Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The third installment in Legendary's MonsterVerse ushers in a smash-bang summer blockbuster season, and I'm here for it!

Following Godzilla's disappearance after the events of his first outing in 2014, the cryptozoological organization Monarch has redoubled its efforts to identify, locate, and study the race of dormant Titans around the world. One of its scientists, Vera Farmiga (the characters all have names but nobody cares), is present for the hatching of one named Mothra. She has also developed a device called ORCA which uses sound waves to influence or attract the Titans.

As is so often the case, the ORCA device is stolen by eco-terrorists led by Charles Dance, who kidnaps Farmiga and her daughter Millie Bobby Brown. Enter Kyle Chandler, the estranged father, to save the day. Or as much of the day as he can save, considering the massive size of destructive forces he faces. The film has more than a little heart, and at its center is this family drama framed with some surprisingly effective philosophy on the relationship between humans, our world, and the monsters we create vs. the monsters here before us. The story may be basic -- if drawn out effectively -- but its ideas are not, and it strikes a brilliant balance between action and meditation.

Balance is the key word for a film like this, in which so many things are juggled at once. First, there's the sizable cast, not even including the CGI characters. Then there's the monsters themselves, all but two of whom are brand-spanking new to this franchise. We've got the weighty ideas about terrorism and the environment, historical fantasy and geopolitics, dangerous new technology and the responsibilities we have to each other and our world. It's a lot for any movie to handle; the more Avengers movies we see, the easier it is to forget that most films can't perform at the same breadth and scope.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters works well on its own terms, though, and remains fabulously entertaining throughout. Drenched in a wet, gritty imagery and suffused with thick lighting, the film veers away from the realism of its predecessor -- and avoids they hyper-stylizations of Kong: Skull Island -- to craft its own brooding atmosphere. In fact, it seems that director Michael Dougherty is more in awe of these creatures than other filmmakers in this series; the grandeur inherent in calling them Titans and the dramatic flourish of lighting and effects frame them as almost godlike. Case in point: as the final showdown commences, Ghidorah poses regally atop a volcano while other Titans bow to him, and silhouetted in the foreground is a giant cross.

Dougherty seems to want us to feel a religious attraction to these creatures, a sort of sublime draw toward that which is great and terrible and utterly unconcerned with us. It's a delicious change in tone from the other films, and one that isn't necessarily more or less effective so much as a showcase for another artist's attitude toward the same subject matter. Gareth Edwards wanted his film shot primarily from the human perspective, and its realism meant there would be less direct access to the monster itself. Jordan Vogt-Roberts layered his film under lurid imagery, psychedelic colors, and period rock music, making it feel like a jungle fever dream. Here, we get a cold, wet vision of a world at war with forces of nature more than monsters running amok.

It's just a lot of fun, which is really all a Godzilla movie should be.

The Post (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

Spielberg doesn't always have his shit together, but when he does, it's a thing of wonder.

The Post, one of the best films this year and one of the timeliest movies I've ever seen, recreates the true story of journalists from the Washington Post attempting to publish the Pentagon Papers under President Nixon's vengeful administration. It's also many more things: a fabulously detailed period drama, a feminist snapshot of a woman succeeding where men fail in an atmosphere dominated by and solely populated by men, and a nail-biting political and legal thriller. Even when I had no idea what was going on (they toss around names and jargon like frisbees), I knew exactly what was going on dramatically and thematically, thanks to Spielberg and his longtime cinematographer Janusz Kaminski.

This is the sort of film, like All the President's Men and Spotlight among so many more, that reminds us of the intricacies and power of a free press, and how crucial it is to a free society. In an age when it seems the press and the government are constantly at odds and accusations (and probable realities) of corruption riddle each side, films like this become not only entertaining and fascinating, but crucial. The mass-market impact of film should make the studios crank out movies like this as if it's their job, so when it happens, I'm more than happy to praise the makers.

The Post is urgent and taut, determined to change your mind about something. Even when it hits a little too hard on the nose -- the last scene is a bit too Hallmark-y for me, but the film earned it, dammit, as Streep pithily expresses that the press may not always get it right, but they will keep trying because it's their responsibility and their calling. Writer Josh Singer (Spotlight, The Fifth Estate, The West Wing) hits hard when it counts, which makes him a fitting member of the Spielberg/Kaminski team. Streep and Hanks -- how they haven't worked together before now astounds me -- of course slay, and while neither role really screams Awards-worthy, their delivery is the stuff of stars. There's really nothing constructive for me to say here except to keep praising the movie. Just go see it. It's important and beautiful and important, in that order.

IMDb: The Post 

Get Out (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

When a young man goes to meet his girlfriend's family, it's only a matter of time before tensions run high, right? Add some of the smartest social satire in years, throw in a dash of classism, sprinkle on some fanciful psychology, and then pour all that onto the main course: a blistering indictment of casual racism in America. It's a bombshell of a film, one that sparkles with wit before it lances your sensibilities. Apparently taking its inspiration from The Stepford Wives and Rosemary's Baby, but by no means a simple re-imagining, Get Out is a masterwork, and its writer and director, Jordan Peele, has never helmed a feature film before.

Structuring classic horror tropes and thrilling plot devices isn't what makes Peele's achievement here. It's his obviously passionate awareness of everyday interactions and people's "good intentions", his vivid recollection of historical racism and how it affects us today, and his talent for disarming humor that ignites the film. From the very first scene -- a lone black man (LaKeith Stanfield) trying to find his way through a suburb at night is followed and attacked, and if you don't immediately think about Trayvon Martin you're part of the problem -- Peele forces us to confront the racism so ingrained in our culture that we scarcely recognize it.

What might be called the most savvy element to Peele's satire is his risky, not-quite-veiled assault on mainstream white liberalism, whose proud "colorblind" and superficially anti-racist remarks belie true motivations that are both engendered by and pursuing racist agendas. The wealthy white parents (played to perfection by Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) are aware that having black servants working around the house looks bad, but they happily explain it away in terms of "family". They flaunt their approval of President Obama and "Tiger" and appropriate jargon and slang, seemingly proving their postracial bona fides. Their wealthy white friends touch the young black man's muscles without asking, ask his girlfriend about his sexual prowess, and objectify his every feature. It's not a comfortable sequence to watch, and Peele seems intent on forcing his white audience to be as hyperaware of race as we often accuse black people of being.

It's a gamble, of course, lashing out at comfortable liberalism and wealthy whiteness, not because we don't deserve it, but because it's not as funny or familiar as caricatures of conservatives and poor racists. Seemingly sweet and apparently harmless, it's the white liberal sensibility -- petrified of being perceived as racist -- that can create spaces of whitewashed colorblindness, structured by racist history and allowing rank oppression to grow beneath the linoleum. In fact, early in the film, the white father declares offhandedly that their basement has been sealed up, a result of rampant "black mold".

While the final act reveal is neither as unpredictable nor as realistic as some might prefer, it deserves a few comments as well. Outlandish as the idea may be (I'm trying really hard not to spoil it for you, but know that it involves an unholy mix of neuroscience and hypnosis), it is little more than a modern incarnation of eugenics. The villains' previous discussions of cultural appropriation and racial objectification come to a vicious head in the climax. Afterward, of course, there is little else for the film to do but follow through to its bloody, brutal denouement. Peele even here avoids genre pitfalls, keeping our awareness of race heightened as bodies drop one by one. Even when cop car lights show up at the end, it's not necessarily a sense of relief, as we fear that even more racial profiling will undermine the hopes we have in our young hero.

PS: The best performance in the film belongs firmly to Daniel Kaluuya, our leading man, whose relaxed, nuanced, and grounded delivery is relentlessly believable. The other showstopper, however, would be Betty Gabriel, who plays the maid Georgina. Her electrifying presence on screen reaches a screaming climax about halfway through, when she meets the protagonist in his bedroom. I want to see more of her!

IMDb: Get Out