Bad Times at the El Royale (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

In his second outing as director, Drew Goddard turns his curiosity away from horror toward thriller. Unlike The Cabin in the Woods, however, this film doesn't so much as deconstruct elements of the genre as simply dissect them, analyze the pieces, and then reassemble them into a new beast. It's a magnificent achievement, and one far more aesthetically pleasing to this reviewer; unfortunately, its lengthy running time and occasionally awkward pacing will not suit everyone in the audience.

Bad Times at the El Royale is a heavily plot-driven movie that relies on complex narrative structure to intensify its twists and turns. We begin with a quiet time-lapse shot of a '50s motel room in which an unnamed man (presumably a criminal, played by Nick Offerman) hides a bag of money under the floorboards. He is promptly shot by another man, but the money remains hidden. The single shot is only the first of many tricks by cinematographer Seamus McGarvey (one of my favorites!), whose uncanny eye for ingenuity and impressionistic stillness marries well with this tale of crime, greed, and Hitchcockian voyeurism.

Soon after, we meet the ensemble cast in the lobby of the El Royale, a once-great motel (however small it may be, it is clearly exclusive) on the borderline of California and Nevada. We have a forgetful and world-weary priest (Jeff Bridges), a charismatic salesman (Jon Hamm), a struggling singer on the road (Cynthia Erivo), a flower child with a bone to pick (Dakota Johnson), and the meek, lone employee of the motel (Lewis Pullman). None of these characters are who they say they are. None, that is, except maybe one, who has trouble following close behind. Bad times are indeed coming.

After their initial group scene, the film breaks apart into specific chapters, each centering on one of the characters, labeled by their physical locations. As if in an Agatha Christie story, we start tracking their movements and actions by where they are and at what time. It's a neo-noir mystery for the first half or so, as we learn that the characters harbor dark desires and secrets, and so does the motel itself. False walls, hidden passageways, and two-way mirrors help create an atmosphere of paranoia; those devices are paired with narrative devices that allow us to view the same event from multiple perspectives that change our understanding of various characters. Really, the first half of the film (or, perhaps, the first two-thirds; I wasn't eyeing the time) is a masterclass in screenwriting.

But by the second half (perhaps the final third; there is a rather clear moment when the film dramatically alters its makeup), Bad Times gets pretty messy. Seemingly crucial characters meet unceremonious ends, several new characters are introduced haphazardly, and in what should be the climax, the action screeches to a deafening halt. While this may -- and likely should -- be seen as a critique of conventional narration, the scene nevertheless continues its agonizingly slow descent into controlled madness with yawn-inducing deliberation. Even a sexy, insane Chris Hemsworth (who actually shows some real acting here, for what might be the second time in his feature film career) can't save the lengthy scene, despite its Manson-familyesque roots and bonkers murder games. His character as written just isn't interesting enough.

Despite some lovely ensemble work and some drop-dead gorgeous storytelling from the camera and script, my favorite element of the film -- and what saved the climax from my disdain -- is first-time feature film actress Cynthia Erivo. Her Broadway background is made clear through her repeated (often a cappella) Motown renditions, and gorgeous as they are, her dramatic performance is no less awesome. I wondered if, when in the climax she delivers a feminist smackdown to the Big Baddie about how the rain is more interesting to her than men, some of her lines were not written specifically for her, not just for her character. Hopefully she makes a whole lot more movies. Apparently she will also star in Widows this season. Sounds like she's starting with a real bang!

Bad Times is a great time at the movies. An almost epic experience, a nostalgic throwback, a postmodern manifesto, and one of the freshest neo-noir films in years. Its sensory impact matches its dramatic, and while it may contain more possibilities than it entertains, it entertains us plenty.

IMDb: Bad Times at the El Royale

Coco (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

The first thing you need to know before seeing this movie: The typical Disney "short" that plays prior to the feature is actually about 20 minutes long. Called "Olaf's Frozen Adventure", it plays like a television special about Elsa and Anna & Co. celebrating Yule festivities. While I felt it was a little long for a pre-show show, it's a heartwarming and thoroughly entertaining fantasy that features some really excellent music and laugh-out-loud comedy. And while it may be questionable to put a short about white people before a movie about Mexican culture, there is a connecting theme of traditions and family that serves each story well. And, I have to admit, I was bawling by the end of the short, and it just didn't stop.

Coco follows young Miguel as he chases his dream of music, despite his large family's hatred of it. On the Day of the Dead, Miguel is accidentally transported to the land of the dead, where he will remain until he can get his ancestors' blessing. They, however, won't bless him unless he becomes a shoemaker like the rest of the family, and so Miguel flees, searching for his great-great-(maybe more?)-grandfather, a famous musician. Along the way, he learns the pain of family secrets, the dangers of trust, and ultimately the love only a family can give.

Dazzling special effects make this film fly off the screen in a colorful kaleidoscope, while some fabulous music (scored by Michael Giacchino) keeps your toes tapping all along. But what really makes Coco work is its infectiously warm heart. Honoring the traditions of Mexican culture -- as far as I understand -- the film centers on the concept that remembering family ancestors is what keeps their essence alive. Understanding where we come from is key to understanding where we're going, though it can come with the danger, as Miguel quickly learns, of being false history and of limiting our perspective on different lifestyles. And far from being morbid or overly macabre, the film displays an amazingly tasteful way to engage with children about the processes of death and aging, one that remains endlessly entertaining as well as thoughtful and sensitive.

Richly detailed filmmaking here does not distract from pure storytelling -- complex and dynamic characterizations and plotting -- but it does help the film worm its way to your heart. I can't spoil the ending, but I related a little too much to the dynamics of a family whose matriarch's memory is all but lost. There are so many things we don't know about our own families, our histories, and it is so easy to think it doesn't matter. But it can, and -- as Coco suggests -- probably should matter. And if the holidays aren't the best times to reconnect with family, I don't know when is. Oh, and in case you were wondering, there is a certain theme of rebellion that resonates powerfully in our current political climate. Shots fired, Disney. Bravo.

IMDb: Coco

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

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Score: 3.5 / 5

After seeing two previous cinematic incarnations of the character, my Spidey senses were tingling heading into this flick. I suspect Disney/Marvel Studios execs were even more nervous, judging by the excessive advertising and merchandising for their newest flick (in the middle of a year with two other big-budget sequels). We knew the villain from promos, we've already met this Peter Parker (in Civil War), and we've been disappointed in the character before. And while Homecoming is neither my favorite version of Spider-Man nor even one of the better Marvel Studios films, it boasts some inspired choices that might affect the successes of future MCU pictures.

Tonally not unlike Ant-Man, this flick knows how to have fun. Sweet and funny in an uncomplicated way, Homecoming panders to a younger audience. Though its basic comedy won't please everybody, it's executed with such precise timing and earnestness that it pulled more than a few chuckles from my throat. More important, the movie is uplifting and even gleeful in a way almost no other superhero movies are. Most of the credit for that goes to the writers. While movies written by committee aren't usually impressive, the six writers here focused their energies on changing the very structure of the genre. The superhero arc is a mere plot device; the movie works because it's a coming of age story and a high school comedy. This might just signal an evolution in superhero cinema: Maybe superhero movies have to be something else too.

Of course Tom Holland deserves his credit, too. This Spider-Man bothered me as a fan (Why are we changing MJ's name? Why are we changing Aunt May's character?), mostly because of how ridiculously high-tech his suit is. The cool thing about Spidey is that he's young and witty, yes, but it's just him. The kid with tingling senses who can climb walls and made his own web-shooters. Here, half the movie is him battling with the tech in his suit (given to him by Tony Stark, whose films feature the same gimmick). Holland, though, manages to work around all that and staking his claim in a character who, in his hands, just loves being Spider-Man. His wide-eyed wonder and innocence infects us until we're as happy with his situation as he is. And though you can take or leave the high school drama he faces, we believe his struggle against realistic, believable stakes every minute along the way.

While Tyne Daly and Donald Glover are memorable but woefully underused (especially Glover, whose character is the Prowler -- a personal favorite hero/villain -- and the uncle of Miles Morales, suggesting a future POC Spider-Man in the franchise's future!), Zendaya and Jacob Batalon make fabulous turns as Peter's friends. Michael Keaton as the Vulture, however, steals his scenes with a down-to-earth energy and unusual charm for a villain. Can we even call the character a villain? He's a hardworking, average guy who just wants a slice of the good life, to provide for his loving family and reap the benefits of his many years' toil. The movie could have done more in exploring the socioeconomic dynamics of him and his journey, but even as it is, Adrian Toomes is one of the most surprising and believable characters in the franchise. Sequels may or may not include Keaton's Vulture, whose final scene is a real shocker.

Fair warning if you're feeling that superhero fatigue: We'll be seeing more Spider-Man solo movies. This flick gives the character a clean slate and lots of room to grow. It establishes his part in the MCU without making him another Avenger (thank heaven!) and makes a pretty strong statement about that decision (the scene where Tony Stark offers him a place in the team is jaw-droppingly audacious). With its youthful energy and themes, Homecoming offers a different sort of dish for us to chew, and will undoubtedly affect the flavor and texture of forthcoming installments: Consider the final scene featuring Cap, a big "Eff you" to the convention of post-credits teasers. Whatever happens next, we can hope that the movies keep as strong a sense of place as this one does (it's basically a love letter to Queens, and it's beautiful). And I'm still keeping my fingers crossed for a Mysterio appearance.

IMDb: Spider-Man: Homecoming

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

It's the Star Wars we've always wanted.

Stepping away from the Skywalker saga was a risky move on the franchise's part, and one that has more than paid off. We finally get a better understanding of galactic life away from the Jedi and the famous protagonists of the other films, an experience of war unlike any we've seen in the series. Of course, those of us who love the books have entertained these stories for years, but to see them in all their glory on the big screen is quite different. I suspect this film will also speak to fans of the video games, as it features violent action in a more grounded way than a cadre of Jedi with their lightsabers.

In every conceivable way, this is an improvement over The Force Awakens. Where the latter uses recycled plots, vague foreshadowing, sentiment and nostalgia, and ultimately nothing visually new, Rogue One features a totally fresh and inspired narrative, a contained standalone premise, intrigue and uncertainty, and constant new images, places, and sensations. From its first desolate scene, this picture revs up the energy and the novelty, and from there it keeps getting better. There is some shaky editing and pacing in the first half hour or so, as we jump from place to place and various characters with breakneck pace and bewildering connection, but it mellow out by the halfway point and brings the strands together in focused precision. By the time we reached the climactic battle on an idyllic beachfront, I was so overwhelmed with awe and excitement I was shaking in my seat.

A word of forewarning: you may want to reconsider taking your kids to this one. The film is about spies and impostors, paranoia and violence, and in case you weren't sure, war. There's a lot to admire in its female hero -- who doesn't succumb to a narrative of romance -- and its ragtag team of misfits who band together to bring down the Empire, a trope I expect we'll see a lot more of in the next four years of our political climate. And yet children may not appreciate or understand that our fabulous rebels are panicking, ruthless and desperate, and that their behaviors include targeting each other out of suspicion and self-interest; there's a lot of tension when the people you're working with will kill you at the slightest provocation, and when they're targeting the people you love. Similarly, while the film features little bloodshed (these are blasters and lightsabers, after all, not guns and machetes), it is first and foremost a war film. With its extended battle sequences, be prepared for some fatigue and the deaths of loved ones.

I might add that it's not all gloom and doom. It's a rousing story, one which surpasses its somber ending by sheer virtue of its ability to find light and hope in the darkness. This is achieved through an expert script, a fabulous score, and its little nods to the rest of the franchise. Keep your eyes open for Darth Vader, who is featured in a scene that will remind you of Halloween in its horror and violence; it reminds us why he is actually a bad guy. A few surprise visits from old faces such as Bail Organa, the thugs from the Mos Eisley cantina, our favorite robots, rebel senators and pilots, and of course our princess in white keep things interesting and fun. The most shocking (and apparently hotly debated) appearance comes from a digitally recreated Peter Cushing as Grand Moff Tarkin. While some have criticized his appearance, I'd say he looks pretty good for being dead for 22 years. I don't think the filmmakers should have featured him as much as they did, considering they had an almost equivalent villain in Ben Mendelsohn's Director Krennic, but his presence was certainly enjoyable.

I might be blinded by my own enthusiasm, but this was for me one of the best pictures of the year. Timely and smart, risky and strong, it parades its spectacle out in arresting beauty and haunting import. Felicity Jones leads the adventure with intense command, and the visionary Gareth Edwards yet again shows his skills as a big-budget director with an eye not just for explosions but meaning. Make sure Rogue One is on your holiday list. You won't have a bad feeling about this.

IMDb: Rogue One

Star Trek Beyond (2016)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Finally, the summer blockbuster we've been waiting for. Tarzan failed miserably, and the last good major flicks were from Marvel. In a hot season this devoid of decent action movies, just about anything might have done the trick. And while the newest Star Trek certainly delivers in all the crucial ways, it also leaves me feeling a bit underwhelmed.

As someone who has never seen anything Trek-related besides these reboot films, I may not speak with the most authority on these matters. I've heard that the film works best with its nostalgic, retro vibes and its pervasive senses of joy, humor, and adventure. We get more of the Spock-Kirk-McCoy bromance, the Spock-Uhura drama, and some nice insight into Sulu and Scott. This picture, far more than the first or second installments, fulfills the franchise's promise for exploration, adventure, and wonder. All fun, all the time. I totally get that. It's a rapturous fantasy, dazzling and wondrous in scope, layered with hue upon hue, vibrant and explosive, original and utterly absorbing.

The mind-numbing CGI and whirling cinematography through amazing alien worlds do their trick too: distraction. I've heard it argued both ways, and convincingly, but after the emotional and intellectual power-punches of the first two, this film really lets its heart take a break. Perhaps that was the smart decision, as the emotional climax of Into Darkness was so intense. But even what could be character-building arcs here are sacrificed in favor of blatant gags and quirky one-liners. The revved action sequences and heated style render the more sentimental dialogue tepid at best. And maybe that's okay for what amounts to a placeholder film in a franchise as extensive as this. But I just spent the time thinking and typing all this out to say that I'm just not sure, which may suggest the filmmakers weren't sure either, either in conception or execution. My bet is on the latter. Why? Because even some basic plot devices are illogical and filled with holes. I know I missed some, too, because of the frenetic pace of the film, but one that really pissed me off occurred when Scotty tells the captain that the dilapidated spaceship is impossible to fix, and in the next scene everything is fine and they're blasting off.

And that's to say nothing of the action sequences themselves, which are occasionally stupid and usually incoherent. They're a hell of a lot of fun, but I had trouble lining up placements and even location. Not that it even mattered most of the time; the film is so full of salvific coincidence and that it's hard to care much how our heroes escape or succeed because we innately know they will. Important plot pieces just click into place as they are needed with little or no explanation beyond screenwriting laziness.

For all that, though, it's a hell of a picture, and loads of fun. I'd watch it again, and be happy the whole time. It certainly whetted my appetite for another rollicking adventure. Tempered, I might add, by remembering that Anton Yelchin won't be there. Rest in peace.

IMDb: Star Trek Beyond

Zootopia (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

Zootopia is one of those fabulous examples of Disney at its best. Its walking, talking animals aren't wallowing in sentiment. Its themes are arrestingly topical. Its entrancing animation is a feast to the eye and mind, creative and distracting in all the best ways.

Most important for me is the film's emphasis on female characters and especially the hero. Judy Hopps (voiced by Once Upon a Time star Ginnifer Goodwin) is a fierce, career-driven little rabbit whose ambitions and passion are larger than an elephant. She fights her way up a male-dominated (and large-animal dominated) police academy, and not unlike Clarice Starling, is then forced to combat daily doses of prejudice and endure species- and gender-based conflict. But her will to serve manifests itself in an infectious optimism, providing her with opportunities to grow and to shine, all while rendering the trope of finding a romantic attachment unnecessary: She's too busy helping others to worry about that.

Meanwhile, also like Clarice, she makes allies with a most unlikely figure: a con artist fox named Nick Wilde (voiced by Jason Bateman), whose carnivorous (read: cannibalistic) nature is occasionally called into suspicion. Their working relationship begins after he tricks Hopps into helping him make an extra buck, and she subsequently blackmails Nick into helping her find a missing otter. Their investigation leads to a murky side of Zootopia and a sinister plot to make carnivorous animals revert to their violent, bloodthirsty nature. This plot, furthered by mysterious members of the mayor's office, is as timely as it is clever, pulling together various film references and real-life humor to showcase governmental corruption -- fueled by bigotry and injustice -- at the center of our "civilized" culture.

The other main thing that endeared this movie to my heart is that it demonstrates a complex reality too often ignored in Disney films. The film's turning point comes when Hopps, in a press conference, suggests the biological inevitability of predators reverting to savagery. This is the bunny who has overcome obstacles of prejudice and bigotry her whole life, who has come into a diverse world with the sole intention of shattering systems of injustice. And now, in a few seconds, she suggests that the oldest, most primal stereotypes of her world are in fact true, and that the harmonious civilization built on mutuality and autonomy is as fragile and unnatural as a rabbit befriending a fox.

Of course, all ends well, as these films do. As it should, I might add, in order to reclaim the film's central themes of kindness, love, and cooperation in times of hatred, fear, and bigotry, and ultimately of the beauty of diversity. And there are so many contemporary references that the film feels a little overbearing at times (not unlike the allegorical and symbolic layers to the musical Into the Woods). The cleverness of its delivery, though, is that it will bring to mind various elements of our own cultural conflicts at a given time. It highlights gender-based inequalities and issues of classism and ableism. It dares us to consider sexual and political and even religious differences. Perhaps most overtly, it has us question our prejudices based on race. "Go back to the forest, predator!" shouts a fearful sheep [correction: pig] when the Zootopians turn on the carnivores; in reply the annoyed cheetah intones, "I'm from the savannah."

The allegory is far from absolute; it seems to invite layers of consideration as vast and diverse as the city depicted. And that is its crowning glory. By Shakira's final song celebrating tolerance and bravery, you'll be weeping and dancing in your seat as I was. Thankfully, the children seated around me were too. So it wasn't weird.

IMDb: Zootopia

Jurassic World (2015)

Score: 5 / 5

Okay, the first thing you need to know about Jurassic World is that it is in every way superior to its predecessor. Whereas the third installment had exactly two decent sequences, this film is one long thrill ride. In fact, it's much scarier than even the first Jurassic Park, because it doesn't need to establish the "awe" factor of dinos, or the empty hope that the proceedings will turn into anything but a living nightmare. From the very first shot (of a wickedly clawed beast hatching and glaring into our souls), we know this is a thinly-veiled horror movie. More specifically, this is a thoroughbred monster movie.

The best thing about this film, though, isn't its frightening intensity. It's that it is so smart about being scary. Besides its intelligent dialogue (which is second only to the first film's), it has a reckless pace not unlike this summer's other high-speed blockbuster, Mad Max: Fury Road. Director Colin Trevorrow fits most of his exposition into our wide cultural knowledge of the franchise, and recalls it through minute details on set. Rather than wasting time, as I said, reinforcing our wonder and awe at his monsters, he skates over a lot of the familiar shots in favor of brand new ones (much like the management staff of the new park itself). Rather than a slow pan over a hillside with long-necked dinosaurs (I'm sorry, the scientific names are escaping me), which we've seen in at least two of the previous films, we skip right into the exciting new sights, like the Mosasaur lagoon and the Triceratops petting zoo.

We also skip over the well-trod ground of Velociraptors being deadly and leap into a whole new scenario, wherein they are being trained by none other than Indiana Jones himself. Oops, I mean Chris Pratt. In yet another swashbuckling turn, he dons this muscular, gruff persona well with just enough room to slide some fitting humor into the movie. He is a nice foil to Bryce Dallas Howard's managerial role, She of the White Skirt and Sensible Heels. Sadly, we have no Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, or Julianne Moore this time, but Pratt and Howard take the reins with no apologies or reservations (I think John Hammond would say they "spared no expense"). I was more than a little worried when they set up our two leads as such obnoxiously stereotypical gender tropes, but, again, it's a filmmaker's shorthand that speeds us right along into the action. Also, those tropes (as we immediately suspect) break down very quickly, and by the time the climax comes 'round, Howard is arguably more heroic than Pratt, as she herself drives the kids to safety while under violent attack by raptors and later unleashes the T-Rex while carrying a flare. And she does everything in the movie while wearing those heels. So there's that.

I keep hinting that this film is all about the thrills. And it is. But it's pretty clear that Trevorrow loves his dinosaurs, and that love is infectious. He may not do many long, slow shots of a dino silhouetted by the morning sunlight, but he certainly inserts glorious little moments of visionary beauty into his adventure. At one point, the hybrid monster yanks up a soldier into the foliage overhead, and as the camera looks up to watch, his blood plops down on the camera like a little rain. I guess that doesn't sound all that great but in the moment, it's almost poetic in its stunning color and brevity. Or when Howard's character opens the T-Rex pen to lure it out, and the light from her flare reflects in its approaching eyes. Brilliant. I would argue too that Trevorrow finds awe in his conceptualization of the dinosaurs as autonomous beings, rather than mindless carnivores that pop out at us. Whereas, in the third film, the Spinosaurus tends to just pop up all over the place and bite at our heroes (and so do all the other dinos in that movie, unfortunately), here the Indominus Rex (?) is driven by a superior intelligence, mutated genes, and the explicit ability to communicate with several species. The velociraptors, similarly, are personalized with names and a bizarre connection with Pratt's character that hints at a form of respect.

My last thoughts on this movie have to do with its violence. The first Jurassic Park worked memorably well due to Spielberg's use of suspense and tension through editing: We know the electric fence will turn on because we see Ellie slipping the switches, we just don't know when; we see the raptors see the children in the kitchen, we just don't know if they can actually open doors yet. In this film, however, Trevorrow seems less concerned with this type of storytelling. Rather, he seems to take his hint off the Indominus itself and, where the horror comes into play, allows the violence and jump-scares to be as brutal as they are. Almost every moment of violence is more visceral than in the other films, from the monster's clawed-out tracking device dripping with blood to the claws of the raptors lunging at the back of the truck. In fact, though I almost never verbally react to movies, yelled out loud twice in this picture. Once when the Indominus was smashing the gyrosphere over the children, and once when a raptor head burst in through Howard's driver window. But these weren't just sump scares. Violence had already been happening, and violence continued to happen after. Trevorrow cleverly (and sadistically) keeps amping up the action sequences in more and more intense ways before he resolves them.

I'm sure a 5 is a bit high for a score. But I love dinosaurs, I love this franchise, and frankly this film is exactly what we needed to keep it going. It's not overscored, overacted, or overplotted. Though it relies heavily on special effects, they're really good. Its themes are familiar but not dwelt upon, and its gender stereotypes are annoying but serve as an access point before allowing themselves to be bent. The climax was rather overwrought, but in which of the three preceding films has it not been? At least it didn't use a bullshit dues ex machina like in #3. I'm still bitter about that one.

Now let's just pray the next installment comes a little sooner!

IMDb: Jurassic World

Jupiter Ascending (2015)

Score: 3 / 5

Science fiction has hit a bit of a roadblock in the last two decades. Nobody really seems to know what it is anymore, in our culture of radically evolving technology, and so most of the mainstream sci-fi flicks have done little more than adapt and expand older franchises. Think of Alien, War of the Worlds, even Star Wars. These may be the staples of the genre, but they have also become the go-to narratives for sci-fi, and so the genre has become conflated with horror, adventure, and even fantasy to such an extent that "sci-fi" as a category can really only be found now in independent films. Sometimes.

Jupiter Ascending is no different. The Wachowskis' newest enterprise feels like a bizarre mash-up of Star Wars concepts and Matrix style, and it flies along at a breathless clip from fight to fight to climactic fight. Its premise is a tad too familiar: sad, hardworking girl is targeted by assassins, hunky hero comes to save her and reveals her true royal identity, and together they fight a vague evil ruler to reclaim the throne and fall in love along the way. Now please excuse me while I gag.

AND YET -- I really liked this movie. Why? Despite its shortcomings in plot and dialogue, its visuals are some of the most striking and beautiful I've seen from a mainstream adventure in years. The costumes are incredible. And (!) the cast: Mila Kunis, Channing Tatum, Eddie Redmayne, Sean Bean. Why wouldn't you want to see a bunch of sexies camping up the galaxy and generally being badass? Oh, and I guess it would be worthwhile to mention that, for how much she is objectified through the film (and by the camera), our heroine also asserts herself as a strong, articulate, and intelligent woman without losing her femininity or sex appeal. That's a tough balance to strike, if we look at the history of female leads in this type of film.

That's really about all I can say about the movie. It's not the smartest adventure we'll see this year, and it doesn't have the bright colors of a Marvel Studios picture. But it has a specific brand of comedy -- a sort of pure entertainment -- that stops it from ever getting dark and morbid. And if you allow the pulsing energy to guide you over the faulty logic and vagaries of the script, I promise you'll walk out smiling. Which, if we're being honest, is also a rarity among our millennial sci-fi adventures.

IMDb: Jupiter Ascending

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