschews tokenism as it tries to make amends for its original sin of whiteness, ‘And Just Like That…’ I threw up in my mouth.

The comedy/drama Sex and the City, which told the tale of Carrie Bradshaw and her three friends Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte as they navigated life, love and lust in New York City, was one of HBO’s most iconic shows when it ran from 1998 to 2004.

Now, seventeen years after the original went off the air, and after two abysmal feature films, Sex and the City (2008) and Sex and the City 2 (2010), the sassy strumpets are back with a new series on HBO titled, And Just Like That

Sex and the City was wildly popular with a very particular brand of oblivious, feminist, upper-middle class aspiring white women.

The four whores of the apocalypse, the bright and allegedly beautiful Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), the over-sexed Samantha (Kim Cattrall), the feminist firebrand Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and the uptight Charlotte (Kristen Davis), became the archetypes that these clueless white women latched on to and desperately tried to emulate.

I disliked Sex and the City first and foremost because of its egregious writing, decrepit direction and deplorable acting. But what made the show truly insidious as a pop culture phenomenon was that it inspired a whole generation of Karens-in-waiting to embrace narcissistic feminism and vapid consumerism. It was unadulterated capitalism porn meant to deceive gullible women into craving clothes they didn’t need at prices they couldn’t afford in order to purchase a false feeling of fulfillment and freedom. It was the feminist tv version of “slavery is freedom”.

And despite ostensibly being a comedy, it was never even remotely funny. It was basically an absurd and philosophically obscene soap opera about four homely, horny harlots who had more money than sense, and when the show faded from the spotlight the world was better for it.

Although Sex and the City was never funny, a funny thing happened to it after it finished its run, namely that the woke court of political correctness deemed it to be “problematic” for its relentless whiteness and lack of diversity.

The stars of the show don’t even contest this charge, as Cynthia Nixon said that the lack of diversity on Sex and the City was “the Achilles heel of the show…”

It was in this spirit of self-flagellating that And Just Like That…was born. The show’s sole purpose being to wash away Sex and the City’s sin of whiteness by embracing “inclusivity”…and also to make everybody involved lots of money.

Star and producer Sarah Jessica Parker said she is committed to And Just Like That… being ‘inclusive’, but without resorting to “tokenism”. Yeah, sure.

After watching the first two episodes which premiered on HBO Max on Thursday, I can report that And Just Like That… is such a brazen testament to tokenism, and strains so hard to be vacuously diverse, it nearly soils its lacy undergarments.

And Just Like That… returns all of the Sex and the City regulars…all except for Samantha, as Kim Cattrall basically declared there’s no amount of money that would make her work with Sarah Jessica Parker ever again. Respect.

But in order to appease the woke gods of inclusivity, tokens are dispersed throughout to check boxes and darken the show’s color palette.

The tokens thus far are, Lisa Todd Wexley, a fabulous black mom and friend to Charlotte. Dr. Nya Wallace, a black college professor who Miranda befriends. And finally, Che Diaz, who is a non-binary, queer, Latinx comedian who hosts a podcast with Carrie.

These one-dimensional minorities are such obvious tokens you could use them to pay for a ride on the 4 train to Union Square to take part in a Black Lives Matter protest or to buy a custom-made pussy hat.

And Just Like That… is also a monument to the ravages of age. Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte are no longer sexy and sassy, but are now a trio of taut-faced, time-worn tarts. As they say down on the farm, these botoxed brauds look ‘rode hard and put up wet’.

Father Time is undefeated and proof of that is that Carrie now looks like one of the high-priced leather hand bags that she hoards, Miranda looks like she wandered in from the set of The Night of the Living Dead and Charlotte’s face is so medically altered she bears a striking resemblance to the Joker.

There’s also not a single laugh to be found in this shameless money grab, as the writing is as stale as a month-old bagel and the performances as wooden as a cigar store Indian.

The one thing I did find amusing though is how these allegedly strong female characters have become such spineless, eager to please, groveling cowards.

In the 90’s they all strutted their stuff and didn’t care what people thought. Now, these supposedly free-thinking, free-spirited feminist characters (and the actors who play them) are so fearful they might offend, they reflexively comply and conform, instinctively never challenging but rather genuflecting to the suffocating and irrational restrictions placed upon them by woke culture.

In this way, Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte perfectly reflect their now middle-aged, Hillary and Kamala loving, upper-middle class female fans who are just as compliant, just as conformist and just as cowardly, and who, no doubt, are waiting to be told if And Just Like That… is woke enough and if they’re allowed to like it.

I don’t know if the show is woke-approved, but I do know it’s devoid of anything even mildly interesting or entertaining and has absolutely no redeeming qualities to it. Same as it ever was.

 A version of this article was originally published at RT. 

©2021