Adam Reviews Things

Ti West's X is the first horror movie I've seen in theaters since Last Night in Soho and a very compelling case to see more of them that way. Unlike Last Night in Soho it's not particularly ambitious, but rather a pretty standard thriller with a good thematic twist that questions, though doesn't go as far to completely unravel or deconstruct, the genre. This sense of... modesty is one of X's biggest strengths. Revolving around an amateur porn production in creepily rural 1970s east Texas, X knows why people enjoy the slasher genre and turns it up to 100. One thing that really tickled me was how immaculate its editing was, delivering some one in a kind scares and montages. There's also some great thematic stuff in there about sexual freedom and feelings of lost youth, but for the most part it doesn't distract much from the horrific heights the movie gets to. Instead, the thematic potential enhances and fuels them. There's very little this film gets wrong. I guess the acting isn't always up to par, but that's never really the focus in this type of movie. Even then, weaker performances are made up for by its female stars Mia Goth and Jenna Ortega picking up the slack and rising further into scream queen-dom.

Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story is the second time in a row I’ve went to see something infinitely praised by Film Twitter and have been blown away as a result. This is Spielberg’s Return of the King or “who’s your daddy?” moment, directing one of his best films in ages to remind us who’s boss. I’m not really one for musicals – I burnt out of my high school theater kid phase a while back – but I’ll be damned if every second there wasn’t a music number I was internally begging for another one to come up as soon as possible. The movie is so visually striking, dynamic, and gorgeous. The choreography and staging look like they should be taught in school, and Spielberg’s camera zooms around in the cleverest ways, embodying the “every frame a painting” ethos. Many of the musical numbers are so animated and intensely full of life that it almost gives you chills. For me, the clear highlights were America, Cool, and Gee, Officer Krupke. Finally, from the second the film starts, Spielberg adds in a new level of political awareness to the text acknowledging that the West Side is fundamentally threatened by demolition and gentrification to make way for the elitist neighborhood it’d soon become. Throughout the film the West Side doesn’t only look poor, it actually looks post-apocalyptic with the constant ruin and demolition in the backdrop of every outdoor scene. If anything, the tragedy of this take of West Side Story isn’t just the violence of a gang war triumphing over love – it’s also the fact that the Jets can’t overcome their racism to unite with the Sharks against their true enemy: Robert Moses. While it unfortunately slows down in terms of musical numbers and visuals near the end, West Side Story is still a massive flex and tour de force from Spielberg.

As many already know, one of the biggest points of contention for this adaptation was that Ansel Elgort, playing the main role of Tony, got outed as a sexual predator shortly after it finished shooting. Does that make this otherwise amazing film much harder to watch? Definitely. That being said, even without the sexual assault allegations Elgort is clearly one of the weakest links of the cast. He can barely sing, and his acting only goes as far as being able to do a pretty solid New York accent. Elgort (and to a lesser extent his costar Rachel Zegler) are often overshadowed by their supporting cast, more specifically Mike Faist as Riff and Ariana DeBose as Anita. These two absolutely steal the scene and step on necks every time the camera is on them. I can’t say I’m too surprised since they’re both Broadway regulars, but damn, the sheer charisma their roles really get me every time. Faist is considered to be one of the biggest snubs for this year’s Best Supporting Actor Oscar nominees, and I look forward to see how DeBose fares this Sunday (although I also wouldn’t be mad if Kirsten Dunst got the same award). It’s very clear that Spielberg places a lot of trust on the abilities of his cast. This especially rings true for the Hispanic cast, where much of their scenes are spoken in Spanish with no subtitles, expecting non Spanish speakers to just kind of get the emotional resonance behind their words. And you know what, like so many other things in this film, it just kinda works!

Last week I saw The Batman, and this week I decided to watch a completely different three-hour movie about a man with an iconic car who can’t get over a major loss in his life. Yes, I’m talking about the Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Drive My Car, considered one of the best films of 2021 by Film Twitter and possibly the darkest horse of this year’s Best Picture nominees.

Instead of being a roar of rage preceding a fantastic chase, the sound of the titular car in this week’s three-hour trip to the cinema is something closer to the white noise machine you’d hear at a therapist’s office. In fact, this film effectively works as an indirect three-hour therapy session, centered around a theater director still grappling with conflicted feelings about his dead wife. Amongst other things, it’s a great piece of art about the power of art as mirror or blank slate. The movie is heavily focused on the play Uncle Vanya, which the main character Yusuke uses as a séance of sorts through a daily ritual of listening (and speaking along to) a cassette of his wife reciting most of the play originally used to help him memorize lines. Oh, and he’s also trying to direct an ambitious multilingual production of the same play, coldly casting an actor inexplicably linked to his aforementioned mixed feelings. As long as it is, Drive My Car gets away with its massive runtime because it feels like a mesmerizing and compelling birds eye view into Yusuke’s life, with the text of the play serving as a Greek chorus or confession booth that mirrors or indirectly expresses what the characters really have on their mind. To Hamaguchi and his characters, the theater and the well-preserved leather car seat of a bright red 1987 Saab 900 Turbo is just as much of a temple, if not more, than the real one Yusuke visits for his wife’s funeral.

Even when it’s not impassioned performances of Chekov, Drive My Car’s screenplay is one of its beefiest assets. Adapted from a short story by Haruki Murakami (whose work also inspired another masterpiece, the sprawling class-war mystery Burning), Drive My Car’s script is full of gorgeous language and sprawling, intricate metaphor. As long as this film was, I might need to pop into a theater again to rewatch it so I can fully grasp its themes. Although there’s always the concern that some of it might have been lost in translation, I was wholly thankful for the “one-inch-tall barrier of subtitles” when watching because it ensured I didn’t miss a single line of what was being told. In addition to a phenomenal script, I was blown away by the cast’s delivery of it (even if I don’t understand their native Japanese). Masaki Okada as the star actor in Yusuke’s play and Reika Kirishima as Yusuke’s wife are very noticeable highlights in this overall strong ensemble.

If any of you knew me in the 4th grade, you knew that I was INSUFFERABLE about Batman. Well, after seeing Matt Reeves’ The Batman, 4th grade Adam is back…. with a VENGEANCE.

Compared to a lot of other superhero movie directors, it feels like Matt Reeves lives and breathes Batman comics. Hell, it feels like me and him have gone on the same damn Reddit threads. The Batman is first and foremost a film focused on Batman’s detective work, which is something the fans have been begging for decades. Additionally, The Batman is directly inspired from my favorite Batman story, The Long Halloween, but also notably takes cues from stories like Zero Year, Year One, Earth One, White Knight, and others. Unlike Nolan, Reeves isn’t afraid to sprinkle in a variety of Easter eggs and cheeky references into the script. There are so many moments where he didn’t need to include an awesome reference, but damn well says “what if I did it anyways?” While Batman movies aren’t nearly as embarrassed of their roots as the MCU is, it’s nice to see a film that boldly wears its love for the comics on its sleeve.

Speaking of bold, The Batman sets itself apart from a lot of other superhero movies by taking a lot of risks. The first risk here is effort and ambition. Instead of being formulaic, cheesy, and studio-controlled, it feels like Reeves had a lot more of artistic freedom in making it. For the first 30 minutes or so, I was kind of star struck because it felt like a…real? movie instead of a superhero movie. I think I felt that because it has more of a soul behind it, due to fantastic visuals, directing, and tone. The Batman doesn’t look like a lot of superhero movies and it makes you think “damn, why DON’T superhero movies look like this?” There’s a lot of inventive use of color and lighting, which succeed where the past few Avengers movies failed in making a compelling argument for having a whole lot of orange and grey in a genre whose source material is defined by loud and popping colors. Sometimes it feels like Matt Reeves is flexing on us in some scenes, especially with shots like the upside down shot of Batman walking away from an explosion shown in the trailers, but also the entire opening sequence that feels like something from a horror movie. While I wish the rest of the movie had more parts like this, I’m still glad it was included. Finally, Matt Reeves’ biggest flex is getting mainstream audiences to sit through a three-hour movie. I can confirm that while the runtime can occasionally be felt, it really pulls it off by feeling like you’re bingewatching a great TV show instead of watching an exceedingly long movie. I think this can mainly be attributed to its noir tone. While long, the film remains consistently compelling and barely stops running once it’s hit the ground. Much of its runtime is dedicated towards Bruce, Gordon, and Selina looking through every lead in a complex case and it’s such a delight to watch. Being such a well-made film, it’s topped off with a fantastic orchestral score that’s a lot more New Hollywood than 21st century superhero schlock.

Bringing up The Batman’s detective movie tone reminds me of some online discourse from before the film came out accusing it of being just another “dark and gritty” Batman movie, which to this I say: kinda?? Yes, The Batman can be quite dark, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean it’s realistic and definitely doesn’t mean it can’t be campy and funny. It’s unbelievably over the top and the fact that so many characters take this over-the-topness on its face value leads to a lot of laughs. There’s plenty of moments that feel like they’d show up in a Burton or Schumacher movie, but feel organic rather than corny. Speaking of camp, one of the funniest characters is Colin Farrell, masked by god knows how many prosthetics as The Penguin. Instead of the curmudgeon with a top hat, monocle, and umbrella we’re used to, we get something far more akin to Paulie Walnuts from The Sopranos, yet equally ridiculous. Unlike a lot of other designated comic relief characters (looking at you, Drax the Destroyer) Farrell’s lines don’t feel out of place, he’s just being the obnoxious and oafish Mafioso you’d expect from Gotham City. For a while now I’ve believed that the only city in America that matches Gotham City’s energy is Philadelphia, and Farrell’s Penguin isn’t a Florida Man, he’s a Philly Man. While The Batman is a dark and relatively serious movie, it’s also weird and funny enough to escape the trappings of being yet another insufferably “dark, gritty, and realistic” superhero film. It allows itself to balance the dark and camp, feeling much more like a Batman film than Nolan’s movies ever did.

The creative risks are what make The Batman great, but not all of them pan out. One massive surprise was how much I didn’t enjoy Robert Pattinson’s performance as Batman despite him being one of my favorite current actors. The Batman we get in The Batman is clearly at a very early stage, hilariously inexperienced, and perpetually gloomy. He hasn’t really formed the playboy “Bruce Wayne” persona we all know and love, and instead remains this tortured loner that only knows how to speak through his fists. Very reminiscent of the character in Frank Miller’s Batman: Year One, this Beta Test Batman still trying to figure out both sides of his identity has a lot of potential but didn’t work for me in two ways. First of all, is Pattinsons’ line delivery. I don’t know if it was Pattinson’s or Reeves’ choice to do so, but for some reason Batman’s undeveloped and depressed demeanor expresses itself by straight up him whispering 90% of his dialogue. I’m a massive fan of Kevin Conroy’s voice acting as Batman in nearly every non live action iteration of the character, and while I understand this portrayal is Batman clearly in Early Access Mode, I wish Pattinson exhibited a hint of the charisma Conroy imbued in the character. Instead we get a mumblecore Batman, so awkward that it makes the romance between him and Catwoman a bit too hard to believe. I wasn’t kidding when I said he talks mostly with his fists, because there’s no way people can hear him when he’s nervously mumbling about vengeance like he’s a school shooter. Secondly, as interesting as our woefully green Batman is, anything resembling internal character development feels slept on to make room for massive plot dynamics until the film’s climax. This connects to a larger issue with the film, which is that it has a LOT to juggle, ranging from its convoluted plot to balancing a large variety of exciting characters and themes. A lot of this is surprisingly well-managed, which I attribute to its much-needed three-hour runtime. That being said, its detective-oriented plot sometimes works to its detriment, where it’ll get so engrossed in one of the nooks and crannies of its mystery that it’ll feel like they completely forgot about the overarching plot. While most of the themes are nicely explored and ironed out, its attempts to introduce some political ideas don’t always pan out. Some topics, like the very explicit awkwardness that Bruce Wayne is in the same social circles as the corrupt elites he’s trying to purge, strike hard, while others, like exploring the effectiveness of reforming the city’s corruption, just kind of sit there and feel tacked on.

Like Dune, the last movie I had absurd amounts of hype for, The Batman’s cast is stacked with premium talent, and unlike Dune, very little of them feel wasted in this movie. I already described my thoughts on Battinson and Colin Farrell and can confirm that Kravitz, Turturro, and Wright absolutely kill it playing iconic and unforgettable versions of their characters. One of the biggest highlights of the film is Batman and (not-yet commissioner) Gordon’s relationship, portraying them as genuine friends. While Nolan’s films might show Gordon and Batman as two tragic heroes from different backgrounds developing a mutual trust to save the city, Pattinson and Wright as Batman and Gordon are simply….. guys being dudes. Wright adds a lot of subtle quirks to Gordon that makes him and Batman seem more like close friends than partners at work, creating a feeling of genuine intimacy in their relationship. Speaking of intimacy, Zoe Kravitz is near-perfectly cast as Catwoman. She nails the pure cool and simmering rage of the character like no other. Even though her badass and cunning Catwoman doesn’t feel like the best romance match for Pattinson’s depressed and shy Batman (I’d actually argue the film has a love triangle with Bruce trying to choose between Gordon and Selina), their screen chemistry is great. It seems like Matt Reeves took note of the constant criticism that superhero movies are “sexless,” lacking in intimacy, sexuality, and chemistry, and took it the opposite direction. Pattinson and Kravitz look like they studied at the “Oscar Isaac school of whoring” because their onscreen chemistry was so tight that when they finally kissed someone in my theater yelled “FINALLY!” John Turturro, playing Gotham mob kingpin Carmine Falcone, is a LOT more prominent in the film than I expected, absolutely embodying the slime in Gotham’s soul that existed long before the rise of its costumed crazies. Finally, Paul Dano’s performance as The Riddler, the film’s main villain, didn’t really do it for me. It felt a bit too inconsistent and rough on the edges for me and the character’s presence over the plot felt a lot more effective than Dano actually showing up in costume. That being said, I still respect how cool and unique the creative decisions that shaped this interpretation of the character were.

In a few days, if not a week, I’ll be posting my review for The Batman. That being said, if you want to see something in theaters that isn’t about my favorite actor solving crimes in a leather suit instead of going to therapy, PLEASE go watch the Norwegian masterpiece The Worst Person in the World.

Not since Pig have I seen a film with such gripping themes. Centered around a woman fundamentally winging it when it comes to adulthood, The Worst Person in the World is nearly a coming of age story even though the main character is in her late 20s/early 30s. Do you ever feel like we live in a time where there’s much less social expectations for adulthood (other than financially supporting yourself) but still make up your own in your head and constantly second guess yourself about it? Do you ever pass by strangers that seem exceedingly well adjusted and are split between looking down on them and wishing you were in their place? This is what this movie is about. Despite all the characters being situated in a privileged upper middle class bubble, it’s exceedingly relatable to the point that I really want certain people in my life to see it and serve as a personal wake up call.

One of the few pleasant surprises in this year’s Oscar nominations was The Worst Person in the World getting a screenplay nod, because the writing is the star of the show in this film. I’ve already touched on the script’s strength in exploring adulthood in the 21s century, the film' finds room to touch on topics of womanhood, social activism, post-#MeToo discourse, and artistic expression that still feel clever and unique. This film is bitingly funny, breathtakingly romantic, and sad, or at least intensely bittersweet, when it needs to be. Additionally, it’s all so… believable? Yes the themes are relatable but its portrayal the intricacies of how people (especially lovers) interact and life’s way of just throwing things at you are on the same level. I’m getting more and more tired of realism and the constant demand for it, but when a piece of art such as this gets under your skin in this calculated and clever way, I sure as hell can turn a blind eye.

Sean Baker’s Red Rocket is quite similar to Michael Sarnoski’s Pig, in the way that they’re both two of the best films of 2021, 70% due to such an unmatched performance by a star otherwise considered a dark horse of the industry. Instead of Nicholas Cage, Red Rocket instead casts washed-up MTV personality Simon Rex as its leading man, portraying a similarly washed-up porn star returning to his rural gulf coast hometown after his life goes south.

That being said, its overall quality and Oscar-worthy performance are about all Red Rocket has in common with Pig. Instead, it also shares a bit of DNA with Uncut Gems its focus on an irredeemable scumbag who can’t stop worsening the life of everyone around him. While Red Rocket is far less stressful, Rex absolutely nails his character as a messy, manipulative, yet awfully charismatic and fast-talking creep that would fit perfectly in a Safdie Brothers film. As many have said before, it’s so easy to hate his character, but, confusingly enough, Rex’s natural screen presence brings so much erratic charm that it’s also easy to understand why both the audience and the characters in the film are drawn to this shiny piece of human garbage. As often as it inspires pure disgust, it’s still a strange delight to see Mikey Saber (Rex’s character) constantly build houses of cards he can’t help but tear down.

Simon Rex’s once-in-a-lifetime performance isn’t the only thing Red Rocket has going for it. This is my first Sean Baker film, and I’m quite impressed by his abilities as a director. He utterly excels at gorgeous color grading, editing, and comedy (the last two are often intertwined), which help enrich Saber’s subtle (and not so subtle) cartoony rampages and misadventures around town. It almost feels tongue in cheek or self-indulgent to some extent, but not enough to be concerning. Baker also delivers on some great realism and worldbuilding, making an absurdly convincing portrait of small-town America, possibly due to its use of non-actors and on-location filming. I wouldn’t say Red Rocket is perfect, mainly because of a slightly slow first half and an ending that almost feels cut off, but it gets pretty damn close

One of the best movies of the year features a phenomenal performance by Willem Dafoe as a symbol of how twisted and cynical mankind can become, and it sure as hell isn’t Spider-Man: No Way Home. Instead, it’s Guillermo Del Toro’s Nightmare Alley, an awesome, although uneven, thriller about a carnie con man pretending to be a psychic.*

It’s great to see Guillermo back in action again after 2017’s The Shape of Water. Per usual, your eyes get to feast upon unmatched production and costume design, contributing to a feeling of 20th-century mystique and charm that often accompanies his work. Nightmare Alley is very much up there with Dune and Annette in the way that “they just don’t really make films like this anymore.” In addition, Del Toro has a fantastic command of suspense that really doubled my estimation of this film, especially around the second half. Ramping up the stakes felt so subtle and effortless that it really snuck up on me to deliver a fantastic viewing experience. Even though it differs from his other films by barely being a creature feature, Del Toro delivers on enough thematic and existential darkness to the point that it barely makes a difference.

Unfortunately, Guillermo Del Toro’s house style is also what kind of defines Nightmare Alley’s imperfections. Like a good amount of his fare, it can be quite cartoony for better or worse. This is often detrimental in my opinion, particularly in its climax. It caused a decent amount of its otherwise fantastic momentum to break for me, which only gets repaired by an ending that calls back some great themes from the beginning of the movie. Speaking of the beginning of the movie, the first half feels a lot less focused than the second, acting almost like a means of Del Toro scattering the movie’s many puzzle pieces just to show off. As frustrating as these unfocused or uncontrolled elements can be, I don’t think they particularly ruined the overall cinematic experience.

Complementing a lot of Del Toro’s successes and mistakes in this film is the acting. Bradley Cooper absolutely kills it as the film’s lead, embodying this up-and-coming bullshitter who toes a thin line between mysterious, charismatic, and unstable. Like I said in my intro, Willem Dafoe does an awesome job of portraying this distinctively human evil, playing a cruel and manipulative carnival owner that takes Cooper’s character under his wing. In terms of acting my only serious issue with Nightmare Alley is what it omits, for I wish we could’ve seen even more of Dafoe as this diabolical sleazebag. This is also how I feel about Toni Collette’s character. Portraying the so-called fortune teller that teaches Bradley Cooper’s character how to “read minds,” she sometimes eclipses his performance in the first half. Unfortunately, she barely has anything to do in the second, despite being one of the more three-dimensional female characters in the movie. No matter how much more I wanted to see of certain actors, the phenomenal performances help create an impressively suspenseful final product.

While imperfect, Nightmare Alley is another trophy on Guillermo Del Toro’s shelf. I sure as hell wouldn’t be mad if he gets the same Oscar buzz he got with his last film, particularly for directing, acting, and creative arts. 8.7 stars out of 10.

Spider-Man: No Way Home is pretty solid. It's a lot like Avengers: Endgame where it's overlong and messy but full of enough fan service and quality entertainment that it's a great theatergoing experience that you don't really care. It's the first MCU film to fully understand Peter Parker's characterization, which is really nice. The one thing that didn't do it for me was airdropping villains from other movies. While Molina, Dafoe, Foxx, etc are always great, they lacked any sense of weight that a villain would have it was, idk, from its own movie and had enough breathing room for a normal character arc and backstory. Another issue was that No Way Home looks pretty visually ugly, but that's pretty standard for Marvel movies, who still haven't figured out how to use their $200 million dollar budget to make their movies look good, or at least make it not look like certain characters faces aren't deepfaked onto their costumes. Overall though it was pretty ok, and will be some of the most fun you'll have in a packed theater (if you're not scared of the omitrix variant) since Venom 2.

Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch surprisingly has a lot in common with Dune. They were released on the same day, they boast some of the most stacked casts in years (including a prominent Timothee Chalamet role in each), and they are, quite frankly, a whole lot of sensory overload. Finally, and most importantly, I consider both to be some of my favorite films of the year.

The main reason why I like it is that Anderson goes all the way in with his style and, idk, Wes Anderson-ian proclivities. Not only does it have his standard “dollhouse” aesthetic and strong animation influences, but added to that are an overwhelmingly large amount of framing devices. The French Dispatch is ostensibly a tribute to The New Yorker, and reflects this in visuals, plot, and structure. Centered around a magazine in the 1950s-70s detailing the goings-on of a town in France, the film presents itself as an issue of the magazine, with three independent “features” telling a story of their own. That’s just one of many ways Anderson decides to tell his stories, for absolutely no reason. Sometimes the film is a magazine, sometimes it’s a play, sometimes it’s a televised interview, and sometimes it’s even an animated cartoon, and I completely dig it! Things like this are what make it Dune-levels of sensory overload, where there’s simply too many details crammed into 103 minutes of screentime. The writing even follows the New Yorker theme, being so detailed and pretentious that it makes the film even harder to follow. The combination of its dense directing choices and writing might be a turn-off to some, but I believe the film still pulls it off, following its iconic quote of “Just Try To Make It Sound Like You Wrote It That Way On Purpose.” Despite all this conceptual and stylistic heavy-handedness, color, one of Wes Anderson’s strongest tools isn’t really present. 80% of the film is shot in black and white, but Anderson’s directing is so strong that its absence is barely noted. If anything, the camerawork, set design, and acting add more “color” than the few random cuts where it is present. At the end of the day, The French Dispatch is quite similar to Annette, another one of my favorite movies of the year, where there were so many times where I just had to go “damn… the director really did that?” and it’s amazing.

Like another director with the last name Anderson (hint: he directed The Master), Wes Anderson is a maestro at bringing out fantastic performances from the actors he works with. As I’ve mentioned before, the cast is absurdly stacked, to the point that a LOT of big names are stealthily squeezed in with few to no lines of dialogue. For what it’s worth, I didn’t even notice Oscar regulars like Christoph Walz and Saoirse Ronan making appearances until my dad and sister pointed it out. Cameos aside, the actors that Anderson centers in each segment of the film are what really drive it forward in his wonderful and unique stew of quirks and details. Benicio Del Toro and Frances McDormand deliver their best as per usual. Timothy Chalamet and Wes Anderson are an actor-director match made in heaven, particularly because of Anderson’s fantastic comedic command of youthful awkwardness, giving Timmy much more material to work with than he had in Dune. However, the true star of the show is Jeffery Wright, arguably giving a career best performance. Portraying a stand-in for James Baldwin and a prolific New Yorker food critic, Wright embodies a perfect combination of genius and obliviousness and delivers a once-in-a-lifetime monologue that opens a lot of doors to the true theme of this film. That monologue, in my opinion, is what really elevated The French Dispatch from Just Another Wes Anderson movie to one of my favorite films of the year and will stay in my head for every rewatch.

Last Night in Soho was the last of my three most anticipated films of 2021. While it’s a decent movie, it’s the only one out of those three that misses my expectations by a mile.

Unfortunately, I had a lot of reasons to be excited about it. The film is directed by one of my favorite comedy directors, Edgar Wright, in his first real foray into the psychological horror genre. Its premise is thoroughly unique, centered around a freshman in a London fashion school whose life gets consumed by haunting nighttime visions of a showgirl in the Swinging Sixties. Finally, I was excited to learn that it’d be starring the actress Anya Taylor-Joy as the aforementioned showgirl, who I really enjoyed in her debut, the fantastic period thriller The VVitch. Sadly, it feels like Last Night in Soho was ill-equipped to properly deal with these three big expectations.

A lot of my disappointment comes from its failure to go all-in with its premise. It’s by no means a bad movie, and I’m sure plenty of people will think it’s a good movie, but I think it just feels a bit too conventional and safe for my tastes. There’s a very good chance I’ve been spoiled by the art house horror films I obsess over (all produced by a certain company that rhymes with slay-twenty-four) but it feels so… pedestrian? Ironically, I think this is mainly due to it being helmed by Edgar Wright, whose lack of experience with psychological horror makes it feel very risk-averse and soft around the edges. The film barely feels compelling until the second half or final third, when Wright finally decides to dial up the drama and thrills. Aside from its concept, the only things that set it out from the rest are some inventive mirror shots and creepy quick cuts to depict the heroine’s growing captivation in her visions of the past. Even then, a peer of mine pointed out that Wright is remarkably unsubtle with his tricks, using them so often that they lose their novelty. Wright’s inexperience also shows in its attempt at a deeper social message, which practically boils down to a hilariously relevant quote from Cousin Greg in a recent episode of Succession: “I don’t know how you did it in the ’60s. Different times … better times? Not for all.” Even then, when the film hits its stride on its social horror, a massive plot twist near the end nearly undoes or heavily muddles its social themes at best. With his awkward and often boring grasp on the film’s storytelling, I truly believe Last Night in Soho would be perfect if it was directed by a proper horror director instead of Edgar Wright. I’d love to live in an alternate universe where we instead got Jennifer Kent’s, Ari Aster’s, David Lynch’s, or even James Wan’s take on what was otherwise a fundamentally unique idea.

Even as the top-billed talent for Last Night in Soho, I don’t think Anya Taylor-Joy is given much to do. Aside from a few great montages detailing her (and by association, the protagonist’s) psychological ennui, she feels more like a glorified point of view and vehicle for the protagonist more than anything. Instead, I think the actor that really sold the film for me was in fact Matt Smith, playing one of the film’s antagonistic figures with such menacing and uniquely British coldness. Last Night in Soho also happens to be the final film of 1960s icon and Game of Thrones fan favorite Diana Rigg, and unlike her younger castmates, Rigg is the one female actress Wright knows how to handle, harkening back to his Cornetto Trilogy days.

Screw Rotten Tomatoes, Marvel’s Eternals is actually quite good.

Centered around a diverse cast of alien heroes tasked by their space god creators to protect (and to some extent infiltrate) humanity since the beginning of time, Eternals has something that most MCU movies don’t have: ambition. To some extent, Eternals takes itself seriously instead of being shoehorned into the buddy comedy category that Disney forces every other Marvel movie into and feels very tonally and thematically distinct. Despite mainstream audiences being introduced to Marvel Cosmic in 2014 with Guardians of the Galaxy, Eternals feels like the first movie in those long seven years to actually embrace its grandiose and epic tone. The movie simultaneously goes all-in with its high sci-fi goofiness but then also brings us back down to see how that monumental wackiness burdens, distorts, and haunts its characters. It’s a lot like Man of Steel, which a lot of people tended not to like but I sure as hell did, so I might be biased. Overall, Eternals feels like the first product of Disney’s Marvel assembly line that feels like the director, Chloe Zhao, actually made their mark on it instead of just the formula.

Unfortunately, it’s clear Disney sure as hell didn’t want that to happen, and that makes it kind of a mess. It’s a lot like Black Widow where it's clear the director was kind of at war (or at least struggling to breathe) against the studio, but unlike the Black “the worst movie Adam has seen that came out this year so far” Widow, Chloe Zhao comes out on top. Aside from, you know, actually being good, Eternals is quite unique from a lot of Marvel movies due to the fact that it’s shot on location and its inclusion of a sex scene and an LGBT couple. Some of these work better than others, but it’s still wild to see something this ballsy on Disney’s sanitized and plastic terms. However, Marvel Studios’ formula bites back like a wounded animal. The movie completely sinks into the formula around the middle, where the introduction of a few characters automatically turns it into your standard Marvel comedy. It contains other Disney-Marvel staples like a hilariously CGI-d fight scene against the Eternals’ foes, a race of monsters who were far more nuanced in the source material, and general embarrassment over the hard sci-fi it was previously shamelessly adapting. Ironically, when it feels like Zhao has regained control and brings the film into a phenomenal climax (with an awesome, one-of-a-kind setpiece), those characters are nowhere to be found despite feeling generally important to the plot.

Speaking of characters, another one of Eternals’ weaknesses is that like Dune, its large and talented cast is spread too thin. Eternals spends a good amount of time juggling each of its 10 main characters’ mini-arcs but buckles under pressure and still feels like most of them are one-note. If anything, it's much more of a pleasant surprise to see a completely random wrinkle in a character’s personality or different aspects of what their one-note personality applies to, but these are spread very far apart. That being said, the latter does result in a great twist that fundamentally changes the nature of the movie’s conflict, so the writing isn’t all that strained. Eternals is much more of a showcase for its director than its actors, but that’s ok! If we do get a sequel, the cast is definitely cut down for us to actually enjoy their talents.

Yakuza: Like A Dragon is the first game I bought for my PS5. It is also the first game in the Yakuza series that I’ve played. These two honors imply some pretty high expectations, but with all things considered, I think it does pretty ok.

Like A Dragon is a JRPG to its core. Most of its gameplay is turn-based combat (apparently a first for the series) and takes place in an open world of the city of Yokohama, with plenty of random enemy encounters and fun minigames/sidequests to complete. The closest thing I’ve played to it has been the Persona games, and the differences aren’t too far apart.

For what it’s worth, the gameplay wasn’t the highlight of the game for me. It lacks the fantastic soundtrack and aesthetic Persona 5 has to make turn-based combat, something I otherwise hate, endearing and cool. Yakuza instead turns to absurd humor to spice the combat up, giving you crazy moves like being able to summon a Korean movie star to hug your enemies to death or take a nap mid-combat to heal yourself. Comedy, particularly the contrast between the grounded and gritty setting and the full embrace of its video-gamey nature, is one of the biggest highlights of the game. However, the turn-based combat gets so long and repetitive that its comedic aspects don’t redeem it. Because this is an RPG, boss fights often implicitly require you to be at a far higher level to stay alive. This results in me having to grind ~7~ levels up, going through hundreds of fights to survive the big ones, and making any fun from the combat lose its flavor. Oh, and it definitely kills any momentum from its story. It feels quite similar to the predicament of Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey, a game I got so tired of that I didn’t want to review it. While Odyssey’s grinding was far more blatant and financially motivated (characters would straight up tell you to level up before the next plot segment and you could level up faster using microtransactions) Yakuza isn’t doing itself any favors. One of my friends firmly believes that style IS substance, and Yakuza: Like A Dragon simply doesn’t have enough of either to make its combat fun or interesting.

On the other hand, Like A Dragon’s gameplay absolutely shines when it comes to its many minigames and sidequests. They are some of the comedic centerpieces of the game, giving so much more to do than simply fight your way through the story. Like the Grand Theft Auto series, there’s a ridiculous variety to them, ranging from 10 types of elaborate gambling to zanier things like a clear Mario Kart parody and one centered around staying awake when trying to watch old movies. My personal favorites, however, were two of the series’ lynchpins: its overdramatic karaoke rhythm game, whose signature song Baka Mitai became Tiktok famous, and its business management system, which could function as a full game in itself. While I’m so far left that I don’t even want to disclose it on this platform, the business management minigame was one of the best gameplay experiences I had in Like A Dragon. Originally jumping into it because I heard it could get you an extra member to your party, it quickly became my life for one or two weekends. Focused on rising up to having the most expensive share price in Yokohama through buying and selling properties, upgrading businesses, treating your employees far better than irl corporations do, and arguing your way through shareholder meetings, the business management minigame has probably taught me more about economics than my 8 AM freshman year ECON 101 class ever did. I was so obsessed that a few friends of mine can attest to me giving unsolicited updates on my company’s stock price, but what can I say, my shareholders love the chicken I’ve employed. With its business management and other sidequests, Yakuza: Like A Dragon is definitely one of those games where you can an absurd amount of time not actually playing the main story.

Speaking of the main story, it’s kind of a mixed bag. Centered around a former low-level Yakuza goon trying to find a new path in life after being abandoned and shot by his fatherlike boss, most of the cutscenes feel like a hard-boiled soap opera. This generally works quite well, especially when dealing with the main character’s relationships with his old crime family and new, found, family, but runs into plenty of problems regardless. The plot will have often a great sense of trajectory and progression, but then immediately gets cut short by it going into a completely different direction, only to be recaptured in later chapters. Not only is lack of focus in the plot itself an issue, but its momentum also gets cut short by the grinding sessions I previously mentioned, where when I lose a boss fight after getting really immersed in the plot, I have to drop everything to spend a few hours leveling up so I can keep on going. The momentum even gets broken by random minigame tutorials shoehorned into the main quest, when they should’ve been discoverable on their own. Ironically, the game’s storyline is far too long (a complaint I have with most non-indie games these days) and yet it still somehow feels like it's too short. After a point halfway through, the storyline becomes a bunch of cascading twists and elaborate reveals, and it feels like we don’t get enough breathing room. Despite all these issues, the plot still manages to pull through and tie together all the loose threads from all its overlong cutscenes for an immensely satisfying and shocking ending.

Another one of the story’s most positive assets is its hotheaded, happy-go-lucky protagonist, Ichiban Kasgua. His distinctive, charismatic yet childish, grave yet goofy personality serves as a perfect anchor for all the game’s high drama and silliness. Hell, even the combat’s over-the-top nature is explained by the fact that Ichiban, a 40-year-old man, visualizes everything in his life like it’s his childhood game Dragon Quest. Unlike a lot of protagonists in games these days, Ichiban is unique in that, with his distinctive personality, it’s easy to understand why people like him as a person without putting his heroic acts into consideration. Even though it’s rough around the edges, Yakuza: Like A Dragon’s storyline still very much gives you its money’s worth.

Dune (part 1) was one of my most anticipated films of 2020. When Covid hit, it got pushed to being one of my most anticipated films of 2021, along with The Green Knight and Last Night in Soho. After seeing it on Saturday, I am happy to announce that it somehow manages to break the Cyberpunk 2077 curse and live up to the impossible levels of hype.

Why was it so anticipated, you might ask? Three reasons: Its talented director, its stacked cast, and its ambitious, elaborate, and insane plot and world. Its director, Denis Villeneuve, has ascended to messiah status on Reddit for making the universally acclaimed box office bomb Blade Runner 2049. I’ve enjoyed the stuff of his that I’ve seen, particularly due to his intense yet beautiful visual style, and he seemed like a perfect choice for adapting such a transcendental space opera such as Dune. When initially announced, the cast was also something that blew me away. It’s got big, reliable names like Josh Brolin and Oscar Isaac, teenage (or at least often cast as teenagers) heartthrobs Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya, charismatic action star Jason Momoa, and even Swedish heavyweight (no pun intended) Stellan Skarsgard as its primary villain. This a LOT more quality talent than you’d expect in a standard blockbuster so Dune really stood out to me compared to a lot of other upcoming films this year. Finally, the actual plot/lore/concept of the Dune universe is something so insane and unique to adapt to film. While I hadn’t read the books yet, I already knew it was something wild. To put it in the simplest of terms, it’s effectively Lawrence of Arabia in space, except far more intricate and deranged, taking political, religious, and environmental themes to the max. It’s a universe where computers are banned so we genetically engineer or train humans that can do the same, one where desert cocaine is essential to get anywhere in space, and one where people are named things like “Duncan Idaho.” don’t know how Dune managed to exceed these expectations that I established, but I sure as hell am grateful.

Plot, acting, and melodrama aside, Dune is first and foremost a sensory experience. This is the one movie I will say it is REQUIRED to see in theaters. Everything about this film is maximalist and overwhelming, with the visual volume at 1000% and I’m here for it. The set/costume design might not be as alien and intricate as its 1984 predecessor, but the intense, detailed, and polarizing visuals and soundtrack make up for it. Speaking of soundtrack, this might be Hans Zimmer’s best work since maybe Inception. It exemplifies the titanic and foreign nature of the film, adding another dimension to how immersed and overwhelmed you’d get by this world. I didn’t see it in Imax, but certain very intentional sequences straight up made my seat vibrate, which I can’t really say any other movies have. Unlike, say, the MCU, Dune is so shamelessly proud of what it’s adapting. Every time I saw or heard a reference to the utmost craziness of the book I did a little jump in my seat. In one hand it throws complex exposition and in another it throws bombastic action, cascading information and enjoyment together for a subdued yet still intense finale. This is particularly impressive because I remember the first half of the book being far more boring and expository, and Villeneuve somehow managed to heavily improve the story while staying true to its nature.

With directing so strong, it’s reasonable to think acting might take a backseat. This is generally not the case, even with such a massive ensemble. The first standout was by far Jason Momoa, bringing his charisma and heart front and center as the warm older brother figure, Duncan Idaho. Although it took some time for me to realize, I also believe Rebecca Ferguson did a phenomenal job as Lady Jessica, the protagonist’s psychically trained mother, portraying a wonderful combination of a concerned mom and challenging teacher. Out of everyone in the cast, it feels like she’s the most in line with her character in the books and I respect it. Unfortunately, Timothee Chalamet feels like one of the weaker links in the cast when playing main character Paul Atreides but retains a powerful sense of chemistry when acting with both of his onscreen parents, played by Rebecca Ferguson and Oscar Isaac respectively. As many might already know, Zendaya, cast as Paul’s love interest as one of the biggest selling points of the film to young people, doesn’t really have much to do as this is only the first half of the book, but when she makes a proper entrance it’s clear to see that we have a lot to look forward to when she dominates Part 2.

Ironically, one of Dune’s biggest shortcomings is quite similar to that of its widely panned 1984 predecessor, the fact that it’s stretched a tad bit too thin. Splitting the adaptation of the book into two films and taking a lot more time to unpack the book’s lore and characters was a very smart idea, but the source material is so big and dense that there’s still a good bit left out. It’s interesting to see what they do and don’t include. There will be extra scenes to explain the ridiculous lore to casual viewers yet several integral parts of the universe are barely touched on. Likewise, there’s a few additional scenes to help further flesh out character dynamics but it leaves out and skips past some important, if not heavily comedic scenes in the book. The film even ends on a surprising note: there’s a timeskip between the first and second half of the book and yet the film ends far before it. On the opposite end, some twists and plotlines are even revealed or alluded to far earlier than expected. It also shares the issue with the 1984 version where certain major characters only get a few scenes and therefore a much more diminished presence. This obviously applies to far less characters than the 1984 version but it was still a shame to see less of Gurney Halleck, Thufir Hawat, and even the main villain, Baron Harkonnen, onscreen than I would have hoped. In the end, these absences don’t actually detract too much from the overall viewing experience. I’m just easily nitpicking it like when I get into nerd rage when watching superhero movies. If anything, the sheer amount of stuff we’re spoon-fed in Dune makes it feel much longer than it actually is. That being said, I’ve heard from a friend that there’s a good amount of Dune left on the cutting floor, so if Warner Bros decides to release a director’s cut DVD I’ll be at the front of the line to get it.

Venom: Let There Be Carnage is undoubtedly one of the funnest movies we’ll get this year. Tom Hardy returns with his inexplicable accent, and now that we’re out of origin territory, is facing off against both Carnage, a twisted, damaged serial killer with a brand new symbiote, and a “lovers quarrel” with his own space goo parasite.

This movie generally succeeds for me because it brings the same things that made the first one so damn entertaining and unique. As I’m sure you all expect, it’s mind-bendingly stupid and wears it like a badge of honor. The best way I can describe this movie, especially its dialogue, is that everything about it sounds like what a 13-year-old would think is cool or funny. Every time a character opens their mouth they say something cringeworthy, (sometimes unintentionally) hilarious, or insane, turned up to 11. Personally, I think the humor could start to get old at times, but there’s so much to work with that it eventually covers up its flaws in that department. Woody Harrelson, while not experiencing accent woes, absolutely hams it up with the strangest, most piecemeal interpretation of what the writers think serial killers are like. He’s not particularly scary, but everything his character says is just so confounding so it kind of makes sense in the other characters’ minds, even if it wasn’t meant that way. Let There Be Carnage also lives up to the original in how much it evokes the cheesy nature of early 2000s (and older) superhero movies. I’d almost call it formulaic and corny, but it basically transcends those labels because it feels so out of touch with everything else. One of my friends has put Venom at the forefront of films they’ve described as “Nu-Metal cinema,” and they’re completely correct. I hope you like scenes where the hero awkwardly busts into a rave because it’s full of tidbits like that and similar ideas. In the end, Venom: Let There Be Carnage works so well because the last movie I saw that wore its stupidity as a badge of honor like this was its predecessor.

Despite keeping a lot of the similar appeals of the original Venom, Let There Be Carnage differs by being shorter and more focused. A very quick and breezy watch, the movie has a lot more potential to explore other themes now that it doesn’t require origin duties. It decides to settle on exploring relationships, specifically between the two beings that compose the title character and Woody Harrelson’s Cletus Kasady and his equally murderous lover, Scream. The latter came as a complete surprise to me. I had mainly known Carnage to be a supremely edgy, “evil for the sake of being evil” type character, and giving his character some level of depth definitely helped keep the momentum going. Eddie’s relationship with his symbiote, on the other hand, didn’t add nearly as much to the movie to me, but still tried looking at some unanswered questions that I had regarding Venom’s characterization in the first movie. To be completely honest, neither of these core dynamics really paid off and were often undercut for jokes, but I had very low expectations to begin with. If anything, adding a little bit of drama to an already crass and action-packed blockbuster didn’t hurt, it just made it engaging in ways I didn’t see coming.

Venom: Let There Be Carnage tries to be a little bit more ambitious than the original but ends up just as ridiculously fun and stupid. It’s not going to be on any outlet’s top 10 list, but it without a doubt brings back all the camp that superhero films are definitely missing.

As some may know, I managed to stumble upon the world premiere for Shang-Chi and the Legend of The Ten Rings when visiting Hollywood Boulevard for the first time. A month later, I can finally confirm that the movie, while deeply flawed, is still a lot of good fun!

~~Mild plot spoilers entail ~~

Shang-Chi is yet another origin story, centering around a highly trained heir (and escapee) of the Ten Rings, the very same Chinese terrorist organization/criminal empire/ancient cult that inspired the terrorists that captured Iron Man. What entails is the title character’s journey to escape his father’s machinations while exploring his mysterious mother’s family history, all the while beating up (or getting beaten up by) nearly everyone along the way.

Like all the superhero films made by the house of mouse, Shang-Chi is just as formulaic as you’d expect. While I saw it in 2D, Disney’s generic structure for its MCU line sure as hell popped out of the screen. There are multiple scenes that feel directly ripped off from Black Widow and Black Panther, if not other MCU movies that haven’t come to mind. Car chase that alludes to the main villain? Check. Slowed down second act where more backstory and pathos is unraveled? Check. Final battle that overdoes it with ugly CGI? Check. It really feels like Disney just chooses between the same 2 or 3 storyboard plot structures for all of the 25 films they’ve released.

With that in mind, I think the fact that this film is just pure fun heavily distracts from its formulaic nature. The main highlight is its action, where, unlike Black Widow, Shang-Chi actually fulfills my hopes for this area. Much of this is due to its phenomenal kung-fu fight choreography and wuxia stylings, which really raise the bar for action and fight choreography in the MCU. As my fellow theatergoer put it: “They could’ve had fights like this in Black Panther but didn’t??” and I agree, the rest of the MCU pales in comparison. Shang-Chi in general feels like a MCU movie able to embrace the fun and comic booky nature of its source material, something that Iron Fist, the previous MCU kung fu adaptation completely failed the mark on. When it touches on MCU synergy it feels original and believable, rather than the “Tony Stark is singlehandedly involved in every villain’s backstory” formula. Additionally, Shang-Chi distinguishes itself from other Disney Marvel products in that its humor actually feels organic rather than tacked on, not disrupting any important moments. While leads Simu Liu and Awkwafina aren’t the most charismatic or convincing actors at times, they make up for it by absolutely nailing every punchline that comes up.

Speaking of acting, one of the biggest pulls to this film was the casting of acclaimed Hong Kong actor Tony Leung as its villain. While he delivers a solid performance as the main villain, Wenwu, I couldn’t help but notice how strange and contradictory his characterization felt, which kind of messed with the tone for me. In the early exposition, he’s set up as a devious thousand-year warlord, but when he finally appears in the present the film immediately starts portraying him as a very laid back albeit manipulative goofy dad that literally wears dad sandals to his evil schemes. While fleshing out a villain and giving him pathos is generally admirable, I think doing so heavily disrupted the stakes, tension, and comic book-y fun of the film. It’s always possible for a villain to have some type of compelling motivation while still being dastardly evil, or at the very least acting like a real antagonist. Instead, we get someone that fully sounds evil on paper but in practice is more of an important side character that the protagonist happens to disagree with. While this can easily be attributed to Disney’s poor writing and handling of its characters, they’ve already managed to solve this problem and do a far better job of balancing “evil” and “compelling” with villains such as The Vulture and Killmonger. I’m sure a good amount of people are fine with this, especially since Wenwu is in fact a combination of multiple racial stereotype villains and this could be seen as a complete reworking of the characters, but with this in mind I’d still prefer someone who’s a teensy bit more war criminal than wife guy.

As previously mentioned, the costume design was another disappointing point of this film and one of the few parts (other than Wenwu’s character) of the movie that didn’t fully indulge in comic book-y excess. Wenwu is a combination of a Bond villain and an evil wizard but sure as hell doesn’t dress like one, instead wearing hilariously drab suits or just a button up, and even his outfit in the final battle is an ugly and subdued black leather getup that looks more like he’s leading a swat team than an ancient organization composed of the greatest martial artists on earth. This lack of vision extends to the rest of the costumes too, as before the final battle the main characters are presented with “clothes were made out of dragon scales for special protection” like no dude they look like they were made out of plastic and rubber. Aside from the Disney+ shows, costume design has always been the MCU’s weakest link but I will continue to roast them until they decide to make something that doesn’t look like trash.

Starring Nick Cage in one of his most unexpected and layered roles, Pig might have just given us the performance of the year.

In it, Cage plays a mysterious hermit hellbent on tracking down his beloved truffle sniffing pig in the Portland fine dining scene. While it starts out as a quirky, culinary version of John Wick, it quickly morphs into a different beast, unraveling the deep emotions and motivations behind both Cage’s sad, dirty protagonist and the forces that took the pig, to begin with. Many have pinpointed its themes of grief and loss, but I would also argue it is very much a movie about love, whether it be passion for one’s craft, love for someone you lost, or infatuation with the idea of being in love with something. Even when some of the themes fly over your head (which might have happened to me when watching it) Pig at complete face value is still an engrossing and compelling drama. What we get is something that feels more like an experience more than a film, whether it be immersing you in its idiosyncratic depiction of Portland’s food world or delivering intense character moments with an ingenious use of soft focus.

For the thick and thin of this ride, Nicholas Cage remains our anchor. As much as his “angry wilderness man looking for a pig” role sounds like a standard insane and overacted Cage performance on paper, it really isn’t. Instead we get a three-way balancing act between gruff alienation, wistfulness, and casual nihilism. Some of the best parts of Pig are when Cage delivers an absolutely bizarre monologue, but instead of standard Nic Cage wackiness, we get a far more casual yet polarizing delivery that gives tons of insight to his characterization. In his eyes, you can see that he’s someone who’s lost all hopes and dreams but still knows where said hopes and dreams came from. I’d also like to give a shoutout to the film’s costume and makeup crew, for Cage’s filthy outfit and countenance make as much of an impression of his character as his acting. Cage’s costars are also quite well-cast, particularly Alex Wolff (riding off the coattails of his role in the heavily memed horror film Old) who plays Cage’s sidekick and foil. Being a pretentious trust-fund brat that very much exemplifies the world Cage is trying to navigate and/or tear down, their contrast makes for a good amount of the film’s comedy, yet as it goes by he too slowly unravels his own parallel family drama subplot.

With the strength of its writing, acting, and narrative, Pig ends up being a film that can completely get away with little to no exposition. While ambitious isn’t the first word I’d use to describe it, it’s compelling, unique, and touching enough to make it my favorite film of the year (so far!).

*The* Suicide Squad was kind of the dark horse for me when it came to the absolutely massive load of superhero movies we’re getting this year. Sandwiched between the unreal behemoth of the Snyder Cut and the 4? 5? formulaic Marvel movies Disney is squeezing in to make up for 2020’s quarterly losses, I nearly forgot The Suicide Squad was even coming out. Despite this, my concerns over underusing a stacked cast, and mixed feelings on its director, James Gunn, I believe The Suicide Squad might be one of the best superhero movies we get this year and is yet another testament to the fact that DC’s superhero films thrive due to their seemingly greater artistic freedom.

The first thing off the bat that The Suicide Squad improves from its predecessor is the overall plot and concept. It takes its cues directly from the comics, focusing more on the shady black ops nature of the team rather than the more watered-down “villains being heroes” framework. It really hits the thematic mark in this way by being a fantastic blend of the superhero and action genres (far better than Captain America: The Winter Soldier in my opinion) and emphasizing the morally gray and highly expendable nature of the Suicide Squad as a concept.

Speaking of expendable, that’s one thing the film’s cast most definitely is not. I was very concerned that it was casting big names as characters that are pretty D-list characters, unheard of even to the most hardcore comics fans, but I think it pulled it off. First, a good amount of the cast of low-level supercrooks are mainly just cameos and the actors could easily be recast for bigger roles. If anything, populating the cast with exceedingly minor villains fulfills a big wish I’ve had for live-action superhero franchises, which is establishing a “universe” where superheroes and villains are a completely normal fact of life. Gunn’s choice to cast the most obscure villains really hammers in that supervillains can be regular and often laughable nuisances rather than world (or city) ending threats, which is something that Marvel has yet to establish. Technically he’s messed around with some of their origins and powers, but it really doesn’t matter since he’s still got them in simple, goofy costumes and it’s clear a lot of fun is being had with the whole concept. Finally, the casting for the more prominent roles in this movie is just so damn good. While I still wish he was cast for a more well-known character, Idris Elba absolutely nails it as Bloodsport, giving a better performance than he’s done in as Heimdall in the 40 marvel films he’s shown up in and it’s great to see him finally given something to work with in a big blockbuster. His frequent scene partner (if not co-star), John Cena also gives one of the most memorable performances in the film as Peacemaker, the "douchey Captain America," emphasizing the morally grey nature of the film while having some fantastic chemistry with Elba and delivering some of the film’s best jokes. Returning stars like Joel Kinnaman as Rick Flagg, Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn, and Viola Davis’ Amanda Waller are all welcome additions, particularly Kinnaman, whose team leader role gets to be far more charismatic than gruff, and Davis, whose presence is far more antagonistic than in 2016 Suicide Squad, and better because of that.

Like most DC movies, however, The Suicide Squad is a little bit rough around the edges. Some of my concerns surrounding Gunn proved to be valid, particularly around the humor. My main criticism of Gunn’s previous cape film, Guardians of the Galaxy 2 was the inconsistency of its humor, ranging from sex jokes only 12-year-olds would find funny to sharp character clashes reminiscent of the show Archer. While I initially thought this was mainly due to Disney’s constant use of tacked on jokes in its soulless superhero formula, this seems to also be an issue with Gunn’s writing in general. That being said, the humor is generally top notch when it’s trying to and far more organic than its predecessor and Disney contemporaries. The humor isn’t the exclusively uneven part of this film, for a good amount of it can feel very unnecessarily self-indulgent and sadly doesn’t really justify its two-hour 15-minute runtime. For better or worse it also heavily exploits its R rating, so be prepared to see a decent amount of gore, some split seconds of nudity, and a good amount of cursing you’d never expect to hear in a movie filled with the 21st century equivalent of Adam West Batman villains. Like the other DC movie that came out this year, its soundtrack can also be a bit lackluster, and it feels like you’re listening to music the director personally enjoys rather than what would fit the scene. While Gunn’s vision and directing mainly deliver a great product, it still should’ve been limited in certain areas.

The Suicide Squad is a fun and compelling summer blockbuster whose plot and cast understand the comics for what they are. It’s now my second favorite DCEU movie (nothing will usurp Aquaman’s throne) and a great watch, whether at home on HBO max or at the theaters. R-rated superhero movies STAY winning!