Predator: Badlands (2025)

Score: 4 / 5

I was never a big fan of the Predator series, mostly because action flicks aren't to my taste. Knowing that Dan Trachtenberg was continuing his streak in the franchise, however, led me to watch all the damn movies. And I was right; the first has its notable plot and memorable imagery, and the second I actually quite liked. The third makes its lore a bit too explicit, but its casting makes for a fun time; the fourth similarly has a fabulous cast, but its writing and direction doubles down on the franchise's weakest points for no clear reason. When Trachtenberg released Prey three years ago, I was only able to see it on Hulu, and I was amazed. Beautiful and gritty and violent and smart, not to mention culturally fascinating while branching out the lore in exciting new ways, the film remains the high point of the franchise for me. 

Badlands is Trachtenberg's second outing in this franchise, and again he proves his astonishing ability to think outside the box of familiar territory and deliver something substantially fresh and innovative. Fans of the franchise will, doubtless, decry it for being "woke" or some such drivel; it seems any time a female becomes a main character in an action film that's the result from a vocal subset of obnoxious white men. And while there is tons of action to be had here, this entry is notable for its plot structure, which is more adventure than action. Here, we're treated to a Star Wars-like (or Star Trek, perhaps, especially with the Klingon comparison, though I'm not familiar enough with that franchise) excursion to a wonderfully realized alien world known in-universe as one of the most dangerous habitable planets. And, even apart from the considerable visual artistry that makes this film an eye-popping pleasure on a big screen, Trachtenberg and writer Patrick Aison have crafted a meticulously plotted screenplay that hinges on the nature of what makes humans human. Even though there are no humans in the film, it's a fascinating and thrilling ride that doesn't skimp on the violence or marginal scares while ratcheting up emotional tension the franchise has long failed to master.

I'll interject here with some geeky personal admiration. I remember an interview in which Trachtenberg claimed, while making Prey and his subsequent Predator films, that he was inspired by various kinds of filmmakers like Sergio Leone and Terrence Malick. And while I can certainly see that at work in these movies, it goes to show how intricately intertextual genre films so often are, and how liberally well-read quality filmmakers have to be to work in these genre films. So much of the Predator vibe, in general, is just about action and badassery. But when Trachtenberg steps in with these kinds of ideas and muses, he makes the stories as much about the nature of nature, and how sentient beings can/do/do not exist well in such environments, as about the nature of killers. That is so brilliant and refreshing in our age of endless sequels and reboots that rehash original ingredients without so much as care for new inspiration. Trachtenberg did this with 10 Cloverfield Lane as well: a film that works wonderfully as a psychological thriller between two terrifying people, and then reveals its shocking and weird place in what we didn't even know was a burgeoning franchise.

I won't labor in retelling the plot, because there's not a ton. Suffice it to say that this is -- to my admittedly recent knowledge -- the first time a titular Predator is the main character of one of these movies. And he's fabulous. Played with impressive physicality by Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi, protagonist Dek is a Yautja (the actual Predator species) who is called a runt. He's shorter and less accomplished than his own brother, much to the chagrin of his resentful and dismissive father. Preparing for a suicide mission to prove himself on the "death planet" Genna -- I wonder if this is a corruption of the hellish place Gehenna near Jerusalem -- his father suddenly orders his brother to kill him. Refusing, the brother sends Dek to space, but not before Dek witnesses his father summarily execute his kin. Thus, the story takes on the mythic proportions of a hero's revenge against a wicked clan leader.

His goal is to slay a Kalisk, supposedly unkillable, and return its skull to his father, as their culture deems their purpose to be. Yet once on Genna, he must first survive. A gauntlet of biological horrors, the planet is so hostile to Dek's presence that he gets a severe beating after his crash-landing. Thankfully, he soon encounters Thia, an android (like Ash in Alien), who helps him navigate the terrain and learn how to find the Kalisk. Elle Fanning plays Thia and her sister Tessa, who elsewhere plans to antagonize them; the dual role allows her lots of room for showcasing her considerable thespian skills. Not only can she be hilariously blunt as the only character who speaks English, but she can also be quite scary in her attempts to manipulate her way out of jams. She's legless, you see, from her own encounters on Genna, so Dek must carry her around like a humanoid backpack; it's outrageous and clever in equal doses. Genre movies so rarely laud actors with awards, and it's a real shame; Fanning unleashes her powers in a dazzling display of dynamism and insight and sheer fire-forged skill that should decorate her with many medals. 

While I've not yet seen the AvP flicks, and have no intention to, I appreciated the Weyland-Yutani Corporation subplot here, a clear connection to the Alien franchise. You know, I don't need crossovers between these IPs, but if the writers continue to hinge any connections as a problem of uber-capitalistic empires like this, then I'm all for it. While it's not the focus of this film, it does underscore the connection in what may be the most material way that we've yet seen. Thankfully, the film only uses that to excite the nerdy fans. Mass audiences are treated to the real feast of the film: the way it combines genres. Because for all my descriptors thus far here, I've yet to say that the entire midsection of this film is a delightful buddy adventure.

Thia and Dek collect a ragtag group of misfits to help them find and kill the Kalisk, and it's all very endearing and sweet. They discuss new meanings of words, like a heartwarming moment of Thia claiming Tessa as her sister after learning about the concept from Dek and his brother, and when Dek learns that emotions (the touchy-feely stuff real Predators eschew) not only help people become stronger but make success worth achieving. Through it all, moreover, Dek is never infantilized, feminized, or otherwise meaningfully different than a brutish, hulking warrior; the actor's amazing physical performance is often nonverbal, and he conveys essays of meaning with the subtlest of movements. For all the complaints I expect will be levelled at this film by dubious "alpha males," Dek remains one for the entire runtime, especially in his final battle against his father. And it goes a long way to show that a true alpha male isn't admirable because of superficial qualities of isolation, brusqueness, indifference and cruelty, or even violence. It's about thoughtful and caring leadership, integrity and perseverance, and resourcefulness cultivated from community-building.

Apparently Trachtenberg preceded this release with an animated feature on Hulu: Predator: Killer of Killers, which I'll eagerly be watching soon. My impression, based on its trailer, is that of separate vignettes of various times and places in Earth's history in which humans have clashed with Yautja hunters. We've already seen a jungle war a la Vietnam but in Central America, street fighting in downtown Los Angeles, the American frontier, and alien hunting grounds; it looks like we'll expand into Viking and samurai historical settings soon enough, and that's even more brilliant. With Trachtenberg at the helm, I have no doubt even an animated feature will satisfy me well. But there is little right now that can compare to the gorgeous visual effects of the films in live action, and if you get a chance to see this on a big screen, you've got to take that shot.

A Rainy Day in New York (2020)

 Score: 0.5 / 5

Woody Allen's latest flick (well, the most recently released to mass audiences) is, for me, among his most disappointing. He rarely wins me over completely, and I tend to scorn the most beloved entries in his filmography. But A Rainy Day in New York is unbearably vapid, the sort of mindless and joyless bilge he prolifically churns out once every two or three years for no discernible reason other than slapping his name on something.

The story is the same as any other bloodless rom-com: a young college couple go to New York City to spend a weekend together. One has an interview booked with a famous filmmaker, the other is tagging along hoping to make the weekend especially romantic. Through misadventures and miscommunication, the two drift apart and have to come to terms with their burgeoning incompatibility. There's nothing new or special about it, and though Allen has handled trashy material like this before, here he seems completely incapable of finding or doing anything interesting with it.

Timothée Chalamet appears to do his best Woody Allen impression -- as all Allen leading men do (or are forced to do) when the director himself stays off screen -- stammering through his uppity turns of phrase as a character named, no joke, Gatsby Welles. If his affected acting doesn't bother you, the privileged and directionless character he plays will. Gatsby wants to charm his girlfriend and plans drinks and museum trips with the money he won playing poker; her unexpectedly busy schedule unhappily gives him some free time, which he uses to meet his awful brother and his fiancee, and Selena Gomez (playing some girl, but really it's just Selena) who is the younger sister of a former girlfriend and with whom he has harbored a mutual crush. Grossed out yet? Hang on to something, because by the "climax" of the flick, he feels inspired to crash his domineering socialite mother (Cherry Jones) while accompanied by a sex worker.

His girlfriend Ashleigh, played by the usually winning Elle Fanning, is a daring but dewy-eyed flake of a person, ditsy when she should be in control. Meeting the morose filmmaker (Liev Schrieber) and his collaborator (Jude Law), she makes an impression on them that feels creepier than it should be, in light of the #MeToo controversies surrounding its production and distribution. By the time she meets a famous actor (Diego Luna), we're keenly aware her future with Gatsby is in jeopardy, and for good reasons. But having so many attractive men fawn over her only makes her more incomprehensible. Then again, the end of the film ends more happily for Gatsby than Ashleigh, arguably, and so whatever might have empowered her character is utterly stripped from her by Allen, who by this point is revealed to be the self-servicing worm we suspected at the start of the movie.

The only decent things about this movie are as follows: Diego Luna is really pretty, Cherry Jones is always a pleasure to watch work (and she is given one pretty solid scene to shine through), and Vittorio Storaro's cinematography is quite lovely to experience. He makes the movie feel dreamlike and romantic in the way classic Hollywood romances were. Too bad Allen had to ruin it all with terrible direction and a musty waste of a screenplay.

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil (2019)

Score: 2.5 / 5

The second Maleficent works as a fairly typical sequel to its predecessor, meaning that it is similar to the first in style, function, and theme, while expanding its world and heightening its effects. The problem with that this time around is that the first one already had a bit too much breadth and artificial imagery.

Set five years after the first dark fantasy (appropriate, since it has been five years since the first movie), Mistress of Evil begins with Prince Phillip asking Queen Aurora to marry him. Maleficent and Ingrith -- Phil's royal mother, played by a particularly delicious Michelle Pfeiffer -- are not too happy about this arrangement, and at a family dinner they verbally spar to provoke violent reactions. The dinner ends disastrously: Maleficent is wounded fleeing the castle, and Ingrith is revealed to be a bigoted, genocidal villain. Maleficent rallies the fairy forces and launches an assault on Ingrith's castle Ulstead, unaware that the bitch has discovered a way to kill fairies.

And if a plot that goes from an awkward dinner party to fairy genocide seems bizarre to you, that's only the beginning. Maleficent, in reimagining the fairytale, mostly told a familiar story from a different angle. This sequel, however, adds to an ended story a wholly new chapter, a thankless task that tries desperately to combine fan service, artistic integrity, and novel entertainment. What it accomplishes more successfully, however, is artistic excess and a dizzying mix of impressionistic shorthand in both plot and design. If only it had leaned in and embraced its own heady weirdness, we could have had a new camp masterpiece.

Alas that we are left with the sundry pieces of disparate fantasies. While the central story is thick enough -- mother/daughter relationships, geopolitical strife, racist allusions, genocide and war -- it packs in suggestive imagery and themes that are as bizarre and unwelcome as they are clever and interesting. The Dark Fey, as the race of Maleficent-like horned fairies are apparently called, live in what appears to be a giant floating cocoon of woven reeds with a magical cave with various biomes packed tight together. Their leaders (Chiwetel Ejiofor and Ed Skrein) have a strange MLK/Malcolm X approach to their human oppressors. It seems the flowers that bloom where fairies have died can be crushed into a dust that can kill other fairies. A particularly weird subplot involves a little mushroom pixie and a porcupine imp getting abducted and tortured before falling in love. In the climactic battle, Ingrith locks a bunch of lovely forest creatures in a church and gasses them to death using organ music.

The list goes on, and each example gets a bit weirder. Perhaps the most irritating to me are the two big plot points late in the film. First, Ingrith's scheme to frame Maleficent for cursing her husband is undone when it is revealed that she herself pricked the king with the same spindle that cursed Aurora. So, apparently, even though Maleficent's curse specifically identified Aurora as the recipient, somehow it also worked against her soon-to-be father-in-law? Second, when Maleficent sacrifices herself to save Aurora, she is revived from death due to her bloodline, apparently passed down from a legendary Phoenix. She is revived as a giant phoenix, and really it's just awful that she didn't get to become a giant dragon.

Despite its maze of half-baked allegories and attempts at relevant imagery, Mistress of Evil manages to keep its pace, its sense of style and fun, and our interest. It continues to make an iconic villain a misunderstood antihero, which I'm ambivalent about, but certainly can't be said to be forgettable.

The Beguiled (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

It's always refreshing to get one of those movies that sticks to its guns. Leave it to an auteur like Sofia Coppola to do it again with The Beguiled, where her artistic integrity -- for better or worse -- remains intact for the whole feature. It's obvious she isn't concerned about much beyond her vision for this piece, which makes it a fascinating moment as well as a beautiful one. What it doesn't make it is easy to watch or understand.

The story, if you haven't read it or seen the 1971 film, has a simple plot. A group of women, alone in a plantation-style house in Virginia, find a wounded Union soldier and take him in. As they nurse him to health, they grow fond of him and he flirts with each in turn. Jealousy and sexual tension undermine their lives while rivalries spring up to test the bonds of their community.

Especially as it is gorgeously filmed by Coppola, this picture is incredibly dense. Claustrophobic and atmospheric, it's an absorbing exercise in technical craft. White-washed linens contrast magnificently with darkened, candlelit interiors as well as the Spanish moss hanging from the gnarled willows outside. Amidst this beauty, we get glimpses of incredible internal struggle. The girls want to be women but enjoy their playful youth. The women don't know how to handle their sexuality. They can't quite balance Southern hospitality with safety or prudence. Their political, moral, and religious alliances are put to the test. Their Edenic isolation is at times choking; they each struggle with alienation from each other but cannot leave the property.

Add to this mess a hunky wounded man who requires care -- including a delicious scrub-bath -- and you know it won't end well. His are the eyes of a calculating man. We get the sense that he is a fine man, good-mannered and kind to children and animals, a gardener and tender of the earth, gentle and humble and thankful. We also get the sense that he's a liar and deeply unbalanced. He's terrified of being caught and imprisoned, and he's terrified of going back to war. PTSD or no, he toys with the affections of his hostesses, flirting and seducing them, even turning violent when he gets caught.

It's all a sort of psychosexual chamber play, a vivid heterosexual nightmare of what can go wrong between the sexes. There's hardly a moment we don't see coming, but that doesn't stop us from staring at the horror. Dangerous as the man is, he's nothing compared to the women, who all keep their motives hidden and play their cards close to the chest. It's a masterful game of facades and deception and power-play that could take whole psychoanalytic seminars to unpack. And all that's to say nothing of the perhaps problematic absence of anyone of color: One of the women in the school is, in the book and earlier film, a black slave. Rather than simply criticizing the lack of this character, we would do well to consider the impact this has on the film, the story, and our cultural moment. There is no easy answer, of course.

All that said, I can't help but feel just the tiniest bit wanting in the final film. I just wanted more. More violence, more sex, more Gothic imagery. Something to set it apart from the book and 1971 film, something special and different. I found myself getting distracted as I thought of all the exciting, crazy things I would have done in this adaptation had I written or directed it. Which really isn't the best response a movie like this should get.

IMDb: The Beguiled 

Trumbo (2015)

Score: 4.5 / 5

As its name suggests, this movie is all about Dalton Trumbo. The elite Hollywood screenwriter whose active membership in the US Communist Party resulted in being blacklisted along with many others in his profession. The trials and tribulations of Trumbo are showcased here in realistic yet almost operatic terms, and at each new conflict we an imagine the man collapsing, ending the real-life horrors of the time. Yet through perseverance, friendship, hard work, and the passing of time, eventually the blacklist was ended, the House Un-American Activities Committee was dissolved, and Trumbo received (even posthumously) due recognition for his work during the '50s and '60s, including his Oscar for Roman Holiday. It's not always an easy movie to watch, as financial difficulty and social unrest lead to bankruptcy, ostracism, even suicide, but by the end we appreciate the sacrifices made and the trauma inflicted on those who stood firm in their beliefs or suffered for compromising them.

When I consider the last year or so of celebrities and performers declaring political alliances and sympathies, this movie was distinctly prescient. While there is, as yet, not much of a witch hunt to compare with Trumbo's time, the seeds have been sown. We see celebrities alternately lauded and demonized for their political opinions and support, media straddling lines between "fake news" and defending against attack, a president whose own dalliances with show business were only occasionally popular with a particular audience, and people's careers subjected to the whims of polarized commentary. Some may decry this movie as sympathizing with Communism, but in doing so they paint themselves to be the same color as those involved in the Red Scare and subsequent hunt; that is to say, the same as the "villains" of this movie. Consider, for example, our current president who repeatedly touted the "liar" "Crooked Hillary" and almost daily chastises "fake news" while concurrently exaggerating, lying, and using "alternative facts" to explain his administration. It's the same political miasma then and now, which makes the film all the more troubling to watch.

And, apart from these timely plot points and themes, Trumbo is a damn fine movie. Yet another winner from Bleecker Street, this flick delves deep into the mythic power structure of old Hollywood in a manner seemingly calculated to entrap those of us who love movies about movies. That is to say, while certain aspects -- Helen Mirren's flamboyant costumes and John Goodman's mania -- are meant to appeal to audiences at large, a dense script and layered references to '50s sociopolitical climate and pop culture feature clear attempts to garner critical acclaim. What sets this movie apart, however, is that it is successful in its endeavors.

Trumbo's pleasures are manifold, and its cast supplies most of them. While Mirren and Goodman, as already mentioned, provide sparkling focal points, the movie belongs squarely to Bryan Cranston. He disappears into the role, smoking and typing away in his tub between emphatic monologues of great drama. From behind thick eyeglasses, his eyes sparkle with wit and insight we can only imagine might compare with the real man's. Everyone follows his lead, though, and each performance matches with nuance and truth, especially those portraying iconic actors John Wayne and Kirk Douglas (David James Elliott and Dean O'Gorman, respectively), who don't allow the real people's "isms" to make caricatures of their delivery.

My only real concern with the movie is that it takes the mystery out of the man. Even now, the literature about him (and that he wrote) is a little in love with the ambiguity and shady atmosphere around Trumbo. While it certainly serves the film to open up his life and give him the star billing he long deserved, I find myself wishing his own smoke would cloud around again. That's just personal preference, though: I find a man of mystery far more beguiling than a man whose life has been laid bare on the silver screen. Then again, it's only by broadly sharing stories like his that the damaging prejudices against Communism may finally begin to wane.

IMDb: Trumbo

Live by Night (2017)

Score: 4 / 5

This Gatsby / Godfather mash-up is lovely, if not as fun as we might have hoped. The newest melancholy installment in his typically excellent directorial ventures is no let down in some important aspects. Beautifully shot, emphatically acted, awash in atmosphere and spectacle, Live by Night showcases some of the best talents of our Hollywood darling. Unfortunately, as many will no doubt complain, it doesn't present his best work, partly because the film feels hodgepodge and distracted, partly because it rehashes typical Affleck themes, and partly because it just isn't much fun.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed almost every moment. Dazzling cinematography and an impeccable sense of place and time keep things riveting. Entrancing performances by the likes of Chris Messina (in an unexpectedly hilarious role), Zoe Saldana, and Chris Cooper are the stuff of screen gold. And the plot has just enough twists and turns to keep you interested if irritated by its familiarity and predictability. There's a lot to be said for doing rote things really beautifully, and though this particular picture is nothing new for Affleck, he does what he knows and he does it reasonably well. If all would-be crime sagas or period thrillers were this good, it would be my favorite genre.

However, we can scarcely ignore the alarming problem with this film. It's just not something most audiences will want to watch. Sure, it has its action moments, its sexy shots, its gorgeous style, but it's a largely bland enterprise. Not sure if it wants to be a hardcore thriller or more calmly examine its central theme of the hollow and compromising nature of the American dream, not sure if its heart is with our leading man's troubled business affiliations or his romantic affairs, most of the film feels stuck in a limbo of indecision. Furthermore, this lack of focus trickles down to other elements of the film (also written by Affleck), which causes one to speculate why this film was made. Nothing about it feels urgent or necessary, and its lack of narrative trajectory or thematic force translate clearly across the void. Was he contracted to put out another picture before he dove into another Batman costume?

Maybe I'm being too critical. The film is fine, and if you like period crime dramas, it'll heat up your cuppa nicely. And its downfalls are less a criticism of Affleck's abilities as they are recognition that the well-trod and worn-down genre and themes have their limits. It's a lovely way to spend an evening, even if it doesn't really leave much of a lasting impression afterward. Depending on who you ask, that's the best way to spend an evening.

IMDb: Live by Night

The Neon Demon (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

If you haven't seen or appreciated Nicolas Winding Refn's other films (Drive, Only God Forgives, Valhalla Rising), don't even go near this one. It's typical of his work, and also a more visceral experience; I've said often before that Refn's films are examples of film as an experience. As we expect from him, The Neon Demon has little real plot, ill-defined characters, and a lack of anything you would want from a summer blockbuster.

What we have instead is a film with little dialogue (which is often pulpy and thin, if not a little forced) but so much style it almost hurts to watch. We are absorbed into the chaotic melodrama of Jesse, a young aspiring model who yearns for success and fame, and her world of superficial camaraderie and cutthroat competition. In many ways, this is an even more surrealist Black Swan, substituting the dancers of the latter with models and photographers. As Jesse (Elle Fanning) climbs the ladder, she sidesteps and flatters her superiors until, eventually, she overcomes them and turns into a goddess of her own world. Her success, of course, provokes attack from the natural world, her community, and even her colleagues.

And as the film turns to its inevitable conclusion, Refn does something very sly: Whereas the beginning of the film featured more abstract images and dynamic visual spectacle, the climax (traditionally shown through more kinetic cinematography) is where Refn stills his eye, allowing the audience to ground ourselves in very real, graphic immediacy. Of course, the actual images he's filming are still surreal, which makes our experience of the end that much more bewildering and infuriating. In a good way.

It's a seductive story of hunger. We might ordinarily call it a "coming of age" plotline, but here we follow a young girl who is more vain than she pretends and who deludes herself into thinking she has more control of her destiny than she really does. She absorbs praise, and we see her blossom from a weak little flower to a champion and predator. Her little compromises build up into bridges she subsequently burns. By the end of her dark and distinctly unromantic narrative, rather than Jesse achieving her dreams, we see those dreams literally come to consume her. We see her colleagues, cougars and wolves, no less voracious in their own right, ever circling and longing to partake of her success and her flesh. As the dream sequences meld with the action sequences, we are held captive in a nightmarish netherworld of strobe lights and vibrant colors that sometimes look like a Kubrick or Lynch film and sometimes look like Tron. But there is nothing silly about the film, and its final scene packs a powerful punch.

IMDb: The Neon Demon

Maleficent (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

Though an increasingly familiar premise, the prospect of a fairytale told from the villain's perspective remains an intriguing incentive to go to the movies. A story centered on one of the most memorable (and truly scary) Disney villains was sure to bring out the legions of dark fantasy fans and supernatural romantics that have multiplied in the last decade or so. Add the talents of Angelina Jolie and Robert Stromberg (special effects artist of Avatar (2009), Alice in Wonderland (2010), and Oz the Great and Powerful (2013)) to the mix, and I was getting excited.

This summer's Maleficent is a solid Disney remake (or, rather, re-imagining) of a Disney film. It certainly doesn't succeed as well as, for example, 101 Dalmatians (1996), but it does surpass Tim Burton's promising and severely disappointing Alice in Wonderland (2010). I would compare its success at re-visioning a classic to Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book (1994) in that it works as a film, but corrupts the source material in surprising and unsatisfactory ways.

Given the film's clever premise and Lana Del Rey's haunting "Once Upon a Dream", I anticipated a very dark 90 minutes. And while Maleficent certainly is dark, it is not intense. It's hardly even tense. Though it hints at twisted motivations and erotic subtext, the film never explores these intrigues. As a PG fantasy adventure, I can't say I expected these things, but I had my hopes. The characters' motivations are murky at best, and the ambiguity is never justified. And the film's tone is a bizarre mess; I feel more confused about the implications of this re-imagining of events now than I did after watching the trailer. If the film was making a statement about living in a moral gray-area or appreciating desperate measures or something, I would be fine with tonal insecurity. But it doesn't make a definitive artistic statement that could lead me to that conclusion.

The film languishes in its own computer-generated beauty, wasting valuable time with long scenic overlooks and fairytale creatures that look like they came out of a video game. Whereas Sleeping Beauty (1959) is largely memorable because of its heavily stylized artwork, Maleficent's setting and action sequences feel like any number of recent fantasy films or video games.

Angelina Jolie, however, doesn't disappoint. Her performance is intense, subtle, vicious, intelligent; she obviously did her homework and comes to this circus ready to fly (literally). How refreshing to see a strong, truly independent woman who is thoroughly feminine and avoids being a "villain". She is a powerful leader, able fighter, and manages to do it all with a black silk nightdress and impeccable makeup. Her costumes are exquisite, ranging from a smoky sheer shroud to an ebony satin cocktail gown topped with a leather headdress. The unsettling combination of soft, smooth, and glittering fabrics provide a lot of room for Jolie to play with her character's power and sexual appeal.

She is not fully evil; indeed, she is hardly depicted as evil at all, which feels dangerously contrived at times. Though I loved the original character's demonic liaisons, this new manifestation works as a result of Jolie's efforts. My one misgiving in the portrayal of Maleficent's character is that she doesn't even curse Aurora to death, but rather to slumber. I suppose that goes along well with helping us believe her growing love for the young princess.

Jolie thoroughly sells the loving (if resentful) mother-role, and brilliantly underscores it with an eroticism that shocked and delighted me. And the true love twist at the end, though recently familiar, was a very welcome plot device. My lasting appreciation to the filmmakers, however, goes to one crucial element of the story: As Maleficent starts to embody a mothering figure to the young Aurora, she retains all of her strongest character traits. Maleficent is the feminist equivalent of a Marvel superhero, you might say. Too bad this woman has to exist in a fantasy world while the Avengers are allowed into modern reality.

One final thought: I now crave a film tribute to Tallulah Bankhead. Three women come to mind who have proven themselves worthy to portray the goddess: Angelina Jolie, Glenn Close, and Cate Blanchett.
Think about it. You're welcome.

IMDb: Maleficent