Well, it looks like I may have been hasty in calling Once Upon A Time In Hollywood the most self-indulgent flick of 2019. You live and learn.
Also living and claiming to learn is geek-maestro Kevin Smith, who after a near-fatal heart attack last year has regrouped the troops and crafted a follow-up to 2001’s Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. When the eponymous pair learn that a movie studio has plans to relaunch Bluntman and Chronic after legally pilfering Jay and Silent Bob’s intellectual property rights, the boys embark on a roadtrip from New Jersey to Hollywood to stop that happening. Yes, like last time.
FINE It genuinely pains me, reader, to tell you that Jay and Silent Bob Reboot is fine. 'Fine'. Because I don’t want it to be ‘fine’, I want it to be great. Fine isn't great. Fuck it, fine isn't even fine. I want to love this because Smith has made some of my all-time favourite, go-to movies, and I know he’s better than this lazy, opportunistic rehash. Shamelessly anachronistic in both tone and execution, a vast swathe of characters and performers from previous entries in the View Askewniverse enter and leave, each ham-fistedly issuing catchphrases and callbacks that feel like Peter Kay was the script-consultant. Because looking in to the camera and telling your audience they’re being ripped off isn't clever unless you subversively add some new ideas or themes.
More a paid-for backslap than a retrospective or confessional, Reboot is part cosplay, part tribute-act, part reunion. And like most reunions, you look at your watch after about an hour and realize you’re done and you’d rather be at home. The film doesn’t have the inherent silliness of Smith’s glory days and the irreverence just feels forced now. Some things do stay true to form however, and the writer/director is still tone-deaf when it comes to actual sentiment. But that never stopped him in the past so why would it now?
TRUE The worst part is, this isn’t awful. It just plays like a grindingly average fan-film, like everything Kevin Smith’s critics have been accusing him of for years and now the prophecy has self-fulfilled and Smith is last to notice.
Jay and Silent Bob Reboot feels like a first-draft screenplay knocked out quickly by someone who knows precisely what film he wants to make, and knows precisely that there's no one to tell him no. Not because he's successful and powerful, but because the industry stopped paying attention once Smith was happy to self-finance and crowdfund his own failures. In that respect, there's a surprising purity to the project. Well, if something so shamelessly recycled could ever be called pure.
CHEMICAL Things pick up for the finale, but it feels like a long ride getting there. I didn’t hate this, and despite my moaning I’d be pushed to say I even actively ‘disliked’ it, but the boredom I felt was much worse. The 15-minute pre-recorded Q&A which followed made me laugh more than anything in the movie. This only reassures me that my problem isn’t with Kevin Smith, but this sausage-machine of a movie he’s put his name to. I'm not holding my breath for Clerks 3 or Mallrats 2, although I imagine there'll at least be something more of a narrative.
For a venerable master of communication who’s had a life-transforming experience, you’d think Kevin Smith’s new insight would consist of more than just repackaging action figures from two decades ago then saying “I love my kid”...
This is similar to Jay And Silent Bob Strike Back Without being as good.
Although in all fairness, it's not as godawful as Super Groovy Cartoon Movie.
If you're a fan, sure, why not?
But let's be clear, this movie is specifically for fans of Smith's earlier work and no one involved is even pretending otherwise.
Completists will want it for their shelves, everyone else can stream it.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Given the general reputation of Kevin Smith in the cinematic community, probably not?
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
It's great living in the future. Technology has caught up with human imagination to make flawless, photorealistic visualisations of pretty much any story that can be dreamt up. And now this wizardry has been paired with $110m of someone's actual money in creating a franchise-burner which is so linear, perfunctory and crushingly dull that not even Will Smith wanted to turn up for the glaringly obvious cameo opportunity during the first act. Christ.
So, something must have happened, right? During a visit to the Endgame set by a Sony rep checking up on Spider-Man's scenes, something bad must have been witnessed involving Chris 'Thor' Hemsworth and Tessa 'Valkyrie' Thompson, and now Sony are using the dirt as leverage to get them to star in this absolute, grade-A atrocity of a movie.
Men In Black: International is the perfect summer storm of watching people you love doing things you'll hate.
MISH An incoherent mish-mash of previous installments, Hot Fuzz and Kingsman with plagiarised notes from Guardians Of The Galaxy, this is a two hour effects-reel loosely taped together by an elevator-pitch of a script which took longer to read back than it did to write. MiB:I isn't even a bubblegum movie, it's just brightly coloured wrapping paper masking a box which contains nothing of any value whatsoever*1.
The cast look bored and embarrassed in equal measure. Hemsworth clearly hopes the other highlights in his career will consign MiB:I to the 'Oh, I'd forgotten he did that' pile. Meanwhile Tessa Thompson (the actress who almost single-handedly turned a boxing sequel where no one wins the boxing into a layered character-drama) is on hand to literally point and explain everything throughout every scene in the movie. Liam Neeson is acting like someone's set his cadence-dial to 'shit Qui-Gon'*2 then pushed START on the autopilot. Although credit where it's due, casting Neeson in a movie called "Men In Black"after his last set of promo-interviews takes some balls. And as for Emma Thompson? Look, I know she's everyone's favourite auntie, but between this and Johnny English 3 she should be made to hand back her National Treasure™ certificate at the nearest police station.
MONSTER By the time Rebecca Ferguson arrives and the film has inexplicably turned into The Man From U.N.C.L.E. by way of Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy, all that's left is a series of third-act reveals which have been so heavily telegraphed they may as well have been captioned during the opening titles. You're left with the feeling it's not that MiB:I took seven years to produce, but rather someone spent six and a half years staring at a wall for ideas before giving up and just letting the computer write the damned thing instead. Whatever Sony have got on the Asgardians, I can't see how it'd be as bad as this...
Would make a passable double-bill with X-Men: Dark Phoenix for anyone who's having trouble sleeping.
Imagine the pilot episode of a Nickelodeon sitcom which has gotten out of hand while still being unfinished on the page.
It is not.
It is not.
It is not.
If you have anything remotely positive to say about the film, yes we will.
Look, I don't give out enough bottom-marks.
Seriously though, fuck this movie.
*1 Okay, it's supported some jobs in the film industry. I get that. Men In Black: International's biggest claim to social or artistic worth is that it put food on the table for its cast and crew so that they could stay alive for a bit longer to be ashamed of it. [ BACK ]
*3 Speaking of location-spotting, it looks like Eat have paid the premium for brand-placement in London's scenes. Although that's not as cool as the branch of Greggs which shows up in one shot (literally the only time I smiled). [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Now and again, a trailer comes along for a movie which looks like it should be fun, but seems nonetheless achingly self-aware, a little too knowing. There appear to be too many central characters, all dialled up to 11 and trying to upstage one another. A script which seems to comprise lines designed for quoting and repetition out of context. A jukebox soundtrack of retro tunes compiled by someone who thinks they're hip but only listens to Radio 2 (and uses words like 'hip').
And you remember the glut of substandard, straight-to-video fare in the mid-1990s which followed Tarantino's breakout, where form was valued over function and the guy who made the tea on the set of Pulp Fiction would be hired to make the tea on the set of whatever-new-heist-movie so that the poster could claim some causal link to greatness. And you decide you'll probably watch it anyway, but with guarded reservations.
Anyway, I needn't have worried (and nor need you). Bad Times At The El Royale is glorious.
MONUMENT In the final throes of the 1960s*1 on the state line between Nevada and California, sits a hotel. A kitsch monument to the faded glamour of America's golden age, the El Royale is still a going concern, albeit a waning one. The building has its secrets, as does the lone member of staff appointed to oversee its smooth running. And when four separate guests arrive on the same evening, they're each bringing baggage in every sense. As their paths intertwine, it becomes clear that some guests will be checking out sooner than others...
My word. From its opening scene, the audience knows this is going to be a meticulously paced stay. We begin with a solitary locked-off shot of the interior of a motel room. A nameless man enters alone, hides the film's macguffin and awaits his contact, all without a single word of dialogue. It feels like we're watching a stage play, an aesthetic that continues after the lone title-card, and characters arrive at the eponymous venue, checking in by systematically signing their names in the register.
HAYMARKET Rhythm and ritual reverberate heavily throughout Goddard's screenplay, from the the strained courtesy of receptionist Miles delivering the faded hotel's check-in welcome speech, to the methodical process of residents tearing through their rented rooms. The influence of that filmmaker mentioned above is felt particularly strongly, especially as it's the beats between the players' words which convey the meaning and betray their true intentions. But on a dark and stormy night with a guest-list full of secrets, there's as much Agatha Christie in here as there is Quentin Tarantino.
The narrative deepens in the second act where we begin to see key events replayed from the perspective of different characters and learn more of their backstories. There are no wry, second-guess-baiting reveals at The El Royale, but the story uncovers its developments slowly and purposefully, waiting for the right moment of theatrical effect.
And true to its stage ambience, this film is carried by standout performances from John Hamm, Lewis Pullman and above all Cynthia Erivo (and director Drew Goddard is certainly getting his money's worth from that actress's outstanding ability as a singer). Even Jeff Bridges forgoes his usual affable mumbling to bring a turn which is as touching as it is terrifying. Although it features a relatively small central cast, there's not a single dud (or even ordinary) performance in the whole film*2.
BIGG MARKET As Goddard works with cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, the shots in El Royale are works of art in themselves, a counterbalance and symmetry running through the film like the state-line bisects the premises. Characters' hidden sides are revealed and then flipped back again, as we slowly learn that both of these facets make up who they really are. And we don't have to like who they may turn out to be, so long as we accept it. You are your inner-self and your outside-persona; no-one knows the face in your mirror like you do.
Is it style over substance? No. The style is the substance. Don't be fooled by the pronounced slickness and louche trappings. Bad Times At The El Royale is a surgically assembled, note-perfect masterpiece.
Also, I might be slightly in love with Dakota Johnson as she stalks around the secret corridors of a sleazy motel with bootcut jeans and a shotgun. My word...
Level 1: The voice of Captain Cormac out of The Old Republic is in this.
*1 Mate don't, the script doesn't say, I don't think. It's either the very late 60s or early 70s. Nixon is on TV (who was elected President in '68, although I'm not enough of a historian to say if the footage we see is from before or after that point) and the script specifically references Hush by Deep Purple (from the 1968 album Shades Of Deep Purple). So y'know, it could be a bit later, or there could just be a 1968 or '69 calendar on the hotel wall and I didn't notice first time round. [ BACK ]
*2 Even though Chris Hemsworth has arrived with his charm and without his shirt as instructed, he perhaps doesn't quite have the knife-edge gravitas required by his role as a pseudo hippy cult-leader. He's an engaging screen presence rightly enough, but Brad Pitt had this sort of thing down far more tightly in Kalifornia. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Well, I didn't think I'd be making comparative references against the third Avengers get-together until at least this time next year, but a conversation at the weekend raised the point that for the more, ahem, civilian viewer, there are two superhero movies out at the moment. Inevitably, some casual cinema-goers are going to be standing in the foyer deciding which one they want to watch*1.
Because for a lot of people, the choice will be between a pair of Marvel flicks starring a partially-CGI'd Josh Brolin as a bad-ass with a time-slider*2. But that's not really an accurate comparison, is it? Or is it? Infinity War and Deadpool 2 are very different products, albeit for partly the same audience*3. The merc-with-the=mouth has come armed with the fuckbombs, but it's Earth's Mightiest Heroes who carry the weightier story.
And yet in the weeks since my first two passes, I'd forgotten how funny Infinity War is, especially given its consistently escalating death-toll. Although obviously it's very different from that other movie, tonally. Avengers' humour is very much the Private Eye to Deadpool's Viz. Both are great institutions which can't replace each other, and don't try.
So, watching Infinity War again after a few weeks, I'm pretty much of the opinion that any deaths which occurred before the Infinity Gauntlet was fully operational (only four, remember) will be permanent. The amount of build-up, screen-time or dramatic weight allocated to each one seems fairly irreversible, and the film's legacy would be cheapened if these characters managed to find themselves magically resurrected by the end of Avengers 4.
Conversely, the casting-losses which occur once Thanos snaps his fingers (the other twelve*4) are, to put it mildly, suspiciously rapid given their narrative stature. The heroes that flutter out of existence leave behind an intriguingly-thinned (and deliberately 'classic') team for next May's concluding chapter, but the ultimate resolution lies in the knowledge that Spider-Man 2, Black Panther 2 and Guardians 3 have already been commissioned.
But hey, I've previously joined the chorus bemoaning Marvel's reluctance to apply a little consequence to their continuity, and it's still by no means certain who will survive into Phase 4. At a rate of three cinematic entries a year, the MCU is now dense enough to give classic heroes the rest they've earned, while still maintaining forward momentum. Maybe, as a man from another galaxy once said, "it's time to let old things die".
Because we all know this isn't the end of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It's not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning...*5
Avengers films.
it is.
It is.
2019 will tell, I guess.
Not likely, since you'll love it as well. Right?.
There is, layered in when Ebony Maw goes for a space-walk.
*1 And of course that's perhaps not the way things should work. But let's not forget I sat in a Saturday night screening of A Ghost Story and watched people walk out mid-way, almost certain that they'd made their choice on a whim since Annabelle: Creation was playing two screens down and was likely the choice on the other side of their coin. Not all moviegoers are as disciplined or as informed as us, dear reader. And that's why I'm here; to help. Or maybe to lecture. Either/or. Okay, it's probably the second one. [ BACK ]
*2 Okay, Thanos-related plot question. When Thor is on the Milano, he tells the Guardians that Thanos "stole the stone and slaughtered half my people". So... where are the survivors, exactly? Because everyone on-screen looked pretty much floaty-in-space-dead to me, the Asgardian ship looked completely mullered, and the Guardians of The Galaxy (the only responders to the distress-call) didn't pick up anyone else from the wreckage.
It had previously struck me that there's not much of a big deal made of Thor being the last Asgardian now, especially as the whole point of Ragnarok was that the refugees fleeing the planet were the symbol of endurance and hope. But yeah, maybe half of that film's survivors are pootling off on the B-Ark somewhere, right? [ BACK ]
*3 For the record, there are currently Deadpool 2 cup-toppers on sale in the foyer. I expect that for the 12A certificate hero-flicks aimed at family audiences, but this is a hard 15. T-shirts absolutely, popcorn buckets at a push, but cup-toppers? Maybe it's meant to be ironic. Although I'm pretty sure the money that Fox are making from the products looks the same either way...
[ BACK ]
*4 Yes, of course I made a list. And no, I'm not going to reproduce it here. I know I marked the review 'spoilers' but I'm not a complete animal... [ BACK ]
*5 Yeah, I went there. I'll be wearing a plastic Union Jack bowler hat and writing angry letters to local newspapers, next. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Thor: Ragnarok (2D / second-pass / SPOILERS)
Cert: 12A / 130 mins / Dir. Taika Waititi / Trailer
And so, I somehow find myself with surprisingly little to say about Thor: Ragnarok. Especially odd given a) how much I loved the film the first time around, and b) how long it's taken me to schedule this second-pass despite singing the praises of the film to everyone in between*1, to the point where I've missed the 3D screenings*2, so have only seen this most psychedelic of Marvel movies in two dimensions.
And this shorter-than-usual review is certainly not because I enjoyed the movie any less the second time; quite the opposite in fact. The self-defeating mechanics of the villains in Surtur and Hela made more sense when viewed from a distance, as that's basically something that's spread out over the whole screenplay but quickly explained by Thor in the middle of the final battle. It's a neat solution to Marvel's usual problem of either nerfing the bad guys and making them too easily beaten, or having them survive and making the heroes look weak. Because everybody loses here, we all win.
And speaking of losses, I also love how much has changed at the end of Ragnarok. I've mentioned on occasion that despite enjoying The Dark World very much, not a lot has developed by the time the credits roll other than Frigga sailing off the waterfall and Odin being missin-in-action. This time round, Thor's lost Mjölnir, lost his hair, lost an eye, lost his father (for real this time), lost his home and very nearly lost his people. And yet the film is so resolutely hopeful in its final moments.
Mark Mothersbaugh's score stood out a little more this time, too. I still maintain that the orchestral sections are mainly Loud Film-Type Noises™, but I'm loving the more disco-infused synth tracks which evoke the iconic Scarface soundtrack by Giorgio Moroder. Although I also still maintain that the Led Zeppelin moments are greater than either of those.
The under-writing of Hela's character is more evident on re-watching, with the Goddess of Death never really making it past the pantomime-villain marker, even though she's personally responsible for a considerable number of screen-fatalities. Also, some of Cate Blanchett's ADR-work for the character is dreadful; the sync is word-perfect, but the emotion in her 'final' voice doesn't match the face she was acting with on-set. But I got an extra chuckle from watching Matt Damon in the theatre-scene, as it occurred to me that this is the second time he's played Loki, the first being in Kevin Smith's Dogma.
But all in all this is magnificent, Marvel reaching further than before and still effortlessly securing their grasp. Ragnarok is a great end to a great year for the studio (cinematically, at least)…
All of The Marvels.
Hell, yes.
Hell, yes.
This film will be on the front-page of many CVs for some time to come.
A little bit, but not enough for you to worry about.
Another pass; still didn't hear one. Not impressed.
Level 1: As well as what could be described as an absolute shit-ton of visual and audio effects crew, this film features the guy who's the voice of Gar Saxon.
*1 Come on, I'm a busy blogger. I can't very well go swanning off to watch repeat-viewings of movies when things like A Bad Moms Christmas are awaiting the scalpel of criticism. [ BACK ]
*2 The 3D/RealD showings traditionally play for the first two weeks of a 'big' release, with that second being significantly pared down in the screen-share. But when Ragnarok opened at my local, it didn't go into 3D until its second full week. So all those of us queuing up on the first day to see the movie were all paying less to the cinema, the distributor and to Marvel as a result. I've got no great feeling on 3D either way, but I like to try and see Marvel movies in the format at least once, where it's available. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
