The Odyssey (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

How do you tell a new version of one of the oldest stories in the Western world? You start by telling a story about stories. I was a little nervous at first that Christopher Nolan would pull some of his usual shtick again and mess up the timeline of his own film, but then I remembered that The Odyssey itself isn't really linear. Of course there's no reason not to start in medias res, and in this case it makes perfect sense with Nolan's oeuvre. But the truth is that if you're consuming the foundational epic for its plot, you've already missed the mark. Sure, the whole dang thing is arguably "about" its plot, but what makes it really compelling is its sense of style, its complicated characters, its sense of pacing and propulsion despite its stretched timeline. 

Actually, Nolan's film feels at once like a wildly satisfying (and the first, which is crazy) adaptation of Homer's epic poem for a modern audience and one of the most riveting pieces of filmmaking this year. In a perhaps unobvious move, he starts us focused intently on Telemachus (reliable Tom Holland) and Penelope (a glorious Anne Hathaway), fending off a cadre of suitors feasting and whoring in the king's hall in Ithaca. These scenes take place near the end of the story, chronologically, as Odysseus has been missing for ten years. That's in addition to the ten years he was away from home for the Trojan War. He barely knows his own son, and Penelope is nearing the end of her rope. Or, rather, tapestry, which she cleverly uses (and unravels) to keep the wolfish suitors (led by a sniveling Robert Pattinson) at bay. These scenes, occasionally sprinkled in between flashback episodes of Odysseus's adventure, are filmed like a bleak political thriller, ending in a climactic banquet hall battle that, truly, took my breath away with its sheer barbarism and spectacle.

The bulk of the film -- though, as I say, arguably not its focus -- concerns the titular journey of its hero, told in lengthy flashback sequences. He's on an island with Calypso (Charlize Theron, wasted in the bit part but always a commanding and welcome presence on screen), eating lotus flowers (in a curious but effective change to the source material), suddenly trying to remember why he's there and for how long he's been stuck in a somewhat limbo-esque beachside paradise. He's seeing visions of his past in Troy, wallowing with his army for years outside the city gates until he designs and creates a massive wooden horse; this bit takes several scenes, including a particularly gross montage of the men hiding inside with their piss and shit and dead comrades, getting dragged and flipped around as they're brought into the city (again, not part of the original story, nor from The Iliad). He's also seeing the goddess Athena (Zendaya), though he doesn't always seem sure if it's really her, or a dream, or just his own imagination. All this is to say that his mind is fractured, and so is our approach to his story, a highly effective means of granting us emotional access to these characters and their plight as we, too, attempt to figure out what's happening.

Even a graduate-level familiarity with the material won't save you from at least wondering once or twice, "Gosh, I don't remember that part" or "Wait, who is that again?" That's because Nolan's vision isn't a straightforward adaptation so much as it is a thesis project, combining other sources (like Virgil) along with Homer to deliver a story that's familiar but fresh at the same time. He's uniting stories rather than corrupting them. At its heart, it's very much the story we want to see; in his grip, though, Nolan's story takes on new and important themes paired with some of the most arresting and thrilling visuals we've ever seen from an epic. Not because it's bombastic and loaded with CGI, but because most of it is filmed in seemingly natural light and with practical effects. Perhaps the only scene clearly done with CGI is the encounter with Scylla and Charybdis, and while I didn't love those designs, they worked fine enough. But the Cyclops, the Laestrygonians, the sirens, Circe's animals, and all the "big ticket" creatures and visuals are apparently practical. It's gobsmacking.

Yet for all the spectacle -- even the frustrating moments -- Nolan cares more about the effect of these things on his characters than about our experience of them. He makes it a profoundly human story, grappling with weighty themes of fate and purpose; he makes us wonder about our own lives, our glorious intentions, our miserable failures, our great shames and hopes, inviting us to think about the story of our own lives through the warping lens of memory, regret, and uncertainty. With all these ideas whirling around our minds, it might be easy to say the nearly three-hour runtime is a slog, but it isn't. The simplicity of these proceedings keeps us grounded, compelling us to continue experiencing rather than drifting away. The experience, though, is exhausting, and more than once during the film I had to stretch and breathe deeply, just to attempt to revive my endurance.

Despite the hullabaloo online about this film -- perhaps hypocritically, I'm becoming increasingly convinced to leave social media, if only to avoid people complaining loudly about things they neither understand nor care to -- and as a student of the classics, I had no significant qualms with this film's depiction of history or characters (or the cast, for that matter). Everyone is playing at the top of their games, including Benny Safdie, Elliot Page, Lupita Nyong'o in brilliant double roles, Himesh Patel, and even John Leguizamo. Samantha Morton plays such a terrifying Circe that I nearly choked on my own saliva (and, again, her scene features some of the nastiest and most inventive practical effects I've ever seen on film). The costumes are exquisite, especially Agamemnon's helmet. Ludwig Goransson's score is transportive, utilizing ancient instruments to evoke a unique sonic palette. Sure, some of the dialogue can be off-putting (the repeated use of "dad" in Telemachus's mouth is grating), but any complaints about accents, etc., are little more than stupid hot air from people who have clearly never thought critically about any film.

And we haven't even discussed the analog filmmaking, the brutally physical shoot, Nolan's use of brand new technology for IMAX film cameras, or even Matt Damon's performance as the complicated protagonist. There will be college courses based around this film for the sheer amount of material to be covered. While I'd have liked a few changes, having now seen the film twice (specifically, more cleverness and agency and violence from Penelope, more comeuppance for Mia Goth's character, a better visual on the sirens, less obsession with genre lingo like "Zeus's law," and slightly more elevated dialogue a la The Lord of the Rings), I'm so thrilled that this is what we have. Seeing this on the biggest screen possible and with the best sound system will change you; there were moments of such intense passion from the subwoofers that my seat was vibrating like in a 4D movie. Most importantly, Nolan expects us to both do our homework, denying us the pleasures of modern blockbusters and forcing us to catch up with him in a story that feels almost suspiciously anti-AI and anti-summary. These are complex ideas and characters, and we're meant to approach them with appropriate nuance and thoughtfulness. Harryhausen films and their ilk are fabulous and personal favorites, but Nolan is giving us something brand new. Which is saying a lot when he specifically references such things, including a shot from the original Clash of the Titans (1981) involving Athena's statue's head broken off and tumbling down steps. It's a single shot, and I let out a half-strangled moan and laugh combined that probably unnerved people sitting around me. They should be so fortunate to understand the craft at work here. All hail!

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

This is getting a little ridiculous. I'm just not sure I'm here for all the back-and-forth, media-spanning new directions of the MCU, and movies like this are, frankly, why.

Feeling like it was written by committee and produced by a room of execs instead of artists, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is about as confused and jumbled as you might expect. It's nominally a sequel to Doctor Strange, though the only points on which it follows that film is with its inclusion of Christine Palmer (Rachel McAdams), who is getting married to another man, and its incredibly awkward inclusion of Mordo (Chiwetel Ejoifor) who is actually playing an alternate version of the character rather than the one set up as a villain in the previous film. This film makes almost no sense, though, unless you've seen the Infinity War and Endgame Avengers films as well as Spider-Man: No Way Home, which it also directly follows. And yet it is most accurately a sequel to WandaVision, and that's just one project too many for me to include here. It's all an unholy Frankenstein's monster of a movie, one that picks up many threads from different places and strings them together -- I haven't even mentioned the incredible importance of Loki and What If...? to understanding this film -- in an insane two-hour fever dream of chaos. This film does not -- cannot -- exist on its own, and it never develops its own sense of identity as a result; more or less a lynchpin in the franchise, we can only hope things calm down a bit for the studio after the dust settles. I have doubts.

Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), at the wedding of Christine to another man, has to leave when the street outside is attacked by an invisible massive one-eyed octopus thing (that looks suspiciously like the villain in The Suicide Squad). While fighting it, he meets America Chavez (Xochitl Gomez), a queer young woman of color who has the unique ability to create star-shaped portals to alternate universes, though she's having some trouble controlling it. After dispatching the demonic monster, America reveals that she's been fleeing similar demons across the multiverse and that someone seems to be after her. Strange suspects witchcraft, and goes to consult with Wanda Maximoff (Elizabeth Olsen), who is still grieving the loss of her children and the fracturing of her mind. Wanda is willing to do whatever it takes to live a life with her children (not Vision, curiously), and as such the Darkhold (an evil book she got at the end of WandaVision that appears to be somewhat sentient and has her in its grip) offers a possible means to that end.

The Darkhold is one of those hot items that requires more knowledge than this film is willing to give, but it's the kind of obvious reference to director Sam Raimi's work that makes this film such an aesthetic oddity. It looks like Raimi's Necronomicon, and later events in the film -- yes, including a crucial plot point involving the possession of dead bodies -- remind us a bit heavy-handedly that this is a Raimi picture. It's got all his visual gusto and mind-boggling aggressive weirdness that we expect, but unfortunately it's not the kind of Raimi I personally like. There are some genuine scares here, and it's really primarily a horror movie, even if it's also fantasy and sci-fi and superhero. I'd have much preferred to see what original director Scott Derrickson and his team would have done with this material, and I expect I'd have liked that better. This film isn't The Evil Dead so much as it is its sequels (which I abjectly detest). There's a sequence early on when America and Stephen launch themselves through the multiverse, including prehistoric, cartoon, and even paint realms. It's just bonkers stuff, and frankly I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Thankfully, the studio anchors him a bit and the story in our universe (labeled number 616, if memory serves) proceeds apace.

Unfortunately, that same studio seems intent on including as much of its established material as possible, including locations and people and events from all across the shared universe, even obscure ones, shoehorned plot points that felt far too forced and fast rather than organic or earned, and an enormous cast of cameos. This last point reaches its incredible climax when, in one universe after meeting an alternate Mordo, Stephen is brought before a group they call the Illuminati, including Agent Carter (Hayley Atwell, What If...?), Black Bolt (Anson Mount, Inhumans), Maria Rambeau (Lashana Lynch) as Captain Marvel, the Fantastic Four's Reed Richards (John Krasinski, as hopefully more than fan service), and even Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) in his yellow wheelchair. It's amazing, and the crowd cheered much as it did for the villains and alternate heroes in No Way Home. But to have this happen twice now in similar films is starting to feel a bit overwhelmingly banal.

More important than the film's overwrought plot and desperate attempts at unifying the franchise despite its obvious unraveling is its emotional core. It begins with Stephen's unrequited love for Christine, which we've seen before and this adds nothing new. Then it concerns America and her self-control and doubt issues, adding again nothing new to the stories of multiple other heroes. Ultimately, this film seems most concerned with Wanda and her grief, and it is here that things get pretty hairy. Obviously -- and it's revealed very early on -- Wanda is the "villain" of this film, and while seeing her embrace her inner witch is utterly delicious, it rings hollow after the intense emotional insight we got for her out of the Disney+ miniseries. While grief can certainly turn people into monsters, it's an interesting choice for the MCU to about-face on this fan-favorite character so quickly. Moreover, the film's characterization of Wanda might have been more interesting and satisfying if it didn't take so much pleasure in turning her into a vindictive, bloodthirsty monster so quickly. I was fine with her embracing her greed and pain and becoming evil, really, until in her second or third scene she shows up and outright slaughters half the sorcerers at Kamar-Taj. It's a brutal and vicious sequence that sets up the horrors to come effectively, even as it divorces us from our love of the raw work Olsen has done with the character before now.

While this movie is clearly crucial for the MCU -- the parts that led us here and wherever we go next -- it's also the most solid proof we've yet received of the oft-repeated criticism that this franchise exists primarily to keep people coming and paying for it, rather than to tell any story with integrity. I loved it, I hated it (I haven't even talked about how absurdly, unabashedly awful the editing is!), and now we're just waiting for another installment because that's what this film forces us to do. I'm hopeful this isn't the last we've seen of Olsen, because really she is one of the most interesting characters in the franchise, but as the multiverse keeps expanding and new properties are introduced, the MCU is going to have to simplify and ground themselves, or they'll lose the reins on this series and everything they hold dear. Kind of like Wanda. 

The Old Guard (2020)

 Score: 4 / 5

A rare superhero movie that feels more like a drama, The Old Guard hit Netflix last year without much pomp or circumstance. It's been on my watch list for a while now, and I finally got to it this week. I had absolutely no idea where it was going or what it was doing, and it took me by surprise more than once. This is partly, simply, because of its surprising central conceit: there is a small band of trained fighters and mercenaries who are immortal. If not for that little detail, this could just as easily be a spinoff of any number of spy thrillers or international crime-action flicks. But because of this conceit, and remarkably intelligent direction by Gina Prince-Bythewood, The Old Guard ends up being a really cool viewing experience. Even if it's not particularly groundbreaking.

Charlize Theron leads as Andy, the oldest member of the team from ancient Scythia, and she relies on her relatively unique standing as both an amazing actress and physical performer to carry the movie. The director seems as fascinated by her moments of quiet introspection as she does by her kicking ass; often, the camera sits tight on her face as she remembers a loss. After so many years of fighting, one can only imagine what's going on in her mind. But the camera is equally interested in her violent prowess, much as she gave us in Mad Max: Fury Road and Atomic Blonde; it's not the frenetic nonsense typical of the genre, but a polished and elegant approach that is increasingly, shockingly violent. The mercenaries get cut and shot ad nauseam, sometimes falling unconscious before coming to, spitting out bullets or watching a slit throat stitch itself back together.

The rest of the cast is almost as loved by the camera; it's certainly as well loved by Greg Rucka's screenplay. They might be exclusive by design, but their casting is remarkably inclusive without feeling forced. The team consists of Napoleonic Frenchman Matthias Schoenaerts, Luca Marinelli as an Italian knight from the Crusades, Marwan Kenzari as an Arab Muslim who fought the Crusaders, and a new recruit, a U.S. Marine played by KiKi Layne. There are flashback memories to Andy's first immortal friend, played by Van Veronica Ngo, whose dark fate is thrown into doubt late in the film. And beyond the racial and cultural makeup of the team, Kenzari and Marinelli play gay lovers in a surprisingly sensitive series of sequences. At one point, as the two are being interrogated/tortured by the villains (led by a big pharma exec played wonderfully by Harry Melling) they take implied homophobia in their stride, triumphantly declaring their love in a weirdly grandiose way that pays off magnificently due to the earnest need for this kind of representation in the genre. Until the Avengers films do something like this, Disney can shove their "inclusivity" up its assets.

The Old Guard arguably focuses more on drama than direct action, but that's what I really liked about it. Its plot isn't what makes this movie special; you can see almost each development coming well before it hits, and there aren't any real surprises thematically either. This is standard fare, even if it does mash up superhero tropes with typical crime/action fun. But the profound humanity with which it treats its superhuman characters is what matters most; even its mortal characters, such as the dubious employer of the merc team (played by a deliciously conflicted Chiwetel Ejiofor) are revealed slowly to us, in gradations through lengthy dialogue and quiet, private moments of reflection. We are made to care about these people through the skill of a stellar cast and its mindful, emotionally intelligent director.

And now we know we're getting a sequel!

Bombshell (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

His latest film plays less like a historical drama and more like a thriller. Turning his incisive aesthetic away from his earlier political interests, director Jay Roach (Recount, Game Change, All the Way) here teams up with The Big Short writer Charles Randolph to deliver a searing indictment of the sexual abuse scandal that rocked Fox News. It's almost hard to remember, but the accusations against Roger Ailes made headlines more than a year before Weinstein's disgrace and the #MeToo movement. In many respects, Bombshell presents itself as a sort of origin story, and its filmmakers bring into sharp focus the changing culture of media and the unspeakable tensions it creates internally.

We begin with Megyn Kelly leading us through the halls of the national Fox News studio. It's a lengthy sequence that features Kelly speaking directly to us through the camera, narrating the front lines of conservative news generation and execution. But she's also in the scene, communicating with her peers and coworkers, seemingly comfortable and amiable in a friendly, almost familial environment. But in furtive glances and occasionally clenched tones of voice, we are keenly aware that this is a cutthroat occupation, one we've seen before in movies about the media, and that the insularity and self-righteousness of Fox News will only make the proceedings more fraught.

I'm sorry, did I say Megyn Kelly? I think I meant to say Charlize Theron as Megyn Kelly. It's almost impossible to differentiate the two here, so complete is Theron's transformation. Thanks to some Oscar-worthy prosthetics, the actors of Bombshell look a lot like their counterparts, including Theron and a gobsmackingly brilliant John Lithhow as the monstrous Ailes. But in no other film of 2019 have I seen such a chameleonic performance as Theron. I often and consistently forgot Kelly wasn't just playing herself, as Theron's stilted, measured voice flawlessly replicates those of her real-life character counterpart. Theron's miraculous performance also has incredible emotional intelligence, allowing the icy and calculated Kelly to become accessible and even sympathetic. Knowing what we know now about her time at Fox gives her opening walkthrough scene an eerie undercurrent; it's meant to be sprightly and fun, but we know her discussion of survival and success is rooted in very real trauma. She makes Kelly's unique brand of beauty and brutality make sense.

Thankfully, the actors are brilliant across the board, and the enormous ensemble cast all fill their roles well. It can't have been easy to represent so many familiar faces, voices, and personalities, but there isn't a moment in the film where you're distanced by a performance as you wonder who that person is supposed to be. The only time I was taken aback was when, after several shots and lines of dialogue, I finally realized that Allison Janney was onscreen as Susan Estrich, Ailes's lawyer. Most fascinating to me, though, is Margot Robbie as Kayla, a fictional character who appears to be made as a sort of composite of several women who all fell prey to Ailes. The always reliable Robbie delivers an emotional knockout performance and is nowhere more effective than in a disturbing early scene as Ailes watches her turn and pull up her skirt so he can see her legs. Television is a visual medium, as he says, and he wants to make sure she has the goods.

Jay Roach's attention to detail and infectious sense of urgency combined with Charles Randolph's ability to make complex stories palatable and entertaining make Bombshell endlessly watchable. Occasionally it feels like an extended episode of an office sitcom, other times it feels like a manifesto against workplace harassment, and still other times it feels like an ensemble thriller. At times I wanted the dialogue to go a little deeper, to have some more intimate understanding of these characters and the office politics. The film leaves unanswered several questions for me, including my most burning question: Why on earth would all these women -- especially Kate McKinnon playing a lesbian friend of Robbie's -- have chosen to work at Fox? It's hard to imagine they didn't know what they were getting into. But then again, that sounds dangerously close to blaming the victims, something the film staunchly guards itself against.

Its balancing act of humor and thrills looks easy, so well have the artists done their job, and within only a few minutes the movie made me laugh out loud, gasp in shock, and even leak a tear. This is intellectually and emotionally brutal filmmaking at every level, and even though you know the story it tells, every moment feels fresh and surprising. There is some discussion of Trump, who makes appearances via stock footage, and the film would be decidedly incomplete without his inclusion. I felt torn about this, though, as I wanted either more intelligent discussion about him or perhaps a little less; as it is, he's basically there for context, and I found the lack of anger toward Trump made the general anger of this film feel occasionally flaccid. But Bombshell quickly became one of my favorite movies this year because, as McKinnon advises the newbie journalist, Fox News aims to "frighten, titillate", and this film repurposes that methodology to devastating effect.

Atomic Blonde (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

This is what action movies should be. Between this movie and Baby Driver, we've seen in just a couple months the future of action film. Brutal action paired with fierce performances and stylish delivery. They move fast and fight dirty, and before you start taking things too seriously they knock you back to reality with a killer soundtrack.

Atomic Blonde takes place at the end of the Cold War, in a no less chilly Berlin of 1989. The wall is about to come down but the international players are still scrambling for information and influence. A List appears, detailing the active spies and field agents in the Soviet Union, and its carrier is murdered by the KGB. While MI6 agents sparring over microfilm intel isn't exactly fresh, that's not the point of this venture. Another agent named Lorraine is dispatched immediately to recover the list and eliminate the threat of Satchel, the double agent responsible for the recent murder.

The moment she sets foot in Berlin, she is attacked by the enemy. The enemy, here, could be anyone, as she learns, and the mostly nameless thugs are all there for one sole purpose: to be whooped on by the woman. Charlize Theron plays Lorraine with magnetic badassery, the kind she has exhibited many times before in Monster and Mad Max: Fury Road, here taken to an exciting new level. She does her own stunts, and still she acts rings around everyone else in action films today. Lorraine is the hero we need for the movie, and Theron is the hero action movies have needed for years. Compare any shot of her here to a popular action movie and ask yourself if that man has half of her talent or grit. You think of Schwarzenegger or his ilk and you may see an icon, but he hasn't got the stamina, the technique, or the heart Theron displays here.

Time and again she kicks ass, and by the end of the movie we see the strain it has put on her. We also see that her body isn't the only thing at work in the picture, as she completely turns the tables on every single man in the movie. She's not who she appears to be, and she's not really what anyone else wants her to be. She is her own agent, and her agency (pardon my wordplay) is what's really center-screen here. She rocks the world of fashion, too, as her getup is both drop-dead sexy and appropriately lethal. She kicks booty with high heels and never misses a step. The best part? She makes her mark and directly inserts herself into the male-dominated genre, and doesn't need or want your permission or commentary. Like Jessica Chastain's character in Miss Sloane, she is the leading lady in all her glory, and we want to be her the whole time until the very end when we find out she's actually on a level so far beyond us that we despair in our ecstasy.

Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. But that was my reaction. My dear friend commented afterward, and I paraphrase, "I was wondering why her accent was so bad the whole time. We all know she can kill any accent she wants. But then she [SPOILER] and I totally got it. She was giving us clues the whole time." Clever bastards.

Director David Leitch (John Wick and the upcoming Deadpool 2) knows how to keep the movie intense. Sure, it's not as Dramatic or Important as, say, Dunkirk, but this movie knows what it's doing and stays true to that vision. And what a vision: Leitch and his cinematographer Jonathan Sela (John Wick, The Midnight Meat Train) douse everything with cold, neon lights and shoot sharply contrasting textures. They view the action up close and personal, and the lengthy climax -- a fight inside a stairwell as Lorraine tries to leave Berlin with her charge -- is a long single shot I wish I could have timed. It's a relentless exercise in intensity and immediacy, a masterclass in planning and execution with awesome style.

PS: I can scarcely believe I forgot to mention it, but James McAvoy is also fabulous in this flick, and he seems to be having a blast. Who wouldn't in those bell-bottoms?? But he's my boyfriend, so back off.

IMDb: Atomic Blonde

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

One of the most original movies of the year, Kubo and the Two Strings is also one of the best so far. Combining intelligent storytelling with impressive artwork, the film transports us to a fantasy world that feels like pure escapism until we realize that it has stolen our hearts. Appropriately funny and surprisingly sad, it re-spins mythic tropes into fabulous new shapes, not the least of which is its ancient Japanese setting. I'd compare it favorably to The Book of Life, another example of dazzling animation and cultural variation; whereas the latter felt hackneyed and hurried, the former is fresh and focused.

An explanation of the plot would only make the film feel trite, so we'll avoid that here. We can, however, note the flawless combination of magic and adventure and heart and fun. It's an optimistic tale, wherein our young hero comes of age and into his own, battling evils both from beyond the world and within his own soul. As he seeks to reclaim his past and his family, he is joined by mysterious animal companions. As in most myths, the number three circles around in many forms here: three travelers (or, if you count the magical origami man, three companions) seek three pieces of armor hidden in three different tests, all while battling the three villains who seek to stop him. Get the idea? By the time Kubo is done, he has proven himself to be a classic hero, and he has learned more about family, friends, past and future, and life and death than he probably ever expected.

More than all that, the film is a consummate work of art. Kubo is himself a storyteller, and in an early scene we see him use his magic to entertain the townspeople. With his magic stringed instrument (forgive my ignorance, but is it a guitar?) he enchants his colored paper to fold itself into impossible origami figures and enact his tale. Little do we know at the time that his story is what we'll be watching for the next hour and a half.

Incredible visuals, rapturous music, and fun characters, however, don't do much if the story doesn't work. Here, thankfully, it does, and with such powerful effect that by the end there were plenty of leaky eyes in the theater. For all the film's entertaining optimism, it's also one of the darker animated pictures I've ever seen. You may want to think twice before taking a young child to see it. Apart from the rather frightening monsters and villains (those twin sisters in kabuki masks are terrifying), the film deals frankly with death, and we see it more than once on screen. Sure, it's not exploitative or gory, but by the final, resonant image, I felt pretty exhausted.

**
A final note. I've been hearing a lot lately about racial/ethnic casting, and about how films are whitewashed and culturally inaccurate and so forth. There's a lot to say in all that, and it's all important. Period.

AND...we should all be a little more mindful about staying consistent with our opinions on these matters. The other day, I saw someone ranting on social media about the casting of Tilda Swinton as the Ancient One in the upcoming Doctor Strange, a casting choice that raises some controversy due to the character sometimes portrayed as an eastern Asian man. I disagree with his argument (because the Ancient One doesn't have to be just one incarnation, per the comics), but I wasn't going to argue his impassioned, relevant ideas.

However, in the same post, he praised Kubo (and, for that matter, The Book of Life) for bringing attention in a mainstream American film to a different cultural aesthetic and artistic awareness. While I would agree with that on purely visual terms, we have to talk about the casting here too. Kubo features Matthew McConaughey, Charlize Theron, Rooney Mara, and Ralph Fiennes. The Book of Life featured Channing Tatum and Ron Perlman. Sure, other characters are played by more appropriate actors, but this is the main cast. And he was praising these films and damning the other.

If we're going to make any kind of headway in this sticky, contentious issue, it would behoove all of us to more carefully consider the things we say and the implications of our ideas.

IMDb: Kubo and the Two Strings

The Huntsman: Winter's War (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

A lazy mash-up of plot ideas from its predecessor, The Huntsman: Winter's War brings little new to the table. What it does bring is largely incoherent and shallow. The plot is thinly stitched together in such a way that it is both a prequel and a sequel to Snow White and the Huntsman, but by bringing in new characters, places, and themes, it has little relation to its earlier incarnation. I won't bore you with details of the story -- a bizarre retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Snow Queen" that comes not long enough after Disney's Frozen, with more than a little homage to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe --but I would like to use this otherwise "bad" movie as an example of what I might consider to be one of the greatest queer fantasy films yet.

Let's start with considering the basic plotlines. Whereas in the first film we saw a heteronormative couple (in the huntsman and Snow White) who never consummated their flirtatious romance (making the film remarkable in its own way), in this film we see a fiercely sexual journey between our hetero protagonists. Chris Hemsworth and Jessica Chastain charm with their sexy Scottish-ness and expert fighting. But they are only half the story. The main plot follows Freya the Ice Queen (Emily Blunt), whose magic powers are unleashed after her child is murdered. She subsequently builds her kingdom by murdering her enemies and amassing an army of abducted children she trains to have hearts as cold as her own.

In most fairytales, our heteroheroes would sex and find their happy ever after in procreation, or the promise of the same. Here, however, we have a first film that ends in (more or less) denied affections, and a second film that relishes in the corruption of youth and innocence, that works specifically because of the loss of one's offspring. Childhood rearing becomes the training of soldiers. While the end of the film -- almost as an afterthought -- puts a stake into a denouement of hetero-affirmation, there is still no chance of procreation due to Chastain's character's sterility, another machination of the Ice Queen's design. These examples throw the film under the shadow of a queer nihilism, where the future holds little to no hope of continuation of our heroes' blood. Their hope is in a carnal and temporal romance with each other.

Still not convinced? Let's look at the real reason we all came to the movie. Charlize Theron reprises her role of Ravenna, this time with less madness and more method. Her delivery is terrifying as she intones her satanic malice, stealing our attention and our hearts (which, we know, she likes to eat) with every glint in her eye. Ravenna's obsession with appearance over substance is no less intense here, where we see that she was the real villain behind her sister's bereavement due to the child being more beautiful than she. Appearance over integrity; style over substance. Ravenna is vanity incarnate, a physical manifestation of camp. It seems here that her death and mysterious resurrection through the golden mirror has somewhat cured her mania (which made her psychologically rounded in the first movie), as she is now purely wicked with no fear or insecurities to balance the scales. Instead, she performs as a two-dimensional snapshot of vice, hungry for our love and praise, demanding to be centerstage in the same throne room where her sister reigns. And through her entire charade, we don't even really care -- perhaps the most telling element that is camp -- because it's all artifice; in fact, we don't even always know that Ravenna is really present in corporal form, much like the mirror's prophetic voice.

Of course, I would be remiss not to mention Colleen Atwood's glorious costumes, the linchpin of my entire argument. Her beautiful, detailed clothes festoon our players with layer upon layer of sparkling excess. Each sequin and gold-tipped feather, each leather bracer glinting with polish, each mote of dusty eye shadow, not to mention the divine hairpieces, speak to the wonder and extravagance of the world displayed before us. If you don't love it, you're wrong. It's the only substantial thing in the movie. (Think about that. The only element of substance and consequence in the entire film is clothing. It's a fantasy action romance, and the only thing that brings frivolous life to the screen is clothing. It's genius.)

I won't spoil the ending. Actually, yes I will. Romantic love conquers, and the sisters are vanquished (the exact opposite of what happens in the far more feminist Frozen). But as the camera pans away from the kingdom, a golden bird flies overhead and lunges at the camera, suggesting that Ravenna's spirit lives on. Like the evil queen antihero of the series, these films may continue to return in various incarnations, each more gorgeous and more hollow than the last. And, frankly, if you're a fan of these films, you're not hoping for anything more than perfect costumes, awesome visual effects, a great score, and deliciously camped performances. Style over substance, my pretties. This is how it works.

IMDb: The Huntsman: Winter's War

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Score: 5 / 5

All hail George Miller. Brilliantly reimagining his iconic earlier films, our director has also sharply proven that summer blockbusters can be high art and chillingly prophetic. (All the more important now, seeing as the blockbuster count this summer is unusually high.) What we have here is the most dynamic, fast-paced, gritty, intelligent action film I've ever seen, and one that almost never lets up for its full two-hour span. Sure, there are brief moments of connection, despair, and planning, but they are sharply underscored by the knowledge that danger is literally closing in behind us.

And perhaps the best hint to that fact lies in Tom Hardy's eyes. For a film with such little dialogue, we desperately needed actors who could give us a full view into their characters, even when their faces are covered by metal masks or a ton of facepaint. And Hardy delivers as our Max with little more than his frantic eyes, which command the screen with every flicker; one wonders if he studied animals in captivity to achieve his fierce paranoia and desperate cunning. His grunts also reveal a lot, and the two in tandem are enough to make us laugh -- even while sitting on the edge of our seats -- in his first encounter with Charlize Theron's character.

The simple story is thus: Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne, the villain from the first Mad Max in 1979) has established himself in a post-apocalyptic desert as a warlord/cult leader of a crude civilization that prizes vehicle fuel and water above all else. Imperator Furiosa, some kind of female (or maybe sexless) official in Joe's kingdom, helps his five wives (chosen for their fertility) escape Joe's harem/prison. When Joe learns of this betrayal, he immediately gives chase, alerting his berserker War Boys and nearby highway gangsters to help him. One of his War Boys (Nux, played by Nicholas Hoult) requires blood due to some illness, and so the recently captured Max (a universal donor, apparently) is bound to the front of his car to be his intravenous supplier. Chaos ensues, Max and Furiosa develop a working camaraderie, and more chaos ensues. It's a vision of hell, and yet it's, as Nux says, "a lovely day!"

Although the title suggests that Max is, as in the previous films, the protagonist/hero/antihero, I am not so sure that is the case here. While the film opens with Max and arguably ends with a focus on him, his role through much of the plot is largely inconsequential, or at the very most supporting. Rather, Furiosa performs the inciting incident, singly carries the weight of her journey, and decisively controls her own fate. In fact, more than once she reminded me of Ripley (Alien, 1979), but maybe that's mostly because of all the sweat. And the large mechanical arm/gun she swings around like a pro.

Perhaps the best element of this film, though, is its color palette. Leave it to George Miller to make a desert wasteland look like it belongs in James Cameron's Avatar (2009). The blinding whites and yellows turn into striking blues and blacks by night, the War Boys' black and white body paint stand out dramatically from the sandy landscape, and of course the many explosions -- notably in the sandstorm sequence -- look rather like surrealist paintings. Miller heightens the frenzy with his fast-paced editing and manipulated frame rate, which has a bizarre effect; usually the action sequences (which comprise most of the movie) have the funky frame rate (sometimes faster, sometimes slower). This both distanced me from the action and made me feel like I was there watching it really happen, because I imagine myself seeing in shaky, jittery visuals while having sunstroke and fighting. Does that make sense?

If not, we can always consider the other main reason for this crazy aesthetic. It's called "Mad" Max for a reason. Even many of the filmmakers are bonkers. Theron has said that she thought she might die during some of the stunts, which Miller says were almost entirely practical. I guess their crazy infects us though, and it is a great thing. So go on and give this one a watch. You won't regret it.

IMDb: Mad Max: Fury Road