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

The Prophecy Skull Bong | Review: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald

The reason to be apprehensive about sequels, spinoffs, and reboots pierces deeper than simply “is it going to be good, is it going to honor the original?” Spinoffs, whether they’re prequels, sequels, or something else entirely, are often nothing more than a carrot on the end of a short stick for lazy writers. The best spinoffs harmonize with their original counterpart; the worst desperately try to sing off key as loudly as possible.

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald is a disorienting cacophony of destructive interference. At times it tries to hit the same wavelength as the original Harry Potter stories, but it’s so mismatched in tone and execution that it can barely convey what it’s even supposed to be about. On that note, it’s so absent of self-awareness that it’s not entirely clear that it even knows what it’s supposed to be about. While the first Fantastic Beasts film was debatably unnecessary, it was mostly harmless and original enough to stay interesting after eight movies of one of the most wildly entertaining fantasy stories in the last century. Crimes of Grindelwald, on the other hand, is a movie bulldozing through the chaos of an incoherent plot. It doesn’t even seem as if J.K. Rowling handed Warner Brothers a first draft, but rather a disorganized notebook of furiously brainstormed ideas. Writing for BuzzFeed, Alanna Bennett describes the experience of watching Crimes of Grindelwald best by likening it to the awkward, embarrassed feeling of accidentally locking eyes with a pooping dog.

The true crime of Grindelwald is Rowling’s apparent insistence on writing one of the worst Harry Potter fanfics out there. Rowling, one of the most famously deliberate authors alive when it comes to details and consistency, has clearly stopped giving a single shit about her stories making any sense. It’s not worth it to list all the plot holes, non-sequiturs, fan-service-y character inclusions, and insultingly dumb subplots simply because I don’t have the time to write that review. But will the real J.K. Rowling please stand up?

I call Crimes of Grindelwald bad fan-fiction because it treats itself with the same brazen disregard for, well, the basic principles of story writing that plenty of middle schoolers eschew when carelessly spilling their wildest fantasies about their favorite characters all over Tumblr. Crimes of Grindelwald doesn’t even try to cover up its problems with bullshit (which should be pretty goddamn easy when your protagonist’s whole motivation is finding as many magical animals as possible). Much worse, Rowling seems to think using all that bullshit somehow adds to the story.

Crimes of Grindelwald starts with the bullshit early. Credence (Ezra Miller), who was very publicly and dramatically zapped to a billion flakes at the end of the last film, is confoundingly working in one piece as a cleaning boy for a magical touring freak show in France (as one does, I guess). Despite the entire first film establishing him as one of the most powerful sexually magically repressed wizards on earth, he recruits the help of Nagini (Claudia Kim), a hyper-Orientalized Indonesian woman who is cursed to eventually turn into Voldemort’s right-hand snake, in order to escape. Aside from her shapeshifting curse, Nagini’s remarkable traits include liking Credence, saying very little, and being one of the few persons of color killed off in this movie. Gellert Grindelwald, played by Johnny Depp with a Hitler Youth haircut and looking (as my good friend KD said) like an extra from Django Unchained, is on the hunt for Credence for a completely unexplained reason that we must assume has something to do with Grindelwald’s raison d'être: molding a world in which the superior wizard race rules above the ignorant muggles.

"HA HA HA BETCHA NEVER HEARD THAT BEFORE, FUCKERS!"

This whole re-hashed theme culminates in an absolutely fucking insane scene in which Grindelwald, preaching at a rally of his followers, takes a hit of his prophetic skull bong and blows its smoke in the air to reveal that wizards must intervene to stop, among other World War Two tragedies, the Holocaust through… *checks notes* …their racial superiority.

Coming soon to a Spencer's near you

Let’s throw on the brakes right there. J.K. Rowling literally spent a second of her life having the thought “the wizards in my made-up world could have stopped the Holocaust and my audience needs to know.” What the actual fuck? Two or three generations of people the world over fell in love with a story about a wizard school so that 21 years later she could posit that her made up parallel world of wizards and witches could have stopped the very real murder of millions of Jews. Why on earth J.K. Rowling decided this would be okay is beyond me, particularly when public sympathy toward ethno-nationalist sentiments is at its highest in Europe and the United States since the end of the Second World War. “Problematic” is an entirely overused and inadequate adjective to apply here but Rowling’s implication has left me grasping for other words.

It’s also one of the most asinine crutches a writer can use: wouldn’t it be so clever if I shoehorned entirely unrelated historical events into my story? This is up there with Liberally Dumping Thesaurus Entries on Your Manuscript on the list of hallmarks of an unimaginative writer. It does not make the story any smarter and, in this case, it’s completely unnecessary when the time period of the story has been thoroughly established and the moral struggle of this spinoff is a redundant retelling of the fundamental conflict of the original Harry Potter story. But Crimes of Grindelwald just can’t stop with the Holocaust: Rowling also embellishes an already bloated ad-hoc cradle-swap subplot by setting it on a sinking ocean liner, almost surely the Titanic.

"Gosh, Jack, if only there was a witch nearby to cast an engorgio spell on this door!"

It's also worth considering the casting for this film. Jude Law, playing a young Albus Dumbledore, is a highlight of this movie. His performance, invoking Michael Gambon’s Dumbledore without mimicking it, elevates the film a couple inches higher than it deserves. Nearly every other major casting decision misses its mark, though. I won’t delve into the Johnny Depp casting controversy because the public outcry against the decision to keep him has said all I would say anyway. Why Rowling feels the need to keeping stepping on rakes in Depp’s defense is beyond me. She hardly wrote Grindelwald with enough unique style and personality as a villain to justify specifically needing Depp for the role. In another entirely avoidable casting mistake, there is simply no good reason why Nagini, played by South Korean actress Claudia Kim, needs to be specifically identified as an Indonesian woman. How did this disconnect even make it past the table read? Nagini is a fictional character that literally nobody but Rowling knew used to be a human being before this movie was released. Rowling could have just made Nagini a South Korean character and nobody would’ve been the wiser. Or better yet, don’t mention where Nagini is from because it makes no difference! And on the note of making no difference, Newt Scamander is a waste of Eddie Redmayne. His shy, quirky character worked just well enough in the first Fantastic Beasts film to be engaging and endearing as the story’s moral rudder, but those same traits lock him out of character development in this film while more dynamic players take center stage. Early in the film, Dumbledore tells Scamander that he admires him because he doesn’t seek power and only wants to do what’s right. Sound familiar? Rowling has written that character before and knows how to make a compelling protagonist out of it, but she isn’t doing it with Scamander in the Fantastic Beasts series

Crimes of Grindelwald isn’t terrible because of its jersey-knit plot or its uninspired reuse of the original wizards-as-greater-than-muggles ideological conflict. It’s a mess because Rowling has given up writing and focused on explaining. Rowling is not a terrible writer: seven Harry Potter books stand as a testament to that, despite whatever relatively minor flaws they have. However, I can’t think of any good reason why we have Crimes of Grindelwald. It exhibits none of the key characteristics of Rowling’s original books: their exacting attention to detail and consistency, their discipline for staying out of the trap of explaining past and current events, and their thematic quality. Rowling, who famously spent years privately building her unique world of wizards and witches in near-Tolkien levels of detail, has stooped to the level of cheap historical revisionism. The magic which gave hundreds of millions of children a role model for parsing right and wrong, for dealing with grief and bullying, which convinced them they’d too one day get a letter by owl, is left behind. Newt Scamander spends weeks refusing to take sides when Harry Potter stood and fought. Crimes of Grindelwald is everything the Harry Potter stories deliberately refused to be. J.K. Rowling has nothing left to say.

He's a Maneater | [Spoiler] Review - Venom

You know wh-

Nope, let me start over.

Okay. Every now and then, a movie comes along that’s unlike any other. A movie that makes you question the images your brain is producing as they flash across the screen. A film that makes you ask aloud, “How did you get here?” Movies like The Book of Henry or Unforgettable or King Arthur: Legend of the Sword. Movies that defy all notion of craftsmanship and business sense. One that five years from now, you’ll chuckle as you recall, ‘Oh, yeah, they made that shit!’

Anyway, we are Venom.

Venom is a movie so paper-thin, I can’t even make fun of Justice League anymore. I mean, I can but I’d feel bad about it. At least with Justice League they were attempting to make an actual movie. Venom is not, a “movie” so much as it is a demo reel. An actual movie is like a three-course meal with each Act serving as equally important parts to the viewers nutrition. Here, the First Act is an appetizer, the Second Act is the entrée, and the Third Act and epilogue is the dessert that the hostess throws at you on the way out the door because it’s ten minutes to closing time, you rat bastard!

The opening stanza is average if non-offensive as we are introduced to our main character Eddie Brock (Tom Hardy), an investigative journalist and his lawyer girlfriend Annie Weying (Michelle Williams). Eddie is given an assignment to interview inventor/entrepreneur Carlton Drake (Riz Ahmed), but when he digs up info on the Life Foundation’s shady practices, he overplays his hand and gets both him and Annie canned from their respective jobs.

Now unemployed, Eddie gets hired by Dr. Dora Skirth (Jenny Slate) to investigate her boss and blow the whistle on his dangerous human experiments. Before he can, he comes into contact with the symbiote parasite and begins his transformation into the entity known as Venom. And here is the point that we part ways with anything resembling good sense.

First off, Venom doesn’t come into the movie until over halfway. We see his goop, we hear his voice, but we don’t see Venom proper in all his glory until the tail-end of the second act. This is extra egregious when you realize that the film clocks in at a shade under 95 minutes. The First Act is done before you find your seat. The Second Act has a solid chase sequence and gets creative with how it uses Eddie and Venom’s “connection” but with such a tight runtime, there’s never any time to absorb (lol) what happens. Like a runner doing suicides in an empty stadium. Don’t bother finding your breath now. We’re not stopping ‘til it’s over.

This movie has been described elsewhere as the ‘Best superhero movie from 2004’ and maaaaan… The only thing missing is the lingo and the nu-metal soundtrack. If you listen closely, you may just hear the ghost of Norman Osbourne wailing about getting you next time. The final battle and ending sequence are entry-level, back to when we were still figuring out how to make super-powered people fight on-screen. If you enjoy watching two CG blobs tumble around in the dark- Damn, that would have been a better movie, too.

I say “too” because there are flashes here and there of what this movie could have been. Tom Hardy elevates whatever he touches and the best scenes in this movie are the ones where he is acting alone, simulating the creeping influence of Venom. He noted in an interview that Sony removed some of his favorite scenes to shoot, and it shows in little moments like Venom calling Eddie a “pussy” for refusing to launch himself out of a 50-story spire. Hardy takes it upon himself to improvise greatly, making Venom the straight man and Eddie Brock a neurotic goof who’s literally along for the ride. If the movie is watchable at all, it’s because of his heavy lifting.

I also really like Michelle Williams as Annie. We get a bit of fanservice as she takes the form of She-Venom near the climax. Outside of that, I was pleasantly surprised how respectful the movie was to her character. She didn’t reduce Eddie to an object of resentment and even after saving his life, she wasn’t falling over herself to get him back. She broke up with him and for now will keep it that way. I also really like her new boyfriend – a doctor named Dan Lewis (Reid Scott). A nice guy, who genuinely tries to help Eddie when things take a dark turn for him. There’s no tension whatsoever between him and Eddie and you would expect that after this adventure they would be acquaintances at the very least.

Then we have Dr. Skirth who does get the treatment one would expect for a female ancillary character. She shows up early on as one of three speaking role scientists at the Life Foundation (lol) and only shows up later to get Eddie into the lab to contract the Venom. So, in a way, she’s a much better wingman than scientist. That isn’t even the worst part, though. Thanks in part to Eddie’s dumbassery, her boss becomes aware that she is responsible for the security breach and orders her to reveal the intruder’s identity. She does and is immediately executed via alien parasite.

2008 has ruined movie villains for the rest of time. Riz Ahmed plays Carlton Drake – a photocopy of a caricature of an SNL Elon Musk impression. Unlike Steve Lift in Sorry to Bother You – a man who was clearly a sociopath but clearly affable and charismatic enough to warrant his swell of corporate support – Carlton Drake is a charisma vacuum and a total creep on top of that. No one would continue working for this guy, let alone let him run a space company. Even Elon got kicked out of his big boss chair in real life. You have to play with the duality at least a little bit. You can not say, “You can trust me loyal employee,” and then literally ten seconds later say, “Please kill my trusted employee.” Sony owes Jenny Slate an apology. I don’t know how long it took to film her maybe 15 minutes of screen time, but I’m certain it was too long.

Ready for Ze Tweest now? I didn’t hate this movie.

Like Justice League it tried really hard to make me despise it. It was really close. Then Eddie asks Venom why he decided to stay behind and help. Verbatim, he says: “It was you, Eddie.” And I threw my hands up, because how could I ever hate a movie for making that choice?

"I know you want it like I do, EDDIE."

It was the right choice. I just wish I could give it credit; I can’t, because of the numerous, many times where it made the very wrong choice. Not one drop of blood in a Venom movie? After Deadpool made a million-billion dollars? Por? Que?

I would never tell anyone (let alone you, faithful readers) to spend a dime on this movie. I did, because I see everything, and I knew what I was walking into. It’s absolutely worth streaming two months from now at whatever holiday party you like. It’s short, never boring, and super loud – perfect for a party-type setting. Even if it’s just you and your partner, you’ll have fun picking apart this movie and lamenting what could have been.

Venom has already made oodles of dough despite this. So, when Jared Leto’s Morbius flick comes out and is an absolute poo-poo platter…well, lol…you can put the blame on me.

2 Stars out of 5