Venom: The Last Dance: (2024)

Score: 1.5 / 5

What happened? Venom and Let There Be Carnage were so delightfully wacky and weird and fun that we had no reason to expect less from what is presumably the final installment in this series. And for the non-discerning viewer, this could just as easily be another entry in a lengthier franchise, one that is hardly notable, frequently forgettable, and generally uninspired, but still a fun time in the brief moments it allows its cutesy buddy/antihero dynamics to breathe and cause mayhem. Unfortunately, director and writer Kelly Marcel -- and, surely, due to no small interference from the studio -- completely misses the mark on this entry, ending the series on a pitifully pathetic note.

Tom Hardy is never less than his best self, and the film works best when it allows him to create weirdness. Hardy's delivery of Eddie Brock this time is a bit melancholic and world-weary, but his playfulness shines through as both the human and the titular symbiote. But Marcel rarely allows him to just do his thing in this film, pushing him relentlessly through plot points so contrived you have to wonder if the storyboard was generated by AI. Essentially, Brock/Venom, on the run in Mexico after the events in the previous film, decide to go to New York City, which just seems about as smart and safe a choice as any. En route, they are attacked by a monstrous symbiote predator, which Venom reveals to be due to his having resurrected Brock in the first film. Their special bond is thus called a Codex, and the symbiote creator Knull wants it. Why? How does he know about it? It's all a bunch of weird sci-fi jargon and fantasy nonsense, but the MacGuffin of it remains exactly that.

So they find their way through Las Vegas to a soon-to-be-decommissioned Area 51, beneath which a secret government operation is studying other symbiotes, under the leadership of Rex Strickland (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and Dr. Teddy Payne (Juno Temple). Don't get excited by these new cast members; they are utterly wasted in this film. Similarly, Rhys Ifans as a hippie who picks up a hitchhiking Brock and takes him there gets a few nice moments but is generally underused in what could have been a really cool character role. The characters aren't helped by a directorial (or producorial) determination to spend as much time as possible on action, a choice that renders most of the film unwatchable due to aggressively banal blobs of CGI alien goo dripping and flinging around like antigrav watery sludge. 

The film seems to be the end of the road for Eddie Brock and Venom, and the film's climax (SPOILER ALERT) suggests that Venom's sacrifice is indeed final. Several other symbiotes are released, including one that bonds with Temple's character, and more of that could be fun to explore in the future. Because, rest assured, there will be more. The film has not one but two post-credits scenes, one which implies Knull (Andy Serkis) coming to Earth as a Big Bad Guy now that Venom is out of the picture, the other implying that Venom may in fact have survived the inferno at Area 51. It's all much ado about... nothing, really.

At least we got a bit more of Cristo Fernandez and much more of hilarious, heartwarming Peggy Lu in this one. It's just too bad Marcel couldn't keep her eyes on the good things she had at her disposal, choosing instead to dispose of them in this trashy mess of a movie that would have done better to not have been made at all.

The Batman (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

Matt Reeves is a genius. We already knew that after what he did with Dawn of the Planet of the Apes and War for the Planet of the Apes, and frankly I hope that inspires people to revisit his brilliant earlier films Cloverfield and Let Me In. But nothing could have prepared me for the polished beauty and audacious style of yet another Batman movie from this burgeoning master of the craft. Most scenes could be frozen and framed, so rivetingly and beautifully composed as they are, and from the long, slow shots to the endless textured detail of every costume piece and prop, you can tell Reeves and team meant this film to be a labor of love. In a lot of ways, this movie reminded me of Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins in its shocking scope, emotional and intellectual depth, and world-building mastery.

But this film (and the franchise sure to bloom from its stem) differs from Nolan's stories in a critical way, and it is this I intend to explore in this post: Reeves is not interested in mythmaking. While Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy was rooted in realism and had a muscular, gritty aesthetic, it was primarily an epic. A means of turning Batman -- who isn't really a "super" hero after all -- from a man into an idea, as Bruce himself says in the first film. We get a mythic origin story that culminates in a physical and mental test; a damsel in distress; a terrifying enemy determined to destroy the city; an impossible race against the odds through a freshly realized hell to stop destruction and death. And there's the level of advanced technology, which often feels a bit too sci-fi for the world as it is. Reeves, on the other hand, intentionally makes Bruce a real person and doesn't outfit him with sonar technology or special goggles that turn cell phones into echolocation tools.

Reeves's Batman is, first and foremost, a detective. We meet him approximately two years into his tenure as the caped crusader, although he doesn't really seem to have donned the title of "Batman." He calls himself Vengeance in a delightfully sinister tone I didn't expect from actor Robert Pattinson, who has been doing unbelievably great work in the last several years, certainly since Cronenberg's Cosmopolis in 2012. The film opens with the murder of the Gotham City mayor, and as Lieutenant Gordon (Jeffrey Wright) investigates the crime scene, he escorts "Vengeance" past the police and forensics experts. The police don't like him; he's just a vigilante with a scary name to them. Pattinson imbues the character with the kind of tortured menace Christian Bale had, but his is more intellectual than passionate; nonverbal for, shockingly, most of the film, Pattinson's face is a masterclass of nuance as he slowly and deliberately takes in the crime scene. His eyes flicker to a blood spot apparently no one has noticed, and as he moves away from it, a photographer hurries over to snap it for evidence.

Most of the film is as slow and deliberate, but Reeves packs each photogenic image with details and weight that are astounding. It feels, in many ways, like a David Fincher movie in its calculated aesthetic and intentional turning of the screw. Add to it the unexpected, violent action, Like Zodiac or Se7en in plot, The Batman is very much a gritty drama about someone trying to solve and then stop serial murders from happening, and a significant part of that is due to the psychopathic killer. Here we have the Riddler, played by Paul Dano in what might be the most unhinged and genuinely scary performance of his career, who is determined to kill the leaders of Gotham and reveal the depths of their corruption and fraud. But there's always something else going on with him, and one of my favorite moments is also his first moment on screen: as the mayor watches the news alone in his apartment, he steps away to refresh his drink. In the negative space behind him, we see the vague silhouette of a figure whose only discernible features are of his eyes. The goggles or glasses he wears reflect the harsh white light of the TV, making him instantly a ghostly or demonic presence who seems uncannily linked with his own desire to force people in power to reflect on themselves, albeit in a public way. And that's only the third or fourth shot of the film!

Much will be made of Pattinson and his iteration of the character; I loved him as Bruce Wayne in all his hungover, battered, sallow glory. Similarly, much will be made of Andy Serkis as Alfred Pennyworth and Zoe Kravtiz as Selina Kyle (a particularly sexy Catwoman who pairs extremely well with Pattinson's Batman). Not to take away from them (although Serkis has precious little to do in this film), but I would rather fixate momentarily on John Turturro's deliciously creepy turn as Carmine Falcone and a completely unrecognizable Colin Farrell as Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin. Especially the latter, who is apparently about to get an HBO spinoff series, because these characters are so often caricatured or made into comedic butts, but here they are treated with dignity and substance by the screenplay, director, and actors. It helps, too, that Reeves lets them own their moments, not rushing anything or highlighting spectacle over character.

The Batmobile arrives, looking like it just escaped a Mad Max sequel. Arkham shows up late, along with someone who appears to be the Joker, and I'm itching for Reeves's proposed Arkham horror series. The fighting is all very muscular, and Reeves doesn't cut away from the brutal punches and kicks, choosing intentionally for us to witness Bruce getting injured (and also kicking butt most of the time). He's just another man, Reeves seems desperate to tell us, capable of getting injured and risking his life and struggling to figure out how best to help others. By the end, it seems Bruce might be ready to embrace his identity as the Batman, but it's the path to that realization that makes up the film; he can't just be a vigilante, he needs to be the symbol of hope and justice Gotham so craves. He has to confront his history, his legacy, and even his daily purpose, and it reaches a head when he chooses, in the film's climax, to use a flare and guide a mass of people out of watery wreckage to safety. That kind of salvific moment is captured beautifully as a sort of harrowing of hell, and it's here that Bruce actively chooses mercy and aid over anger and his self-proclaimed goal of vengeance.

Come for the riveting Batman story and its neo-noir detective aesthetic. Stay for the unbelievably beautiful production, including eye-popping cinematography from Greig Fraser (Dune, Bright Star, Let Me In, Snow White and the Huntsman, Zero Dark Thirty, Foxcatcher, Lion, Rogue One, Mary Magdalene, Vice, The Mandalorian) and gorgeous music from Michael Giacchino (Jurassic World, Marvel and Pixar movies, Super 8, Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Star Trek). And leave haunted by the memory of one of the best Batman movies you've ever seen, and what may very well prove to be one of my own top 10 films of 2022. It's early to make a claim like that, but once you've seen this film, you'll know what I'm talking about.

Venom: Let There Be Carnage (2021)

 Score: 4 / 5

My prayers from the original Venom came true. In another fabulous outing for the dark side of Marvel, one of our favorite antiheroes returns with kinetic panache, this time causing trouble with a favorite villain. Let There Be Carnage isn't a subtle movie, and for people long tired of CGI-laden superhero blockbusters, it will be read as messy and trite. But, much like the first one, this sequel works best for fans who can get on its funky wavelength for long enough to realize they're in for a fun, weird time. As long as they don't mind a heavy dose of soft-core gooey, amoebic tentacle porn.

This movie takes place about a year after the first one, but plot isn't really on its mind; the characters seem to be about where they were when last we saw them. Eddie Brock (Tom Hardy) is living an apparently happy life with his new partner, the alien Symbiote named Venom (also Hardy). They act together as a sort of vigilante, apparently, bullying bullies on the streets of San Francisco. We don't see much of this behavior, though, because the movie dives right into Eddie's new work: interviewing incarcerated serial killers. Having discovered the cache of corpses left by one Cletus Kasady (Woody Harrelson), Eddie's career leaps forward; much to his chagrin, his ex, Anne (Michelle Williams), is now engaged to another man.

Yes, that's right, Venom is indeed a love story. But not so much between Eddie and Anne as it is between Eddie and Venom. Less parasite-host drama and more buddy comedy with cannibalism on its mind, this franchise hinges on its two leads bickering and squabbling and breaking apart before happily (and usually sensually) reuniting to kick ass. We know this already, and so this sequel just gives us a lot of what we want in that vein. Venom is Eddie's id, and thus all of ours, constantly hungry (his diet of live chickens just isn't satiating) and a little bit horny; he's a good wingman to his host, though, and occasionally urges Eddie to do the right thing, like reconnect with Anne. It's still a wonderfully queer dynamic here, maybe even a little more explicitly than in the first outing, but it reaches a new height when the villain appears. Thankfully, this movie, directed by Andy Serkis, is all too happy to dive into the weird stuff too.

Kasady, sentenced for death, attacks Eddie and bites a chunk right out of him, Hannibal style. The Symbiote piece that he takes merges with him to become Carnage, a "red one" as Venom calls it, an unholy combination of bloodlust and psychopathy. It doesn't take long for him to start his murderous and destructive spree, and so the movie zips right along; between its action, thick CGI, and delightfully morbid humor, there's barely a moment to breathe. Kasady gets some backstory -- the opening sequence reveals a bit of his sad past -- and even a romantic relationship a la Joker and Harley Quinn with Naomie Harris's new character Shriek (basically the X-Men's Banshee, but a criminal). But, most tellingly for his character, the film does not give us a single moment of Kasady discovering his powers or testing his limits. Perhaps Carnage is so powerful and dangerous because Kasady and the Symbiote are already too much alike.

Venom isn't a typical comic book movie about alternate universes and worlds ending, and its focus on a single interesting character grappling with his demons is almost refreshing. The cinematography (this time by the amazing Robert Richardson) is beautiful like last time (by a personal favorite, Matthew Libatique), though here most frames actually feel like they could be panels in a comic book; whereas the first Venom leaned into its dark, edgy aesthetic a bit more in terms of framing and lighting, this one more fully embraces the violent silliness and colorful iconography of the material. And the writing, this time involving Hardy, gives its monstrous protagonist multiple scenes of sensitive, almost sweet reflection. Who knew Venom could be such a gentle soul?

Well, up to a point. And the same goes for this movie, which ends with the most jaw-dropping moment I've had in a cinema in years. Stick around for the mid-credits scene, which (SPOILER ALERT) connects the Sony/Marvel series to the Disney/Marvel Studios (MCU) franchise. Obviously this will link the two franchises -- presumably so that Tom Holland, soon to be out of contract with Disney, is free to continue the character in new ways -- but we don't know exactly how yet. Will Holland jump over to the Sony side and leave the Avengers permanently? Could this scene be an indication that Sony will sell their rights over to Disney? The final Spider-Man MCU outing could reveal more, or it could muddy the waters for those of us eager for Sinister Six content. At least we know now that both studios are leaning in on the multiverse concept, so we can expect more surprises moving forward.

Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle (2018)

Score: 1.5 / 5

If anything could make another version of The Jungle Book special, memorable, or meaningful, motion capture wasn't it.

It seems an appropriate directorial debut for the undisputed master of motion capture Andy Serkis, whose technical and dramatic work on the Planet of the Apes franchise really deserved more award recognition. There's not really a way to get the story wrong, and much of it relies on special effects to stupefy the audience into a state of wonder. Leave it to Serkis to make the animals look uncannily like their all-star voice actor counterparts. You really haven't lived until you've seen Christian Bale's face covered in Bagheera's black fur, or Benedict Cumberbatch's crazy eyes popping out of Shere Khan's tigery visage.

But Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle is so much less than it could -- and should -- have been. Though its technical skill in realizing the animals is unquestionable, its delivery feels preoccupied with its own technicality. Faces and movement might be exactly right, but many of the other effects look cheap by comparison (notice scenes of intense action and of large numbers of animals; they are remarkably unfinished renderings). Moreover, Serkis demonstrates a surprising inability to direct the film, apart from his own area of expertise. The screenplay and editing seem aggressively at odds with each other while the movie never really shows us anything new or interesting to make it worthwhile. And, perhaps most importantly, the film tonally lurches in such intense swings that it never really coalesces into a finished product.

This film fatally suffers from its inability to make a case for existing. Partly due, no doubt, to Disney's The Jungle Book being filmed near the same time, and due to Mowgli being released on Netflix and not theatrically, this film was doomed to have a lesser impact. And yet its faults extend beyond those of circumstance. Serkis seems bent on telling a fresh, darker story without music and whimsy. His characters bleed -- more than you might expect -- and die in gruesome ways. This is not the movie to watch with impressionable young children on a Friday night. But Serkis fails to bring the film to a truly violent, visceral level; while it remains in appropriate for children, it's also not very appealing to adults seeking more brutal fare.

Finally -- and comparisons are often so unproductive -- The Jungle Book is just so much more effective and accomplished as a film. Its effects are impeccable, its sense of joy pure and infectious, its nostalgia combines perfectly with its innovations. Mowgli isn't forced to return to the man-village, doomed by some sickly essentialist ideas about what he was born as opposed to who he chooses to be. Rather, he remains with his friends and family in the jungle, a perfect ending to his character and his story that has never been told before. That's a reason to retell this story. Tell it differently, with a purpose that is relevant for the time and place.

The closest Mowgli gets to being relevant -- apart from casting Naomie Harris and Cate Blanchett -- is in its vague attempts at teasing out the complex political machinations of the jungle. By the time Mowgli is all but forced back to the man-village, the jungle has become a dark and anarchic place, ruled over by a vicious tyrant with bad hair, dramatic gesture, and a crazed gleam in his eye. He may not be Trump, but in case you didn't make the connection, Serkis puts a malnourished, dirty Mowgli in a cage for the villagers (and audience) to mock.

Save your time, and save your energy. Jon Favreau is making a Jungle Book sequel, and I cannot wait.

Black Panther (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Here it is. My favorite Marvel movie yet, and easily the most important one in the franchise. Black Panther is everything we dreamed it might be and then some. Suave and sophisticated, action-packed and thrilling, dazzling and gorgeous, it also doesn't skimp on relevance, timeliness, originality, and fun. It features some of the most rounded, dynamic characters I've ever seen in a superhero movie -- especially its antagonist -- and pairs them nicely with rich, thoughtful production design.

The basic story is simple: T'Challa returns home to Wakanda after the events of Civil War to find his throne challenged. His struggle to reclaim and reunite his homeland leads him to the contested decision of whether or not to open Wakanda to the world. Its "Afrofuturist" (as I read some calling it, magnificently) grandeur, scientific wonders, rich tastes and fashion, and technology could help liberate oppressed peoples around the world at the cost of breaking tradition and revealing their secrets. Their vulnerability, however, is no match for their warriors, led by a cadre of badass women, or their weapons.

There are so many fabulous things about this movie it would take a book to list them all. To start, Black Panther is a fresh take on the superhero story because it's about people rather than aliens or monsters or robots. The tense drama comes because we see real people arguing about real issues, albeit with laser guns and vibranium armor. Similarly, while to some extent the "hero" trope continues, this film is less concerned with Black Panther's individualism and single-handed macho victories than it is with his (and others') efforts to unite groups of people. It's a film about community first and foremost. The characters all seem radically interested in liberating their people, as well as people of color around the world. They listen to each other, support each other; there is no hierarchy of age or gender, and so we have elite women and elders who defer to youth.

Along these lines, we also see some great redemption and reconciliation between people sharply at odds. An early challenger to T'Challa, though not initially welcome, is saved from death and allowed to rejoin Wakanda society. Later, the antagonist Killmonger is similarly invited to rejoin the community. Perhaps this stems from his views on liberation; he doesn't attack or kill or terrorize for pleasure or chaos but for wanting to empower the oppressed. This is framed effectively by the flashbacks to his youth in 1992 California. Though he seeks violence as the answer, it's hard to shake his empathy and desire for justice.

And, actually, we don't have to shake it. A final scene features T'Challa addressing the United Nations, opening Wakanda to share its resources and advancements with the world. He declares that looking after each other "as if we are one tribe" must be the effort to avoid global catastrophe -- a unique perspective in a franchise about intergalactic alien conquest. While it's not the same solution as Killmonger's vision of a Wakandan global empire, it shares its beating heart: remaining isolated and secret in fact endangers the world and helps no one. Radical, violent empathy inspires and affects democratic change in policy and advances social justice. That's a lesson I can get behind every damn day.

There's more to say, but I don't want to go on forever. The acting is, across the board, stellar, though Michael B. Jordan, Danai Gurira, and Angela Bassett stood out to me. Letitia Wright plays Shuri, T'Challa's younger sister and scientific genius, in a fabulously funny role, and Andy Serkis reprises his role as a totally bat-shit-crazy Ulysses Klaue for a final time. I was really interested in Martin Freeman's role as the former CIA agent, as he goes through what, I think, white audiences go through in the film. His is a minor story arc of enlightenment as he journeys into the world of Wakanda and learns through experience not to be just an ally to the black nation, but rather to get in the thick of it and actively help them. He listens rather than talks, takes orders compliantly, and finally risks his life to save Wakanda. That's another lesson we would all do well to learn.

As a final note before I (hopefully) go see the movie again, just know: Black Panther is awesome. Go watch it, and then go watch again. Buy it later. Buy two. Give one as a gift. It's important, beautiful, fun, and brilliant.

IMDb: Black Panther

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I will spoil the movie for you. You've been warned.

The first thing you need to know about The Last Jedi is that it is infinitely superior to The Force Awakens. That film was a rehashed "Best Of Star Wars" scrapbook of fan fodder, expertly executed but lacking in any substance. Well, beyond its cast of fabulously diverse newbies. It was also a mess of plot holes and unfinished storylines, and by the end of the film we still didn't know much about any of the new characters or the new mythos of a galaxy far, far away.

Rian Johnson, however, has crafted one of the better Star Wars movies with Episode VIII. It's a deeply emotional movie with real stakes, troubling moral ambiguity, and complex relationships. For a two-and-a-half hour movie, it's also incredibly tense, even when the pacing tends to lag. People get hurt. People die. A lot of people die. Hope is ever-fading. It's a strangely apocalyptic vision of science fiction not unlike Revenge of the Sith; whereas that film ended with a comparatively safe sense of nostalgia and hope, The Last Jedi is far more bleak. That's partly due to our utter ignorance as to where this franchise is going. Disney holds all the cards now. Let's just hope the Force is with them.

Speaking of the Force, let's dig right in. We pick up the saga not long after the end of The Force Awakens. The Resistance fleet is on the run, pursued through space by the First Order, which was apparently not seriously set back by the destruction of Starkiller Base. General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson) and Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) have developed the ability to track their prey through hyperspace, and most of this film concerns what is essentially a car chase with spaceships. The Resistance fleet (...of three ships?) is low on fuel and doomed unless Finn (John Boyega), BB-8, and newcomer Rose (an excellent Kelly Marie Tran) can hire a computer pirate (Benicio del Toro) to save them. It's a bizarre little side adventure through a casino populated by war profiteers, slavers, weapons manufacturers, and people who brutally race alien horses. All is for naught, however, when the pirate sells out to the highest bidder, and the Resistance is forced to hide at an old outpost. Almost all of them die, including (probably) their second-in-command Vice Admiral Holdo (Laura Dern, who really deserved more screen time), but General Leia Organa survives. Unfortunately, and ironically, that is one of the most heartbreaking things about this movie.

Thankfully, this movie provides her with much more screen time than the previous episode. I'm a bit concerned about what will happen to Leia now. She could have died at least three times in this movie alone, and I find it troubling that the filmmakers didn't account for Carrie Fisher's death. We'll have to wait and see how they fashion the next installment. Han is gone, and as of the end of this movie, so is Luke. Mark Hamill gives a riveting performance as a haunted rogue Jedi, and we get a fair amount of backstory on him and his failed Jedi revitalization project. He trains Rey (Daisy Ridley), sort of kind of, and is forced to face his own shortcomings. There's a great scene when the ghost of Yoda appears to him, still instructing him, saying that failure is the greatest teacher. But in his final moments, after expending his life force to save what's left of the Resistance, Luke disappears and his empty cloak floats off into the wind.

Which brings us to another point. I'm not sure about this sequel series playing fast and loose with the mythology. Kylo can stop a blaster's laser in midair? Leia gets blasted out into space and can survive by pulling herself back into an air lock? Yoda's ghost can cause a lightning strike? Luke can astral project?! I had some misgivings about the directions this franchise would take when Disney took over, but things are getting a bit wild. Similarly, while this film answers plenty of questions from the first and fills in some extra plot holes -- the most fabulous being that Rey's parents are nobodies; she is a strong independent woman and she don't need no fancy bloodline -- it keeps us in the dark about just as much. Who is Supreme Leader Snoke? He has a glamorous golden bathrobe, but we still don't know who or what or why he is, and now we may not. Kylo kills him in an otherwise really cool scene (he and Rey fight together against the guards and a burning backdrop). Who was Max von Sydow's character in The Force Awakens? Still don't know, probably doesn't matter. What's Phasma's story? No idea, and she (also probably) dies too. There is a new canon book about her, so hopefully that helps.

Despite my meandering thoughts, I cannot deny the sheer beauty and power of this film. It's a visionary masterpiece, pushing the Star Wars limits in ways I never expected to see. It's a tapestry of color and light, gorgeous special effects and dazzling storytelling. Its menagerie of alien species gets a little weird at times, but it all works together to create a nearly perfect escapist experience. Even moments that could be a dangerously close throwback to The Empire Strikes Back are quickly altered to be novel: The climactic battle on salt-crusted Crait isn't just snow and AT-ATs like it was on Hoth; arresting red dust billows from the ground and none of the enemy's weapons are destroyed. The infiltrating team of Finn, Rose, and DJ the pirate don't shut down the tracking device like Old Ben did on the Death Star; they get caught and almost killed.

In this way, the movie is a (successful) meditation on failure, its price and its cost as well as the lessons it teaches. It's a thematic work of genius, and I can't wait to watch it again. Sure, there are some awkward comedic moments, some earned and some not, but nothing caught me off guard so much as little moments of insight and affection between characters in intimate proximity. I wept openly through lengthy sequences, and choked up so much I could barely breathe. After saving Finn at the potential cost of her life, Rose tells him that's how we win: "Not by fighting what we hate, but by saving what we love." Take my tears and my life, why dontcha? Other than Rogue One, it is the most dense Star Wars yet, and if that's any indication of the franchise's future, I am HERE FOR IT.

PS: For those of you who are as in love with Oscar Isaac and Poe Dameron as I am -- just kidding, no one rivals my affection -- you will be pleased to know that he has some great moments in this film. He connects with all the major players in heartfelt ways, he leads a mutiny, his hair is on point. And he gets a new leather jacket.

IMDb: Star Wars: The Last Jedi

War for the Planet of the Apes (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Rise was a simple but effective sci-fi reboot of a series long-since defunct. Dawn was a brilliant expansion of possibility for the franchise, turning a simple (sci-fi, coming of age) conceit into a complex apocalyptic war drama. Now War has evolved into a grandiose medium of storytelling: Not unlike in other similar franchises, what started as basic ideas ("Apes together strong") have become iconic rallying points. Despite the title, the film is often more drama than war-action, and when the violence does erupt, it's tragic and mournful and consequences soon follow.

Several years after Dawn, when the simian flu had ravaged the human population and war erupted between the apes and factions of soldiers in California, the flu has mutated. Now those who contract it lose their ability to speak, thereby superficially reverting to a primitive, animalistic state. Of course, they still retain their humanity, as we see in one particular young girl who has been cast out of the human community. Once taken in by the apes, she proves an empathetic, brave, and resourceful vehicle for liberation. But the prejudice other humans feel for her and others like her is of central concern here, and none more than their leader's.

Woody Harrelson plays The Colonel, leader of the ruthless military faction called Alpha-Omega (yes, carrying all the biblical baggage, as we'll discuss later). He is an enemy distinctly akin to Kurtz in Apocalypse Now; apart from other similar images and plot points with that film in Dawn and War, here the comparison points double when we see "Ape-pocalypse Now" scrawled in graffiti, the colonel's rebellious, independent colony of soldiers, and his distinctive flair for torturous violence. The sadistic Colonel, having seduced some apes into serving his cause ("Donkeys" he mockingly calls them, i.e. Donkey Kong), sends out messages of fear and misinformation while undertaking guerrilla raids that muddy the waters of honorable warfare. His desperation, we learn, has also alienated him from other human communities, and the final climax of this film (SPOILER ALERT) is between him and an opposing army of humans, not apes.

The denouement here is super interesting and could take all day to unpack, because while his men are defending themselves from the other humans, and the apes he had enslaved are escaping the compound, the Colonel drinks himself to oblivion in his private room after learning he has contracted the simian flu and is mute. When Caesar approaches him, we see in his eyes the pain and fear of seeing himself, and he can't live with it. Yes, the franchise is still concerned with the dangers of playing God. Yes, it's still dealing with survival in a post-apocalyptic world. But in War we see how our desire for peace is undermined by our propensity for violence, and the toll it takes on everyone involved. It's also an arrestingly timely franchise: Apart from its complicated vision of racism (/speciesism?), it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the similarities between the macho, violent, wall-erecting colonel and our own current commander in chief.

Writer/director Matt Reeves continues his winning strategy from Dawn, breaking the mold of summer blockbusters and mixing genres: war movie, family drama, revenge allegory, social criticism, post-apocalyptic science fiction, psychological thriller. Sound like a lot? It is, but his pitch-perfect emotional intelligence keeps everything grounded and accessible. We're in the thick of the action, absorbed by the drama, from the get-go. It's definitely a war movie, but like Dawn, it concerns a war of ideals, morals, and hope more than one of guns and bombs. We see the toll war takes on its key players, and when Reeves takes us up close and personal as the firelight flickers on characters' faces, the movie sings. And if that's not enough, he hangs biblical references on his characters and situations, ramping up the scale so that this series might become an epic before all is said and done.

Andy Serkis deserves an Oscar nomination. Caesar, haunted by breaking his "ape shall not kill ape" law, sees visions of Koba reminding him of the cost of violence. After the colonel slaughters his family, Caesar embarks on a mission of revenge while the surviving apes set out to find a new home. He wrestles with his love for the humans, bitterness and hatred of the war, aging, building a family, protecting his friends, and his ideals of mercy and revenge. Before long, Caesar transforms into a Moses-like figure, a mythic war hero who prefers peace, a somewhat unwilling leader of a nation, a murderer who values life, haunted by the loss of a family and determined to save his people from incarceration and death. Ultimately, he leads his people to a paradise in the desert and succumbs to his fate before entering himself. Overkill? Maybe, but it's damn effective anyway. I know I'm watching a CG image, but my heart doesn't accept that; there's not a moment we don't see Serkis peering out at us with those big watery eyes that stole our hearts in The Two Towers. He didn't win big then, but I'm hoping he'll at least get the recognition he deserves here for a stirring, resonant performance unlike any yet this year.

The most memorable character, however, is Bad Ape, played by Steve Zahn. Initially little more than comic relief, his character develops quickly into a fascinating show-stealing chimp whose eccentricities belie a sweetness and insight that reinvigorates the movie about halfway through. His struggles against self-doubt and his sincere ambivalence between self-preservation and liberating the apes is the stuff of modern politics. No less astounding is Maurice, played by Karin Konoval, who was a sort of minor moral guide in Dawn but now asserts himself (herself? We're never exactly sure) as a leading player in advising Caesar and caring for a young human girl affected by the simian flu.

We have to wonder: Is this the end? It certainly feels like a finale, especially with the death of its main character. With such a strong sense of purpose, character, and place, the series could easily continue its streak of technological magic and dynamic storytelling. This film has the balls to bring the series to an end, perhaps continuing on with the old original films of apes living in a desert land like Mad Max. I'm certain, though, we'll see more of this successful franchise, simply because unplanned series don't usually end on their highest note (sad but true, no?). I hope the filmmakers stick to doing what they do best: making challenging, provocative, intelligent entertainment that evolves like its subjects.

IMDb: War for the Planet of the Apes

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

**Fair warning: I don't care about spoilers for myself, so I won't worry about censoring my thoughts here. If you haven't seen the film, and get violent when someone else reveals plot points, stop reading now. You should also probably just avoid the Internet until you've seen the movie.**

The most obnoxiously advertised movie event of the year, the new Star Wars regime opened with great fanfare and packed auditoriums. If you had the pleasure (?) of seeing it opening weekend, you no doubt shared with the enthusiasm of the multitudes as I did, and cheered aloud at appropriate points. It's undoubtedly a fierce spectacle, dazzling in its precision and flair, encouraged by the sentiment and nostalgia brought to it by both filmmakers and audiences.

There isn't much I can say specifically in praise of the movie, because technically it's pretty darn fabulous. The effects are killer, the score is lovely, the production design is interesting, and the camerawork is fine. There are some sizable holes in plot and characterizations, but as a part of a planned trilogy, I can't really fault the film for that; we can certainly expect to know more with the next installment. That said, I always prefer films (as sequels, prequels, and trilogies too!) to be able to stand on their own. I'm not so sure this one does. There's almost no exposition and new ideas pop up without preparation or, sometimes, merit. For example, early in the film, villain Kylo Ren uses the Force to stop a blaster's fire in midair. When has that ever been a thing? And apparently a renewed Empire (the obtusely named "First Order") has taken charge, led yet again by a mysterious Sith, though we don't know anything about what happened after the fall of the Empire in Return of the Jedi. I guess time will tell. But in most of these respects, The Force Awakens is very reminiscent of A New Hope.

Of course, it's also reminiscent of A New Hope in ways that aren't so admirable. In fact, a few times I wondered if I wasn't just watching a remake of that iconic first film. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but I felt thoroughly disappointed at least half a dozen times in this movie. I mean, where's the creativity? If I wanted to see a poor orphan on a desert planet looking for adventure, a masked magic man with a sinister artificial voice, a superweapon the size of a planet, or a mysterious alien whose short stature belies supernatural knowledge, I could have watched the originals.

And before you start saying, "Well, it's better than the prequels," think again. I've never had a serious problem with the prequels, and I've not heard many sound arguments against them, other than personal preference. Sure, Jar Jar Binks is the worst, but so were the Ewoks. Sure, Darth Maul dies in the first movie, but so did Alec Guinness. No, I think the real reason people like the prequels less is because the script and its themes are far more complex and aloof; in having to rapidly expand the galaxy and its denizens, the prequels have precious little of the raw humor and "realistic" sense that defined the originals. Which is fine in my books, but not so with everybody. But that humor and grounded awareness is what J. J. Abrams's new film has in abundance, thereby winning over so many original fans. For example, when one tough pilot is dropped before the intimidating figure of Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), he glances up and asks who speaks first. It's the little moments like this that present us with a believable sense of humor, one that sparkles with wit amidst operatic galactic warfare.

In any case, it's not this film's (lack of) creativity that's winning anybody over. For all their editing faults and effects-heavy spectacle, the prequels matched the originals in sheer imagination and creative output. The Force Awakens just looks like Abrams's scrapbook of images and sensations from the original movies, recycled in order to win over doubters. I might add that, as a fan of the original expanded universe, there were extensive plotlines established before, after, and during the films' plotlines, written in both novels and graphic novels. I love reading the books, so it's a little hard for me to swallow that virtually all of them are suddenly irrelevant. That's a barrier I'll have to overcome on my own, but it certainly made me bitter while watching this new movie. Of all the brilliant stories and characters in the expanded universe, to have the filmmakers here just pirate plot points and images from an old movie is pretty irritating. But I suppose that's just a matter of personal preference, not unlike the disdain some feel toward the prequels.

Maybe I'm harping on something that doesn't matter much. Maybe the new Empire (Disney?) is planning on making the second and third films (plus more, apparently? God, I hope it's not overkill) wildly novel and imaginative, so they had to make this one familiar. I guess we'll have to wait for episode eight. For now, it's a nice excursion, and one that promises even more boons in the coming years. And speaking of boons, let's praise the amazing cast ( and casting director) here for a moment. Yay, the movie isn't only full of white people! Yay, we have a badass female protagonist! Yay, Oscar Isaac is my favorite! But seriously, the cast is great and their work is great, especially the newbies. I'll happily follow any mainstream sci-fi adventure with a cast that can impress me this much this quickly. Focal point: My favorite scene in the film is when Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Finn (John Boyega) are attempting to fix the Falcon, and BB-8 is withholding the location of the Rebel base. It's a fast and charming verbal dance between the three, and one that had me giggling for minutes afterward. It's scenes like that that won me over. Let's hope Abrams has more of those up his sleeve.

Here's a list of other objections some have had with this new film. Some are far more problematic than others, but generally I felt most of these ideas while watching the picture. Check it out: http://www.deathandtaxesmag.com/274463/episode-vii-sucks/.

IMDb: The Force Awakens

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012)

Score: 5 / 5

In preparation for the upcoming final installment of the franchise, I thought we'd take a step back and review the previous two Hobbit films. I am an avid fan of Tolkien, and of Peter Jackson's films, but I won't be comparing the two because comparing film to literature is silly. This review will focus on the first film, and consider it in context of Jackson's other Tolkien adaptations.

Peter Jackson's return to Middle-earth in 2012, almost a decade after The Lord of the Rings, is a surprisingly graceful and beautiful transition. I say transition because this new series is an adaptation of a children's fantasy adventure, and so carries a much different tone than the previous trilogy. Jackson manages the somewhat simple story with elegance and intelligence, encouraging a new audience to look closely at his 48 fps (frames per second; this is twice as fast as the usual film speed) to see the fantastic computer-generated effects in stunning high definition. The action is crisp and clear, almost as if it was really happening inside the screen at that moment. Howard Shore's score is perhaps the one element that most connects Hobbit to LotR, and it is especially noteworthy here.

The screenplay, however, is not dumbed-down into simple or childish fantasy. Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Philippa Boyens have again expertly organized the story into brilliant beats of emotion and excitement, and the dialogue is comical and charming. And yet, for its lighthearted joy, it provides a great framework for emotional weight that will surely be added in the later installments. We sense again profoundly human pathos -- in a world where humans only make up a fraction of the population -- in hauntingly intimate moments like Bilbo's final encounter with Gollum.

The acting is, of course, stellar. The cast creates a flawless ensemble that plays off each other surprisingly well. The thirteen dwarves, perhaps the trickiest roles to play due to their inconsequential ambiguity, are all so specifically detailed and provide such intensely unique performances that by the end of the film, I could identify each by name. Perhaps a little bit more of an introduction to each would have helped the process, but it honestly matters very little in this film. The main one to remember, though, makes sure that you do: Richard Armitage performs the dwarf leader Thorin with power and genius, turning a completely unlikeable character into, arguably, the most important in the story. Martin Freeman (a choice I was originally not thrilled with) proves a solid Bilbo and an unlikely focal point of the film; his choices are inspired. Ian McKellen returns to his Oscar-nominated role as Gandalf and injects it with such strength and energy that he steals the film right away from the ensemble.

The rest of the ensemble are no less impressive than its triumvirate of leads. Sylvester McCoy is McKellen's only rival for thievery, however, in his turn as Radagast, the eccentric wizard of wilderness. His crazed demeanor and frenzied presence on screen is delightful, and proves (beyond the character work of the dwarves) that the filmmakers' creativity has only grown in the years since LotR. Lee Pace pops in at the beginning as the ethereal Elf-King Thranduil, and Barry Humphries' outrageously musical Great Goblin has now become my favorite character in the film.

The scene with the White Council is one of the film's two best. Featuring McKellen, Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving, and Christopher Lee (all of whom reprise their roles from LotR) sharing salty banter and Important Thoughts, the scene's actors play perfectly off each other's timing and strengths. This is a brief but memorable actors' workshop, and it provides the film's most dense, heightened dialogue, so pay attention. The best scene of the film, however, goes to the Riddle Game between Bilbo and Gollum (Andy Serkis). Their timing, energy, and ingenuity in performing hilarious and beautiful dialogue is impeccable, and increased by the fact that they are forced to react to each other in a rather small physical area. The scene is a masterclass in filmmaking. Bravo.

Now for the criticisms. The sequence with the stone giants is just annoying. We know you have cool special effects, Jackson, and we know you like to exaggerate brief comments in the source material (remember the staircase in Moria in Fellowship of the Ring? Yeah, Tolkien just said the Fellowship ran down some stairs, and Jackson turned it into a crazy theme park ride), but this is overkill. The effects aren't even as good as others in the film, and the sudden, brief danger only muddies the plot and pacing. Another element that bothers me a bit in the film is that Nori, one of the dwarves, is characterized as a pickpocket. So why do they need a burglar so desperately? It's problematic, and a bit superfluous.

Also, the Ringwraiths. I won't delve too deeply into the problems with this element in Tolkien's text, but the Ringwraiths aren't dead, so how can they be buried and return as spirits? Answer: they can't. Jackson himself portrayed them as very much Un-dead in LotR. "No living man can kill me," the Witch-king says; besides, Jackson showed us what truly dead people look like in Return of the King. They're green, ugly, and #bitter. Jackson either misinterpreted or purposefully wants to go a different direction (presumably to give credence to the Necromancer's title), but he's still inconsistent with his earlier characterization. But if those are my only complaints, I can't deny that this is one damn good movie.

Jackson's ending is the franchise's best yet, followed closely by the ending of The Two Towers. Devastating, inspiring, touching, and spectacular. Moving from a photogenic sunset into a fiery cliffside dusk, and a dawn of breathtaking splendor, the sequence is perfectly paced and promises great things for the next two films. Beautiful.

IMDb: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

Post-script: The Extended Edition adds a few lovely touches here and there, but by no means alters the film as much as the LotR extended versions. The dwarves sing a fun, familiar (to Tolkien readers) song in Rivendell, and the Great Goblin sings some more, but mostly the additions are little extended shots here and there in Hobbiton and Rivendell. The White Council's scene is extended a fair amount, though, and the dialogue waxes informative on Thorin's mad family and the state of the Rings of Power. Again, not too "important" for this film, but important for what will come.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The first thing you need to know about Dawn is that it is decidedly superior to its predecessor, Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011). And if you thought that film was a solid sci-fi reboot, you'd be right. So this new installment in the franchise is damn good.

Andy Serkis reprises his demandingly physical role as Caesar, the aptly named chimpanzee protagonist of both Rise and Dawn.  In the former film, he plays a revolutionary; in this, he must suffer the bloody vengeance of his Number Two, Koba, who finally has his opportunity to repay the humans for years of "scientific" torment. The apes, now living in relative sovereignty, have developed an intelligent culture that allows them to provide for themselves; the human survivors of the simian plague, on the other hand, are inching toward devastation if they cannot find an alternative power source. Humans Malcolm (played by Jason Clarke) and Dreyfus (Gary Oldman) almost mirror the relationship between the two ape leaders: Malcolm seeks the apes' assistance to restart the dam and return power, while Dreyfus is quite willing to annihilate the apes should they interfere. As we might expect, all it takes is a few mistaken interactions to ignite the fires of war.

Matt Reeves (director of 2008's Cloverfield and 2010's Let Me In) helms this two-hour, thoroughly taut drama into surprisingly complicated moral ground. Its plot may not be wholly unfamiliar -- it feels a lot like Hamlet or many other patriarchal epics -- but Reeves views the proceedings with an eye for visual beauty and emotional depth. He also directs it with impeccable pacing, right from the strangely disturbing opening sequence, building small tensions and letting them collect together until you can't decide which character you sympathize with more. Whereas Rise presented its simple, energetic, and fun story along predictably familiar allegorical grounds, Dawn takes us into a rich gray area of honor, fear, and trust.

The most violent conflict in the film is the horrific assault upon the humans led by Koba; he attempts to kill Caesar and frames the humans, rousing the enraged apes to battle. But this human-ape clash is not the climax of the film. The climax occurs in two separate situations: in one, Malcolm faces off with Dreyfus over how the humans might survive the apes' onslaught, and in the other, a revived Caesar challenges Koba for dominance and, ultimately, peace. Human against human, ape against ape. But not really. See what I mean by complicated? And yet Reeves bravely (and successfully) steers clear of sentiment or even clear allegorical pressure points; instead, he complicates every moment that might blindly fall into an emotional trap or easily definable symbolism.

Watch for the arresting visuals in this movie. They sneak up on you. Where Rise worked in a fairly rigid color scheme, Dawn employs beautiful lighting effects and darker tones of fire and the sun (worked out the titular metaphor yet?) to bring surprising depth to this hairy drama. I'd say the visuals are a bit stronger during the first hour, before the film treks into battle sequences, but even the lighting of the last scene had me gasping. So don't think this sci-fi flick, like its predecessor, is an apish excuse to celebrate violence or even start a racial commentary this summer; it's far more subtle than that. If you had told me I would cry in a movie about animated apes, I wouldn't have believed you.

IMDb: Dawn of the Planet of the Apes