Tetris (2023)

Score: 2 / 5

It's not exactly the kind of film anybody expects or wants. The supposedly real-life story of how one of the first digital games became a worldwide phenomenon sounds interesting enough, but ultimately we're just talking about Tetris. Blocks slowly falling as you attempt to create full rows and stop the buildup. A time-waster of the highest order, the game now lends itself to a film that could have leaned into that mentality. Instead, the film, an AppleTV+ exclusive, tries desperately to spin a yarn of international intrigue framed by big business, government oversight, and fraud, as if the whole escapade was a spy flick. I don't think the premise or concept is inherently wrong or misguided, but I can tell you it certainly did not interest, engage, or enlighten me.

Directed by Jon S. Baird (Stan & Ollie, Filth), Tetris tries desperately to be the exciting story of Henk Rogers, founder of an American software company who "discovers" a new video game and wants in on its big rollout to the world. As narrator, Rogers plays a strange game like a cheap magician, carrying us along a wildly complex ride of patents and copyrights and laws between major software firms and agencies in the Soviet Union, Japan, and the U.S. He notices the oddball game at a convention in Tokyo, learns it was quietly developed by a Russian programmer and distributed privately, and decides that with details about its popularity and potential beyond the Iron Curtain, he wants to make it big by licensing and distributing it worldwide.

The problem is that Rogers is in way over his head. He's a low-level entrepreneur suddenly thrust into the world of big business in the quickly blooming computer age, yes, but also in Cold War politics and legalities. As such, Baird's approach to storytelling goes from a dynamic, kinetic enthusiasm in the early part of the film to a color-leeched and more somber tone once Rogers gets to Russia. Fittingly, his family welfare suffers as a result of his single-minded determination to own the game, and their financial future is as much at stake as his relationship with his wife and daughter. Thankfully, Taron Egerton proves himself yet again as a compelling and deeply nuanced leading man -- something his flashy big action and fantasy roles thus far haven't quite showcased -- and his Rogers is the kind of intriguing almost-antihero that plays off both his charming likability and his dubious integrity. Maybe that's unfair, as the film doesn't really question his business practices, but his somewhat innocent incompetence in understanding the politics of "keep out of Russia" and "other suits don't play fair" feels more convenient than believable for most of the film. Especially given his tireless perseverance.

A great ensemble fills out the large cast of characters, including a shrewish Toby Jones as negotiator Robert Stein and especially Roger Allam as Robert Maxwell, the infamous business villain of the 1980s, who together with his son Kevin (Anthony Boyle) attempts to profit from Tetris by meeting directly with Gorbachev. It's all kind of interesting, but mired and muddled with lots of talk about market value and copyrights and frankly I didn't understand most of what was happening. Things become a bit more clear as Rogers attempts to avoid and also work with the Soviet authorities, but they're so hammily caricatured that these scenes feel like a different movie altogether. Case in point: a Russian thug literally threatens to throw a child out a window several floors up to demonstrate that everything -- like in Tetris -- falls at the same rate, thanks to gravity. It's the kind of zinger that could provoke chills if it wasn't cartoonishly funny.

I don't know entirely if the breezy, cheeky tone is all Baird's doing, or writer Noah Pink's (who really should be applauded anyway for turning such a drab, drawn out story into something at least concise and dramatic), or simply because Matthew Vaughn produced it. Regardless, the ambivalent and somewhat condescending tone is thoroughly not entertaining; vilifying Russians as "crazy" in this day and age feels more than a little tone-deaf, as does championing the victories of capitalism over communism. In fact, apart from Rogers, ultimately made into an underdog against the USSR, no other character in the film is much more than a caricature of various archetypes. The film itself feels like it wants to lean into the intricacies of politics and finance, but it undercuts its own efforts with breakneck editing, insider jargon you can barely follow, and truly bizarre special effects littered throughout to remind us that in Rogers's head, apparently, colorful blocks are always falling. Trouble is, he's not a savant, and this isn't The Queen's Gambit (which I also generally dislike, for different reasons but on similar premises).

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023)

Score: 3.5 / 5

We begin this adventure with a flashback to 1944 -- which, if you are anal about these things too, occurs about six years after The Last Crusade -- as Indiana and his colleague Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) attempt to loot a Nazi train loaded with art and artifacts. They're looking for the Lance of Longinus, the "holy spear" that supposedly pierced the side of Christ during his crucifixion, which turns out to be a fake. The Nazis capture them, but it doesn't take too long for them to grab another great bit of mystery history: half of Archimedes' Dial, an "Antikythera" orrery meant to locate fissures in time and possibly allow for time travel. They escape with this half of the Dial before the train is derailed by the Allies.

Launching forward in time, the movie proper begins in 1969 (about twelve years after Kingdom of the Crystal Skull), as Dr. Jones is preparing to retire from Hunter College. Harrison Ford breathes new vibrancy into this character, who is about a decade younger than the actor himself, not through any remarkable physical work but rather through his experience of age. We got whiffs of it in the previous film, but here Mangold works with Ford to showcase Indiana's world-weariness, yes, but not in a hard-boiled way. He's still smart as a whip, fiery and impassioned, and willing to just do rather than hem and haw about things. It's not the existential agony of aging Mangold handled so hauntingly in Logan from both Patrick Stewart and Hugh Jackman; this is poignant and resonant fulfillment (and some dissatisfaction) found at the end of a long and distinguished career, and it's fleshed out effectively over the course of this film. Unfortunately, Ford is aggressively de-aged here (which doesn't bother me as much as some who simply cannot abide the uncanny valley phenomenon); I say "unfortunately" because, physical appearance aside, it's jarring to hear Ford's gravelly, real-life voice of today coming from himself looking rather like he looked forty years ago.

Indiana's motives have never been particularly clear to me in this franchise, beyond a vague sense of historical responsibility and anti-fascism, but for the first time, I really understood what drives him in this film: he is, at heart, an academic, and so when the thought of time travel begins to gestate for him, his eyes spark to life at the prospect of ending his life in some of the history to which he's devoted his career. Why should this matter to him? Well, he's lonely and depressed. This film brusquely changes direction from the end of Crystal Skull by mentioning that Indiana's son Mutt (who was played by Shia LaBeouf) died in Vietnam and that Marion (Karen Allen) has left her depressed husband and filed for legal separation. It's a crude but workable way to cut out Mutt -- who everyone hated, and I will never understand why -- and of course Marion herself, who is probably still as capable of helping the action as Indiana. I'd have liked this story to include both those characters more, because Crystal Skull is unfairly maligned by audiences for completely mysterious reasons to me (I love it and have never heard any rational arguments against it beyond unspecific personal taste preferences... and of course the fridge scene), and I'd like to see how an aging Indiana Jones handles suddenly having an adult family.

But what about the plot? Without his family, who will Indy team up with? Never fear, Phoebe Waller-Bridge is here, playing Helena Shaw, the now-adult daughter of Basil Shaw from the prologue. Helena reveals that she is Indiana's goddaughter and that her father died after years obsessing over the Dial. She herself wants to pick up his research, and so Indiana reluctantly gives her his half of the Dial. Then enters the villain: Mads Mikkelsen plays a Nazi astrophysicist named Jurgen Voller. He is also de-aged in the opening flashback; Mikkelsen will always be the best casting choice for a villain from vaguely eastern Europe. Voller, who is after both pieces of the Dial, was working with Hitler during the war but now has his own aims, something that he announces in the film's dramatic lurch to its climax and which I won't spoil here. He attacks the school, murdering some faculty and framing Indiana, who takes to horseback in a spectacular chase sequence through a moon landing parade, an antiwar protest march, and the NYC subway.

Helena, meanwhile, is revealed to be an antiquities smuggler, seeking historical artifacts to sell on the black market to buttress her gambling debts. That, for me, was perhaps the single biggest disappointment in this film, because it's a contrived gimmick meant to spark action and comedy rather than reveal any characterization or offer storytelling originality. Her greedy opportunism allows the film, soon enough, to hop over to Tangier, where she's trying to sell and ends up collecting another sidekick in Teddy (Ethann Isidore). From here, it's a regular Indiana Jones adventure, with his ragtag team trying to thwart the pursuing fascists even as they lead them to the treasure.

But this is not a Steven Spielberg film, and it's also not particularly adept with its action sequences. Mangold is a wonderful director, but I can't help but wish Spielberg had agreed to direct the final Indiana Jones movie. There is some connective tissue -- call it artistic integrity -- missing between Crystal Skull and Dial of Destiny; most people felt that between the third and fourth film, but not me. I feel it now. The editing is clunky and the action choreography is often awkward and incoherent; the fault could be on multiple heads, but this is a far cry from the thrilling precision of similar sequences in major recent action sequels like John Wick and Mission: Impossible.

Think I'm being harsh? Look at two sequences and tell me otherwise. First, the car chase through Tangier is an absolute mess, when it could (seemingly easily) be both visually satisfying and logically sound. Secondly, and more damningly to my mind, there's a scene in which Indy and Helena travel to the Aegean to ask an old friend to help them dive to an old shipwreck that might contain the other half of the Dial. The setup is frustrating enough, dramatically (looking snidely at the screenplay by committee that needed more workshopping), because the old friend is Antonio Banderas, getting top billing for roughly three scenes of work, who seems to be pretty gay with his hunky shipmates. After almost no time, they're all jumping into the deeps and Indy finds himself in a sunken ship surrounded by eels. It's a fabulous concept, of course, and scratches the "icky creature" scene in each movie of this franchise; Indy is taunted at one point that eels are like underwater snakes, which he fearfully and indignantly rejects the thought of. But the scene itself is so poorly composed that it's difficult to see and even harder to remember; terrible lighting, miserable cinematography, an over-reliance on CG action, little cause or reason, and a bizarre deus ex machina make what could have been a brilliant and terrifying scene a good time for a bathroom break.

And then there's the film's ending sequence, which I desperately wish to have had more of. So rarely in these films do we see the full effect of whatever magical item Indiana has rescued or restored: sure, the Ark lets out some ghosts that melt people, the Stones bring fertility to the village, the Grail saves Henry Jones from his nearly fatal gunshot, and the replaced Skull allows the aliens to reactivate their ship and leave Earth. It's usually a fast scene with little grounding in reality, lots of magic and mystery, and then we're done, so when this movie started hinting at time travel, I expected the same. I was so wrong. I don't want to spoil the ending, but they do indeed travel to another time -- one wholly unexpected and endlessly satisfying for both plot purposes as well as an insight into Archimedes himself -- and we hang out there for a while. It's a great sequence, one that allows Ford the chance to let Indiana be truly in awe of his life's work and the experience of being present in history. A climax to a series that reveals more about the main character than we've ever seen? Yes, please! I just wish we had had more time with that, or that it could have been more foregrounded in the two hours that led to this sequence, because it kind of comes out of nowhere, floors us, and then the movie ends.

I hope that, while this is the last Indiana Jones film, Harrison Ford isn't done making movies. His dramatic work here is the best he's given in a few years, and I'd love to see him lean into dramatically heavy roles for older men, maybe showcasing his real skills and remarkable humor in ways we haven't seen much from him since the '80s. I also hope this film doesn't fall prey to the polarized and polarizing critical commentary of our social media, because it won't survive that. Dial of Destiny is a multilayered puzzle box meant to satisfy young audiences as well as old fans of the series, to bridge the gaps between loved and unloved entries, and to ultimately try to end an iconic franchise. It's not going to win everyone, but I hope people don't mindlessly junk it along with Crystal Skull; even as a fan of that film, this new one made me want to rewatch it and enjoy it afresh. A final thought: Dial of Destiny is about two similar men (again, a familiar trope in this series between Indy and his villains), one who wants to control history, the other who, by appreciating history too much, has become inert and stuck in history with regret. There's a lot going on here, more than an Indiana Jones has the right to offer; I just wish it had been a little more. Or wasn't the end. Or both.

The Pale Blue Eye (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

The year is 1830, and the dying of the year is settling on the Hudson River Valley. Chilly weather precedes a chilling crime as a West Point Military Academy cadet is found hanged; soon after, his body is discovered to be desecrated and his heart forcibly removed. Terrified of scandal at the fledgling institution, the captains and superintendents hire a nearby semi-retired detective to investigate. While looking into possible -- and evidently likely -- occult activities on campus, he realizes he needs to penetrate the cadre of cadets to learns what's going on internally: enter a young Edgar Allan Poe, a real-life cadet at the time, whose poetic personality leads him to assist in the investigation.

The Pale Blue Eye is a recent Netflix film that adapts a magnificent novel by Louis Bayard. It's a difficult project, to be sure, as one of the primary charms of the book is the occasional shift in narrative voice from the detective to Poe; fans of the latter find the passages written in Poe's voice beautifully rendered from the historical man and artistic visionary. It seems appropriate that the so-called father of the American detective story would get his taste for the aesthetic from a formative experience early in his life, and so the whole concept is brilliant. And, while the novel almost ceaselessly twists its way through red herrings and minor mysteries to be solved, the film manages to faithfully adapt the major moments for its primary story. It just can never quite capture the joyful voice of Poe himself.

Which is by no means a fault of the cast or director/screenwriter. Scott Cooper helms this in those latter two capacities, and it's about as bleak as anything else he's done (Antlers, Hostiles, Black Mass, Out of the Furnace). Cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi views the whole thing -- surely inspired by the title -- in pale gray hues, so much so that the whole thing could have been quite effective in black and white, except for streaks of blue in the river valley and the cadet uniforms. And the cast is great across the board, from underutilized but effective heads of West Point including Simon McBurney and Timothy Spall, to the primary family of suspicion including Toby Jones, Gillian Anderson, and Lucy Boynton.

The detective himself, Augustus Landor, is played by frequent Cooper collaborator Christian Bale. Landor, semi-retired no doubt due to isolation, alcoholism, and depression -- he's a widower whose adolescent daughter left him a couple years ago -- is still sharp as a knife and quick-witted. Prone as he is to the bottle and to melancholy sexual encounters with a local barmaid (Charlotte Gainsbourg), he seems dedicated to cut through the bureaucratic crap of the academy and solve the crimes. One might wonder why an actor of Bale's uncommon skills wants to play a bedraggled, world-weary man so comparatively early in his career, but if you're familiar with the book, he's not as detached from the proceedings as he first appears.

And then there's Harry Melling, playing Poe, whose performances lately have proved him a frighteningly intense and versatile actor coming into his own. He reminds me a bit of a young Gary Oldman in that way, and I'm eager to see how he continues. Here, though, he straddles a fine line between the agony of an artist unable to fully commit to his craft, the urgency of solving a crime for which he will inevitably also be targeted (either as a potential victim or suspect, or both), and his eager romanticism that will lead him into trouble with the family of the primary suspect. There are a few key scenes in this respect that shine, as he courts the sister of a particularly brutal cadet, though these were far more numerous and emotionally impactful in the novel. It's a side plot that better serves our understanding of Poe's character -- he uses her name to inspire some poetry of his own under the similar name "Lenore" -- that would make the already bloated film much longer.

But for a bleak, literary, and haunting mystery in the chilly midwinter, The Pale Blue Eye is exactly what the poet ordered.

The Wonder (2022)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Sebastian Lelio's latest film -- which recently debuted on Netflix exclusively -- demonstrates yet again that he is one of the best directors of leading women. After the brilliant actresses in A Fantastic Woman, Disobedience, and Gloria Bell, now he teams up with the always excellent Florence Pugh to tell a particularly complex and understated story. Perhaps in order to set up the almost Gothic style of this film, Lelio opens it by situating us firmly on the film set. We see what appears to be a warehouse with some lighting and sound equipment and the backside of a set; voiceover from a woman (we don't know who yet, but it's not Pugh) tells us, "We are nothing without stories." The tone is knowingly detached, and the film begins shortly after having asked us to believe in this one, despite knowing about the artificial nature of the medium. Why the unusual approach? Lelio, working with co-writers Alice Birch and the amazing Emma Donoghue, wants us to actively believe what's happening in this film. Because the film is very much about belief and what belief, when taken to extremes, can do to (and for) us all.

An English nurse is summoned to a rural village in Ireland along with a nun. The year is 1862, not long after the Great Famine ravaged the populace, and the women are tasked with observing a young girl exhibiting miraculous fasting ability. Her family claims Anna O'Donnell (Kila Lord Cassidy) has not eaten food in four months. A committee of local leaders -- all men (including Ciaran Hinds and Toby Jones) -- have summoned the women to observe Anna separately, in shifts to cover her 24/7, and report to the committee independently. Anna claims to survive only on prayers and manna from heaven; word has spread, and she's become something of a local miracle charm. Her mother Rosaleen (Elaine Cassidy, the young actress's real-life mother) insists Anna is telling the truth, and it's curious that her voice is instantly recognizable as the introductory narrator.

The nurse, Lib, is repeatedly told that she is only there to watch and observe. The nun won't confer with her, and the family and townsfolk are vaguely hostile. Perhaps it's her Englishness, perhaps it's her professional credentials from the Crimean War, perhaps it's her determination to catch Rosaleen and Anna fabricating the miracle. Not unlike the archetypal skeptic (think Scully in X-Files), Lib critically avoids issues of faith and knows that real fasting like this is impossible. But her antagonistic mindset crumples under her growing concern for Anna's welfare and permanent damage potentially being done to the developing girl's body. She knows she can't remain an inactive observer while a child's life is in danger. Pugh is incredible as Lib, breathing life into every nuanced emotion and conveying it consistently to the camera and audience; she avoids any pitfalls into melodrama, keeping things taut and tense, raw and real.

She's helped, in this, by composer Matthew Herbert and cinematographer Ari Wegner (The Power of the Dog), who craft an atmosphere more akin to a folk horror film than a period drama about faith. It's an unexpected atmosphere, but one that helps make the film feel special in its urgency and gravity. Will Lib resign herself to accepting a miracle? Can she make peace that, in the absence of a miracle, she must bear witness to the willing death of a child? Much as how Lelio starts and ends his film with questions about belief in stories, the entire film feels like a didactic exercise in caring less about identifying truths and lies and more about what those truths and lies do to us and mean for us as a culture. Faith is about much more than facts, and faith is usually what motivates us to do great and terrible things.

First Cow (2020)

 Score: 3 / 5

At once a fascinating deconstruction of the foundational problems of capitalism and the sort of pretentious arthouse flick that drives people away from high art, First Cow tries to do a lot of things. It mostly succeeds, I think, as a result of its quiet, gentle delivery. A Western of the most basic sort, it dramatizes a frontier story that is a little absurd, a little familiar, and a little sad. It champions the virtues of brotherly love and lasting friendship for an America that should still be a melting pot and isn't. It uses a very funny heist plot arc in ways that are often less than humorous, choosing instead to focus on literalizing the details of living simply through hard work and ingenuity. And yet, for all this, I found it unbearably boring.

Beginning with a quote from William Blake's "Proverbs of Hell" -- "The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship" -- the film launches into the story of Cookie (John Magaro) and King Lu (Orion Lee), who meet each other in a state of desperation. Cookie, harassed by the fur trappers he travels with, decides to help the naked and frightened Lu, who is hiding in the woods. After another chance encounter, with roles rather reversed, the two men become friends out of circumstance and perhaps out of some natural inclinations for each other. Their friendship is depicted, ultimately, as a basic human need like food and shelter, and one wonders why exactly an entire movie hinges on that less-than revolutionary revelation. Perhaps because it is tied with larger themes.

Somehow, the tone First Cow, handled deftly by director Kelly Reichardt, manages to inject parallel sensations of brutality and nihilism into its primary conceit of pastoral Romanticism. Because of the opening scene, in which a woman and her dog discover two skeletons in close proximity, we suspect the two main characters will die together in the woods. The rest of the movie is just telling us how this happens; for people obsessed with plot, this movie is a definite no-go. Much like this woman, presumably (as she never appears again), we are encouraged to piece together parts of the story, as it is decidedly not filmed in real time. And yet, plot points be damned, we are treated to several sequences of their almost idyllic life together. A favorite sequence depicts Cookie collecting flowers to place in a bottle in their home together, clearly cherishing simple comforts of rustic life.

The movie does indeed move into plotted momentum eventually when the cow of the title arrives in Oregon. It belongs to the Chief Factor (Toby Jones, who of course is doing this weird-ass role in this weird-ass movie) and is apparently the first and only cow in the territory. Interestingly, and in one of the few laugh-out-loud moments, it is often shot as if it were imbued with magic or some fairytale entity come to bestow its gifts on wretched mankind. Cookie (who, I don't think I mentioned before, is a cook) imagines baking goods with the milk from this cow, and so the remainder of the plot unfolds. Rather than taking care of themselves as they are, Cookie and Lu decide to steal the cow's milk to secure a successful, wealthy, secure future we all know they will likely never have. It's the sort of bleak optimism that is seductive to those of us jaded viewers in 2020 America who know it won't end well for the poor folks trying to win a rigged system.

The movie is populated with other odd characters, but none of them matter much in the end. What matters is that eventually the Chief notices his prized cow is not producing much milk, frightening Cookie and Lu so much that they, annoyingly, decide to make "one last" milk-pirating venture. They fail miserably and go on the run. By this point, we know how it will end, and the final act, which should be exciting, proves deadly dull. The movie could easily have been at least thirty minutes shorter and still would have been too lengthy for this viewer. I suppose further viewings might allow me to better appreciate the subtleties of this film, its gentle depictions of eccentric American stories woven around and suffering from the sins of a fledgling nation expanding beyond its healthy boundaries. But it's so bloody boring that I'm not sure I ever want to watch it again unless I need a soporific.

Christopher Robin (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I fully expected Christopher Robin to be an emotional disaster. Even the trailer had me weeping uncontrollably. I went in anticipating emotional brutality at every turn as the older character of Christopher Robin gets re-introduced to his stuffed animal friends and has to learn the value of imagination, friendship, and bravery. And while that is the gist of the story, it by no means characterizes the film.

What we get instead is a rollicking comedy-adventure that feels more like a real Winnie the Pooh story, albeit with real people. With the memories of his childhood suddenly thrust upon Christopher Robin's adult consciousness, Pooh awakens from slumber in the Hundred Acre Wood to discover his friends have all vanished. Of course the silly old bear decides to go find Christopher Robin to help, and he unwittingly stumbles into London. What follows is a magnificent adventure involving all the classic characters brought to glorious life by some eye-popping animation and, of course, the voice talents of the great Jim Cummings.

While the film's family-friendly adventure bits cemented themselves as wholly novel and utterly surprising in my mind, I would be remiss to neglect the other half of the story as well. While the primary story concerns the animals and their attempts to help their grown-up friend, the secondary story is far less original. Christopher Robin (Ewan McGregor) has become world-weary and distracted, neglecting his wife (Hayley Atwell, thank heaven) and daughter (Bronte Carmichael) to slave away at his work. Of course this gets preachy -- perhaps too much so -- but it is a Disney movie, after all. And as far as messages that his you over the head, this one is never going to wear out its welcome: Children are not children forever so don't sacrifice them to duties, and, similarly, embrace your own inner child before it's lost forever.

The film's warm heart contrasts nicely with its melancholic, often dark aesthetic, which breaks gloriously to amber sunlight in increasing increments as the film progresses. Heavy use of nature in the setting sometimes feels arthouse-y and even transcendent, like you might see in a Terrence Malick picture or even Into the Woods, and makes the whole impression that much more tactile and interesting. I liked this approach more than I expected, as the intricate details of the shadowed environment make Pooh's little truisms so much more poignant.

My love for this film stems from its affect, its aggressive but complicated way of stirring up emotions. My earnest hope is that we might get more Winnie the Pooh adventures as sequels -- because wouldn't it be great to see some of our favorite Milne stories mashed up together in a film featuring these magnificent stuffed animals? -- but I'm not convinced that will happen. As it is, we can enjoy this surprisingly successful standalone flick "deep in the hundred acre woods...."

IMDb: Christopher Robin

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018)

Score: 5 / 5

Hell yes.

Jurassic Park: Fallen Kingdom is everything I've ever wanted from this franchise. Breakneck action, nonstop ingenuity, absurd humor, and pure terror. It's also (easily) the most beautiful film in the series. Most importantly, it's a total game-changer for the series; this means it often does not feel like a Jurassic Park movie and indeed sets up a potential future for the franchise that completely ignores the Park. But come on, we've had the "Park" movie four times now. If this one hadn't set up a whole new vision, I fear my beloved dino flicks would go, well, the way of the dinosaurs.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Fallen Kingdom picks up three years after the "kingdom" of Jurassic World fell to the Indominus Rex, a monstrous creation that, like all the dinosaurs in Hammond's parks, proved smarter and tougher than expected. As always, life has found a way, and many dinosaurs are still thriving on the ruined, abandoned Isla Nublar. In an opening sequence reminiscent of the very first scene of Jurassic Park, mercenaries sneak into the island's lagoon to harvest DNA from the bones of the long-dead Indominus. Their mission goes horribly wrong.

Meanwhile, the world debates whether the dinosaurs on the island should be saved from the impending volcanic destruction of the island -- good thing the park is already closed! -- or whether they should be left there to die as nature intended. When intervention is formally denied, a private entity (James Cromwell, playing an old partner of John Hammond) develops a plan to rescue the dinos and find a safe haven for them. Who does he select for his mission? Claire and Owen, our favorite lovebirds played by Bryce Dallas Howard and Chris Pratt, of course!

This movie is a hybrid of many things, including the bones of previous Jurassic Park films as well as surprising genres. While the previous installments have been primarily action-adventure outings with healthy doses of sci-fi, Fallen Kingdom is, at its heart, a disaster movie with the soul of a horror film. Director J.A. Bayona does what he does best and he delivers the goods for every single minute of the wild ride through volcanic explosions, mad science, gas chambers, clones, and what becomes a haunted house of monsters. Every shot is beautiful and calculated; I'd compare the cinematic artistry of this film to The Last Jedi. These new, glorious visuals pair nicely with the new, complex themes in the series.

(SPOILER ALERT!) Never have the stakes felt this high, because never have the stakes been this high. By the end, we've gone to obscenely dark thematic places. We have cloned people. We have gut-churning choices of life and death and genocidal implications. The final sequence of this film is one of the most absurdly mesmerizing sequences I've ever seen in a franchise movie. It absolutely changes the name of the game in totally unpredictable ways. To summarize: our heroes kill the evil monster and then let all the dinosaurs loose in the mainland. Dr. Ian Malcolm (a glorious Jeff Goldblum, who really always needs more screen time) intones that now we'll have to live with our consequences and coexist with a new dinosaur age: "Welcome to Jurassic World."

And I lost my composure.

It's everything I've ever wanted from the series. Sure, it's a fun ride when there's a mystical island of dinosaurs out in the blue. But how many times can we visit it and expect a different outcome? Exactly once more than before. That narrative is done. The park is gone, as the tagline reads. Ever since I saw an episode of Dinotopia, I've wanted a movie where realistic dinosaurs lived alongside modern humans. And now it's finally happening. I wept openly as the dinosaurs went out into the woods of North America. I shrieked as the Mosasaur picks prey off the sunny California surf. I tried to choke back my joy as a flock of ptero-somethings perched on the Eiffel Tower replica in Las Vegas (that's the post-credits scene, y'all. Dig it!). And of course, we've been hearing about these militarized dino soldiers since the first Jurassic World. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the chaos coming next.

IMDb: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

The Snowman (2017)

Score: 2 / 5

We had such high hopes. Michael Fassbender in a frozen wasteland, hunting a serial killer who leaves snowmen (sometimes supplemented with human remains) as his calling card. What could go wrong?

Everything, apparently. The film feels like a ripoff of other, better, material, especially The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Fassbender, the tortured detective on the brink, allows the film to be watchable, if only just; his name, after all, is Harry Hole, and he's sinking. Supposedly he's a genius, but that never really emerges from his sluggish, bleary demeanor. The rest of the cast is largely wasted, with big players like J.K. Simmons, James D'arcy, Val Kilmer, and Toby Jones barely even on screen. The script is confused and unfocused, making the mystery as flat and frigid as the icy landscape. There's little of interest, with the notable exception of Chloe Sevigny as (SPOILER ALERT) twins in an unexpectedly funny (if macabre) scene.

The film has its moments of tension and beauty, the former being menacing shots of snowmen and the occasional bloodstain, the latter being a couple shots of a gorgeous bridge the characters drive over. That's it. The basic mystery is subverted and ruined by the screenwriters and director (Tomas Alfredson, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Let the Right One In), who try to misdirect us in almost every scene, allowing red herrings to pile up so much that we're not sure what to care about. I'm still not sure if the plot is too convoluted or too simple for its own good, which is a problem. The editing doesn't help, as we are often forced to look away from important images and genuine emotions that might help us make sense of the film. Sure, the minimal, impressionistic visual approach is a bit interesting, but aesthetic form has to match substance, and here it does not.

What else can I say? It's just disappointing. How could so many good artists make such a mediocre mess? Save your time and money. Actually, go watch the trailer; it's more entertaining and makes more sense.

IMDb: The Snowman

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

Anthropoid (2016)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I do love a good World War II drama. And while this one's no masterpiece, it furthers the proof that Bleecker Street is putting out some fine films in only its sophomore year. Anthropoid has its virtues, and in a summer of either overblown masterpieces or overblown failures, that's saying a lot. It's not pretentious, it's not elaborate, and it's not coated with CG crap. Small, detailed, and poignant, the picture takes us back in time to a lesser-known story that reminds us to consider the cost of our fights. Anthropoid will earn its place on my shelf for two main reasons.

The story. I've seen Valkyrie, sure, and I've read anecdotes here and there about the assassination attempts on high-level Nazi leaders during the war. Operation Anthropoid was one of these, the (unfamiliar to me) assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, a major figure in the regime and main man behind the Holocaust. I had seen Kenneth Branagh portray him in the 2001 drama Conspiracy, so I was able to contextualize the film a wee bit. Like in Valkyrie, this film follows conspirators in their planning and execution of the assassination in question, and then as they cope with the aftermath. It's not a novel idea for a film, but it certainly works. Unfortunately in Anthropoid, the script uses minimalist shorthand in cultivating our sympathies, forcing us to bring our own understanding of history to the film rather than teaching us new contexts. As I, for one, am still learning about the horrors of WWII, I had little knowledge of the effects of war on Czechoslovakia or its people, so the righteous anger of the assassins was less accessible to me. A more articulate screenplay would have made the characters and world of the movie much more accessible, which is a bit of a shame, since the incredibly detailed scene design and costuming and lighting were so entrancing. I felt the world on screen, I just didn't know it -- does that make sense?

The climax. This is the real gold mine. While most of the film is solid enough, from the point of the assassination attempt itself to the end, the plot radically shifts into thriller mode and ramps up its energy. By the time our heroes hole themselves up in a church for protection, we know it's almost over. What happened next was something I did not expect: A jarring, taut, edge-of-your-seat nail-biter of a firefight. It's pretty damn violent, to be sure, but actually so was a lot of this film (There's one scene of torture in particular that made me get light-headed. If you thought you hated Nazis, watch this scene and you'll realize you have more to give). The finale, though, is a microcosm of cinematic excellence, featuring fabulous visual editing, great sound mixing and editing, smart logistics, and some decent camerawork to boot. If you don't watch anything else in the movie, watch that sequence.

Okay, and there's a third reason. Jamie Dornan and Cillian Murphy both make me feel a certain way, and when they share a screen in period getup while crying and hugging and angsting out the wazoo, I can't stop the waterworks. Someone pass me a hanky.

IMDb: Anthropoid

The Rite (2011)

Score: 4 / 5

This is a prime example of a film that doesn't quite fulfill genre expectations, and so was rather underrated. The title most explicitly refers to the Catholic rite of exorcism, which the film prominently features. It also, however, refers to the central narrative of the film, which is its protagonist's rite of passage; whether into the clergy, manhood, or his own faith is up for discussion. The demonic possession elements of the story -- as well as some expected bugaboo moments -- certainly make this a horror film, but it's not particularly scary. I think that's why it never got much buzz. Its drama, however, is pretty solid, and plenty of skill went into crafting this picture.

The story spins intriguingly off a typical exorcism plotline in that our protagonist is a skeptic. The somewhat resentful son of a religious mortician, Michael Kovak (Once Upon a Time's Colin O'Donoghue) attends seminary intending to rescind his vows upon graduating to earn a free degree. His mentor, Father Matthew (Toby Jones), sees his calm and control in the face of violence and death, and sends him to Rome to become an exorcist under his friend Father Xavier (Ciaran Hinds). Unable to sate Michael's curiosity and skepticism, Xavier sends Michael to learn from Father Lucas (Anthony Hopkins), whose "unorthodox" methods apparently work.

Other elements to the film fit the genre a little too well, unfortunately. Michael's possessed case study -- the pregnant teenager Rosaria -- was raped by her father, supposedly inviting the demonic infestation. Another boy tended to by Father Lucas has been abused, possibly by his mother. But just when we expect the film to follow a rote pattern of sex/age/gender-based possessions, director Mikael Hafstrom and writer Michael Petroni (The Book Thief (2013), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)) turn the tables. The climax of the film occurs when Father Lucas, vulnerable from doubt and grief, becomes host to a demon, and Michael must perform the exorcism himself.

The dialogue in this film occasionally feels too quotable -- a little too heightened to be taken seriously -- but it also works. I think it works because the story itself is also a bit surreal. Thanks to cinematographer Ben Davis (Guardians of the Galaxy, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), the still, wide camera shots, varied colors, and beautiful lighting give the film a dreamy quality that brings the heightened script into balance. Alex Heffes's (The Last King of Scotland (2006), Red Riding Hood (2011)) lovely score similarly could be a little overwrought if the other technical elements were not slightly exaggerated. Director Hafstrom skillfully balances all these aspects while controlling the film with consistent pace, gentle style, and unrelenting tension. He recycles motifs, colors, and images with remarkable attention and perseverance, and its end result is one of a very specific exorcism movie that feels like few others.

Hopkins rules the screen with yet another portrayal of an isolated, frighteningly intelligent man with hell in his brain. I don't deny that he plays villainy better than most could ever hope to, but I do tire of seeing him cast as the crazed old man. To his credit, however, he does find fresh ways to scare us each time. Of course Ciaran Hinds and Toby Jones are fabulous as mentoring priests, though their roles are rather brief. The unsung hero of the film is Colin O'Donoghue, in what I believe is his first (and only?) major starring role in a feature film. His nuanced performance features layers of complexity and intelligence -- which says a lot when by day he fights demons and by night traverses disorienting hallucinations -- until he finally rises from tortured confusion to righteous triumph.

I sometimes think down on this film because it essentially reinforces a male-dominant narrative of returning to faith and the Christian tradition. That, and it does largely ignore the reality of mental illness and the importance of psychiatric attention in possession cases. But as I watch it again, I am reminded that the film does not give in to sentimentality or mindless Christian propaganda. It smartly and subtly weaves its way to a religious conclusion, and I can't fault it for that. If you're going to make an explicitly religious movie about turning to that religious tradition, this is the way to do it.

IMDb: The Rite

Harry Potter 1 & 2

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001)
Score: 4 / 5

By far the most successful element of this film (and the whole cinematic franchise) is its cast. How Rowling's fledgling wizarding world managed to charm an A-list supporting cast (who further deign to take backseat to a lead ensemble of untried children) is beyond me. Maggie Smith heroically dons McGonagall's emerald robe with biting style and a lot of heart. Alan Rickman perfectly embodies the sour Snape, complete with grim theatricality and slippery sass. Richard Harris nobly steps into Dumbledore's shoes with elegance, though his delivery feels neither as witty nor as eccentric as Rowling's Headmaster; interestingly, he sympathizes with rather than warns the students who could die in the third-floor corridor. Other shining stars include John Hurt (Ollivander), Zoe Wanamaker (as a brilliantly designed Madame Hooch), John Cleese (Nearly Headless Nick), David Bradley (a twisted, icky Filch), Julie Walters (Molly Weasley), Warwick Davis (Flitwick), Ian Hart (as a particularly fabulous Quirrell), and Richard Griffiths and Fiona Shaw (Vernon and Petunia Dursley).

Besides this truly amazing cast, we are presented with total unknowns in an ensemble of fresh Hogwarts students who immediately steal our hearts. Daniel Radcliffe dominates as the titular protagonist with intelligence and heart. Emma Watson matches his every moment with perfect delivery and strength. Rupert Grint follows their lead -- but only slightly -- with incredible facials and impeccable timing. This triumvirate of adolescent power carries the film as if they were the world's best actors in another life. Also noteworthy are the delightful Matthew Lewis (Neville Longbottom) and Devon Murray (Seamus Finnigan), as well as the charmingly sneering Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy). We can only imagine what working with these children (and introducing them to the world of blockbuster cinema) was like for the cast and crew.

Beautiful costumes adorn our lovely cast, and they inhabit a stunningly realized castle. Vibrant colors, intriguing shapes, and fresh designs make the sets and costumes palpably tactile. Lighting in the film highlights these elements, and adds to the colorful visuals in stunning and iconic fashion; pause the movie and at any given moment, the lights (and how they play off the set and costumes) will tell you all you need to know. The camera, however, does not serve the film as well as these other elements: its straightforward, simplistic approach seems out of place in context. The score, sets, acting, dialogue, costumes, and lights have opinions on the subject matter, so the camera should too. Especially during the first forty minutes, ineffective editing adds to the two-and-a-half-hours running time with redundancy, sometimes using two or three shots for a single image.

A brief note on the score. Legendary musician John Williams hits it out of the park in a breathtaking musical experience that feels especially inspired when contrasted with Star Wars, Jurassic Park, and Indiana Jones. But, like those films, the score here feels dangerously powerful. Whereas a rousing theme piece in an action film often works well, here it can be distracting. That's not to say I don't listen to the soundtrack independently all the time; it's to say that a strong score can threaten a film's cohesive effect if mishandled.

The Quidditch match is the movie's best sequence. Its brilliant pacing and editing, tense humor and action, and self-sustaining energy make it endlessly entertaining. Excerpted from the film, it stands alone as a blueprint for how to film a sports scene, complete with melodrama and fast but focused camerawork. Exciting and inventive, it serves as a masterful centerpiece to the film. Though it arguably serves a symbolic purpose in Harry's coming-of-age narrative, I find Columbus's emphasis of this particular sequence concerning. Its prominence in the film overshadows the real heart of Harry's story, and highlights the director's ambiguous estimate of who he wants his audience to be.

Sorcerer's Stone is a cautious (if creative) adaptation of Rowling's novel, and underneath its colorful spectacle lies a rigidly traditional frame. Seemingly in his effort to accommodate cinephiles as well as Rowling fans, Columbus sacrifices courageous artistry in favor of simpler, gentler filmmaking. In doing so, he barely masks his own uncertainty about the thematic core of his story. Most of the film feels like an attempt at direct translation, with little or no artistic identity of its own (even the creativity in bringing Rowling's descriptions to life fears straying from her tale). My only thought that tempers this criticism is that, at the time of filming, Rowling had only published four books in the series; Columbus exhibited laudable (if somewhat exploitative) initiative in crafting this popular project when its creator had yet to complete her vision.

IMDb: The Sorcerer's Stone

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Chris Columbus and his team rectify almost all their previous mistakes with this second venture into the wizarding world. In fact, Chamber of Secrets surpasses the first installment in almost every way, including its hefty running time (it is the longest film of all eight, though the second shortest book). Columbus bravely presents the film in slightly darker tones, gently introducing shadows where previously we saw sparkles; though he may not have known it, this inspired each subsequent director to similarly darken the images and filter out bright colors. Fitting, because Harry's world is not always one of warm, vivid lights, even in Rowling's description.

As the cast is largely the same, I won't repeat the praises. Richard Harris's performance is stronger, while the children are slightly weaker in more recycled behaviors; perhaps Columbus gave them freer reign or less direct attention, thinking that their raving audiences would take whatever was given them. The new additions to the cast are heavenly. A spirited Julie Walters reappears as Molly Weasley, but this time is accompanied by the very funny Mark Williams as her husband Arthur. Jason Isaacs commands his presence as Lucius Malfoy with wicked glee, and Shirley Henderson hilariously brings Moaning Myrtle to life (or something like that). Toby Jones memorably voices Dobby the House-elf; keeping in mind that 2002 also saw Gollum brought to glorious life in The Two Towers, Dobby is happily an independent creation that charms his way onto the screen. Of course, the gold prize must be given to Kenneth Branagh, who oozes fabulous ferocity as the charmingly nauseating Gilderoy Lockhart.

In a somewhat surprising and immensely effective move, Columbus injects a lot of (mostly queer) sexual imagery and symbols into the film; their presence is undeniable, though attributing them all to Columbus is perhaps undue. He obviously worked with actor Christian Coulson to craft a memorable, imposing, and not a little homoerotic character in Tom Marvolo Riddle. His sly interest in Harry culminates in a suggestive and highly symbolic climax in the titular cavern under the school, and their wildly complicated interaction makes for one of the most intriguing and intelligent character choices in the franchise. And the Quidditch match, though not quite as masterful as in the previous film, heightens the ambiguous tension between Harry and Draco, which culminates in their subversive encounter while Harry is under the influence of Polyjuice Potion.

Besides the remarkable character creativity, Columbus continues to excel in building sets. The Burrow is an endearing addition to the beginning of the movie, as is the wonderful and brief gaze into Knockturn Alley. Dumbledore's magnificent office stands out as stunningly realized in its intricate detail. Unfortunately, though, the score is not as successful. While it isn't as overbearing as in the first film, it also feels generally repeated (with a few lovely exceptions). Familiar themes are important, but even some moments in the film induce déjà vu solely because of the music.

The spider sequence is arguably the best in the film. The excellent, atmospheric background music and excellent special effects bring the monsters to haunting animation. Quite different from the novel, the whole scene is inventive and fresh. Harry and Ron step through a spider-infested tunnel, large hairy legs follow them through the forest, and Aragog is one impressive animatronic. Radcliffe and Grint impressively lead the action, and though computer-generated creatures dominate the visuals, the camera maintains its control and focus. The chase, from spiders descending upon our heroes to the flying Ford Anglia bowling them over, is taut and riveting. It remains one of the best giant spider sequences in any film, and gives me shivers every time I think on it.

IMDb: The Chamber of Secrets