X-Men: Apocalypse (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

The first X-Men film that actually feels like it's one of the comics. It's excellent.

Jam-packed in its lengthy running time are dynamic action shots, extravagant destruction, vibrant colors, wit and charm, high stakes and higher concepts, and almost nostalgic melodrama. All the makings of blockbuster summer entertainment. Sure, it's not as intelligently written as Days of Future Past, and it doesn't have the heart that film bared, but a game-changing movie like that can only come once in a series. This is a big, blustery, loud and proud follow-up, as it should be, and it owns its own preposterousness. The villain is cliched, the apocalyptic images are all too familiar these days, the plights of our heroes are typical.

And yet, as you can even see from the poster below, it may be the most visually arresting film in its franchise. At every moment, the bland and empty shots of catastrophe and destruction are parried with bright and stylized shots of the outlandish characters in colorful costumes straight out of the comics striking poses and leaping frame to frame as if it were drawn on page. Are you getting my message here? I liked the damn movie.

There's not much more to say. I need to watch it again to get everything -- I confess, at two and a half hours of explosive energy and dizzying effects, my mind began to wander. This film knocks its Quicksilver scene out of the park (again), effectively balances itself between all the players in its vast cast, and beautifully reintroduces several beloveds (notably Storm and Jean).

It's not the most original superhero movie. But it does its thing, and it does it well. Bryan Singer's still got it.

IMDb: X-Men: Apocalypse

Captain America: Civil War (2016)

Score: 5 / 5

Just when I thought Marvel Studios had little left up its sleeve.

It didn't take much screen time for this movie to show me that it would be my favorite MCU film yet. The Russos had done such fabulous work on Winter Soldier that I hardly expected any better, especially from a film that promised so much and threatened so little. I mean, look at the other big-time mash-ups of whole teams of heroes. The third Spider-Man, the third X-Men, the disaster that was Joss Whedon's Age of Ultron. Too much, too fast, too spectacular, and no real script, style, or substance.

But Civil War blows it all away. There's little criticism I can aim at the film, so this isn't going to last long. The camerawork is consistently engaging and thrilling, and edited at an effective and appropriately frenzied pace. The effects are dazzling. The script couldn't be better. The film has a perfect balance of not only both sides of the conflict, but of each individual character in violent action and not. I'm not saying it's a fair fight (let's be honest, here: Rogers is being a whiny and stubborn fool, while Stark is actually doing the right thing for everyone). But I am saying that the film is so perfectly balanced that, apart from the film's title, there's no reason to think it's not a third Avengers movie.

It's got a lot of heart. I cried a li'l bit in Stark's climax. I cried over Peggy Carter. I cried for sweet, sexy Black Panther (who, by the way, I suddenly love. Not really a big fan of him in the comics). It's hilarious, too. Spider-man is finally handled perfectly, and Tom Holland delivers a pitch-perfect introduction as our webslinger and promises boons in his standalone film. Which is saying a lot, considering that half his scenes in this picture include Robert Downey, Jr.'s quick wit and sharp tongue, parried expertly by Holland at every turn.

I have nothing else. That's it. A brilliantly crafted film. Fun, fast, furious, entertaining, and intellectual. It's as close to high art as a superhero movie will ever get.

Captain America: Civil War

The Huntsman: Winter's War (2016)

Score: 4 / 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

IMDb: The Huntsman: Winter's War

The Jungle Book (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

If you had told me that yet another adaptation of The Jungle Book would be relevant -- dare I say it, even topical -- I would have laughed at you. But that joke would be on me.

In what I would consider to be this year's Life of Pi, Jon Favreau dishes up a visual feast. A sumptuous, engrossing parade of special effects and CGI from a new age, this film is a breathtaking venture that challenged my understanding of how animation can look, especially concerning anthropomorphic animals. Though they chitchat their way through each scene, often with humor, there were precious few moments in which they feel less than real. I often found myself forgetting to view them as artwork rather than real-life beasts.

Beyond the masterful artistry of the animals themselves, Favreau's team puts no small effort into getting the set pieces, backgrounds, and action sequences perfect. The holistic impression left is one of dazzling realism, one in which the supposedly lifelike mannerisms of animals in The Lion King are forgotten as obsolete. We see giant orangutans tearing apart temples, a pack of wolves attacking a tiger, and a bear contentedly licking honey off a comb, and it never once looks out of place. Some special effects in Batman v Superman (among too many other examples) don't work because there's no weight to the effects, so they feel fantastic and inconsequential. That, or the special effects are clouded by billowing dust and smoke, so half the action is hidden anyway. Not so in this Jungle Book, where the bright Indian sun, dappled on leaves, grass, and water illuminates everything.

Favreau and his team demonstrate a clear control of pacing, thematic content, and balancing the special effects with emotional weight. The cast's performances are stellar, and their delivery is matched by the animation hand-in-paw. I would argue that Favreau has a bit less understanding, however, of his target audience, if he even has one. Almost the entire movie is an intense action/adventure with no small amount of violence and terror, though perhaps tempered with the fantasy elements of talking animals. But whereas some scenes are, I imagine, quite frightening for children, other scenes feature the animals bursting into their classic songs. Noteworthy is Christopher Walken's King Louie singing "I Wanna Be Like You" in his iconic Queens accent; then again, the accents in this movie were all over the damn globe, so don't let's ruffle our feathers yet. Some critics complain that the musical numbers take them out of the film entirely; they didn't upset me, but they certainly show that Favreau is desperate for a good box office result by pleasing the children in turn.

I suppose, thematically, we could talk about environmental awareness, climate change, the threat of pollution, poaching, and the endangered species list. But there is one thematic element I found most intriguing.

I haven't read Kipling's original stories, but I remember not particularly caring for the 1967 animated film. One small reason I didn't care for that adaptation was that, at the end, Mowgli leaves his family and friends to become a man, following a young girl into the man-village. It's sort of the opposite of Peter Pan. There's a lot to be said for a film that suggests that fantasy isn't reality, and that ultimately we must grow up and away from our anthropomorphic youth. But I like that this time around [SPOILER ALERT], Mowgli stays in the jungle rather than going to the village. The final scene is of Mowgli resting in a tree alongside Bagheera and Baloo, enjoying their company in peace with no indication that anything will change. At first, I thought it was a cheap Disney-fied way of making a happy ending where a child can remain in his fantasy world without coming back to reality. But since the movie presents itself as so explicitly realistic the whole time, I suspect there's more at work here. I suspect the ending is a celebration that, in spite of being told time and again by the jungle animals that he is a man and must return to the world of humans, Mowgli declares himself autonomous. Not Shere Khan, not the humans down below, not even Bagheera, but Mowgli alone decides his own identity, independent of labels. He chooses to believe the wolves are his family, the panther and bear his friends, and his life will be lived in their company, in the environment he has always known.

P.S. Don't rush out of the auditorium. The first part of the credits are framed by an animated pop-up book reminiscent of classic Disney films as Walken reprises his song. After that number, another song -- this one not sung during the film itself -- begins to play, featuring Scarlett Johansson's silky voice as Kaa the python. In this film, Kaa is a hungrier, more villainous incarnation than in some adaptations, and her song ("Trust in Me") is sung as a haunting lullaby (not unlike Lana Del Ray's "Once Upon a Dream" in Maleficent). It's a strange way to end a Disney film, but well worth a listen.

IMDb: The Jungle Book

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

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)

Score: 2.5 / 5

Maybe it's because I'm not much of a DC fan. Maybe it's because I don't particularly like Zack Snyder or Jesse Eisenberg. I hesitated even putting my thoughts into words because so many of my friends liked or hated this movie. And I can't get down on them for it, because I have my weak spots too.

I'll make this short and sweet: Batman v Superman didn't do overmuch for me. It's an operatic, grandiose vision of iconic heroes declaring themselves and decrying the other. In that way, it's appropriate to our current political field. But whereas our candidates are flinging mud and hoping to sound crazier than the others to raise social media buzz, these two hunks are slinging punches and buildings at each other. More collateral damage? You tell me.

What comes from the two-and-a-half hours of almost incoherent plot points and exposition is a ludicrous amount of animated effects that ultimately feel cheap and unnecessary. The smoke and mirrors are just that. The final half hour is particularly stupid, because after the titular drama finally reaches a climax, a bizarre monster pops in to make our heroes join forces to save the wasted city. And finally Gal Gadot appears as a glorious Wonder Woman. But by that time, I almost didn't care because my ass was falling asleep.

I'm not criticizing Henry Cavill or Ben Affleck. I thought they were both fine. I especially liked the suave sort of sophistication Affleck brought to Batman; it was something I haven't seen before, which I'm all about. Jeremy Irons and Laurence Fishburne should have been featured more, and Holly Hunter was wonderful. Really with a cast like this, you can't complain much, and they all seem to be properly moody. Jesse Eisenberg's antics were enough to thoroughly annoy, though, but what else is new?

What else can I say? Will I watch it again? Sure. But I'd rather spend my time digging into the Marvel universe. At least those films have a sense of clarity (well, besides the Ultron issues). And, more important, they're fun. They don't weigh themselves down will silly thematic bull about gods and men until they actually show us those things, and then they poke fun or kick some ass. I guess if I'm going to watch a superhero action movie, I'd rather watch one like that. That said, there's a time and place for brooding superheroes doing dark and morally ambiguous things, and this is it.

**ADDENDUM**

Having now seen the Extended Edition on Blu-Ray, I can definitively say I thoroughly enjoyed this movie. It's still very dark, non-action-heavy (until the climax), and filled with complex characters and plotlines. But whereas the theatrical cut was borderline incoherent, now the drastic shifts and obvious plot holes have been smoothed over. I almost never felt ripped from a scene by forced editing or clumsy dialogue. This edition would cause me to re-score this movie as a 4.5 / 5.

IMDb: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice

Goodnight Mommy (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I suppose everyone has his or her limits when it comes to horror movies. Two of my most intimate friends draw the lines at burning bodies and vampires. I have been trying to pinpoint my own lately, and I think that last night I found it.

Goodnight Mommy is a fine film. It's brilliant technically, and it harnesses a special kind of dread I found intoxicating. Soon after their mother returns from cosmetic surgery with a bandaged face, twin brothers Elias and Lukas (played by real brothers with the same names) begin to suspect that her strange behavior belies a darker secret. As their suspicion evolves to outright fear, they take drastic measures to protect themselves and determine her true identity.

It's a cold, calculated film that takes nothing for granted and quickly gives in to its darker interests. The film is clean and bright, with distinct images and an almost sanitary feel. The house is bare and smooth, obviously owned by someone with wealth and style, and full of the niceties of urban life, though the house itself is isolated in the countryside. There is almost no score, which adds to the realism and the stark atmosphere of silence and dread. You might say it's a sophisticated thriller, one whose horror finds a niche in sharp modern decor (not unlike Ex Machina, remember?), and you wouldn't be wrong.

But it's also a particularly violent film, and for that reason I left it feeling deeply disturbed. Not unlike, I suppose, the horrors of Sinister or even Hard Candy, this movie does not shy away from its bloody violence and indeed toys with justifying itself. We have child endangerment, home invasion, mental illness, and body horror all wrapped up into one. I think that what specifically sends me over the edge is realistic torture, and -- Lo, and Behold -- that's in here too. I don't want to spoil anything, but the second half of the film was really hard for me to watch. Granted, I haven't seen the Saw sequels or the Hostel pictures, but this kind of violence is different for me than the splatter-tastic squeal-and-giggle gore of Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd or the Evil Dead franchise. I can handle those. This is real, unflinching and vicious, and pure torturous torture. It hurts to watch; and then to have the relationship involved be mother-and-young-sons is almost too much for me to stomach.

Goodnight Mommy is anything but unpredictable, but even knowing the final reveal will do little to relieve the horrors we see leading up to it.

IMDb: Goodnight Mommy

Serena (2014)

Score: 1 / 5

It's as if no one in the film read the book.

Before you call me a hypocrite for comparing a book to a film adaptation, let's get one thing straight. If you're making an adaptation and you have a perfect roadmap (from which you are adapting your work), why wouldn't you follow it? The only reason I can logically get behind is if your adaptation works on its own terms. If your adaptation effectively and artfully explores its own themes and style in a way that maintains some honor as well as integrity.

This doesn't.

Susanne Bier's film of Serena is a mellow melodrama with little historical relevance, almost no worthwhile thematic elements, and only mildly convincing performances. The cinematography is confused and confusing, shaky and unfocused, and what are supposed to be shots of sweeping majesty fall hopelessly flat as there is no drama under the visuals. It's overscored, overedited, and underwritten, and our stars' performances suffer as a result. What were apparently very effective rehearsals in emotional connection (chemistry, so to speak) are washed over onscreen simply because there is so little for our stars to dig their teeth into. Rhys Ifans gives the only compelling show, and he only pops up in a handful of scenes.

The worst sin here, though, is that the story just doesn't work. We are given an initial shot of two strong women, Rachel the dutiful worker and Serena the upright equestrian. From there, each dissolves into wispy figures awash in blood and fatigue, fearful and insecure, waiting helplessly to be delivered by the men around them. Even those men are strictly divided into the bearded strong men of the timber industry and the hairless wimps who deserve their sorrows. It's a sort of romance, I suppose, in that it raises questions of how far one will go for love, and yet all ends in bizarre, unconnected loss and failure. But by the end, we also don't really care, because the film has shown us remarkably little to gain our sympathies with any of them. Even J-Law's self-immolation (oops, spoiler alert, if it matters) was so ridiculous that I started giggling. I'm guessing that's not the point of the scene.

In case you haven't read it, let me give you a super brief concept of Ron Rash's novel. It's Macbeth in Depression-era Appalachia, where our title woman and her hubby establish their timber empire and ruthlessly remove all obstacles and annoyances (meaning traitorous business partners and incompetent lackeys) from their path to power, wealth, and glory. Serena is a perfect character, a goddess incarnate as well as a living, breathing nightmare of the heteropatriarchy. Ron Rash imbues her with superhuman qualities and extends this magical realism to the environment, allowing the wooded mountains of North Carolina to become their own character, sentient and divine at once. Much of the dialogue, narration, and plot/character devices mirror Shakespearean style, including the chorus of lumberjacks and the soothsaying old woman, which is also a reflection of archaic Appalachian culture.

Just so you know, almost none of this makes it into the film. Moments are stolen, but they are hodge-podge and so unclear that even someone familiar with the source material might miss them. There's a shot in the middle of the picture of Serena on horseback with the sun streaming through the morning mist about her; I think it's a reference to one such icon in the novel that suggests her divinity, but the images lasts less than five seconds and the background of the shot quickly trivializes the visual, and nothing significant happens before or after, so it doesn't really matter as a moment. Another example: Late in the film, our pseudo-hero comes calling to old widow Jenkins (the soothsaying archetype, who has until that moment not been seen or mentioned explicitly), only to find her dead on the floor, presumably a victim of our anti-heroes. The whole scene takes less than two minutes (probably less than one), and there is no exposition at all. No context at all. No drama at all.

The film, on the other hand, is anything but a reflection of the culture, the aesthetic, or the themes it pretends to invoke. In fact, I might argue that it is an artistically lazy film, a sappy and pathetic romance, a borderline misogynist (and not-so-borderline classist) story, and ultimately a waste of time.

IMDb: Serena

10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Well, there it is. The franchise I never knew I wanted.

Cloverfield, in all its post-9/11 horrific glory, stole a bit of my heart way back eight years ago, but I never really thought it would become a franchise. It's a good solid flick on its own, deceptively simple and daringly, well, daring. I figured, if anything, a sequel would follow [REC]'s example and maybe just do a sister film, a comparison point with similar found-footage style camerawork and repeated themes. But after so many years -- and a fairly polarized audience, with horror fans either loving or hating it -- I don't think any of us saw this coming.

Going in, you need to know a couple things about 10 Cloverfield Lane. First: Don't even think about comparing it to its sister picture. Whereas Cloverfield took Blair Witch into breakneck big-scale horror territory, keeping close to the roots of its real-life horror in senseless, monstrous death and destruction in NYC, this new film instead plays on psychological horror in the vein of home invasion thrillers with a dash of post-apocalyptic spice. Most of the film takes place in a fallout bunker under a conspiracy theorist's rural house, where the owner has locked himself and two young people in out of fear that the outside world has come under biological attack.

The film unfolds fairly quickly, with wildly unpredictable beats and turns. I don't mean "unpredictable" in the sense that you don't know where it's going. It's a bleak enough film to know full well what will happen. But first-time director Dan Trachtenberg does some really amazing emotional work here, mirroring the intense and complex psyches of his characters in the pacing, cinematography, lighting, and editing; he focuses so intently on the people that it's easy to feel more claustrophobic that the film really is. It's a dazzling example of how a director can perform his job with integrity and bravery, undiluted by a previous film, and perfectly balance technique, spectacle, and honesty.

And the performances he captures are, if possible, even more astounding. John Goodman is electrifying as the bestial conspiracy theorist who locks in two helpless young people. In his nightmare-inducing (yes, I had nightmares last night) turn, Goodman is as surprising and vicious as Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight, completely insane yet making perfect sense, burning with his inner passions and concealing particularly insidious demons under his baleful visage. Matching him in energy and wit is Mary Elizabeth Winstead, a shining star of female power in a genre that often subjects such figures to pain, fear, and torment. Winstead carries the film, ceaselessly strong and smart, never sexualized or victimized, an action hero struggling - nay - demanding to be treated as such from the men both on screen and behind it. Her bright, wide eyes reveal far more of her character than her dialogue or even her action choreography, though she delivers in both those realms with admirable ferocity.

It's one of those rare films where every single element joins together in perfect harmony to create a transcendent experience, one that had me shrieking and laughing often at the same time. It's a taut thriller, to be sure, but one with unexpected humor and vast thematic implications. It's also one of those rare sequels that, to my mind, surpasses its predecessor in ways technical and emotional, and also as a result of its being so very different. I might also add that the pacing and overarching drama of the film feels distinctly mixed-genre: The first four-fifths of the film are a sort of home invasion/post-apocalyptic psychological thriller. The final fifth is something else entirely. It's even filmed very differently. Like how in the end of The Cabin in the Woods the thematic import of the film skyrockets into implausible chaos, the end of this film rapidly spirals into a frenzied fever dream of special effects and sci-fi violence. Before you say that's weird and doesn't make sense, I mean to assure you that it works. I don't know how, exactly, but it's not done over-sensationally; at least, not more so than the rest of the film. It fits, and it is profoundly effective in revealing the greater elements of chaos at work in the world of the film. It's operatic, it's enchanting, and by the end of the film, it feels strangely epic in intellectual scope.

But do we see the monster? You might be wondering if this film answers any of the questions posed by the first, and frustrated with the lack of overt monstrosity in the original film. I have an answer for you.

But first, a question: Why does it matter? Perhaps we never saw the huge monster in its entirety in Cloverfield, but doesn't that make it far more terrifying? We saw plenty of its offspring (or whatever they were). We saw all of the death and destruction it caused. I challenge you to go back and watch the news footage from 9/11. Isn't the whole point of horror in the last fifteen years that death is not predictable or just? That's the new face of horror. Terrorism. Biological warfare. Crumbling towers, alien invaders, undead armies, cataclysmic apocalypse. The age of seeing a specific monster (Dracula, the Blob, Michael Myers) is over; now it's religious extremists, political idealists, shadowy terrorist regimes. There's a reason the villains in last summer's continued spy sagas were called Rogue Nation and Spectre.

My answer: No. We don't see "the monster". We see several. We see a gun-toting, amoral conspiracy theorist and control freak who demands absolute power in his little microcosm of people he "saved", who is revealed to be exactly what we suspect from the beginning. We see an alien monster beast attacking our hero near the end. We see a giant flying alien/monster grab our hero and attempt to eat (?) her. We don't see "the monster"; there are many. Which is more horrifying? I couldn't say, though my nightmares were about a human, not a slimy monster with too many teeth. As the tagline says, monsters come in many forms.

I might also add that if you only want to see a movie because of its monster, that says far more about you than the movie. Selah.

IMDb: 10 Cloverfield Lane

Macbeth (2015)

Score: 2 / 5

Confession: If you start your movie with a child burning on a pyre (or, for that matter, getting mashed to a pulpy skin cream, a la The Witch), I'm definitely going to watch. I'll probably like.

And like Macbeth I most certainly do. It's a nightmarish descent into the psychological depths of what might be Shakespeare's darkest play. Not unlike the Fiennes film Coriolanus (my favorite Bard adaptation by far), this Scottish play/movie works best in its visuals and physicality. It gets us inside the world it presents. The production designers and art directors deserve most of the praise for their incredibly detailed work on this film, and cinematographer Adam Arkapaw (True Detective, Top of the Lake) presents us with a vibrant, dreamlike approach to the bleak atmosphere of war-torn Scotland highlands. I'd compare his technique to that of Nicolas Winding Refn (Valhalla Rising, Only God Forgives) in its stylized poetics as well as its bloody realism. Beautiful and haunting, this vision of hell won't let you look away until after the crimson-lit climactic battle. Light thickens, as Mac would say.

But as a piece of Shakespeare, this movie is no more than disappointing for me. It holds so little of the original dialogue that half of the scenes barely make sense, and that's saying a lot, considering that this is one of the Bard's shortest plays. It's almost as though director Justin Kurzel and his writing team used a search engine to find the most familiar lines in the show and then strung them together piece by piece, weaving together their own story in the gaps. And before you roll your eyes at my purist leanings, consider the almost absent issue in the play of Mac's childlessness. It's almost disturbingly absent in the play, which is what makes his "tomorrow" speech, or his wife's "I have given suck" moment so mysterious and suggestive. But in this film, we start with the death of their child, we see a young man die in battle who later reappears to haunt Mac, and Lady Mac's climactic "sleepwalk" scene is reworked into a strange sort of confession in a church where she's doused with pale white light as if emphasizing her barren nature.

And that is just one example of a rabbit-trail theme in this movie. There are some gems,though, perhaps the best being Macbeth's apparent PTSD as he groans that his mind is full of scorpions through gritted teeth and vein-bulging expression. And maybe I'm being too picky. I just don't really know why you would do a Shakespeare adaptation, and then not use your greatest tool: the language! If you wanted to do a surreal or metaphysical version, why not take out all the dialogue? That would be a trip, which would be totally appropriate for this movie. Who needs dialogue when you could see the visions Mac and his wife describe so beautifully? Maybe that film will happen some day. I'm down. But here, the visceral visuals serve only to pump up the experience of the play, rather than taking the reins entirely, and so the lacking dialogue and plot results in failure to remind us of why this story is so haunting and memorable at all. 

And -- this is totally personal preference -- the wickedly thick accents actually hinder the clarity of the words and the already murky motivations (a result of the butchered script). Kurzel seems to have coached his actors on delivering the lines in conversational and naturalistic tones, and that totally stops the drama from moving, much less lifting off. I've almost never been so bored with the Bard. After MacB slays Duncan's guards and declares as much to the others, one of them stares at him, completely deadpan, and slowly and flatly intones, "Wherefore did you so?" It's laughably dull, and doesn't make sense. I suppose it would if the movie had a faster pace or if the visuals were consistently over-the-top. But it doesn't, and they don't, and what we have instead is a bizarre combination of the two extremes. If the visuals are operatic, shouldn't the performances be, too? I think so.

This just felt half-assed and unsure of its focus, leacing us with a confused mishmash of sight and sound and fury that ultimately signifies little more than the thick fog rolling across the battlefield. Turn, hellhound.

IMDb: Macbeth