Cat! In Space! | Review - Captain Marvel

Agent Vers of the Kree Starforce isn’t who you think she is. She isn’t even who she thinks she is. She’s really Captain Carol Danvers of the U.S. Air Force and the trip she takes from the latter to the former is what Captain Marvel spends most of its brisk runtime unraveling. We see the journey and emergence of a hero capable of ending the Universe’s greatest cosmic threat.

But first! We have 90s things!

Right, I’m ribbing a bit here. The references to the decade this movie is set in are for the most part well-laid. The fashion was period-appropriate with lots of denim and leather. The soundtrack is as well, if a bit ubiquitous at times. There’s a vibe the producers wanted that is essentially achieved. Sometimes.

At its core, Captain Marvel is an action film with a coming-of-age hook. A classic origin story for Carol and the initiative that she will aid in the future. Past that, the story has several different movies converging on one another. As we follow Vers (Brie Larson) on the Kree’s home planet of Hala, where she hones her power under the watch of Yon-Rogg (Jude Law), we get a sweeping space opera with a vague Halo aesthetic. We get to Earth, meet a young Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), and suddenly it’s a buddy cop ride-along. (A good one, honestly.) As the two begin finding clues, it shifts to a light spy thriller. Some choppy edits in the first half suggest this movie was cut for time and these tonal shifts may be evidence of that.

The story finds its stride at the same time Carol does. As she regains her memory bit-by-bit the film gains more traction in its presentation. On Hala, Vers is told constantly that controlling her emotion is the key to controlling her power. As Carol on Earth, through the help of her friends, she finds that letting go is the only chance she has. Ending the person she was to be the person she is now.

The path she takes to get to this point is surprisingly painful in relation to the relative tameness of the rest of the film. Again, it’s quick, at just over two hours. The problem that brings is a dissonance in how our main character processes her trauma. In the six years she spends on Hala she suffers from recurring nightmares; she regularly hallucinates a life and setting she has no recollection of. Throughout the movie, she experiences both betrayals of her trust and violations of her agency. She overcomes these trials, but the pacing leaves no room for proper reflection outside of one very poignant scene at the end of the Second Act.

In an action movie this rarely ever matters. The hero is supposed to be strong and unaffected. It matters here because this isn’t just an action movie. And Carol isn’t just an action hero. In a more organized movie – with a screenplay more sharply written, and direction more consistent – Captain Danvers would have multiple chances to pause and unpack how her journey has affected her. This likely means a longer movie which, as noted, probably was easier said than done.

Now that I’m done picking this thing apart – I liked the movie! Shocking, I know, but sometimes I critique legit. I do believe the runtime helped this movie. The second half was a breeze to sit through while the first half began to drag even in the opening stages. This doesn’t appear to be a JL scenario where two movies were cut and then spliced together. More likely that one movie was made and then trimmed to a manageable length. I would like more character work. I think the cast is too talented not to warrant it. But I also know the story isn’t nearly complex enough to warrant it.

I can’t end this review without speaking on the troll campaign to derail this movie. Firstly: at the time of me writing this, the movie has made 188 million dollars with one more day to go in its opening weekend. What I’m saying is, it did not work. I feel this should go without saying, but I guess I’ll just say it anyway. It really is not that serious.

We are one decade and over twenty movies deep into this cinematic universe. Even outside of that, we are two decades deep into this cultural superhero phenomenon. That’s a lot of movies. I’ve seen most of them. A lot of movies aren’t that good. But most of them are just okay like this one was. That’s something you find out when you trek to the cinema as often as I do.

The greatest perk this blog affords me is the chance to hit my own spots (hashtag buzzwords). When the primary goal is getting clicks, the thing to do, depending on which side you fall on, is describe Captain Marvel as the future of hero cinema or the end of the genre as we know it. It’s neither, really.

Know what this is? It’s a pretty safe, middle-of-the-road Marvel flick with excellent performances that consistently outpace the material. A good movie that should be great; one that never questions its message, only how to tell it. It’s a message worth sharing. There are worse ways to spend two hours on an evening out. Take a friend, enjoy the show and discuss after.

With that said!

I can only overlook Carol’s lack of development if the Russo’s do her justice in Endgame. How could they do that? Simple really. The main objective of this movie was to introduce Captain Marvel as a credible threat. Her power is undeniable. Now when people see her wilding out in Avengers 4, things should be a little less jarring. She’s been established as part of the universe, but at the expense of her own story. There is but one way to rectify this.

Carol Danvers has to be the one to usurp Thanos. Only Carol. Not Carol and the gang. Not Carol and the New Kids. They can be there, of course! If they want to make their Infinity Stone powers combine to help Captain Mar-Vel beat Purple Galactus that’s more than cool. But Carol has a lot of time to make up for. She has to be positioned as the ace in the hole Fury sees her as instead of just another member of the team. Otherwise…

3.25 Stars out of 5

Crate Diving: Episode 3 | Palisades - Erase The Pain

Despite listening to a heavy amount of rock music as a teen I should come clean about not really being involved with this corner of the genre until recently. I had a passing awareness of the quote-unquote screamo stuff. It was fine, but I never really spent so much time listening that I could call it formative in any way.

After all, most of what I listened to at that point was Hip-Hop and EDM. When I did listen to rock music, it fell into one of a few columns: the abstract stuff (Gorillaz), the punk stuff (Bouncing Souls), or just metal (Sevendust). There was a fair bit of alt-rock I frequented as well, but by that point, even then, the line between “Yacht Rock” and pop music had been sorta erased, so I won’t count that.

Now I have newfound time to go down a curated list of acts a younger me might not have even thought to give a listen. On that list was this group from New Jersey known as Palisades.

I picked their latest project Erase The Pain not for any particular reason other than it was their latest one and I wanted to see what the evolution was from their first studio album to their fourth. A lot can happen in seven years.

It’s probably expected, but the jump from their self-titled effort to this one is a bit smaller than that from their debut, Outcasts, to now. One common thread I spot is the clear punk influence. Power chords everywhere, which is usually good news. Erase The Pain was a bit different and to explain why, I’ll need a short sidebar back to the self-titled cut.

What sticks out to me about the 2017 album is how it incrementally drifted toward the pop end of the pop-punk spectrum. More digital instrumentation; synthesized harmonization; more melodic guitar voicing. My thoughts on music are a lot less organized than my thoughts on movies. I have difficulty putting it into words other than to say that the self-titled album has a very polished production. The focus seemed to be on making cool melodies that were colorful and danceable. I like good melodies more than just about any other element of composition, so I tend to mark the self-titled LP as their best.

Erase The Pain drifts back to the rock end of the spectrum. Lots of big chords on this record with most of the melodies and counter-lines being picked up by the vocals and lead guitar. There are some metalcore elements, as well, but the instrumentals toe the line from one genre to the next. “War” in particular stands out to me as a song that echoes early-stage Linkin Park, with heavy effects in the vocal track. Even “Fade” sounds like late-stage Linkin Park with its piano-driven melody and slow-build verses. This is meant as props, by the way. Linkin Park is one of those bands I spent a lot of time listening to. Minutes to Midnight especially.

This LP uses a writing method that I assume I’m only noticing now that I’m paying more attention to composition. A song will use the first five seconds or so to introduce the main riff motif, then drop it to build the verse; when it’s time for the chorus, the riff will either be brought back as the primary element, or it will be taken by the lead guitar while a separate progression is played. I noticed this in Breaking Benjamin’s latest, Ember, and I think it’s a slick little notation for these kinds of tunes. You could call it foreshadowing in a way. There’s also the track “Patient” which spends the first third or so setting up the melody and chord tones only. The full band joins in at about halfway so that both guitar parts can power chord their way through the progression that’s already been established. Pretty clean writing.

I like this record and this band. I didn’t love every song like on the self-titled album but Erase The Pain does have some winners on it. Palisades has a sound that works for them. Catchy tunes that don’t lose their kick. I’m not picky with my musical palette. This is really the only thing I ask for. They supplied that so I look forward to their next project.

Crate Diving: Episode 2 | Ariana Grande - thank u, next

I have long thought that Ariana Grande had power in the pony tail. The young lady has had a relative strangle hold on the pop music scene for the last few years and with each release her music has gotten progressively more subversive and mature. She’s one of a few select artists that could subsist entirely on making hit songs and performing them to her leisure. All of these things are true and yet that wasn’t enough to keep her from releasing a new full-length LP half a year after her breakout Sweetener. Spoilers now: this album is better.

I want to talk about my three favorite songs on this record but first, I’ll set the vibe for those who haven’t listened. I pondered and pondered which album I was listening to. Hers, obviously, but it sounded so familiar and I didn’t know why.

The first few songs I thought maybe it was Timberlake-esque. Specifically, The 20/20 Experience – a pop record with an R&B/Soul sensibility. “A good choice!” I thought. Then, I listened further. It hit me then. I am a dummy, you see. This is not a JT record. It’s an Ariana record with a Weeknd state of mind.

No, that isn’t a typo. I haven’t done a full review of The Weeknd’s Starboy cut. I should, because it’s awesome, but right now the focus is the connection I made. The two artists have very different tastes and styles (and have collaborated before) but thank u, next visits a lot of the same themes. It’s a super moody, sometimes dark, record about love and loss, varying levels of commitment to relationships, the challenging and depressing aspects of international fame. Ariana contends with it all in a very adult manner.

“7 Rings” does well to set the scene for the whole album. It was meticulously constructed by a crack team of producers to be a club bop. Layered thick with synth and drum machines like the rest of this album (or pop music for that matter).

This song’s narrative is a reflective commentary by Ariana about the compulsion to spend one’s problems away. That reflection turns inward as she thinks she might be happier if she can spoil her friends with her habit. This is exactly her plan; she happens to be a very wealthy celebrity, so things go off without a hitch.

This is the first of a few tracks that take the ‘Suffering From Success’ trope exploited by so many of her male counterparts and veer the ship off-course. Yes, fame and fortune have their downsides, some days are worse than other, but she is still leading a very charmed life and has been since she was a teenager. Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy lots of clothes, b.

“Bloodline” is my favorite track by far. On the surface, it’s your typical friend with benefits song. Listen a bit longer, you get to see the flip side of the mood on the track “Needy.” The only “needy” Ariana might be is needy of her space.

Don’t want you in my/bloodline, yeah

Just wanna have a/good time, yeah

And no need to/apologize, no

But you gon’ have to/let this shit go

Don’t take it personal, homie. It’s not you. It’s not about you, either. An itch needed to be scratched. And now it has been, and you can go. I’m a big fan of people in general reclaiming their agency. For the past year or so, Grande was involved in a long-term relationship, then a break-up, then an engagement, then another break-up. All of it very public. Part of the narrative each time was of her as a clingy, co-dependent lover despite her being a bigger star than either of her exes. She’s an even bigger star now. Tying herself down to any kind of committed relationship understandably es no bueno.

The card is subject to change, though. If such a case were to occur, do follow her instruction: “break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored.”

Having listened to the whole album a few times, I have decided this is my pick for best track. It’s got a fun, danceable beat where Grande employs the almost-rapping-but-still-clearly-singing vocalization she’s been using of late. It works here, because the very tone of the song is confident, even aggressive. A thread progresses that sees the artist freely explore its Hashtag Problematic nature.

You could say I’m/hatin’ if you want to

But I only hate on her/cause I want you

Say I’m trippin’/if you feel like

But you without me ain’t right

She’s calling her shot, basically. She’s rich, she’s famous, she’s bored. She would like a companion. She doesn’t want you to cheat; she’s not a monster. Break up with her, hop in the whip and leave the party with the singer you just met five minutes ago. It happens!

If it sounds crass it’s because it is. To remember where she came from, you would have to track Ariana Grande’s path from a young age as a performer. Most notably, a TV show where she had a recurring role, followed by another TV show where she had a starring role. Her singing range was common knowledge by then. When she began to make music, it largely reflected her position in life.

Her earlier music is light and airy bubble gum pop more suited for the girls (and boys) of her age group. Kids that mostly grew up with her. She enters adulthood. She matures. The music matures with her as does her fanbase. It leaves less explaining and hand-wringing to do when topics of love and sex are further explored. She doesn’t have to ask her peeps if they want trap beats and 808s because the question is rhetorical. Imagine the release of being a grown adult who can shed all ties and say, “I want that one.” There’s a cleverness behind “breakup with your girlfriend” being the final track.

This is my favorite Ariana Grande album. Good news for me as it is also the best Ariana Grande album. It’s bold and energetic and never boring. The title track and “NASA” are maybe my two least liked. And they’re both still pretty good. Even beside this, she is a beautiful singer to listen to. Has been for some time. They only let her sing so many times on Victorious and you see why. On a show full of talented people, it’s very difficult to hide the clear best. Just show a flash of their true skill and it’s game over. thank u, next feels like the beginning of an artist realizing their potential and the music scene is better for it.

Crate Diving: Episode 1 | Tom Morello - The Atlas Underground

When I first started following musical acts for real around the year 2000, my fandom came in waves. Obviously, there was the Nu-Metal explosion of the New Millennium of which I was gleefully on-board. My mother introduced me to the hits of the 80s, birthing a love for pop music that endures to this day. My grandfather spun countless vinyl records of the two-step anthems from the 60s and 70s. The recurring theme here is outside influence. Whether it be my friends or my family, there was always a guiding hand to help me discover new music. When the time came for me to mark my own fandom, I happened across a group with all the righteous fury of Public Enemy’s guerilla rap and the most slamming chords of any band in the world.

Rage Against The Machine was the band. If you are reading this and don’t quite remember the group in their active years, the name is all you need to know. Selling out arenas is great. Playing to 100,000 at a festival is awesome. Yet still: not one note was played in anything other than utter furious disobedience. Zack De La Rocha, former frontman of the band, has continued this by writing music in vocal features in the years since RATM last played together. Now, guitarist Tom Morello has produced his own solo project – his first in many years.

When I read up about the making of this record, I kept thinking of another one: Common’s Universal Mind Control from 2008. Musically, they aren’t all that similar. In conception, they are almost the same. Common was inspired to make his album after a lengthy vacation in France helped introduce him to the House Music and EDM (Electronic Dance Music) scene. UMC was billed as the future of hip-hop and for my money (literally, having bought it) this is all true. Its warbled and industrial sound preempted a wave of mood-rap ventures: Yeezus from Kanye West; Camp from Childish Gambino; the early work of Travis Scott.

It’s 2018 and EDM is far more than the niche genre it was a decade ago. It has injected every facsimile of pop music; not even the most basic of Top 40 tunes can go without a beat drop or synth cord progression. For The Atlas Underground, we see Morello align himself with these EDM sensibilities and combine them with his own talent for writing, and playing, his own screechy, metallic riffs. Disclaimer time: no, this isn’t a case of ‘Hello, fellow kids’ by the veteran musician to get people to buy his album. If anything, this project – with the boom-bap truther anthem “We Don’t Need You” – will be a repellant.

From the first three songs you will be able to discern if The Atlas Underground is your speed. “Rabbit’s Revenge” for sure is not a soft listen. Two icons of the Dirty South rap scene – Big Boi and Killer Mike – team up on this Bassnectar-produced track and throw down two furious verses on the cultural divide and mistrust of the Black Community toward the police force writ large. Big Boi begins:

There’s always a punk motherfucker/poppin’ that weak shit

Thug thumb, Internet gangsters/not on no street shit

Where we come from/we don’t fuck with no polices

We pay their salary/and they pay us back with mistreatment

Killer Mike follows this up with commentary on how minorities are disproportionately targeted by patrols. He references Trayvon Martin of Florida and Mike Brown of Missouri. Not nearly the only two young Black men killed via extra-legal force; no doubt the most famous. Two of many victims (including Sandra Bland, referenced in verse one) of a system designed to decimate an entire people and break their spirit. This song is a call to arms above all. Wouldn’t you know? “It ain’t no fun when the rabbit’s got the gun.” Right, Wabbit?

The hip-hop presence on this record was expected from Morello and didn’t disappoint. He recruited a solid line-up of MCs that brought a righteous fire to the booth. Chicago native Vic Mensa nicely complimented Morello’s signature style on “We Don’t Need You.”

Ooh, I can stand my ground to this shit

Tom Morello and Vic Mensa/we on time with this shit

Militant mindset/nine-millimeter complex

Two middle fingers/to the killers in the Congress

Start off with a reference to the gun law that got Trayvon Martin legally murdered and end with a dig at the Legislative Branch of US Government which is timely at almost any point in history, but especially now in the midst of the longest government shutdown in US history. An angry damn song this is, but that doesn’t stop it from being a head-bopper. The oscillation of the industrial beat will have you moving in time, reminiscent of the RATM turns of old.

There are two female features on this LP. The first is K. Flay – one of the more acclaimed indie artists of the past ten years. She’s a self-produced, multi-instrumentalist from Cook County, Illinois who can rap and sing and pretty much every other thing a musician would need to do. “Lucky One,” the track she features on is a jaunty cut with a bouncy alt-rock vibe that sounds like it was produced just for her. Maybe it was, because even the subject matter should be familiar to anyone that’s visited her discography.

Oh, I’m a piece of dirt

Caught in a spiral, dead on arrival/make it hurt

Oh, I’m a tragic man

Love is a card game, head full of heartache/it’s all a part of the plan

“Are you a sucker or a lucky one?” she asks. When you consider her path to success – from leaving a toxic relationship and skirting homelessness to having her music featured in major motion pictures – it would be generous to call K. Flay anything but. Lucky only to be seen. There’s nothing accidental about how good she is. The very same should be said about the second female MC featured. An enigma she is.

She hails from Brooklyn and performs as ‘Leikeli47.’ Always with her face covered. She hasn’t disclosed her name or age but has still released plenty of music. Not much else is known about her other than the fact that she’s pretty good. In “Roadrunner,” she crafts a yarn, Slick Rick style, of a migrant’s journey to these United States.

I be damn I gave my last

To a coyote

To get me ‘cross the border

Far too many women and children and in between fall victim to trafficking schemes in exchange for the possibility of a better life in America. If one was willing to take this issue on a case-by-case basis it would be clear immediately who those people are. Some of them are dangerous, but some of them are victims.

One hour out of Guadalajara

No pit stops even though/the engine gettin’ hotter

Surviving off my own sweat/I drink it out of bottles

I see a lot of y’all parched/and that’s the fucking problem

Nothing on this album shook me more than those bars right there. This is the point I’ve brought up anytime I’ve heard even a mention of a “crisis” at the Mexico border. Most people don’t know, but how would they if they don’t care? I watched a full documentary special of a small crew following a troupe of migrants. This was years and years before the mass exodus from Central America that occurred in late 2018.

This may not come as much of a shock, but the path taken to even make it to the border is so fucking dangerous. Before anyone can even reach the “wall” they have to dodge numerous hazards including the so-called coyotes. People are run down, pursued, kidnapped, and yes, killed all in the course of the thousands of miles they travel. All so they can seek entry and asylum to a country they have been told will take them in with open arms if they are earnest about being productive. And they always are.

This piece makes it out like the album is wholly political and that isn’t the case. It’s where most of the substance is, just not nearly the end. As noted, Morello collaborated on production of this album with some main stays in the EDM scene. The legendary Bassnectar; Australian Dubstep duo Knife Party; and world-famous DJ Steve Aoki who lends his skills for “How Long.”

And how long/can we dance around

The hungry mouths, the burning streets?

And how long/can we drown them out

With lights and sound, while bombs fall at our feet?

This tune is performed by Tim McIlrath, vocalist from the band Rise Against. Casual music streamers might not discern this easily; for the rest, a peek at the production notes reveals a who’s-who of the modern music scene. No surprise, as Tom Morello is a Triple OG and his rock roots run so impossibly deep. He, Damon Alburn, and a few select others have the clout to scroll through the rolodex, choose three numbers at random and say, “Help me make an album, dude!” only for an album to appear from the ether months later.

“How Long” has a protracted build-up driven by that classic crunch of Morello’s guitar pedals. Couple this with the beat drop and pulsating rhythm of Aoki’s production, you can only assume Morello won’t be done playing massive festival crowds anytime soon. The song is fun yet is not without its questions.

In America, we are in the middle of the longest government shutdown in history. The Coast Guard is unfunded. The Department of Homeland Security is unfunded. Airports are understaffed leading to hours of delays and terminated flights. Air traffic controllers are working without pay, even as the industry prepares for a massive turnover. Both the Pilot and Flight Attendant Unions have released a joint statement with the NATCA detailing the increased danger of flying without proper funding. With no end in sight to the impasse, the day may come when the system simply breaks. Even after the shutdown ends, the aviation industry may well be crippled for years to come.

What of the individuals working through this? Grown adults who can’t feed themselves. Parents that can’t feed their children. The recipients of SNAP benefits who will no longer be able to once that program runs out of funds soon. How long can we dance around the hungry mouths? How many missed meals does it take? What is critical mass for innocent people seeing their family suffer before they take matters into their own hands? What happens when the system breaks?

Feels Like Frío

The story here is that my left arm is likely done following orders for a bit. Also that I’m no longer stranded. Which is good news, because after a full 30 or so hours of letting things pile up (inside and outside) I was so very ready to make tracks.

First, some undesignated story time. I took one of two college credited courses in high school. One in Math and one in English. Back then, I favored Algebra the most but found the homework egregiously boring which led me to skip half the worksheets yet ace the tests. Honors English II was almost inverse. Not that I didn’t ace the class – the assignments were appropriately challenging and engaging. Algebra homework was mechanical, and I had PS3 to play. The other class was little more than an excuse to do what I do best: write long pieces of thoughtful contemplation for a captive audience!

The assignment I’m thinking of specifically is one that had us take a trip and recall the details, events and how it made us feel. Apparently, I missed the class memo of trips to the store being eligible. You see, I took the prompt literally, recounting a three-day weekend I took some weeks prior to my grandparents’ house in rural Northeast Missouri, where they live to this day. As usual with these papers there was no limit, just a minimum, so I could really let it breathe and turn this school essay into a story. I know there’s a copy lying around somewhere; who knows how many pages I ended up with.

To summarize oh-so-briefly: one day in the Spring I drove out to stay with my folks for a long weekend and rode my bike from one end of town to the other. Growing up there, I can tell you, Missouri is some BS on many fronts. However, as a Natural State, its beauty is on the shortlist. As noted, my grandparents live in a part of the state ripe with unconquered land. Boy, if you ever need a spot to sit and not see any person for miles and miles you will find no shortage. As busy as I was in high school, I often think that these moments of rest and silence and separation from my routine were a big reason I didn’t totally break down (which happened later anyway but after I graduated lol).

Here we are now. It’s a little under a decade later from that point as I write this. I’m pulling this exercise from my school days into young adulthood. Why? The most embarrassing thing a creative can admit is feeling futile. Not that I have a lack of ideas. Quite the opposite! I have so many thoughts whirling around up there, I don’t know where to start. This inevitably leads to thoughts of whether or not I should start. I wasn’t gaining any ground personally. I’ve been working on the same story off-and-on (but mostly off) for half-a-year now when I set a deadline for myself to end it before the holidays.

I don’t know if posting this will help or if it should. I’ve meant to keep more hand-written journal entries for my own use for ages now. This won’t be that. Just a Stream of Conscious following a very broad outline of my day. I don’t expect anyone to find that interesting or even attempt to read but, I’m hoping for myself that if I can at least write and post this, the floodgates will open, and I can dump some of the other stuff taking up real estate in my Right Lobe.

I’ll start with my views of Good Snow vs Bad Snow. There was a huge storm that made its way across the continental US this past weekend. I joined much of my friends on the East Coast and elsewhere watching as snow the snow fell…and fell…and fell. Eventually I dug myself out, but not immediately, oh no. What few errands I had left by Friday were taken care of before noon, affording me ample time to return home and perch at my bedroom window to watch the cavalcade of ice crystals float by.

Last year was a Bad Snow. The winter was long and bitter with constant sub-freezing temperatures. The winter storm started as a thunderstorm, which of course became freezing rain which then turned into sleet a short time later and iced over every road. Only after all this did the near 12 inches of snow come through to make a double dare of danger. This may shock you but…it sucked!

Seasons are nice but wear can out their welcome, etc.

This year was a Good Snow! (Even if it wasn’t, I may have been more forgiving just because I didn’t have anywhere to go for two days.) It was a peaceful storybook snowfall with no wind or garbage precipitation. With only an hour or so of sleet, there was no ice whatsoever. We only had to sit and wait – from Friday afternoon to early Sunday morning – as the snow fell uninterrupted. I took a single step outside my door to observe more closely. The flakes were big and chunky, gathering in light, fluffy heaps upon landing. It’s the kind of snow that calendar-makers dream of. No trace of wet-nasty slush anywhere. I almost ventured out…until I remembered, as I do every Winter, that I had a PlayStation waiting and shut the door.

A full day and change later, I’m ready to go. I don’t get stir crazy easily and I knew it wasn’t that. It was far more serious. My last depressive episode was sometime in early 2018. I overslept and was late to my morning dental check-up. So late in fact that the desk clerk kindly let me reschedule for later that month. Maybe she saw something I didn’t, because the next thing I did was walk straight to my car, pull up the memo app in my phone, type out I think I’m still depressed, delete that same memo, and sob quietly alone in the still sparse parking lot.

It scared me, frankly. It came out of nowhere and to this day I don’t know what triggered it. I don’t get too upset about being late to appointments other than me, in general, not keen of being late to anything. Whatever it was just happened to catch me lacking. Up to that moment, I haven’t felt so alone and useless since I left school and I was emotionally underwater for three years.

The notion of going back to that terrified me enough that I called my best friend later that day and told him what happened. He told me that whenever he feels an episode like this might occur, he forces himself to engage in constructive social ventures. Maybe he goes ice skating or takes a drive with his partner, a chance to do something he likes with like-minded people – or at least near like-minded people. Shamefully I admit that I haven’t been nearly as diligent about this as I should have. And it is a shame because the advice was timely and sincere from a man I love like a brother. Yet still, I remembered what he said and grabbed a shovel. I wouldn’t let the pretty snow be my excuse for not making it to the function I was invited to that night.

Excavating the car

The first picture is from my first wave of shoveling after ninety minutes of the heave-ho. I looked at the edge of the driveway, piled high with plowed snow, and retreated to breakfast, which I should have started with. Half-an-hour later, I make my way back outside and hear a fluttering from behind me. Four small birds have parked themselves in the garage. Small, brown, roundish birds that have been showing up everywhere in the area recently. (There were a half dozen hiding under my snow-covered car.) I’ve got no beef with birds; I gently shooed them out into the yard, all of them taking the same route circling the back of the garage out. Except for one that stayed perched on the rear shelf. It was very pretty with pale feathers. So grey they were almost blue. “Come on, girl,” I said. “This way.” And she was off to catch up with the crew while I closed the garage. No more loitering today.

Not long after receiving some blessed help from a neighbor I pushed off to my old job site to visit. Fun fact about radio: even when the world is snowed in, the stations still play. And if you’re responsible for several of them, someone (or several) has to show up and make things go. A visit of solidarity, but mostly I just needed to kill time.

I was the last one to arrive at the function, which was indeed video game related. This blog has its own segments dedicated to gaming talk, so I’ll save the details for that. All you really need to know is that we played Super Smash Bros. 64 a.k.a. the version I’ve played the least since I started playing Melee [checks notes] in 2003. Apparently, I’m good with Yoshi, the most difficult character in the game. I hope to get more chances to play the game and experiment and just hang out.

The roads were clear the whole way back home. Maybe just a little bit soggy. Driving has become a good cleanser for me. It’s hard for your mind to go to any untoward places when you have to focus on Not Dying. I never realized how crazy dangerous driving is until I started commuting regularly. All those years up and down the freeway. It’s by the grace that I wasn’t creamed by some truck or drunken driver.

When it’s a late night and I’m one of two or three people passing through – or, better still, I have the road to myself – I ease out of cruising speed and apply the SpongeBob-branded Big Toe to the gas pedal and watch the night creep by. There was overcast on this night, so I couldn’t see the sky. When I can, I’m guided home by the celestial bodies, illuminating my path even when there are no lamp posts within miles. My favorite is riding on a warm night with the window down and seeing clearly one or several shooting stars arching across the sky. It's a vibe.

I notice it even before I pull up to my house past midnight. A deathly, almost unnatural silence. When the weather is even partially mild, you can sense the activity. You could never hope to see the insects or amphibians or woodland fuzzies lurking about, but you knew they were out there. Somewhere. They likely still are. When it snows, though, everything…stops. Nature is smarter than us. We brave the elements to work and eat and play Smash. When Nature takes a day off, you notice. There was a minute-long pause by me as I locked my car. I swear if someone was talking fifty-yards away I might have heard it.

You know that strange colored glow you get when there’s a heavy cloud cover over a well-lit town? A scene out of Dmitry Levin’s dreams. If I had a proper camera, I’d have taken a stroll around the neighborhood to get some street level shots of the newly-frosted landscape. I used to take photos all the time, especially while in school. It’s been years since I’ve invested in myself. I think that will be the next order of business.

After ducking inside I got back to work on this entry. Thought about staying up to finish it, decided on getting a proper night of rest. As noted at the top, my arm was protesting the rest of my body. I did him a solid and turned in, finished the rest before heading in to work.

Not sure how to finish this one. I’ll say thanks for playing, as I always do. I appreciate the eyeballs however they come. There are lots of friends that stop by the blog and lots of strangers, too. I’m thankful for all of you. I don’t ordinarily write stuff…like this? Something was off and needed to change. At this moment, the one thing I can change is my head space. Dumping every last one of these words seems like the best course. With hope, I can get back to making actual “Content!” like you’re used to.

It was good to get out. Good to meet new folks. Good to see old faces. Good to be breathing. Blessings Be.

Another You | Review - Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Miles Morales. My man.

From the very moment he debuted in August of 2011 after the demise of the Marvel Ultimate Peter Parker I was bought in. “We could have something here,” I said. A young, infectious protagonist with a dynamic and relatable background. Born and raised in Brooklyn by a Hispanic mother and Black father; bilingual and artistically talented. All I had to do was wait for Miles to get his shine.

And I waited. And I waited. And then we got a weird Moody Teen Dream Spidey. So, I waited some more. Then we got a really good movie again with Donald Glover, but still no Miles. More waiting. Then! We got a superb video game with Miles as the protagonist. Was my patience about to be rewarded?

"My Spin-off Sense is tingling!"

As expected! Or maybe not. Studios have been so gun-shy since we started this hero kick fifteen years ago to even consider telling a story with anything other than the established (often Caucasian) characters. Nevermind that there are literally dozens of different Spider-Men and Batmen and Supermen of every possible color and origin. If his name isn’t Pete or Bruce or Kal, we’re not putting him on screen! That rule appears to be changing.

In Miles Morales’ New York there is no Spider-Man. At least, there wasn’t. One night after tagging up an abandoned metro station with his Uncle Aaron (Mahershala Ali), Miles (Shameik Moore) is bitten by a very peculiar looking spider. Miles thinks nothing of it until later in the week when he’s sweating profusely, running on walls and getting his hands stuck in classmates’ hair. Soon he is seeking counsel from the only person with the knowledge to guide him through his new life: Peter Parker.

The hook here, of course, is that there isn’t supposed to be a Peter Parker in Miles’ world. This Pete (Jake Johnson) is one of many Spider-folk to be flung Samurai Jack-style into the Universe our protagonist occupies. This includes his classmate Gwen Stacy (Hailee Steinfeld), Peni Parker (Kimiko Glenn), Spider-Man Noir (Nicolas Cage), and Spider-Ham (John Mulaney). Each of these characters have their own unique speech, color scheme and theme. If you were to close your eyes while the movie played, you would immediately know who was where, which is no easy task even in an animated feature.

The Squad is not gathered by choice. Wilson Fisk has created a supercollider not unlike the Large Hadron and stationed it directly beneath Brooklyn. His first test run ripped all the heroes from their homes and now they have to use it to get back but stop the machine before it destroys the city entirely. You know. The usual.

That’s about all that’s usual. My good friend and writing partner Lunchbox saw this movie before I did and told me two things. Firstly, that this movie was made for me. (Can confirm. Insert ‘finally good food’ meme here.) Secondly, that there would never be another studio film that looked like this. I can confirm that to. Even if you don’t like any version of Spider-Man and detest seeing yet another hero flick taking up space at the box office this movie should get high marks simply because of how dynamic and ambitious its action is. Into the Spider-Verse has better set pieces than anything Disney has produced in the last five years. I don’t mean to just pick on them. They just happen to be the best example, producing bloated CG dumps. This film is also computer-generated. The big advantage of animation is that the characters can move lithely through the environment as opposed to a Justice League where physical actors must be superimposed into the world around them. This is why a 2D-animated feature, when it happens, will make oodles of money.

Miles Morales is the perfect protagonist. What works about him is what works about so many others navigating the Hero’s Journey. He is just a guy. Peter B. is the most experienced Spider-Man. Spider-Gwen is the most physically gifted. Peni is a genius computer and robotics expert. Spidey Noir is gray, and Spider-Ham is a cartoon pig. These heroes all have something that makes them suited specifically for their on-brand Spider Powers. Miles is unique in his own way, but not as a hero. He obtained his powers entirely by coincidence. Even the big “bite” scene was played off as a gag with Miles calmly swatting the bug away. He’s in over his head. But he’s Spider-Man so he tries anyway which is why we still love the character decades later.

Peter B. Parker is a neat spin on the character I grew up with. Brilliant but lazy; competent but clumsy. He’s been web-slinging for twenty-two years and obviously knows what he’s doing. He’s also unmotivated and pretty bad at communicating. Despite this he agrees to guide Miles through his growing pains. Even in a cloud of ambivalence, Pete’s heart shines through. It’s the one thing that can never change no matter how many Spidey films get made.

Can’t state enough how well Gwen was written also. Last time we saw Gwen in a movie, it was a bad one mostly and she was good but shoehorned into the Supportive Girlfriend role where she just didn’t have much to do. No such fate here. Gwen is the hero of her own Universe; tall, strong and smart in her own right. The friendship she starts with Miles is warm and genuine without any pretense on either side. Male-female friendships are amongst my favorite to see portrayed and seeing one so well down here took me from liking to loving this movie.

One of my biggest, most enduring criticisms of hero movies across the board is that none of the fights are creative enough. The DCEU has been especially guilty of this, having the most diverse cast of characters and powers ever assembled and resigning to having them punch and kick and jump fifty feet in the air. Some of that is fine but if you have a Big Fish Guy you would think he would, I don’t know, use water somehow or swing the trident he carries everywhere? No such thing happens. In Spider-Verse, it isn’t enough for the Spider-folk to use their spider powers. They fight in correspondence to the Universe they came from. Spider-Man Noir is a tavern brawler. Peni utilizes her technology. Spider-Ham uses the power of Chuck Jones slapstick. It all makes sense. It all looks great. It all makes this not like any movie you’ve seen.

My rating scheme varies as does everyone’s. I don’t rate specifically on how “good” a movie is because apart from egregious errors, what makes a movie good or not is totally subjective. I rate based upon how well the movie delivered its message or accomplished its goal, if there is one. Spider-Verse isn’t the perfect movie but is the perfect genre movie. A new standard for comic book fare. Even better than Logan which is simply one of the best movies overall, I’ve ever seen. That’s why I’m giving this the highest of marks. This flick demands to be seen as big and loud as possible. Spidey is my favorite hero and he’s the one we need right now.

Ace work to all involved! High Five!

5 Stars out of 5

Stray Thoughts

- I chuckled when I saw that Brooklyn in the Spider-Verse is gentrified just like in real life.

- “Is that a coffee shop or a disco?”

- Jefferson tells Miles that he passed the entrance exam to Visions Academy just like everyone else. Miles notes that he only got in because he won a lottery which is, in fact, exactly how it works. It’s the little things in a screenplay.

- Spider-Verse is a textbook example of writing a female protagonist and letting her fully engage with the story. Too often they’re only given busy work but even Aunt May had purpose despite her very short time on screen.

Everyone has to earn something in this movie. Miles has to earn his powers. Peter B. has to earn his student. The Spider-Pals have to earn their way back home. Jefferson Davis, a police officer, has to earn the trust of his son Miles. Best part of the above scenarios is the earnest development. Every character feels real and genuine. Miles is a teenager but isn’t flippant with his parents. They respect his budding agency, and never once do you question that Miles and his dad love each other, despite their disagreements over vigilantism and the new charter school he has enrolled in. They oppose each other without despising one another – imagine that. I would have liked to see more interaction between Miles and his mom, Rio, or just more of her in general. The movie ran out of real estate but that’s what sequels are for.

Miles even gets his tragic death moment. Yes, it’s his uncle who gets got; no, not in the way you think. Aaron Davis moonlights as Prowler. He’s an enforcer for the Kingpin. When Miles reveals himself, Aaron refuses to follow through on the order to kill him and is promptly shot and killed by Fisk. It is at this point that Miles must come to terms with his shortcomings as a Spider-Man. The mantle carries weight and he just isn’t ready to take it on. Multiple people in the previous scene tell him multiple times to leave the battlefield. Not in a funny, “Oh what are you doing here” way. In a serious “Dude, you’re gonna get hurt” way. Very reminiscent of the first Incredibles as Helen instructs her kids to use their powers to protect themselves. “These people will kill you.” A real tension in an otherwise joyous, fun movie.

This version of Fisk was my favorite so far. He’s still the Kingpin: Crime Boss Supreme of New York. He only has an interest in the multiverse because of the one thing his vast fortune cannot buy. Fisk blames Spider-Man for the loss of his wife and son. Since their death, he’s been searching for a way to find alternate versions of them that are still living to make things right. Right being a relative term. This is a very morbid idea. I was pleased to see Kingpin get a more human motivation outside of wanting ULTIMATE POWER; yet, all the same he is still very clearly an evil dude.

Oh, a fun fact for the road: Paul Soles – Canadian actor and the original voice of Spider-Man – reprised his role for one-time only. And he did it for the meme! Will gladly accept more stingers if they’re as good as this one.

Every Frame a Painting | Review - ROMA

This movie won’t speak the same to everyone if it does at all. The one thing it will do for everyone is wipe the palate clean. For the last year or so plus there have been no shortage of movies taking place in or around Mexico, but they have all featured in some way a gang of a cartel or a kingpin. It’s very avant-garde in subscription TV services to frame a drug lord’s story as some rags-to-riches come-up. (Boy, do I have words about that.) There’s none of that here. And if I didn’t tell you that the movie takes place in Mexico City circa 1970 you probably would never know by just watching. That is the place, and this is the story.

ROMA takes place in Roma: specifically, it takes place in the urban, middle-class Mexico City neighborhood of the same name. The subject of the film is a well-to-do family compromised of a doctor, a scientist, their four children and the maternal grandmother. Their story is seen through the eyes of the live-in maids that share their large home; the chief POV is that of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a young servant from a poor village outside the city.

ROMA at the core is a slice-of-life showcase. It is the very definition of “arthouse” right down to being filmed in black-and-white. Alfonso Cuaron – who made one of my all-time favorites, Children of Men (oh, and some flick called Gravity if you’ve heard of that) – pulled double duty as director and cinematographer. He was asked why, in an interview, why his longtime DP “Chivo” Lubzeki wasn’t involved with his most personal project to date. It was simply a matter of time. Chivo didn’t have time in his life to professionally devote himself to what quickly ballooned into a mammoth shooting schedule. 108 filming days. All of them earned.

Another point of the above conversation with Alfonso is how many conventions he had to forgo in order to make this movie. Using non-actors and large, outdoor locations and indoor sets with complex blocking. The result, whether intended or not, is a Rockwell come to life. There are many shots that bleed on for thirty seconds or more. A clear message from the director saying, “Sketch this now.” Everything from the framing to the sound design was scripted meticulously, lovingly, by Alfonso and it’s apparent from the opening frames.

No doubt you’ve heard the old phrase “It takes a village to raise a child.” ROMA is that phrase expanded into an austere epic. It’s an ode from the director to the women that helped raise him. The powerful, miraculous women breaking their backs, sometimes literally, to keep their families and themselves together. This includes the mother of the young family who we see suffering through a quiet, but dramatic separation. It affects her, the kids, and the adults caring for them, as the home deteriorates physically and emotionally.

The kids are sweet, if a little rambunctious. Three boys and one girl move through the house like a whirlwind. The youngest is a boy named Pepe. He’s adorable and whatever feelings you have about kids in film, this little guy is a marvel. His running thread is recalling past adventures from when he was “older.” Once a fighter pilot; later as a ship’s captain. You could either pass it off as nonsensical child’s speak or headcanon him, as I do, as a primordial guardian. His was a delightful presence.

We even see Cleo begin a romance of her own. It goes well enough – until it doesn’t. And soon Cleo finds herself alone just like her boss. This is as close to a subplot as we get in this movie free of classic A-to-B storytelling as this young servant girl’s personal story is superimposed onto a period of political upheaval in Mexico City. A clash between students and city officials that leads to a tragedy and one of the most arresting sequences I’ve seen in a movie this year. Later, when we see Cleo coming to terms with the events, is the best example of this film’s artistry. 

Funny that my favorite shot is also the least complicated, but I think it works precisely for that reason. It’s Cleo sitting in her room – centered in the frame – as a storm of sadness cascades down her face. A brutal combination of Postpartum Depression and PTSD. Brilliantly acted; thoughtfully composed; gorgeous in subject, concept and execution. This frame alone could see Alfonso get his first Academy Award for Best Cinematography.

Purely from a standpoint of technical prowess this movie is flawlessly done. We don’t grade on technique alone here, though. The question as always is, who is the movie for? Undoubtably, the movie is for the film buffs who wouldn't even step sideways near a multipliex. It’s also for the director himself who draws heavily from his own upbringing in his native Mexico. The good thing, though, about Netflix distributing this movie is that everyone has a chance to see it. Everyone should see it.

This is a story for everyone who thinks of a certain group of people in a certain type of way. The citizens of Central America who have been described as invaders and criminals and rapists. They are…wait for it…none of these things. They’re parents. They’re cousins. They’re mother. They have families. They hold parties. They dance and eat and drink together. At one point in the movie during Christmas festivities a section of forest is set ablaze by an errant fireworks display. The. Entire. Village. Leaves the party to go fight the fire. This is a community effort. In front of and behind the camera.

These are people. Just like you. Just like me. They don’t want to take your jobs or your Michigan summer homes. They want a quiet life, a safe future for their kids and a chance to listen to their records in peace. A family comes in all sizes. That’s the thesis of ROMA. The children have their mother, yes. They also have their grandmother and their driver and the two maids who bathe and feed them.

A distraught Sofia stumbles into the house and tells Cleo that they are alone. “No matter what they say, women are always alone.” But that isn’t true. The women have each other. And that’s the way it should be.

4.75 Stars out of 5