MISSED POTENTIAL: IN "SUPERGIRL" IMITATION ISN'T FLATTERY, BUT CRUTCH.

Supergirl is annoying.

Not "Kara Zor-El", the character created by Otto Binder and Al Plastino in 1959. After nearly seven decades of constant reboots, reinvention, redundancy, resurrection, and reinterpretation across various entertainment mediums, Supergirl  has earned her place in the DC pantheon.

What’s annoying is sitting through a film containing so much squandered potential. There are disappointing movies, and then there are frustrating movies. Supergirl is both.

Directed by Craig Gillespie (Cruella, I, Tonya), the story follows Kara Zor-El as she wanders the galaxy carrying the guilt of being the last survivor of Argo City of Krypton. She travels to galaxies containing red suns to lose her Kryptonian powers so as to numb herself with alcohol and fisticuffs. When she crosses paths with Ruthye (Eve Ridley; The Witcher; Isadora Moon), a young woman bent on revenge against the mercenary Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts; Rust and Bone), she is forced to aid her in her quest when the mission becomes suddenly and immediately personal.

On paper, it’s a compelling premise. 

On screen, it’s egregiously detached.

Ana Nogueira’s screenplay (based on the controversial Tom King-penned maxiseries "Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow") should have been a haunting meditation on survivor’s guilt. However, the screenplay repeatedly informs us of Kara’s emotional wounds but rarely allows us to experience them organically via performance. Instead of discovering her pain through action and choice, the audience is frequently asked to accept it axiomatically because the dialogue insists upon it. "Implication" replaces "development" and "exposition" replaces "trauma". It violates a major rule of visual fiction: "Show; don't tell".

Milly Alcock (House of the Dragon) does her best with the material given her. She fills in many (but not all) of those emotional gaps through performance alone. She conveys exhaustion, regret, guarded compassion, biting cynicism and, most importantly, PTSD even when the dialogue doesn’t fully support it. Her chemistry with Eve Ridley, who in many ways acts as her foil, is extremely effective. Together, they provide the film’s strongest emotional current. That dynamic is the film's strongest point.

The cinematography is a CGI-laden visual wonder. Gillespie and his creative team construct a galaxy that wears it's Star Wars, Blade Runner, and Mad Max influences on it's proverbial sleeve. The dusty, amber-hued dystopian set design reflects Kara’s emotional isolation, creating imagery that often communicates Kara's state of being more effectively than the screenplay itself.

A hero is only as good as their nemesis. Unfortunately, Matthias Schoenaerts’ "Krem" never becomes the monster the story desperately needs. Or rather, not in the way the film requires. He’s neither terrifying, engaging, charismatic, nor tragic. He’s merely irritating; gratingly so. A great villain elevates the hero. A mediocre villain simply occupies screen time. It's like "Mr. Ditkovitch" from the Sam Raimi Spider-Man films undergoes a villain arc wherein he suffers a mental break due to Peter Parker's chronic lateness with the rent and bedazzles his flesh and dons BDSM leather. That performance, if it can be called such, succeeds only in taking the viewer completely out of the film.

But the film's biggest problem is that it suffers from an identity crisis. It's not directed by DC Studios' head honcho James Gunn, but Gillespie tries to direct it as though it were. The film is replete with, shall we say, missapplied "Gunn-isms". Gunn has cultivated a recognizable cinematic identity over the past two decades. His films juxtapose absurd comedy with genuine pathos, "needle drops" with emotional sincerity, grotesque violence with childlike optimism. and manages to deftly juggle irreverence with solmentiy and gravitas. Gunn knows how to take those ingredients and turn them into a satisfying recipe of entertainment. That's Gunn's vision.  While Gillespie shares some of those sensibilities, films like Cruella (2021) show he has his own unique voice which is unfortunately muted here. That’s the difference between an aesthetic and an authorial voice. Aesthetic can be copied. A specific voice cannot.

Supergirl repeatedly borrows the external trappings of a James Gunn film—its irreverent humor, eccentric supporting characters, sudden tonal pivots, and self-aware dialogue—but without the underlying narrative architecture that makes those choices feel organic. The result isn’t homage. It’s imitation. Given the success of last year's Superman (directed by Gunn), it's not surprising that that route was taken. The rub is that imitation, no matter how technically proficient, almost always evokes the original and robs the imitator of it's own identity.

For example, the aformentioned "needle drops" made sense in Gunn's Guardians of The Galaxy trilogy because they were organic to the character of Starlord/Peter Jason Quill. The use of familiar "Earth" music in Guardians wasn’t simply a stylistic flourish. Peter Quill literally carried those songs into space. They were his last tangible connection to home, to his mother, and to the life stolen from him as a child. Every song had narrative justification. In Supergirl, similar musical choices often feel decorative rather than motivated. At one point, alien characters are effectively performing Earth songs despite having no meaningful connection to Earth itself. Damnation by misapplication. It’s a small detail, but it illustrates a much larger issue. The film remembers what Gunn did but forgets why he did it.

Jason Momoa’s "Lobo" is another example. Jason Momoa clearly has the time of his life playing the character he has said in interviews he was born to play. You can’t fake that kind of enthusiasm. Every scene crackles with energy because Momoa completely understands the assignment (even though he's playing an "R" character in a "PG-13"-rated film). He revels in it. Unfortunately, in this film the character is practically unnecessary. His presence serving only to signal that this is still the same interconnected DC Universe established by Gunn. The irony is that Supergirl shouldn't need that reassurance. If anything, it needs the confidence to stand on its own. Instead, Lobo occasionally feels like a guest star wandering in from a different movie—one whose tonal identity is already fully formed. Take him out of the procedings, and it wouldn't affect the story one bit.

Claudia Sarne's score is servicable. Rather than supporting scenes, it attempts to manufacture emotions the screenplay hasn’t earned, which only highlights the scenes' deficiencies. 

David Corenswet’s brief appearances as "Clark/Superman" provide some of the film’s clearest emotional moments. Rather than overshadowing Kara, they quietly reinforce who she is—and more importantly, who she isn’t. In many ways, those scenes reveal the movie that Supergirl might have been.

This isn’t a bad film. It’s a fragmented one. Its performances are stronger than its screenplay. Its imagery is stronger than its storytelling, and its ambitions exceed its execution.

Ultimately, Supergirl is enjoyable enough as it unfolds, but leaves surprisingly little emotional residue once it’s over. Like so many popcorn summer blockbusters, it’s easy to consume. It’s simply harder to remember. By the time the credits roll, Supergirl has left remarkably little behind besides attractive imagery and unrealized potential.

And that is the greatest disappointment of all.

THIS IS THE WAY...TO MAKE A "STAR WARS" FILM: "The Mandalorian and Grogu" is a Long-Awaited Return in Both Character and Form.

Everybody’s favorite space ninja daddy is back, and it is a welcome return indeed.

Of all of Disney’s ventures into a galaxy far far away since acquiring "Star Wars", arguably the most successful has been "The Mandalorian".

What began, according to expectation, as a straightforward bounty hunter television series took a sharp and unexpected left turn when it introduced the world to perhaps the most endearing animatronic creation in recent memory: Grogu, still affectionately known in many circles as "Baby Yoda". That single creative decision transformed what could have been a competent but conventional streaming adventure into something genuinely resonant. It became not merely a story about survival and duty, but about found family. The series was such a phenomenon that it effectively commandeered two episodes of "The Book of Boba Fett" to continue its own narrative momentum. Even with a somewhat uneven third season, its popularity endured. Now, those adventures make the leap to the big screen for the first time in "The Mandalorian & Grogu" (whose title borrows heavily from the Japanese series "Lone Wolf and Cub", as much as "Star Wars" heavily borrowed from "The Hidden Fortress" (1958), and the transition proves well worth the wait.

The story picks up shortly after the events of the third season, with Din Djarin working alongside the New Republic, tracking down high-ranking fugitive Imperial officers. When one such target proves particularly difficult to apprehend, the Mandalorian (brought to life through the collective efforts of Pedro Pascal, Brendan Wayne, and Lateef Crowder) finds himself reluctantly accepting a bounty from the surviving Hutts to retrieve Rotta the Hutt., the late Jabba's only child

Naturally, things are not so simple.

What follows is a classic Star Wars adventure, one that understands the appeal of kinetic action and interstellar spectacle, but wisely keeps its emotional center fixed on the bond between Din and Grogu.

While the Disney+ series was often impressive in scope, television budgetary limitations inevitably constrained what could be done with Grogu as a practical effect. Here, freed by theatrical scale and resources, the character is finally allowed to evolve physically and dramatically. Grogu is no longer merely the adorable companion designed to elicit audience affection. He matures. He acts. He becomes the capable presence the series has long hinted he would become. In many ways, this is less Din Djarin’s story than Grogu’s.

Din remains what storytellers often call a "fixed character". His arc is relatively flat by design. He is already formed and morally centered. His role is not to undergo dramatic internal transformation but to act as the stabilizing force through which others grow. Here, it is Grogu who experiences that growth, and the film is stronger for recognizing this.

The picture is steeped in the DNA of classic Star Wars. There are subtle callbacks to the original trilogy and several cleverly placed Easter eggs, including nods to another beloved, long running star-based sci-fi franchise that observant viewers will catch.

If the film has a weakness, it is that its third act occasionally drags in pacing. Yet even this slowdown serves a purpose. The extra breathing room allows the emotional beats to land and humanizes what lesser hands might have reduced to little more than CGI spectacle populated by two-dimensional figures.

Among the performances, the standout is undoubtedly Sigourney Weaver. What could have easily been stunt casting instead becomes one of the film’s more unexpectedly effective elements. Her role as Colonel Ward is not merely an Easter egg for genre enthusiasts; it provides an important grounding presence and creates several moments of genuine warmth, particularly in her interactions with Grogu.

As a director, Jon Favreau, working from a story crafted alongside Dave Filoni, is not attempting to reinvent cinema. Nor does he need to. His direction is tight, efficient, and refreshingly clear. In an era where large-scale CGI action frequently devolves into incomprehensible visual noise, Favreau maintains coherence and momentum throughout. Every set piece is readable. Every action beat has weight.

The production design deserves special praise. It is sleekly retro, modernized without abandoning the tactile lived-in aesthetic that made George Lucas’ original universe feel tangible. This is Star Wars as it should look: futuristic but weathered, mythic but grounded.

Then there is the welcome return of composer Ludwig Göransson, whose familiar themes remain among the strongest musical contributions to the franchise in decades. His score carries the same adventurous spirit once embodied by John Williams, while still retaining its own identity.

"The Mandalorian & Grogu" does not break new cinematic ground. What it does instead is something perhaps more valuable: it recaptures the rollercoaster, feel-good spirit of the original 1977 film. This is adventure cinema with heart.

At its core, this is a story about parenthood — specifically adoptive parenthood — and the lengths one will go to protect a child entrusted to their care. Din Djarin has always been Grogu’s protector, but here he makes a compelling case for something deeper. He is not merely guardian. He is "father" in the truest sense of the word

If you are looking for spacefaring thrills, edge-of-your-seat action, and a story with genuine emotional sincerity, then the journey with "The Mandalorian and Grogu" is well worth taking.

GRIDLOCKED: "TRON: ARES" - Fire Without Flame

 

Red is a potent color. It’s the color of passion, of fire. It’s primal — wilder, volatile,  dangerous. It inspires. It enrages. It inflames. Tron: Ares is drenched in it. Saturated with it. So how does a film so steeped in the palette of intensity end up feeling so tepid?

This is the paradox of Tron: Ares: a film that looks like a live wire but plays like a dying ember. Where its predecessor, Tron: Legacy (2010), swam in cool, immersive blues and managed to feel as if it was it's own world; one which was grand, tactile, and alive, this latest entry in a multi-generational franchise never truly takes off.

The story follows Julian Dillinger (played by Evan Peters), the grandson of Ed Dillinger from the original Tron. Now at the helm of ENCOM, Julian oversees the creation of two advanced security programs — Ares (Jared Leto, who also serves as one of the films many executive producers) and Athena (Jodie Turner-Smith). Their mission: locate Eve Kim (Greta Lee), a scientist whose discovery could transform not just ENCOM, but the real world itself.

As the mission unfolds, Ares realizes Julian views all resources — human and digital — as expendable. His programmed neutrality begins to fracture. But his evolution, such as it is, remains conceptual rather than visceral.

The Visual Spectacle That Comes Too Late

To be fair, as an extended Nine Inch Nails music video, this film is spectacular. An acoustical/visual feast. Under the direction of Joachim Rønning, the production leans fully into AI-assisted CGI technology to deliver a shimmering, immersive audio-visual experience. Tron: Ares is beautiful to look at and often hypnotic to listen to. But we are far past the point where this kind of spectacle can stun by its existence alone. AI-infused digital landscapes have saturated the blockbuster market. What might have been revolutionary ten years ago is now simply...expected.

The score, courtesy of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, gives the film its pulse. Hell, its life! Their signature sound — haunted, industrial, and precise — anchors the film with a sonic texture that’s unmistakable and distinctly it's own as Daft Punk's confluence of synth and classical was to Legacy. Yet even their efforts can’t compensate for a story that struggles to ignite.

Though to be fair, I wonder if implied expectation comes at play here. After all it's been fifteen (!) years between Trons Legacy and Ares (still shorter than the time between the original Tron and Legacy, which was twenty-eight (!!)). While it's argulable that Legacy itself was an extended Daft Punk video, it still had a story it could latch onto. While the first postulated what would happen if the man was in the machine, the second lived up to the title by anchoring it with a relatable generational conflict dynamic. Here, being the third entry in the franchise, Tron: Ares tries to “flip the script.” The first two films explored what happens when humans fall into the digital grid. This time, the question is inverted: What happens when AI constructs cross into the real world?

It’s a compelling idea — one implied and left hanging in the wake of Legacy. But here, the execution falters. The rules of the grid don’t map cleanly onto reality, and the film doesn’t invest in the narrative scaffolding to make that leap believable. To say more would tread into spoiler territory, but the concept deserves far more than what it receives.. 

Let[o] Down and The Real MVP

I’ll admit a personal bias: I don’t think much of Jared Leto as an actor. Yet, on paper, the role of Ares seems tailored to his range — or rather, his  lack thereof. Ares is a security program who begins to develop independent consciousness while grappling with human emotion and empathy. He starts as a blank slate. Unfortunately, he ends as one, too. The character’s arc never quite lands on the moment of revelation it promises.

Evan Peters' Dillinger plays as Mark Zuckerberg and Nicholas Hoult's Lex Luthor's love child. Greta Lee plays the resourceful but ostensible living maguffin/damsel in distress, and the presumed human heart of the film. Her character's backstory is tailored to inspire sympathy and empathy, but her performance is such that she could have pulled it off without it. She is engaging, and tries to establish some sort of connection with Ares, with varying degrees of result depending on the scene. 

Fan-favorite Gillian Anderson is squandered as Elizabeth Dillinger, reduced to little more than narrative wallpaper. And while it’s almost a tradition that you can’t have Tron without Jeff Bridges, his brief return here reads more like contractual obligation than creative spark.

However, Jodi Turner-Smith is the film’s MVP. Her Athena — designed as an equal blank slate — radiates quixotically coldly furious presence. Focused, ruthless, electric. She embodies the film’s red palette in a way the protagonist never manages to. Her fury is arresting, her precision riveting. Without her performance, this film would have little pulse at all. 

A Flicker Without Flame

I tried to give this film the benefit of the doubt. I truly did. But somewhere deep in the third act, I found myself drifting — not out of fatigue, but boredom. That's never a good sign when I walked in wide awake.

Tron: Ares was supposed to be a triumphant return — a bold leap forward for a franchise built on the intersection of light and code. Instead, while it's  beautiful to look at and hypnotic to hear, to borrow and paraphrase from a scribe way more talented than me, it’s a kaleidoscope of sound and fury, but ultimately signifying nothing. Tron: Ares is a triumph of polish over pulse. In a story about fire, it's the chill that lingers.

ACC PODCAST: DISCUSSION OF THE DANIEL CRAIG ERA OF BOND AND GOING DOWN THE AMAZON.

 

The latest American Culture Critic Podcast is live. In this episode I and my special guest, Bond aficionado James Alexander Ramos discuss the ups and downs of the recently completed Daniel Craig era of James Bond films, and speculate on the recent purchase of the Bond franchise by the corporate behemoth known as Amazon.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CP0HjCeOVEo

FIRESIDE CHAT: THE AMERICAN CULTURE CRITIC PODCAST

The latest ACC podcast is live! More laid back fireside-chat-type episdoe between me and my bruddah-from-anuddah-muddah and ranconteur Louis Rosas-Guyon as we discuss what we think makes sci-fi/fantasy good.

https://youtu.be/-QfiZEPoZF4?si=viDql9JYkgvqZImt

TWO PODCASTS FOR THE NON-PRICE OF ONE!

The American Culture Critic was busy this month, celebrating both the past and the present.

The Past: I was invited by the guys over at Team Insomniac to participate in their Triptych podcast to discuss the quasi-triology that is the Richard Donner/Richard Lester/Bryan Singer "Superman" films as someone who was actually their for their initial screenings (where's my power chair). Much snark was bandied and fun was had. You can catch it here: 

https://open.spotify.com/episode/4MD3WjsnT9g50UvuKg3CS3?si=hfsNsaxPRLqHUIVLPBfVUQ

The Present: It's the American Culture Critic Podcast, discussing not only James Gunn's "Superman (2025) (review of which you can scroll down for); but also "Fantastic Four: First Steps" (also reviewed below) and the upswing shift in tone in response to the current socio-political climate. You can find it at 

https://youtu.be/IXQ71UdVSQY?si=15e8FRgahFJgvZdL 

Hope you'll give both a listen and subscribe if you like the content. 

IT'S STEPPIN' UP TIME: "Fantastic Four: First Steps" Is, Well, Y'Know...Fantastic.

Pendulums are funny things.Start one up, and it’ll swing to extremes—loudly, dramatically, unavoidably. But with time and friction, it slows. It softens. It finds a middle ground. Pendulums aren’t just physical curiosities; they’re metaphors. For thought, for politics, for taste—and yes, for filmmaking.

Especially superhero filmmaking.

When Superman: The Movie hit theaters in 1978, it wasn’t the first big-budget superhero film ever made—but it was the first to be treated as an event. A myth brought to life with budget, sincerity, and craft. But with each sequel, that gravity gave way to excess and ridiculousness. Then Batman (1989) restarted the pendulum’s swing, this time toward darker, moodier territory (with its franchise experiencing its own descent into (further) absurdity until its reboot with Batman Begins, which brought it's own strum and drang of pessimism. That trajectory continued through the aughts and culminated with Man of Steel—a visually stunning, philosophically dense, and controversial attempt to reframe the superhero as something both godlike and painfully human. The Sony's Spider-Man films (both the trilogy and the duology) and Fox's X-Men films followed this trend (though somewhat better suited for these franchises), and one of the major arguments leveled against Marvel Studios' output in the past few years is that it has thematically taken itself way too seriously (Marvel Television's She-Hulk and Ms. Marvel aside). 

But now the pendulum is swinging again.

Like Superman 2025 (reviewed on this blog) Fantastic Four: First Steps feels like a response to the cultural fatigue of grim realism and bloated continuity. It’s not a rejection of seriousness, but a reclamation of joy. For Marvel, it feels prophetic—and just cheeky enough—to call this film "First Steps". After a divisive few years, it does feel like a beginning. And more importantly, a correction.

Set in an alternate universe outside the tangled mainline MCU, Fantastic Four: First Steps uses its premise to its advantage. It’s a reset, and in that way, self-aware. The film opens on a version of Earth that borders on utopia, thanks to the scientific advancements of Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal), Susan Storm (Vanessa Kirby), Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn), and Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach). Their accomplishments have elevated civilization—until the arrival of the Herald.

That would be Jamie Gardner’s Silver Surfer, an ethereal, morally burdened emissary warning of an incoming cosmic force: Galactus. This devourer of worlds threatens everything the Four have built—and forces them into a dilemma that could cost them one of their own. The stakes are cosmic, but the story stays grounded in the personal. Sacrifice looms. Family is tested. But the film never loses its soul.

Visually, the film is a retro-futuristic triumph. Its design evokes a World’s Fair vision of the future—mid-century optimism spliced with sleek, modern minimalism. Think Disney's Tomorrowland, but lived-in. Think "Kirby crackle" meets "Mad Men". Production design leans into a kind of mid-century futurism—a retro-futuristic world that fuses 1960s optimism with modern sensibility. It’s all gleaming towers, brushed chrome, clean lines, and Kirby-inspired tech. It feels hopeful. It feels lived in. And most importantly, it feels different from the apocalyptic tone of the last two decades. Director Matt Shakman leans hard into this aesthetic, grounding the film in an era that never was but feels eternal. This marriage of retro and now isn’t just stylistic; it’s thematic. Fantastic Four isn’t interested in grim dystopia. It wants to show you a world worth saving—and that matters.

Composer Michael Giacchino, known for his lush orchestrations and thematic clarity, provides a score that does feel familiar—at times echoing his work on Star Trek (2009). The main theme recurs frequently, maybe too frequently, but his talent lies in emotional modulation.Like John Williams before him, Giacchino knows how to shift tone, tempo, and instrumentation to match emotion. The repetition becomes an emotional throughline. By film’s end, the repetition doesn’t grate—it comforts. It becomes the heartbeat of the story.

Cinematically, the Fantastic Four have had a rough road. The Tim Story films were awkward, tonally uneven. The Josh Trank reboot… best left in the Negative Zone.

But here, the casting and chemistry work. Indeed, they are the selling point of the film. Pedro Pascal brings gravitas and restraint to Reed Richards. Joseph Quinn’s Johnny Storm is charismatic and grounded. Moss-Bachrach’s Ben Grimm adds emotional heft beneath the gruffness, though the traditional banter between Thing and Torch is more subdued than fans might expect.The standout, though, is Vanessa Kirby. Her Susan Storm is the heart and engine of the film. While Reed may be the intellectual leader, it's Sue who commands emotional authority. The film heavily leans into themes of maternal protection and emotional resilience, making her arc not just central—but essential. In many ways, it’s her movie. 

Ralph Ineson's "Galactus"...see for yourself. 

Regarding the "Silver Surfer" controversy, consider this. While purists might lament the absence of Norrin Radd’s backstory in this version of the Silver Surfer, the creative liberties taken here are consistent with the film’s themes, particularly those relating to family. The reinterpretation feels earned and helps tie the Surfer's conflict directly into the group’s climactic decisions.

Like Superman, First Steps is saturated in bright color—visually and emotionally. Blues, whites, silvers. Not just costumes, but skylines; crafting an identity and world in and of itself truly separate from the main MCU. Just as important, the public wants their heroes. Yes, there's a moment of backlash. A crisis of trust. But the film doesn’t wallow in cynicism. Instead, it reaffirms the social contract between powered protectors and the people they serve.

It’s a movie about hope. About family. About new beginnings.

And it’s not afraid to smile.

If superhero fatigue is real, then Fantastic Four: First Steps is a jolt of cinematic B-12. It’s not ironic, but it is self-aware. It doesn’t apologize for being hopeful, colorful, and at times earnestly emotional. Instead, it embraces those things—and dares you to do the same.

Much like the pendulum that started this review, this film is a swing back toward equilibrium. A reminder that these stories don’t have to be sermons or punchlines. They can just be fantastic.

For Marvel Studios, Fantastic Four: First Steps is a step in the right direction.

MAN OF FEEL: "Superman" Is A Doggone Good Time

December 15, 1978.

I’m nine years old. I sit in a movie theater to watch Superman: The Movie. I leave the theater grinning from ear to ear.

June 28, 2006.

I’m thirty-seven years old. I sit in a movie theater to watch Superman Returns, the first reboot of the cinematic franchise. I leave the theater disappointed.

June 14, 2013.

I’m forty-four years old. I sit in a movie theater to watch Man of Steel, the second reboot. I leave the theater somberly disquieted. Dejected.

July 8, 2025.

I’m fifty-six years old, far older than the target demographic. I sit in a movie theater to watch Superman, the latest reboot. I leave the theater...

 ...grinning from ear to ear.

Reviewing Superman is a difficult prospect for me, as I’ve had a lifelong love and obsession with this character. "Superman" has been with me through the ups and downs of life, uplifting me with his adventures—spearheaded by hundreds of talented writers and artists/actors and directors over decades too numerous to count. As such, his cinematic journey has also been a major part of my life. Each film has, for better or worse, reflected the times in which it was made.

But it wasn’t until I had to review Man of Steel that I began to wonder if the character had passed me by.

However, if nothing else, James Gunn manages to make what seemed impossible possible: making an aging cynic like me feel like a kid again.

Director James Gunn was under the proverbial, well... gun, in more ways than one. He had the unenviable task of rebooting a character with a troubled cinematic history—and an entire cinematic universe. It’s safe to say the shots were not only fired but landed on target, even if not all were bullseyes.

One of the major issues with the character, which has seemingly increased with each generation since his inception, is relatability. Superman is “too good”—or, as others put it, too corny. Almost perfect. Unrelatable. Gunn builds the entire film challenging that very presumption: Is it believable to be a good person in a mean world?

The film takes place three years after Superman’s public debut. After intervening in a war between two nations, Superman (David Corenswet) finds himself at the center of a socio-political firestorm. While he has his supporters, he also has his detractors—most especially tech billionaire Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult), who will stop at nothing to eliminate Superman and everything he represents.

Gunn takes a page from Richard Donner’s playbook, using the concept of “verisimilitude” and turning it up to eleven. He embraces the Silver-and-Bronze-Age comic book concepts, giving them modern sensibility and leaning into them fully—without snark, and certainly without embarrassment.

Of course, that "modern sensibility" means much of the plot reflects the current zeitgeist. Issues regarding immigration, race, and class are minor themes here. While some may argue that these issues (and certain casting choices) make the film “woke”—for lack of a better word—these themes emerge organically from the story.

Further, as this blog has posited many times, “art” does not exist independently of the time in which it is created. It serves as either a reflection or reaction to the era it’s made in. It is not perceived in a vacuum. And regardless of the creator’s intentions, it is ultimately up to the viewer to interpret the art. The fact that Superman himself was created in response to the social realities of the late 1930s is certainly not irrelevant.

Superman evokes the feeling of a comic book spinner rack right from the start. It’s like flipping open the page of a long-running comic. The film presumes the viewer already knows Superman’s origin and skips the (re)telling to let the narrative unfold—and unfold it does.

The action and pacing are relentless. The CGI is top-notch. The film is bright—a stark contrast to the dark tone (and visuals) of the 2013 iteration.

But like any sci-fi CGI fest, it would be hollow without strong performances—and it has them. It’s rare for me to say this, but every actor brought their A-game. Too many, in fact, to name them all.

Rachel Brosnahan is striking—visually and emotionally—as intrepid reporter Lois Lane, serving as a cynical foil to the Man of Steel while remaining his romantic counterpart. Excuse the pun, but Nicholas Hoult is a beast as Lex Luthor, delivering a surprisingly rousing performance that exceeds expectations. He doesn’t just give us a villain we love to hate; he gives us  a chilling arch-nemesis who is equal (and in some ways superior) to the hero.

The crux of the film’s success or failure—just like in 1978—rests on the lead. David Corenswet, like the character he portrays, makes the Herculean effort look effortless. His interpretation is instantly recognizable as “Superman,” but also more down-to-Earth in relatability. His Superman jokes, makes mistakes, gets frustrated, feels pain, loss, and (momentary) failure. But he also holds to his values, even when they work against his best interests or public approval. For this author, Christopher Reeve will always remain the benchmark. But for this generation, David Corenswet is Superman. By the end of this film, I challenge anyone to question the character’s relatability.

There are many honorable mentions, mostly from the "Justice Gang" members. After years of voicing Hal Jordan in animation, fan-favorite actor Nathan Fillion finally brings a Green Lantern to live action—in the form of Guy Gardner. His performance is amazing, bringing the politically incorrect, obnoxious Gardner of the comics to life in a way that somehow retains the character’s worst traits while adding the charm of that one uncle nobody talks about. That’s more Fillion’s natural charisma than anything else—and the film is better for it. I wish we could have gotten more out of Isabela Merced's Hawkgirl. The character is criminally underutilized, but the actress does make the most of what she's given. But given how, if you'll excuse the vernacular, badass the character is maybe in her case less WAS more.  I’ve never cared much for Mr. Terrific, but Edi Gathegi (Hoult’s X-Men: First Class (2011) co-star) delivers a revelatory performance. After being underutilized in X-Men, Gathegi’s Mr. Terrific is easily the second breakout character of the film. The first? You guessed it: the dog.

Krypto the Superdog.

Never would I have expected to see that character brought to life, straight, in live action. But Krypto steals the film—and does so in a way that never breaks immersion. He’s not anthropomorphized. He’s a dog. Super-powered—but still a dog.

If the film has one notable weakness, it’s surprisingly the score by John Murphy and David Fleming. Surprising, because Murphy specifically asked to use and adapt the iconic John Williams theme—the one as inextricably tied to the character as the James Bond theme is to 007. That inclusion works both for and against the film. The Williams theme provides emotional gravitas, but it also highlights how generic and hollow the rest of the score often feels. There are no strong, memorable motifs; the original compositions could belong to almost any action film. It’s only when the Williams theme emerges—either bombastically or subtly—that the film gains the sonic weight it needs. Overall, the score is serviceable, but underwhelming. 

But those are critical considerations. Personally? It’s a different story.

Despite the above analysis of the films score, it does sport one specific moment of acoustical brilliance. It starts of with the first five-notes ofWilliams fanfare in horns in classical original fashion, then seques into the rest of the theme in electric guitar. In this manner, Gunn's production declares its mission statement of honoring and respecting the history while reinterpreting and recontextualizing it for modern audiences. I'd be lying if I said a tear didn't roll down the cheek, as I never expected to hear those opening notes in such a fashion in a movie theater again.

"Superman", character and concept, is about hope. Not "hope" as in verbally stated or shouted at the audience—“This symbol stands for hope”—but inspired hope. Aspirational hope. Gunn’s film portrays a world in which hope exists despite modern cynicism. It's believable in its own world, even with the occasional leaps in logic and physics. Superman is an immersive and, most importantly, FUN film! It's a FUN film! Given the performances, it was obviously fun for the cast, and that infectiously translates to fun for the audience. 

In both word and action, this version of Superman offers a credible, compelling case that one man’s belief in doing the right thing—even now—can still matter.

For two-plus hours, despite myself, I was nine years old.

Superman made this aging critical cynic feel like a hopeful kid again.

And that’s the best recommendation I can give.

“FROM THE WORLD OF JOHN WICK: BALLERINA” (2025): A MUDDLED DANCE THAT FAILS TO SLAY.

 

There’s a sequence in the first third of the film wherein the titular character Eve (Ana De Armas) performs a pirouette, only to eventually lose her balance and fall crashing to the stage...repeatedly. This is meant as part of the obligatory training montage that is expected of action films, but it unfortunately epitomizes the film as a whole: stumbling under its own weight.

“Ballerina”, directed by Les Wiseman and Chad Stahelski (!) and starring de Armas with a special appearance by Keanu Reeves, takes place in the world of John Wick, specifically between “John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum” and “John Wick: Chapter 4”. Chronologically, it fills in a gap. Creatively, it doesn’t fill much at all.

The story follows a young assassin named Eve (de Armas), whose father—a member of the High Table’s far-reaching Assassin’s Guild—is killed under orders from a mysterious figure known only as the Chancellor (Gabriel Byrne). After his death, she’s taken in by the same Romani crime family that once trained John Wick—led again by The Director (showcasing Anjelica Huston's much-needed droll-yet-commanding presence).

When she discovers the Guild behind her father’s death, Eve goes against her oath and embarks on a revenge mission—unleashing a violent chain of events that threatens the uneasy peace between the two factions.

Spin-offs are always tricky. You either risk recycling what’s come before or doing something so different it feels like it doesn’t belong. “Ballerina” attempts the latter. Structurally, it’s markedly different from the “Wick” films. Where John’s backstory was shrouded in mystery (to great effect), Eve gets a near-standard origin story. The pacing reflects this: slower, more deliberate, and—put loosely—more character-driven. But with the “Wick” franchise, “standard” is almost a death sentence. Her motivations are deeper than “you killed my dog”—that much is true—but the film never capitalizes on that complexity. The concept had potential. The execution? Not so much.

This was a famously troubled production, plagued by creative differences and director swaps. Unfortunately, the turmoil is evident on-screen. The film suffers from clunky pacing, unclear character motivations, and an overall lack of focus. The solution? More fight scenes. Lots of them. Back-to-back. Sometimes on top of each other.

And yes, I hear you —“Isn’t that the whole point of a John Wick film?” After all, the original was Keanu Reeves’ love letter to Hong Kong action cinema and practical stunt choreography. Make no mistake, the money for the fight choreography is on the screen. It's in turns brilliant and inspired. But here’s the difference: the fight scenes in “Ballerina” are bloated, draining the energy instead of propelling the story forward. They shift from Game of Death to just... game to death.

Another missing ingredient? Humor. The original “John Wick” worked not just because of its clean action, but because of its tongue-in-cheek approach. The violence was cartoonishly stylized (there was always a sly wink underneath the chaos). In diametric opposition, “Ballerina” takes itself deadly (pun intended) serious, and the miniscule attempts at humor fail to land; which would be fine if it had the emotional weight to match. It doesn’t. And that imbalance undercuts the whole enterprise.

To their credit, the cast gives it everything they’ve got. Ana de Armas throws herself into every fight scene with gusto. Minimal stunt doubles were used, and she’s clearly committed. Unfortunately, for such an expressive actress, she comes off oddly stiff in many scenes. It’s as if the physical demands of the role overpowered the emotional depth needed to sell it.

Ian McShane returns as Winston, providing the same reliable brand of silky gravitas. Lance Reddick makes his final appearance as Charon. While it’s not a showstopper performance, the quiet dignity he brings—especially in retrospect—adds a poignant undercurrent. Gabriel Byrne, who’s made a second career playing suave bastards, is criminally underused. He’s reduced to a narrative placeholder—a living, breathing MacGuffin.

 And then there’s Keanu. His John Wick appears in more than just a glorified cameo (don’t worry about the incongruity of his presence here when considering the plot of the last two films. It’ll make your head hurt. Go with it). But here's where it gets interesting: because we're seeing him through Eve’s eyes, he’s presented almost like a mythic figure—wise, quiet, untouchable. Gone is the quirky, grunting killer with a fondness for puppies. Here, he’s more of a messianic mentor. It’s jarring, sure, but also a smart move: it subtly reframes the character from a different emotional vantage point. It's one of the few genuinely thoughtful choices the film makes.

Unfortunately, by the time we get to the end, this reviewer was just as exhausted as the characters—only less invested. What should have been a thrilling expansion of the “Wick” universe plays more like an overlong filler episode.. “Ballerina” had the ingredients to stand on its own: a compelling lead, rich lore, and franchise momentum. What it lacked was restraint, tonal balance, and a reason to care.

It’s no wonder its theatrical run is being cut short. This isn’t a graceful pirouette. It’s a stumble in heels on a slick stage.

AMERICAN CULTURE CRITIC PODCAST NO. 7: "The Substance"

The latest American Culture Critic podcast is LIVE. In this episode I and Adrian, my show's producer, tackle Coralie Fargeat's "The Substance", starring Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley.

We go deep down the rabbit hole in this NSFW podcast. Please note adult themes are tackled. Heavy spoilers abound if you haven't seen it yet.

Honestly, this may be my best show yet. I invite you to give a listen.

https://youtu.be/tmXtB6k5Gis?si=aziFWdsTk-afOq4k  

American Culture Critic Podcast #6: Which Sequel Suffers From The Terrible Twos?

 The condition is "sequel-itis" on the latest American Culture Critic podcast, wherein we tackle the "twos" of Joker & Beetlejuice.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcfOGTJ76Wc&t=5s

ELECTION 2024

 Vote like your life depends upon it. 

Because it does. 

THE AMERICAN CULTURE CRITIC PODCAST: A FIRESIDE CHAT

 The latest American Culture Critic Podcast is LIVE! A somewhat informal affair wherein I and my producer Adrian De Jesus discuss topics ranging from the state of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the latest cinematic superhero offerings, genre fatigue, The Killers, and Killers of the Flower Moon. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ka6VwSvsDR8

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 10 – THE KING AND I (1956)

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification/update where warranted)]:

Day 10 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by Andrew Baldwin. Y’know what? Fuck it! I challenge all the moderators of FanFreeks.

Others might think differently, but in my estimation Rodgers & Hammerstein shot the proverbial wad with this one; both a helluva production and a helluva film. Yet some assert it would be problematic to produce as it was originally presented so many decades ago. After all, The King of Siam (Yul Brynner), its male lead, was chauvinistic, self-centered, entitled, and stubborn, while the women were presented subserviently. 

But in my opinion, those critics miss the point. Mistress Anna (the beguiling Deborah Kerr), the female lead, was anything BUT subservient.  Her own person with a strong sense of self, wit, and poise, she was the "very difficult woman" who was progressive in a way that challenged everything the King held dear. The story is more than an (almost) chaste love story between two people of different worlds; it’s also a story of inexorably encroaching progress, and of the pains of generational transition when the old must give way to the new. 

In the hands of any other actor, the King would have been insufferable. But no one…absolutely no one…could have ever been more suited to the role than Yul Brynner (it had once been a dream of mine to someday play the role but the closest I ever got was to subtly homage it during living chess games at Vizcaya in 2001). When one discusses charismatic, magnetic performances, his is textbook example. Yet if you pay close attention, the twinkle in his eye and the subtle smirk belies any seriousness his character takes himself. More often than not, he is a brat; a man who balances his responsibility to his people and culture with Pimp Daddy energy. There are moments wherein he’s a mischievous boy in a man’s body; one that’s fearful of this new world and way of life that's encroaching on his beloved nation. He epitomizes a way of life that arguably can no longer survive but instead of embracing change in the form of the beguiling and steely Kerr-as-Anna he rebukes it, sending her away. By not embracing that love…and by extension that way of life…he withers and dies, but not before recognizing and instructing the next generation in the form of his son, to embrace the new ways while remembering the old, for only in that understanding that true progress and prosperity can result. Brynner pulled it off in spectacular fashion, his performance was so beloved he played the role for years even after his initial Broadway run and this performance…a total of 4,625 times on stage (even under excruciating physical duress). It bears mentioning that at the end of the iconic musical number, Brynner and Kerr engage in a primal, erotically passionate stare down that surpasses almost anything else of its kind ever in celluloid, all without word or touch.

The image above exemplifies the film completely. Two people of differing perspectives, each imperious and strong in their own way, but standing together as equals, all smiles (subtle though they be), basking in each other’s presence despite themselves, yet each too stubborn to acknowledge that, despite their differences, they’re stronger together.

In my opinion, there’s never been a greater love story put to film.

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 9 – GOLDENEYE (1995).

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification/update where warranted)]:

Day 9 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by Andrew Baldwin. Inspired or not, thy will be done.

This choice would have been more appropriate for day 7, but that would have been too obvious. Suffice it to say, this one was difficult because it’s more the film series rather than any one film that impacted and inspired me, and it can be summed up in a single line:

“Bond. James Bond.”

What started as a mocking introduction in “Dr. No” has morphed into a declaration (Hell, Roger Moore’s delivery of the line practically demanded acknowledgement by genuflection). A character who started out as a stone-cold killer changed to become something different within the times he was represented. He’s been derided as much as he’s been celebrated: a representative of arrogant-yet-in-decline British imperialism at best, and “kinda rapey” (in Millennial speak) at worst. Yet for all that, 25 films later, we still follow his adventures no matter where they lead. The films were an exotic travelogue at a time when tourism was not so affordable. Some of the lushest scores by John Barry were inspired by this series (as well as some of the most dated. I’m looking at you, Georgio Moroder and Bill Conti) and the women; oh god, the women…

(Wipes drool off computer)

>Ahem<

Connery is undisputed King; the standard by which all others are judged. Craig is the worthy title holder and longest serving actor in years if not in film. Moore was the charming tongue-firmly-in-cheek rogue with a twinkle in his eye. Dalton was damned good and closest to Fleming’s literary take, despite the naysayers (think about it. He was Craig before Craig); a great Bond in a world that wasn’t ready for it. Lazenby was…ok.

But this...this is MY Bond, and this was his best film. I had been waiting for “Goldeneye” since the television series “Remington Steele” premiered. Brosnan was a natural for the role. Because of that show, the public believed he would be the successor (the producers of RS must have felt the same, for how else can one explain the off-key parody of the “Bond” theme used in the series’ very first episode?).

He was to have been Bond for 1987’s “The Living Daylights”, but a last-minute “fuck you” stunt by NBC precluded that from ever happening. The public would not let go, though. Brosnan’s series of “Diet Coke” commercials kept the hope alive. EON Productions had to take legal intervention to stop Putnam Books from putting Brosnan’s silhouette on the covers of the John Gardner-penned continuation novels. For six years, the franchise was put on hold due to various lawsuits. In 1994, when the litigious smoke cleared, Brosnan's frustrating journey to the role finally ended here.

“Goldeneye” reinvented the mythos without destroying it (a female “M”, a Moneypenny who, while still love struck, wasn’t exactly pining either), putting everything that was great about Bond there for all to see. It had Brosnan’s only adversary who was 007’s equal (Sean Bean), a very crazed, effective assassin (Famke Janssen in a go-for-broke performance), a capable heroine who wasn’t afraid of one-upping “our hero” (Izabella Scorupco).

The irony is that this pop-culture build up to the crown yielded a triumphant climax in this one film…to the detriment of those that followed. Because of the lackluster reception to Dalton, the aforementioned years of litigation that kept Bond out of theaters, coupled with the changing zeitgeist, the producers “played it safe” with the character. Thus, the three films that followed were nowhere near the standards here. Unfortunately, it’s also undeservedly tarnished Brosnan’s take. One only needs to see films such as “The Fourth Protocol” and “The Tailor of Panama” to see what “Goldeneye” hinted at.

A sexist, misogynistic dinosaur and relic of the Cold War he may be but to this day, Bond endures. In my opinion, Brosnan made it his own, and this is his Bond at his finest. 

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 8 – ROCKY (1976)

 

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification/update where warranted)]:

Day 8 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by Andrew Baldwin. Do it today, ‘cause there is no tomorrow.

Speaking of Sly (see day 6)… 

Yo, Adriaaaaaaan…we got 'n Osca’ winnah, ova’heeya….

Oscar winner. 

All these years later, who’da thunk? 

Hell, even back THEN, who’da thunk?! 

After all, this 1976 film went up against some serious pedigree for “Best Picture” at the 49th Academy Awards. Compared to such sophisticated fare as “All the President's Men”, “Bound for Glory”, “Network”, and “Taxi Driver”, “Rocky” was the uncomplicated and relatively simplistic “odd man out”; the "Marisa Tomei" of its day.  But then, the John G. Avildsen-helmed feature was truly a study of “the underdog” in both narrative and actuality. It's thematically resonant and deeper than the critics gave it credit for. It also had the advantage of being released at the right time...or perhaps it was created because of those times, rather than in spite of. The Seventies was a very powerful, experimental, and examinatorial period in cinema; one wherein society’s ills and problems were being reflected back to us in celluloid with all stories tinged with varying shades of grey. The zeitgeist of the time didn’t help matters either. For all the “come on get happys” and "free love" of the period, there was equal or greater amounts of reports of government corruption, rising crime rates, job decimation, and economic hardship (sound familiar)?

So is it any wonder that “Rocky” made the impact that it has? Though the plot is based upon fighter Chuck Wepner’s ability to go the distance with then-champ Muhammad Ali, the film (as to many degrees all the films that followed were) is autobiographical, running parallel to creator Sylvester Stallone’s life. According to legend, he wrote the script at his most destitute. The producers wanted to buy the script but wanted a name attached at the lead (his biggest roles at that time was a part in the ensemble film “The Lords of Flatbush” and a film Sly would rather be off his resume, “The Party at Kitty and Stud's” [later retitled “The Italian Stallion” for obvious reasons]). Stallone held fast, insisting he be the lead or no deal. In a foreshadowing of the film’s thematic hook, against all odds, the producers acquiesced. Maybe that’s what made Balboa so appealing against the likes of Woodward and Bernstein, Howard Beale, and Travis Bickle. It was a film that showed the world as an unforgiving landscape that blocked our development at every corner; a world that dictated who one was opposed to presenting the chance for self-identification. It postulated that when that rare opportunity in life presents itself, it has to be grabbed as ferociously and tenaciously as possible with both hands with an iron grip. That despite circumstance, we can rise above it all and surprise not only our naysayers, but ourselves.  Whether or not one succeeded in the venture didn’t matter…it was the attempt to rise above the hole that is fatalistic expectation was all-encompassing. 

It’s said that the best stories are the most personal; the ones wherein the author is personally invested, and the audience identifies with on a fundamental level. I believe that’s why it won, and why to this day it remains one of my favorites. 

In that sense, we are all “Rocky”.

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 7 – STAR TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN (1982)

 

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification/update where warranted)]:

Day 7 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by the esteemed educator and author Andrew Baldwin. You got your own choices to post, don’t you? What’re yew waitin’ fer?

Here’s another “big surprise” entry. In truth, the surprise was actually WHICH film of the first two film in the series to choose! The first film may have been derided in later years as “The MotionLESS Picture,” but that film "wow’ed" me in so many different respects that compensated for the action-less narrative. For the first time, one got a tangible sense of the immense size of the U.S.S. Enterprise. For those of us used to reruns of ‘60s (state-of-the-art-on-a budget) effects, the special effects of the first film were astounding. Further, Jerry Goldsmith’s (with uncredited assist from series theme composer Alexander Courage) orchestrations were nothing short of phenomenal. 

But my personal winner, even to this day, remains the most powerfully affecting. It was a game changer. Back then, as the intrepid crew of The Enterprise was created on broadcast television, they carried with them the same subconscious expectations of television as it was back in the day: done-in-one adventures with the characters resetting back to the status quo by episode’s end. Yes, there’d be some moral imparted and people learning something new about themselves, but by the end each toy was put back in the box as pristine as they were taken out. Even the first film followed this paradigm.

Not this time.  

Instead of being forced to wear Vaseline on their faces and pretend to be only 2 ½ years older rather than a decade, the actors were presented as the were in “real time”, facing issues rarely explored on broadcast television. Instead of being treated as avatars of well-worn pop culture catchphrases, they were presented as three-dimensional characters. The weight of their history and age upon their shoulders, even if it only seemed to weigh down Admiral James T. Kirk. The crew found themselves facing their mortality and the real prospect of death in intimate, real fashion that they never had before.

"I haven't faced death. I've cheated death. I've tricked my way out of death and -- patted myself on the back for my ingenuity. I know nothing." 

   - Admiral James T. Kirk (William Shatner).

So much can be said for this film…the space naval score by rising-star composer James Horner, Ricardo Montalban’s real-chesty, go-for-broke performance, the debut of the then-fetching Kirstie Alley…but it’s the relationships that carry the film, none more powerfully than the image presented here. Back in the day, the actors were marginalized; their talents dismissed by the nature of the material and medium of the original presentation. Say what you will about Shatner (trust me, I do), but he is capable of powerful subtlety. The late Leonard Nimoy was the show’s and films’ blessing, being the type of actor whose presence elevates the material he’s given. Yes, the scene can be considered a cheat because the emotions were for many bolstered from years of seeing these characters in endless reruns (“Star Trek”, technically, has never been off the air). But it was that moment that many realized that they saw these characters as real people, and that the “big death” was akin to that of a family member. The status quo was gone. There was no reset; no pat, pithy comeback to end an episode and off to the next adventure. Instead, there was the understanding that despite the death, life goes on.

"You knew enough to tell Saavik that how we face death is at least as important as how we face life."

"Just words."

"But good words. That's where ideas begin. Maybe you should listen to them."

   - David Marcus (Merritt Butrick) and Admiral Kirk (William Shatner).

The consequences would carry over from this film onward. Most importantly the characters emotionally matured, now in sync with their physicality. It would take two films for that status quo to be reset (to a certain degree), but here there was something the franchise had lacked until that moment: Unpredictability. It felt like it had truly gone where it hadn't gone before. There was a new tomorrow on the horizon; a bittersweet one, but a new one nonetheless.

It felt…young.

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 6 - SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER (1977)

 

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification/update where warranted)]:

Day 6 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by Andrew Baldwin. If you want to participate…what?...today should have been day “8”? What happened to days “6” and “7”, you ask? Hey, no one said nuthin’ ‘bout it havin’ to be consecutive….

>Ahem<

There are some common themes in my previous selections, but this one is different. To paraphrase another film, as far as I can remember I always wanted to be a dancer. Actually, that’s a misstatement because “wanted to be” implies a conscious choice. It was something I already was. According to my parents and people who knew from birth, it seemed I could naturally boogie right out of the womb. When I discovered Tom Jones, I would emulate his performances using my bed as a stage with a disconnected tape recorder mike in hand. So when John Travolta’s “Tony Monero” exploded on the pop culture scene in his now-and-still-iconic white suit, I had to see it. While the women (and some men) were screaming for the sex symbol Travolta had become almost overnight (“Welcome Back, Kotter” notwithstanding), my eight-year-old self was enraptured by the dance. To subsequent generations, the music and styles may seem the height of cheese, but dancers GET IT. Life is movement, movement is life, and dance is its ultimate expression. The music and the moves made me come alive inside. The electrifying soundtrack fronted by the Bee Gees and including the likes of Kool & The Gang and Miami's own KC & The Sunshine Band (which was only used in post; Travolta and the other actors were dancing to Motown standards during filming) was the highest grossing of all time until Prince's "Purple Rain” and is inextricable from the film.

However, that same little person wouldn’t get much of the narrative or its motifs until he got older; themes that would run parallel to his own life in many ways: Dance as an escape from a dreary existence; the longing for something more (in common with other films on my list); the quest for an identity, the desire for respect in a world that withholds same; the realization that the party can’t last forever, where one has to dismiss the superficial and be stripped to their essence to see what is there and determine what comes next. When the (dancer’s) high is gone and all one’s left is an empty dance floor…to borrow a song lyric, “[o]h, yeah, life goes on…long after the thrill…of living is gone.”  

The film is dismissed in many circles as schlock, but that’s mostly due to aesthetics. For all its party atmosphere, it’s a particularly deep piece of cinema dealing with very adult conflicts. It’s a time capsule of its period, but its story, and the issues it tackles, are timeless. It’s a difficult coming-of-age story with no real resolution (let’s just pretend the Sylvester Stallone-directed '83 follow up never happened). But in the backdrop of life's capriciousness, there is the momentary, unbridled joy brought about by the dance. The film posits that it may be transitory, but that is what makes it all the more powerful and exultant.

This image is so iconic that the film’s title need not be mentioned.* Suffice it to say, in December, 1977 in a movie theater on a Saturday night, I was struck with a fever; and you know what?

I didn’t want to be cured.

*Except in this article’s title, natch. 

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 5 - THE CROW (1994)

 

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification/update where warranted)]:

Day 5 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by Andrew Baldwin. Anyone else care to try? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

“Take your best shot, Funboy. You got me dead bang”.

No, Mr. Lee…you had US “dead bang”.

“Reality Bites”, “Dazed and Confused” …those films and a few others are among those considered the cinematic benchmarks of "GenX". Well, I submit that “The Crow” (1994) is THE seminal film of that...my...generation. While those films did humorously touch upon the concerns and preoccupations of those of us coming of age in that tumultuous period, this film (despite its fantastical nature) touched upon and explored the existential angst (whether affected or not) that simmered beneath the surface, belying the dismissive Boomer sobriquet of “the slacker generation.” Ours was the generation who saw all our institutions crumble as we grew into adulthood: Church scandals, Vietnam, Watergate, Iran Contra, skyrocketing divorce rates and broken homes, Reaganomics, the Iraqi war, Rodney King, Compton, Nicole and Ronald, S&L…is it any wonder that a certain degree of nihilistic apathy developed? This film captures those concerns in atmospheric, Gothic, foreboding fashion. In that sense, WE collectively ARE Eric Draven, a victim of a world that has robbed him of all foundation (represented by his wife Shelley, ethereally played by Sofia Shinas), stripping him of his very life. However, his frustrated anger and despair cry for vengeance; to make sense of a world made senseless by forces beyond his control…and it’s only in the supernatural that he finds his outlet, one not afforded to the viewer. My own world had crumbled by this point, to which I almost lost everything, including my own life. Because of that, perhaps I’m making more of this than warranted; reading into it more than I should. But the film is literally a work of art for it is emotionally evocative in a way that goes beyond simple film. But isn't that what good art is supposed to do? Stir the emotions? Inspire self-reflection? The soundtrack by various grunge artists and the bittersweet, haunting, tribal, affecting score by Graeme Revell adds to the aesthetic. It is initially oppressive and permeated with a sense of loss.

That loss is no more powerfully felt than it is in the form of Brandon Lee as the title character. In many ways, his story is that of Draven’s: a man on the cusp of stardom and (arguably) a happy life until fate unexpectedly robbed him of it. Lee had been known primarily as the son of martial arts “god” Bruce Lee, and his highest profile film to date had been the eminently forgettable “Showdown in Little Tokyo”, playing second banana to Dolph Lundgren (even going so far as to proudly comment on his co-star’s manhood in script in an especially embarrassing sequence). Yet he was more than a martial arts star in the making. He was a bona-fide actor who gave the performance of a lifetime, which serves as both the apex of his craft and a hint of what could have been. The tragedy of his on-set death only adds to the material in a way in-and-of-itself supernatural. Like the character he portrays, Lee is the specter that hangs over the entire production like a shroud; his presence, and lack of same, permeating every facet and aspect of the entire film. Ernie Hudson is especially moving as “Officer Albrecht”, representative of the previous generation whose job is to protect the next, yet woefully inadequate to the task. Rochelle Davis, as “Sarah”, gives an equally moving performance representing the next generation whom ours is charged to protect. Yet how protective and nurturing can one be when one is dead inside? "The Crow" offers a bittersweet response.

Like the comic that spawned it, “The Crow” is a film that transcends itself. Yet, it is also subversive, for beneath its nihilism is a theme that resonates especially in the film’s tagline “real love is forever”, for this film is ultimately about love: How it uplifts us when it’s there, and how we despair when it’s gone. Love drives us, motivates us, and figuratively and in this film literally, restores us to life. There is no way to truly remake this film…though not for lack of trying Like yesterday’s cinematic choice, a host of diminishing sequels (and one moderately successful television series) followed, each incapable of capturing the evocative power of the original.*

Truth is, no matter what I say about this film, it would still be inadequate. “The Crow” is an iconic piece of art; one that despite its air of oppressive despair, shows us that where there is love, there is hope: it’s a film that reminds us that no matter how bad life can be…

…it can’t rain all the time.

*As of this writing, a remake starring Bill Skarsgard and Danny Huston will be in theatres in 2024. While whether it succeeds or fails remains to be seen, it will be due to its own merits. I’ve said on this blog before that “every generation deserves its own iteration”, and from that idea is the understanding that it will be its own entity completely devoid of the circumstances mentioned above, both internal and external, that makes this film so special.

TEN MOVIES THAT MADE AN IMPACT ON ME: SOCIAL MEDIA CHALLENGE REVISITED: DAY 4 - "HIGHLANDER" (1985)

[Back in 2018, there was a social media challenge on Facebook in which a person posted a picture a day for 10 days of 10 films that made an impact on them. However, I went a step beyond and posted an explanation as to why they made that impact. For the sake of posterity, they're being reposted here in their entirety (with some modification where warranted)]:

Day 4 of 10 movies that had an impact on me. 10 films that inspired you, 10 days, one image. I was nominated for this challenge by Andrew Baldwin. Do or do not, there is no care.

What started out as a class thesis project turned into one of the most maligned and mocked film franchises in modern cinema. Where to begin? Gregory Widen’s original soulful and earnest screenplay about the inherent tragedy of immortality undermined by money-grubbing producers and a too-cool-for-school director hoping for a quick buck; a lead who at the time barely knew English, much less emulate a proper Scottish accent; a proper Scot cast as a Spaniard with an Egyptian pedigree; a film that was clearly meant as a “done-in-one” branched out into ever-worsening film sequels that only marred the original’s legacy.

Yet for all that, “Highlander” (1985) captures the imagination with it’s barely-scratched mythology of Immortal beings living among humanity “down through the centuries, living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time of the Gathering, where the few who remain…will battle to the last.” Christopher Lambert’s performance as “Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod” may have been wooden, but his screen presence perfectly fit the film’s milieu and zeitgeist; his unique accent totally appropriate for an individual having lived throughout the world for four centuries. Looking at those feral-yet-haunted eyes (an unintended-yet-welcomed consequence of the lead's myopia), one could imagine all the joys and tolls of those lifetimes lived. Despite only being available for a week of shooting, none can deny that Connery made the most of it, imbuing a much needed levity to balance the gravitas a character like “Juan Sanchez Villalobos Ramirez” would carry.  Clancy Brown, a fine actor in any production, had been hampered by Peter S. Davis & William Panzer’s desire to make the fearsome “Kurgan” into a stock, cartoonish ‘80s nutjob (in the original screenplay, the Kurgan was as weighted down by his immortality as much as Connor was, fighting for “the Prize” only because it was all that was left to him, which would have made for a much more meaningful and powerful take).

Say what you will about director Russel Mulcahy, his MTv-generation sense of style gave this film its own distinct identity, and the one-two punch of Michael Kamen’s score along with the stirring soundtrack by Queen elevates what could have been B-movie fare to something close to mythic. Case in point, Brian May was inspired to write “Who Wants To Live Forever” after watching the montage of MacLeod watching his beloved wife, Heather (Beatie Edney), whither and die while he remains unchanged…it’s this sequence that elevates the entire film, and presents a glimpse as to Widen's narrative intentions. Be that as it (Brian) may, the soundtrack and orchestrations perfectly underscore the sense of weariness and loss an unending lifetime can evoke, yet at the same time provide a stirring, rollicking sense of occult adventure. This film is (despite it's flaws) "a kind of magic"...and it is felt throughout the film. Without embarrassment I can say that, for a time, I was obsessed with this mythology. As with the Immortals, the film stands outside the fringes of the every day. Much of the mythology wouldn’t be properly (in varying degrees) explored until the series it inspired several years later. But here, just a hint of that world was enough to incite the imagination. 

The image above is the climatic shot, representing not only the receipt of “The Prize”, but also a moment of orgiastic catharsis: Pain, pleasure, power…release...the culmination of a nigh-interminable existence…all embodied in one image. 

The film’s most famous tagline is “There Can Be Only One.” In truth, there should have been only one for, marred though it be, “Highlander” achieved all it had to do in one.

(And for the record…to this day I absolutely LOVE that Masamune katana).