Godzilla Minus Heft.

GODZILLA MINUS ONE opens with Japanese kamikaze pilot Koichi (Ryunosuke Kamiki) landing his fighter aircraft at a repair station on Odo Island, reporting the plane as faulty. Godzilla aficionados go nuts. Odo is, of course, where Godzilla was first sighted in the very first GOJIRA (1954). It is 1945, the end of World War II, and the mechanics, headed by Tachibana (Munetaka Aoki), look at Koichi sideways for being a coward. Kamikaze pilots, after all, don’t generally “land” planes for service…

Suddenly – Godzilla comes ashore (more about this moment later), annihilating the station. Koichi, too terrified to fire his plane guns at the beast, is blamed by Tachibana for all his mechanics being killed, “If it weren’t for you, everybody wouldn’t be dead!”

Upon returning home to his war-decimated neighborhood, Koichi stands in the ruins of his parents’ house, while his neighbor Sumiko (Sakura Ando) accuses him, from the ruins of her house, “If it weren’t for you, my children wouldn’t be dead.” If this guy didn’t want to commit suicide before…

We know this devastation is from the OPPENHEIMER bomb that annihilated Hiroshima and irradiated Big G. Godz fans once again rub their hands in glee for the inevitable connections to Godzilla legacy… but in this sleek new ferocious Toho production, all these “connections” would never come…

GODZILLA MINUS ONE is not about the monster – it’s about the man, Koichi. Taking in a vagrant girl, Noriko (Minami Hamabe), whose parents were also killed, and an abandoned child, Koichi gradually builds back his home with this ready-made family, although his relationship with Noriko would remain platonic, even though we sense a whiff that he would like to pursue couplehood. 1946 cultural norms probably prevented him from going full carpe diem on Noriko, yet when she is presumed dead during a Godzilla attack, we realize that losing her was the last straw Koichi could endure.

Consumed with survivor’s guilt, self-doubt and revenge, Koichi joins a project to kill Godzilla, the beast responsible for putting Japan in the negative (the war took them down to zero, Godzilla’s appearance made them MINUS 1). Headed by Dr. Noda (Hidetaka Yoshioka, with a Timothee Chalamet ‘do), the scientists’ plan is an echo of the “oxygen destroyer” and Koichi concocts a suicide gambit within their plan, seemingly welcoming his impending doom as redemption.

the plus

This Godzilla is megalithic. Computer generated, and interacting seamlessly with the real world, its design is a mix between Millennial, Earth and Shin. (A strange irony here, because we are so conditioned to the visual aspect of the Godzilla design; the look and feel that we nostalgically remember is from a bygone era, forged by Eiji Tsuburaya’s innovative Suitmation – so this modern Godzilla is a fully CGI creature designed to look like a guy in a rubber suit!)

The “presence” of this Godzilla is enough to make this film roar above its minor conceptual demerits. We can feel the power of this daikaiju, as it tears through warships or holds aloft a train carriage. (Ambitious shots of the train attack, one POV from inside the vertical carriage as Noriko hangs on, while the rest of the carriage falls away from us!) And there is Godzilla’s dreaded heat ray, presaged by his cerulean triple-spikes locking and loading along his dorsal spine.

Godzilla now has healing powers like Wolverine. (Superhero movies have conditioned us to accept this instantaneous healing facility.) Whereas the early Godzilla eras simply made Godzilla too powerful to be harmed by missiles or tank shells, now we see him sustain injuries which quickly heal. Make no mistake, this is a retcon, which will no doubt spread teleologically backwards into all the eras (just like James T. Kirk’s middle name was revealed first in 1973’s STAR TREK: THE ANIMATED SERIES, but never canonized or spoken until 1991’s STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY, yet everyone believes they’ve known him as James Tiberius Kirk since the 1966 TV series). You’ve seen it here first, daikaiju fans – mark the day!

Another “first” is the explanation of how Godzilla seems to be “standing up waist deep” in the middle of the ocean. This occurs in numerous Godzilla movies, and it’s always been a minor hilarity for me, but camera angles now show us he is treading water, the larger portion of him under the waves, like an iceberg (which accounts for the design of his thunder thighs – which is again a retcon, as he was designed that way originally due to the prevailing ignorance of how dinosaurs were constructed, not to give him the physics of an iceberg).

AKIRA IFUKUBE: As Godzilla attacks during the finale, the awe-inspiring majesty of Ifukube’s Godzilla Theme, with modern production boosting the bass, pounding into our temples heavier than kaiju. Initially composed for the first GOJIRA in 1954, used across the decades in various Godz films, this theme is SEVENTY YEARS OLD and still raises the arm hairs and curdles the blood.

MINUS ONE is the 5^th film in the Reiwa Era, that started with SHIN GODZILLA in 2016; the non-canon anime trilogy followed, that featured Godzilla Earth, MONSTER PLANET, CITY ON THE EDGE OF BATTLE, and PLANET EATER (2017-2018); another non-canon anime followed in 2021, GODZILLA SINGULAR POINT. Even though 2023’s MINUS ONE is canon, it is on another timeline, not a prequel or sequel. And that brings me to…

the minus

The actual minus in this movie is Godzilla’s complete lack of motivation, and (except for Ifukube’s theme) the “disconnection” from all Godzilla legacy. And that starts with the beast’s introduction. There is no buildup, no foreshadowing, no fanfare – when Godz appears on Odo Island in the film’s first five minutes, there is zero dramatic impact. The mechanics describe his presence like it’s a regular Tuesday. They’re scared, yes, but in the sense that he’s a 160-foot predatory animal, not in the sense that Godz is a mythic force of nature. He stands there, then destroys, not eating anyone, rather picking them up with his teeth and throwing them, or stomping them unintentionally. We wonder why he’s here, if not to eat, mate, or defend territory. We will never find out.

The original Gojira was “birthed in the fires of the nuclear bomb” and was an allegory for WMDs fire-hosing out of control, a metaphor for the weapons we make turning against us. Godz aficionados will feel the emptiness of writer-director Takashi Yamazaki’s film right away. It’s big and brash and blustery, entertaining us in original ways, yet it never mentions Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Germans, and if you blink, you miss the references to Soviets and Americans. And when the war IS spoken of, it is only in relation to the devastation on our protagonists’ homes.

We are shown the American nuclear test detonation at Bikini Atoll in 1946, the radiation of which grows this Godzilla, but it’s a simple plot point, not a metaphor connecting to darker themes. And Godzilla’s sizing up affects nothing. For example, it’s not like he can now reach the top of a tower to grab someone that he couldn’t grab before – he’s just the same destructive force he would have been without the bomb.

In any worthwhile Godz movie (GOJIRA, ALL-OUT ATTACK, AGAINST MECHAGODZILLA, TOKYO S.O.S., GODZILLA 2014, SHIN GODZILLA) there is a compelling reason why Big G comes stomping around.

With no reason and no motivation, there is no weight to Godzilla’s actions here, no HEFT. This Goji is not a political statement; he’s not in pain, or lashing out against malefactors; he isn’t here to feed, he isn’t looking for a mate, he isn’t seeking radiation for sustenance or seeking revenge for being irradiated; he’s not being territorial, and he’s not spoiling for a fight with another rubber animal. He’s just a story element in Koichi’s quest to find his true grit.

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The other side of this equation is: Godzilla is killing for the sake of killing. That makes him, well, unmitigated pure evil. Now that’s an angle I can get behind, but no!—We know this is not the message. It’s a conceptual element the filmmakers didn’t think through.

As a movie, GODZILLA MINUS ONE is a well-produced action-adventure tale, with more plusses than minuses. Most viewers unconcerned with the geopolitical background of the beast will no doubt thrill to the dynamite visuals, and shed a tear for the solid human drama and hero’s journey; however, MINUS ONE may leave many Godzilla aficionados… nonplussed.

END

The Way of Resting On Laurels, Bro.

James Cameron’s AVATAR: THE WAY OF WATER, like its predecessor, AVATAR (2009), will leave you agape at the superbly realized world it envelops you in; will leave you stunned at the scintillating imagination running wild on the silver screen, and yet will have you scratching your head at the lazy screenwriting and banal dialogue, bro.

When AVATAR was released, the parable about Jake Sully the human (Sam Worthington) and Neytiri the Na’vi (Zoe Saldana) meeting cute in 10-foot tall, blue-skinned, frazzle-tailed harmony on the numinous alien moon Pandora was such a wondrous cinematic cultural shift, that we let slide the unoriginal story, bad acting, cheap exposition, and cliché plot points. This sequel is made with much less wonder, much less inspiration, and much more cash. Yet all the cash in the world does not make up for much less story. There’s a helluva lot of copying-and-pasting going on from AVATAR…. Oh, and James: 1996 called and said to dial it down with the teen slang, bro.

Still, the worst offense/conceit of this movie is writer-director Cameron (and screenwriters Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silva) shamelessly using the SAME VILLAIN from the last movie – even though he died. Over a decade in pre-production and they couldn’t come up with a new Big Bad?! Instead, vomiting out a clunky backstory of Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang) having transferred his consciousness into an avatar, a move that reeks of doing your homework on the day it’s meant to be handed in.

And blue Quaritch still has a hard-on for ex-marine Jake, who has committed to Pandora, and is fully avatar now, with Neytiri by his side and a clutch of half-breed kids—[record scratch]—immediately a thousand questions: Didn’t Jake have to mind-link to his avatar from his human body? How is he totally inside his Na’vi catboy now? Did that Eywa mother-tree do this? And why is Quaritch pursuing him? Jake led the resistance during the first movie, but now he has fled to the Sea People and is zero threat to military ops. Even if Quaritch just wants revenge for Jake killing Quaritch’s human body, aren’t Quaritch’s superiors aware of the resources he is squandering chasing an enemy that isn’t active anymore? How is this even the plot? As Drax might say, “WHY is this plot?”

I thought maybe the character journeys might provide some substance, but Jake’s journey is a simple realization that his younger son Lo’ak (Britain Dalton) has become a man (the most touching moment in the film is when Jake acknowledges his son as a warrior like him, but through a more compassionate trajectory: “I see you”); Lo’ak’s journey to manhood sees him do what he believes his warrior father would do, and yet gets his older brother Neteyam killed (Jamie Flatters); enigmatic eldest girl Kiri (voiced by Sigourney Weaver) grows to embrace her powerful link to the mother-tree; Jake’s adopted human child Spider (Jack Champion) learns his father is Quaritch, and goes through a strange Manchurian period where he is captured and sympathetically groomed by Quaritch – which ultimately doesn’t lead to anything interesting, except for Spider surreptitiously rescuing Quaritch from drowning when Jake leaves him to die, thereby guaranteeing a boring return of Quaritch in the next film.

Quaritch himself almost arcs to being a father-figure for Spider (but it’s a very, uh, watery payoff), and both Jake and Neytiri seem like afterthoughts, shunted to the background while their kids create all the conflicts in the story by disobeying their parents at every turn.

AVATAR: THE WAY OF WATER is made to flex muscles no filmmaker needs, to tell a story every filmmaker has told. Can I have a little plot to go with my advertisement for a special effects suite of tools?

Cameron goes through the same beats he did in AVATAR, but this time, the focus is on Jake’s kids discovering a brave new world: “If you want to live among us – you have to ride these things and connect your ponytail and learn the ropes and–” It’s a fish-out-of-water tale again – IN WATER. And now the romance beat is Jake’s son Lo’ak having a tween Way of Wetness with the Sea Chief’s daughter (voiced by Bailey Bass – coincidence that she’s named after a fish?!).

Edie Falco is General Hardass, with the new mission: “Earth is dying – tame this frontier, pacify the hostiles, and make Pandora the new home for humanity.” Copy that. And General, can you tell me why Colonel Quaritch wants to commandeer a gunship, 20 mech-suits and a million rounds of ammo to fly to the other side of Pandora and hunt some fugitive? Does he know that whole transferring-consciousness app cost a billion dollars? So that WE could utilize his expertise for THIS unit – not for him to run off and play Tommy Lee Jones! Get that insubordinate, wasteful asshat back here!!

Cliff Curtis and Kate Winslet are the chief and wife of the Sea Na’vi, with Maori-like markings on them, with Maori Curtis breaking out the haka war dance with his troops at one point! (The detail of the Sea Na’vi having evolved flattened tails and forearms is a nice touch.)

In the last film, the unobtainable substance was called unobtainium (again, the balls on Cameron to just smash this idiocy in our faces); here, the unobtainable substance is amrita (no idiotic etymology this time?), harvested from the brains of Pandora’s “whales.” Brendan Cowell is the whaler and CONCHORD Jemaine Clement is his reluctant adjutant – very cool in this empathetic role, but I’m wondering what the hell accent he’s trying to do. (And WHY is this sub-plot?)

THE WAY OF WATER lacks for nothing in visual hedonism – James Cameron has won another victory with his cutting-edge tech and special effects mavens, and Cameron knows how to stir our base limbic instincts with notions of good and evil, displaying them simply and purely; there’s even a little tribute to his greatest triumph – TITANIC – as the giant crashed gunship fills with water and tilts sideways with our heroes trapped in it… but the devil’s in the details: I wonder how Jake has all his military tech still operative; where is he plugging in to recharge all his comm batteries and cameras on a moon with no electrical grid? And how much stolen ammo do his human friends supply on the down-low? I mean, he’s got machine guns, bazookas, unending rounds…

And the biggest flaw of all in this wannabe epic battle movie: Why did all the Sea Na’vi disappear during the final battle? Jake is with Sea Chief and his tribe as they face down Quaritch’s gunship. Then they all charge. Then we find ourselves exclusively following the fates of Jake and Neytiri as they rescue their kids from Quaritch and his military avatars – but there is no background battle to be seen between the military and sea people. They just – disappear! I thought there would come a moment where the enemy has the hero dead to rights – no way out – and from offscreen comes the Sea Chief’s spear. Nope. No cutaways, no mentions. Nothing.

WHY is this plot?

Then we see Jake burying his eldest boy at the Sea Na’vi graveyard, as a casualty of war, while the Sea tribe all watch – waitaminute! – Jake’s son was the only casualty in the battle? Didn’t any Sea people die valiantly defending their homeland? Oh, that’s right – they all just buggered off home when they figured it would take too long to render them in the background if they wanted a release date for Christmas…

Jake ends the film stating: “This is where we make our stand,” and, like the end of the last film, in closeup, his eyes open. But… has the AVATAR series devolved to The Jake vs. Quaritch Show? This time it was Sea Na’vi. In III, is Jake going to flee to the Desert Na’vi, and kill Quaritch there, only to have him resurrected again from an endless supply of clones? And in IV, do we meet the Plains Na’vi? With Quaritch once again killed and surviving for no reason? And in V, does Jake lead Quaritch on a wacky cat and mouse game with the Nakatomi Tower Na’vi?

Yippee ki-yay, bro!

PAPYRUS!

END

An Octopus’s Garden.

In this time of world paranoia and pissant politics, anti-social media and overwhelming junk art, you can do nothing better than to extricate yourself from humanity and immerse your overextended senses in nature’s harmony and fluid balance. Put something off, be irresponsible, and sink into the wondrous world of MY OCTOPUS TEACHER, a documentary about a man who leaves the bleeping, blaring bull behind, and centers himself in an octopus’s garden in the shade.

Filmmaker Craig Foster, while free-diving in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of South Africa (he narrates the water is 30-degrees F, yet he “welcomes the cold”), discovers a common octopus living in a kelp forest. Over the course of months, visiting daily, Foster forms a bond with the curious, enigmatic animal, until it grows to trust him completely, allowing him to transport it in his hand.

Not just a love story between Foster and the female octo, the doc also gives us much insight into the octopus species itself, as Foster captures and narrates footage of the octopus in its natural habitat, exhibiting an intelligence that far exceeds dogs, and maybe even chimps and dolphins (the hoarding of shells to serve a “future” purpose; the extraordinary mimicry in colors, shapes, texture; the cognizant behavior towards Foster).

Foster ponders on what the octopus might be getting out of the interaction, surmising that his non-threatening presence might be “quite stimulating for that huge intelligence.”

When Foster observes the octopus “playing” with schools of fish – shooting out its arms and teasing them – discerning that it is not predatory behavior, that was the most tear-jerking moment for me, as I pondered on this intelligence encapsulated in this body wholly unlike any structure we as humans could possibly imagine. How aware IS it? Maybe in this epoch, its only outlet is to chase fish and fool around with shells, but over eons, where will this intelligence end up? Already more dexterous than humans, more cunning than anyone who thinks to entrap it, more aware of its environment than many of its fellow sea dwellers, is this entity transitioning into a tool-building, world-changing force? Ah, but that might make it as stupid as homo sapiens…

Foster impresses on us the quietude of this alien kelp environment, unlike anything that even he, as a free-diver, has ever experienced. It’s what he was looking for, removing himself from the grind of the modern world, learning that he is one with the natural world… with a very unlikely teacher. Kevin Smuts’ soundtrack will wash over you like the feral tides above the kelp forest, perfectly hitting each beat, whether it be intriguing, harrowing, comedic, or drawing tears.

As touching as Foster’s interaction with the octopus is, the doc is definitely structured like a movie in three acts: Act I, where Foster removes himself from his wife and kid and job, and discovers the octopus; Act II – shark attack, which takes one of the octopus’s limbs (very sad! although it grows back!); into Act III, where the octopus regards Foster like an old companion, and then must mate and die; a natural yet cruel death (to our human sensibilities), whereby the mother octopus sacrifices her physical body for her young.

Don’t let my cinematic cynicism detract from the beauty of this poignant doc. MY OCTOPUS TEACHER is refreshing as a wave of freezing water splashing over you, and grabbing you with eight constricting arms.

END

The Oscar Performance After The Oscar Performance

ill Smith maintains that he slapped Chris Rock because he was “defending his wife’s honor.” From a comedian who was not attacking her honor. Merely joking about the movie GI JANE in relation to Jada’s bald head. Oh, but Jada has alopecia, which is hair-loss, narcissistically posting on every social media platform that she is “suffering” from this “medical condition” – and it didn’t matter whether Chris knew about it or not, because she’s also been telling anyone who’ll listen “I don’t give two craps what people feel about this bald head of mine, cos guess what? I love it”… So why does this hypocrite suddenly feel entitled to pretend offense? Which her husband acted on, pretending he was standing up for one thing, while really standing up for something much darker and humiliating.

First, let’s call alopecia what it really is – baldness. 85% of men and 50% of women will experience some form of alopecia in their lives. Welcome to the world, Jada. Alopecia is not a disability, so where do you get off calling it a “medical condition”? EVERYTHING the human body experiences is a medical condition [cough—eurh, I’ve got a cold — don’t make fun of my MEDICAL CONDITION…]

FUN FACT: Chris Rock wrote and hosted a 2009 documentary called GOOD HAIR. It was about – black women’s hair!

In a world where women want to be treated as equals, it’s time bald women learn to get made fun of just like us bald guys do.
— randuthayne (YouTube)

Many clueless witnesses applauded Will for “defending his wife’s honor” – Tiffany Haddish, whose comedy I love, said, “I seen a man stand up for his wife – which we don’t see that much anymore” (no, you saw assault and battery, not self-defense); Will Smith’s son, Jaden, tweeted: “That’s How We Do It” (just what we’d expect from a woke quim-fart like Jaden); and with every interview Denzel gives about the ‘devil coming for you at your highest moment’ bullshit, he is slowly edging himself onto the wrong side of history. Because a joke doesn’t rob you of honor – unless you let it. And really – Will Smith wasn’t defending his wife’s “HONOR” (?) – he was defending his wife’s VANITY. But let’s face it, he wasn’t “defending” anything – he was coerced by Jada into acting out his ideation of maleness on the threat of Jada acting out her denial of her femaleness.

And if Gemini Man was “standing up for his wife” what would his supporters think if Chris Rock’s brother, Tony, subsequently “stood up for his brother” and smacked the shit out of Will Smith? Would they still condone violence as a solution to being mildly offended?

The Reason That Will Smith Hopes We Forget

So — here’s the real reason why Will Smith is a coiled spring and had to act out being a man:
July 2020. Jada’s Red Table Talk, where she entraps/coerces Will into believing that HER affair with her son’s friend, rapper August Alsina, was WILL’s fault…

[SIDEBAR: “entanglement”] Watching this full interview is nauseating – for a man. Gentlemen, get your barf bags ready, and cover your groin. Jada is a ball-taker of the highest order, calm as stones, while Will is so embarrassed and humiliated, he’s on the verge of not being able to speak. So it’s an open marriage – no biggie, but BOTH parties must be open to that open-ness, and we clearly see that Will is being hounded into it by this snide cheating slut. He’s eating his heart out for her, while she doesn’t give a fuck about him. And the world saw this – the leading man hero Will Smith, pandering and placating and pussywhipped, choking back testosterone, while his wife TOLD HIM how it’s gonna be regarding her and August… We got eyes. THIS is what wound up Will Smith for years; THIS is why he snapped in public; THIS is why he had to prove he wasn’t the world’s biggest cuck! And by slapping Chris Rock, he simply proved he is. In the end, he was defending HIS honor – and he lost it all.

It’s funny how Will has a problem with what comes out of Chris’s mouth, however he doesn’t have a problem with what goes into his wife’s mouth!!!
— Scott Hellman (YouTube)

But here’s the worst part of this incident: I loved Will Smith as much as you did. From his breakout role in SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION, we saw he was a craftsman and much more than just a doofus fresh prince. And all that world love… flushed down the toilet.

Tonight Chris got some fresh prints across his face, know what I’m saying.
— soulasylummeatpuppet (YouTube)

And Will DESERVES that Best Actor Oscar for his stunning portrayal of Richard Williams, the father of the greatest female duo of tennis players ever, in KING RICHARD. No one has ever doubted his talent… But upon assaulting and battering someone – he should have been arrested BEFORE he swaggered back to his seat, with that attitude of “Nailed it”! If you or I were to smack someone in public exactly like Will slapped Chris, how quickly would we be wrestled to the ground by venue security and held for the police? Yet the Academy officials and police allowed Will Smith to remain unmolested in that theatre, moving around freely to talk to other millionaires who are also protected from the lower class by the PO-lice, eventually accepting his Academy Award! This fact alone sends a horrifying message to Karens around the world that their imagined offenses are valid!

Just because you’re offended doesn’t mean you’re right.
— Ricky Gervais.

And the other equally horrifying message: Money Supersedes Evidence. When QuestLove won for Best Documentary just minutes after the slap – look who’s shaking Quest’s hand as if nothing happened? There is video evidence of the perp Will Smith committing assault and battery not 5 minutes ago, and here he is shaking another man’s hand, unarrested, unmolested – not even detained! A perfect example of how race has nothing to do with police brutality – it’s always been about class. The upper class and the lower class.

Did someone say class? The person who shoulda won the Oscar for most class that night was Chris Rock. Now Chris might not’ve been able to go toe-to-toe with Muhammad Ali (and let’s face it – we could see that Will pulled that punch and turned it into a slap at the last second), but we KNOW that Chris could’ve burned Will and Jada down with his rolodex of smartass comebacks in his standup arsenal. But he was classy enough to not escalate and stand down – and continue the show. The restraint and professionalism of Chris Rock NOT resorting to his standup persona, proved he was a REAL standup guy.

15 MINUTES LATER – Will Smith wins the Best Actor Oscar, and gives a tearful non-apology speech, filled with straw man deflections, hypocrisy and gaslighting.

How fitting that Will Smith won an award for the best acting in the world – while doing the best acting in the world.

END

First Bond To Die.

Daniel Craig’s last ever Bond. Is it too gauche to say he goes out… with a BANG?

NO TIME TO DIE is a handsome robust conclusion to the Daniel Craig Bond adventure, something the Bond franchise has never done for its other leading spies. After wrapping SPECTRE (2015), with Daniel’s admission that he would rather eat glass than make another Bond, it seems fortunate that producers at EON Productions (Michael G. Wilson and Barbara Broccoli) could coax one last entry out of him, to close the final chapter respectfully. Although it seems Daniel was just in a mood during that particular interview, as his respect for the icon he stewarded for the last 15 years is apparent in this story that almost mirrors his real life reticence.

Bond (Craig) is enlisted by the CIA’s Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright) to kidnap a biologist named Obruchev from Spectre, whose DNA-based weapon can wipe out whole swathes of humanity. Bond’s own spy agency MI6, works against him to kidnap Obruchev for themselves, employing a newly-minted 007 – a black woman, no less (Lashan Lynch, knocking down two woke birds with one stone). And playing against them all, a mumbling stranger (Rami Malek) with the phonetically saucy name of Lyutsifer Safin.

NO TIME TO DIE mirrors Craig’s real life in that he wanted out of Bond – and in the movie, Bond is off the grid with his lady-love from SPECTRE, Madeleine (Léa Seydoux – another first for the Bond series: a continuing love affair across movies); then Craig signed up for another Bond, but the real world pandemic shut him out – while in the movie, Bond wants back in to MI6 but his cantankerous boss M (Ralph Fiennes) shuts him out; in the real world, speculation soars on Craig’s replacement – and in the movie, Bond has been replaced by another double-oh!

This last point has the internet abuzz that EON Productions is setting up Lynch as a “female Bond” – but stop that fretting, misogynistic mother’s-basement incels. Yes, casting Lynch stinks of the new reverse-sexism of “girling up” traditionally male movie roles (GHOSTBUSTERS, THOR, OCEAN’S ELEVEN), but it becomes apparent that Lynch is not here for the long haul; she is merely a device to illustrate “Bond losing everything” – even his spy identity – so that his hero’s journey will be all the more epic.

Yet it still stinks of pushing the envelope when it is hinted that Q is gay. The “Q” used to stand for Quartermaster; now it seems to stand for Queer… If you writers (director Cary Joji Fukunaga, with co-writers Neal Purvis and Robert Wade) want to create a new gay character – go nuts! – but why fuck with 60-year-old canon for the sake of appeasing tweeting Karens? Why not shoot the whole shebang and make the next Bond a non-binary quadriplegic bi-racial muslim midget? Oh, I see one of the writers is Phoebe Waller-Bridge – no doubt the one responsible for all the woman-whining in the script (my summation based solely on her portrayal of that feminist droid on SOLO. So sue me).

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The cold open is 23 minutes long (that’s the length of a First Act!), finding Bond on the ancient cobbled streets of Italy (exactly where Michael Corleone went to hide out). Bond languidly promises Madeleine, “We have all the time in the world”– Uh-oh, the last time Bond heard that Louie Armstrong song (ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE, 1969), his wife was brutally murdered. This time, it’s the other way ‘round…

While both try to move on from their pasts, they find that people from their pasts don’t share the same zen. (Again like Michael: “Just when I thought I was out – they pull me back IN!”) Assassins force Bond onto a bike (the stunt up the staircase and over the courtyard wall is Steve McQueen in GREAT ESCAPE – times 10!), and then into his tricked-out Aston Martin – with the guns and smoke and spiky little mines – but the upshot of all the machine-gunning and musclecar-drifting is that Bond now doubts whether Madeleine betrayed him or not. And the scene of him putting her on a train saying, “You’ll never see me again!” is heart-wrenching!

We fade into opening titles, with Billie Eilish whispering the song No Time To Die (with no silhouetted naked women — damn you, Phoebe Waller-Bridge!).

5 YEARS LATER

The Obruchev plot kicks in. It always amazes me that in any movie where the smart scientist is being pursued, his formula/invention/weapon only resides in HIS brain. Guys, ever heard of flash-drives, trusted colleagues, or even the damn Cloud? Like my I.T. guy keeps telling me: MAKE A COPY OF YOUR WORK. Smart like squirrels.

As with all Bond adventures, it’s big and bold and European, first teaming Bond with a stunning slit-skirted MI6 agent, Paloma (Ana de Armas – last seen with Craig in KNIVES OUT 2019). In Craig’s first (CASINO ROYALE, 2006), when asked by the bartender, “Shaken or stirred?” his retort, “Do I look like I give a damn?!” was to buck convention – but now, in this final entry, to keep the legacy rose-colored, his drink order for Paloma and himself: “Two vodka-martinis – shaken, not stirred.”

Besides making thirteen-year-old boys wonder how Paloma’s jumblies don’t fall out of that lowcut-no-back-thigh-slit dress, her short cameo as an action heroine shows us how woman empowerment should be done – her every move sensual, from dragging Bond into a closet to suit him up, to inserting his ear bud; from giggling about being a naif on the job to kicking ass and wielding an automatic machine gun. There’s nothing more attractive than a powerful woman who keeps her mouth shut about being a powerful woman.

It’s great to see Ben Whishaw as Q again (if only Desmond Llewelyn had this much meaty screentime! Although getting the old-school curmudgeon to acquiesce to man-love would’ve been a harder proposition), and find ourselves wondering which of Craig’s crew will remain across screen Bonds. And it is very sad to see Jeffrey Wright take his final bow as Felix (the longest-recurring Felix – 5 movies – with David Hedison far behind with only 2 appearances).

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Bond reconciles with Madeleine, and discovers her strange connection with Blofeld…

I’m really disappointed in Christoph Waltz’s portrayal of Blofeld across the Craig Bond series. If ever any filmmaker was going to recapture Waltz’s stone-cold menace from INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS, then surely casting him as one of film history’s greatest villains should have done the trick. Alas, what little menace he mustered in 2015’s SPECTRE (his first appearance as Bond’s nemesis, Blofeld) has been leached from this entry, as he mustache-twirls for five minutes while in cuffs, and is then dispatched quite offhandedly.

Blofeld’s oomph-Bond-Gimmick was his scar over his eye, Donald Pleasance sporting it for maximum mad scientist effect in YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE (1967). Here, they’ve Hollywood-ized the scar, making it an inauthentic non-eye, clearly the result of greenscreen prosthetics, and losing all menace entirely. Barbara Broccoli – you had Christoph Waltz! And you blew it!

Though the story is more cohesive than any entries from Sean or Roger, the plot is diluted when the movie mishandles its actual major villain – Malek’s Lyutsifer Safin – who is the engine behind the Obruchev plot, but doesn’t appear until well into the second act, expositing his retcon connections with Madeleine, with his face on Quarter Deformity. (No cute star goes Full Deformity. Though his burned face is meant to inspire the same body-horror as Blofeld’s scar, they’re not gonna risk that bankable cutie-pie mug with any real ickiness.)

Like every great morally ambiguous villain, Safin wants to save humanity by ending it (my kinda guy!), “We tell each other lies about the fight for free will, but… we want to be told how to live – and then die when we are not looking. People want oblivion. And a few of us are born to build it for them.” He tells Bond that they are not so different: “We both eradicate people to make the world a better place.” Ah yes, again with the Demon est Deus inversus – the Devil is God upside down – the hero and villain are two sides of the same damaged coin… Hence, his name – Safin believes he is opening the world’s eyes to evolve (Lucifer = “light-bringer”).

In the film’s final showdown, Safin does what every Bond Villain should have done for the past 60 years – shoot Bond point blank… but then, instead of a kill-shot, Safin does what every Bond Villain has done for the past 60 years – start talking.

– – – – – SPOILERS – – – – –

 A poetic ending, a live-by-the-sword parable. Though we never want our hero to die, I must admit, if Bond had to go, this is a most satisfying way – while saving the world, while sacrificing himself for the greater good, while wishing his loved ones “all the time in the world”…

We discover – as Bond does – a daughter of Madeleine’s. Mathilde. Striking blue hawk eyes. Is she or isn’t she… a Bond Girl? Whomever she is – SUCH A CUTIE! You thought Lexi Rabe was cute with her “Love you 3000” to Iron Man; you thought Abby Ryder Forston was cute playing with Ant Man, well Lisa-Dorah Sonnet is Cuteness x 007!

At one point, Mathilde realizes she’s lost her bunny doll, her “Dou Dou” – and in running to escape the facility before it blows, Bond finds it and tucks it into his belt. We are conditioned to those saccharine endings, where Dou Dou might pop up from behind a table, to Mathilde’s delight, with Bond following it, to Madeleine’s delight… but Dou Dou stays tucked in Bond’s belt as he stolidly watches the nukes explode in a row towards him.

And Louie Armstrong sings us out. Except for Monty Norman’s James Bond Theme, this is the only song ever used in more than one James Bond film – We Have All The Time In The World. Suddenly taking on much more heartbreak, to what would seem the final Bond. (James Bond has never died in a film before.) But there is a bittersweet sigh of relief when we are assured this is only Daniel Craig’s final chapter, as the final titles sling that old refrain, white type on black background:

JAMES BOND WILL RETURN

END

Dog of a film.

A meandering story with no throughlines, no payoffs and no plot, that everyone says we have to love, because it’s gay.

And that’s totally gay.

THE POWER OF THE DOG is simply boring, pretentious, attempted art-cinema, for faux-sophisticates and LGBTQ to fawn over and tease out psychodrama and social messages. About a ranch-hand in 1925 Montana, a deeply-closeted homosexual who terrorizes his brother’s new wife, mentors the wife’s son, and stares into the nearby hills at the shadow of a dog that MIGHT mean something but doesn’t.

BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN this ain’t. It’s infuriating that writer-director Jane Campion won the Best Director Oscar for this innocuous pap. Someone should have won for the controlled acting; even though the story leads nowhere, the performances from all the players are stellar.

Benedict Cumberbatch is the closeted cowpoke Phil, rugged and masculine, acerbic tongue to strangers and family alike. His polar opposite brother is sensitive George (Jesse Plemons aka Fat Todd); George’s new wife is Rose (Kirsten Dunst, married to Plemons in real life!), and the teen son that drives the non plot points is Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee), somewhat less than manly, drawing the derision of Phil and his ranch-hands.

So does Phil harm Rose in any way? No. Does he mock the effeminate Peter to suicide? No. Does Phil have “intentions” with underage Peter when he mentors him? No. Does the shadow of the dog exert any power over him at all? No. Number one rule in screenwriting is: “What does this character WANT?” We surmise – like every closeted gay character – that he wants to be Out; able to live his fullest life amongst his cowboy and cowman friends. How does he try to achieve his wants? Uh, he talks with the boy about his ambiguously-homo mentor, Bronco Henry. Then he dies. The End.

We realize no one – in the film at least – has written in any motivation for Phil. He’s just existing, not moving forward toward any goal. There is a sinister undercurrent that Phil may be trying to destroy Rose, so that he can have the full attention of his brother back – but no, he terrorizes her just for fun, it seems—no wait, with gay characters it’s all about the sexuality, so: he terrorizes her as an outlet for his repressed homosexuality. Oh, I think I’m getting the hang of tenuously linking motivation to gay.

When Phil goes to his Cherished Gay Cove and rubs Bronco’s scarf sensually over his naked body, he sees Peter spying on him and chases him from the cove, furiously screaming. Next scene – suddenly he wants to be pals. Why? Well, it’s either malice aforethought (leading the boy to a gay bashing), or the long game (winning the boy’s confidence only to rape him). Or a third endearing option – maybe Phil found a kindred soul in the boy and was trying to support the boy’s sexual confusion in his time of teen, and maybe even direct Peter to what he truly was… but again, we can’t tell, because each option’s outcome is implied heavily – but nothing actually occurs in any of those directions. Maybe it’s the way we’ve been conditioned to believe that every action must have an equal and opposite interesting reaction. I mean, there isn’t even a scene where Phil must save Peter from the leers or pawing of the overtly hetero men on his posse; he just takes him under his wing and it’s plain sailing mentorship, with Rose crying that she doesn’t want her son bonding with Phil.

Again, at first we think Rose is discouraging the relationship because she is sure something rapey is on the horizon – but no. We are told it’s simply because she’s an alcoholic and “overreacting.” Overreacting to WHAT though? Well, to the potential rape of her boy! She’s like a movie audience that knows the film should go in a certain storytelling direction and is as shocked as the rest of us when it doesn’t go in ANY direction.

When Phil is poisoned, at first we think it’s because Peter started to apprehend Phil’s ulterior motive to trap him or tap him. But no. Nothing as interesting as that. It seems like Peter poisoned Phil just to make his ma feel better. But wasn’t Phil fulfilling the role of mentor and friend to the boy quite legitimately? His ma had nothing to worry about! Why then, did Peter kill him? Was it some sort of Oedipal thing he had with his ma? Huh, you should know better than that by now, Movie Maniacs – that would be interesting, and ain’t no room for interesting in this here dog of a film.

From a 1967 book by Thomas Savage, The Power Of The Dog might have been a braver story back then, but transplant that languid, controlled storytelling into modern cinema and it translates to “nothing happening.”

Even the title is misleading and irrelevant. Phil loves staring at a shadow he perceives in the faraway hills, that his ranch hands cannot discern – a dog’s open snout. It’s just a coincidence of the light; it’s not as if there is gold buried at the dog’s snout, or property up there that needs reclaiming, or a special place where Bronco took his cherry – NOTHING. And there is no “power” that the dog exerts on him, no “power” that he draws on. And I’m not even going to entertain the fact that Peter reading from Psalm 22, “Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog,” has any deeper meaning whatsoever. It’s either an author trying to be saucy, or a writer-director completely missing the author’s intentions.

Or it’s just Phil staring at a fucking shadow. And he’s totally gay.

END

Justice for the Justice League.

A harrowing journey from Zack Snyder’s brain to our eyes, but at long last the true vision of JUSTICE LEAGUE has been realized. And it is everything a superhero movie should be: gods and devils, bombast and quietude, punching and mind-games, good and evil, sacrifice and hope, with the fate of the Earth hanging… on a glowy thing.

the journey…

Writer-Director Snyder stepped away from post-production of JUSTICE LEAGUE in March 2017 after the suicide of his daughter, Autumn. He told Cinemablend, he was in the midst of arguing creative differences with the studio anyway, and had no energy left for that fight. “I was just kinda done with it… my family needs me more than this… and I just need to honor them and do the best I can to heal that world.” Out of respect, let’s not forget Deborah Snyder, Zack’s wife and Autumn’s mother, who also left the film. She was the producer – a heavy hand in any movie’s realization. With both of them absent, and a release date approaching, Warner Brothers brought in writer-director Joss Whedon, veteran of Marvel’s AVENGERS, not so much to deliver Snyder’s film on time, as to deliver the film that THEY wanted on time, tasking Whedon with massive re-shoots (which resulted in Henry Cavill’s philtrum malfunction – honestly, if the mustache imbroglio wasn’t leaked, no one would have EVER known). Cavill had to contractually retain a pornstache for MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: FALLOUT during the LEAGUE reshoots. So the LEAGUE digital artists painted over it. And the internet collapses over a CGI non-mustache that no one can see. Warners ran roughshod over Snyder’s vision with poor Joss Whedon caught in the middle. So let’s not pile on Joss too much – he was just doing his job… (Same excuse the Nazis made at Nuremburg – just sayin’…) And Snyder still retains the directing credit onscreen for that movie, with Whedon only credited as a writer, with Chris Terrio. Gotta admit, I enjoyed Whedon’s theatrical version – now being called JOSS-TICE LEAGUE – because we saw our childhood heroes in full flight. It wasn’t all bad. It was studio approved. Which means it wasn’t great either.

Zack stepping away from his superhero film – was a superhero move. And then, after his art was rendered as less than stellar, to return to it after such a personal tragedy to re-consecrate his vision and re-render it as mythic – proves he IS a superhero. The final title card: For Autumn.

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This ain’t THE RICHARD DONNER CUT with 1981’s SUPERMAN II, another Superman movie where fan outcry prompted studio heads to cobble together Donner’s original vision 25 years after director Richard Lester made a hash of it – and it ended up just as mediocre as Lester’s – because it sometimes used test footage and cutting room fodder, but mostly because Donner was not involved. No, THE SNYDER CUT is Snyder at the helm, 80% of it previously unseen, all ORIGINAL footage – not re-shoots (so Superman has a stiff upper lip), dynamically fleshing out each character that limped flatly into the theatrical version. It’s rated R, so can be more blunt about arbitrary killing of innocents – something which I’ve always said DC movies have done better than Marvel, to highlight the LIMITS and SELF-REPROACH of super beings; there is swearing, imperiling children, cruelty to animals, nudity all up and down Wonder Woman’s thighs, the only thing missing is blackface – no wait – [Darkseid]. At 4 hours long, Snyder’s vision is a monument to what superhero movies CAN be if given the time to breathe, and also a shot across the bow to the moribund theater system that tyrannizes filmmakers into 2 hour releases; you know, so they can get a maximum amount of screenings in; with longer films, they lose income because less screenings equals less butts on seats per viewing day. So with all the new platforms for viewing movies, filmmakers – especially auteurs – need not bow to the stranglehold on their art. This epic movie proves: If you film it, they will come. But – a caveat that a movie has to be GOOD to sustain interest over multiple hours, so don’t all rush out and film 4 hour rob schnieder movies. Jesus…

In its first minutes, ZACK SNYDER’S JUSTICE LEAGUE impresses, as we see Superman dying at the hands of the monster Doomsday, yelling in agony (the climax of 2016’s BATMAN V SUPERMAN); and it is elegantly portrayed how his death cries reverberate around the world – waking three alien artifacts called motherboxes, and alerting the races who guard them – Atlanteans, Amazons and Americans.

So once again, JUSTICE LEAGUE opens with Superman, but not like the 2017 version in cutesy cellphone video for kiddies rather, depicting an elemental force whose power is so great it triggers the boxes which, we would learn, are “change machines” that sensed cataclysm in the very fabric of matter when such an extraordinary power was extinguished. Are you starting to perceive the high ground Zack Snyder is hailing us from?

– – – – – SPOILERS – – – – –

the story…

A lumpy, down-syndrome demon named Steppenwolf (voiced by Ciaran Hinds) wormholes to Earth, to collect the motherboxes that were lost here by his sugardaddy, a lumpier demon named Darkseid, the Thanos of DC (voiced by Ray Porter); originally slated to appear in JUSTICE LEAGUE 2017, Darkseid is reinstated here as the conqueror of worlds. (Also, just to be precise, Darkseid was created by Jack Kirby in 1970; before Jim Starlin created Thanos in 1973.) Not only has the silver-spiked Steppenwolf been upgraded from his X-box Liam Neeson version, he now has pathos and motivation; for betraying his sugardaddy in some way, retrieving the boxes is his penance to return home, but you gotta admit, the poor boy looks like he’s on the spectrum.

After Steppen captures the boxes from the Amazons and the Atlanteans – in battle scenes much better than 2017’s version, Batman (grizzled Ben Affleck) recruits a team of metahumans to repel him (it’s not kewl enough to just call them superheroes): The Aquaman (warrior Jason Momoa), and Barry Allen not-yet-called The Flash (hipster Ezra Miller), while Wonder Woman (salubrious Gal Gadot) recruits a man-of-steel-parts known as Cyborg (stoic Ray Fisher). But even with battle-posing as cheesy as a German cheese festival, their combined punching of Steppenwolf proves inadequate and they need the o-boy punching of Superman as well (Henry Cavill). But he’s DEAD. With Cyborg holding the last motherbox, the gang hits upon a great marketing ploy – bring back Superman. They realize that this instrument Darkseid uses for death can also be used for life – because it’s magic who cares fuck you.

After the resurrection of Superman, Steppen gets the last motherbox, and now it’s up to the gang to stop Steppen from joining the three boxes into one box called The Unity, which would destroy the planet. Hmm, three into one – how Christian of them! And just like Christianity – destroying the planet. Congruent with this evil quest for unity is Batman’s quest for unity – to unite the League.

Motherboxes are “made from a science so advanced it looks like sorcery.” Ah, Arthur C Clarke’s immortal dictum: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” – Arthur C. Clarke.

Which makes all these Braveheart scenes pointless, no? They’re charging at SPACESHIPS with horses and spears. These ships crossed interdimensional space – and don’t have rocket launchers and laser beams?

The whole film LOOKS gorgeous – the color palette is muted, and they’ve overhauled its color grading and tonal lighting, rather than 2017’s splashy rainbow – in other words, it’s lit like a drama rather than a comedy – but there’s no sense here –

So these magic dudes could make motherboxes to destroy planets – and are taken down by arrows? You couldn’t scare up the ectoplasm to throw up a forcefield around yourSELVES, dudes? The only things that SHOULD be able to get you guys are the Green Lanterns or the Gods fighting alongside the humans, with their OWN magic who cares fuck you.

But everyone is missing the big picture: Steppen and Darko are meant to be “New Gods” implying they are ABOVE mere mortals, meaning their methods should be “indistinguishable from magic.” As an analogy, the modern military is set up for punching, that is, physical warfare, when ACTUAL warfare is now cyber. We’re not in the Agrarian Age any more; we don’t have to meet in a field wearing kilts to extend our domain; wars are fought on battlefields inconceivable to William Wallace. Thus, actual gods would conquer on a level incomprehensible to mankind. But no! – punching.

Zack and DC, these are all the inconsistencies and stupidities that critics point to and call us childish. This is why Martin Scorcese says Marvel movies – by association, all superhero movies – are not cinema. We’re gonna suspend our disbelief that beings can fly and shoot beams and run faster than light, and even possess magic who cares fuck you – but let’s have some consistency WITHIN this make-believe world.

the aquaman…

“He comes on the King Tide.” (I dunno – I just love that line!) Bruce Wayne meets Arthur Curry, The Aquaman, in an isolated arctic village. Cast your mind back to 2017, Movie Maniacs – this was the first time we laid eyes on Jason Momoa’s new testosterone take on the future king of Atlantis. Lion-maned, body-painted, leather-panted, Momoa ain’t your daddy’s orange-and-green sea-queen, as he polishes a bottle of whiskey before diving shirtless into the tempest. A tragic king without a kingdom, when it comes to rebooting, Aquaman – with his Haight-Ashbury ethos and roaring masculinity – is surely the coolest reboot in superhero history. And wettest. YOU know what I’m talking about!

Johnny Depp’s domestic abuser, Amber Heard, is Mera, queen of double-standards. When Steppen fishes out the Atlantean’s motherbox, why does she tell Arthur it’s HIS duty to retrieve it? His half-brother Orm is the reigning king. Anyway, why don’t all the sea people back up their most powerful of all sea men?

the lover…

Amy Adams as Lois Lane has little to do amongst this sprawling epic – and so much gorgeous to do it in. Her poignant scenes as Superman’s love left behind, take us into her emptiness as she visits his monument, as she wakes in a lonely bed, as she meets Clark’s mother, Martha (Diane Lane aka “Why-Did-You-Say-That-Name?!” –  That meeting scene has its own problems – sacrificing real emotion for fangasm – no room to discuss here – I just wanna mention: when Martha Kent laments, “Everywhere I look I see that S” a tiny knowing smile flits across Lois’s face – we’re thinking the same thing, “It’s not an S.” It was her first real connection with the Man of Steel and now it connects us to Lois. These are the small things that make this film brilliant.)

So when Lois is convinced to move on, and she visits Heroes Park “one last time” (giving coffee to Jimmy Olsen from 1978), when she turns back to see a small figure hovering high in the sky, we FEEL her trepidation: she is bereft, haggard with love lost, weeped out – DARE she hope that THAT is the love she has just decided to leave behind? Would it not crush the soul of any human if this was a hoax?

In the Snyder Cut, Lois is not brought in as “Batman’s secret weapon” – she is there! – about to turn her back. Until she remembered, It’s not an S.

the wonder woman…

Enter Wonder Woman and her vaguely Mediterranean theme song – every time she is onscreen. Every. Single. Time.  It’s like they’re trying to wipe some other song from our memory (“…Imagine all the people…”). Her introduction is a fantastic scene, as a superhero vignette and a woman-empowering inspiration. (And notice how Snyder has crafted the shots so that we don’t get so many views of her black nun’s panties?) She stops terrorists from blowing up a bank – then she blows it up herself. Oh, but she needed to dramatically kill a bad guy, so that’s okay. A little girl asks, “Can I be like you someday?” And Wonder Woman lies to her, “You can be anything you want to be.” Are we still selling this shit? Or was the girl talking about being a murderer?

Her people, the Amazons – we feel their power. They are now not just toyt abs for us to drool over; we see the relationship of those toyt abs to their extraordinary strength and singleminded purpose. When Steppenwolf attacks the motherbox fortress, not only do they nearly bring him down, they sacrifice their lives for their queen and their cause.

The two Amazons holding up the falling rock slab so their queen might escape, and then being trapped inside as the edifice crashes to the sea – THAT is super.

But again, why don’t they help their princess in the “world of men”? Nah, just shoot an arrow at her and she’ll know what to do. I mean, you and the humans and Atlanteans all joined forces millennia ago – this new threat to your very existence isn’t a big enough reason to step outside your nunnery?

Without seeming like wokeness, the demi-god Wonder Woman is more integral to the fight against Steppen, and I do like the way he gets in her head with lies, about abandoning her homeland and placing their deaths on her head. In the end, she takes his, in Snyder’s original dynamic climax, as he tells us: “I use gods to kill gods.”

the cyborg…

Cyborg/Victor Stone was created in 1980, while the original Justice League of America premiered in 1960, with Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Aquaman and Flash. No one from the Silver Age grew up with Cyborg – he was retconned as a founding member in 2011, so I don’t really like the guy. [Victor: “Fuck the world!”] — I like the guy!

Victor has a … complicated relationship with his father, physicist Silas Stone (the excellent Joe Morton) – he was never a caring parent, busy with work, yet he saved Victor’s life with that work – a motherbox – but to do so, he had to make Victor a cyborg. Later, we see them gaining trust for each other when Victor creates a diversion and Silas supports him against his own scientists.

Silas would make the ultimate sacrifice for his son. And the heart-rending scene of Victor lamenting, “I didn’t save him – I couldn’t!”– which I love, showing the downside of super powers – they have limits.

Not only an orphan, but feeling not even human, the League would help Victor realize he was not broken – and not alone.

Victor is not just a simple Iron Man ripoff; in Snyder Cut we can now fully understand his role: as a futuretech hacker in this digital age, striding amongst the cyber world like a Colossus. Remember what I said about the new wave of warfare being cyber and beyond? So Zack got it right when he rebooted Victor as a CYBER-entity – the machine-man who could infiltrate the motherboxes… well, half-right, because how does Victor’s digital prowess access the magic of the motherboxes?

Uuuh, okay everyone – keep punching!

the batman…

As far as I’m concerned we got gyped out of a proper MAN OF STEEL trilogy AND a proper BATFLECK trilogy, from the two best proponents of their superheroes ever. I said it. I mean it.

And it’s sad that in Snyder Cut, Batman is actually diminished by what Snyder leaves OUT: his arc from BATMAN V SUPERMAN, of becoming more ferocious to match the intensity of the criminals he was up against, has been negated with this movie because he’s facing off against supernatural things. I hate to complain because we get to see this best combat Batman in action, but it’s not as compelling when it’s all CGI. I would have been more invested had he been fighting thugs – that’s his forte. That’s what his batsuit was built for – to scare humans – when the things he’s fighting are beyond human, they’re probably just laughing at his Halloween costume, like Aquaman does.

The 2017 film opened with Batman capturing a parademon. It was a good scene – lost here, not necessary. And I’m very sorry that Snyder removed the scene where Flash confesses to Batman his fear of battle, and Batman’s empathetic reply, “Save one!”  – but I understand. It made Batman look big and Flash look small; and Batman doesn’t need to be bigger, but the unknown filmic property Flash needs every foot of his presence right now. (Every foot – see what I did there?)

Also removed, Bruce saying, “Even if there’s a fraction of a chance…” to revive Superman, which was a nice mirror image of his rationale to kill Superman, “Even if there’s a fraction of a chance” that he would burn down the planet… And here, Bruce does not voice that Superman is, “more human than I am” which again, would have been a good arc from him regarding Superman as alien. His guilt is, after all, fueling his drive to unite the League. So yes, there WERE a few good characterizations in Whedon’s script.

the butler…

When Bruce introduces the League to Alfred, “Everyone, this is Alfred. I work for him,” that was touching. Jeremy Irons is not only the funniest, snarkiest Alfred, Bruce himself just testified to him being the brains of the operation, not just the manservant who darns his cape and butters his croissants. Obviously a veteran, Alfred stands equal to Bruce in creating tech and bringing down crime. Makes that line in BATMAN V SUPERMAN more poignant, (“We’re criminals, Alfred. We’ve always been criminals.”) WE… I mean, Alfred never said, “Who’s WE, sucka?!” I always wanted more of this Alfred, and our wishes are granted.

Then there is the moving scene of Alfred meeting Superman, removed in the 2017 version. From its music, to the staging and dialogue, everything about this controlled, integral scene screams, “Removed by asshole Warner Bros. execs who know nothing about telling an inspiring story.” From the deference they show each other, to the underlying joy on Alfred’s face, to that word, hidden in Alfred’s final line: “Now let’s HOPE you’re not too late.” It’s not an S.

the superman…

Is there such a thing as the perfect superman? Look at that face! Look at that jawline! Look at that nose! Look at that manner! Look at his flight! Look at those lats! The way he wears those bellbottom sweatpants– Look at– What was the question again?

The plot point with the largest potential for being idiotic – the resurrection of Superman – is handled much better in the Snyder Cut. It’s not a quick “Let’s do this, Scooby!” – it’s a conflict until the very last second, as the computer incessantly warns “This process is irreversible” fighting Cyborg’s override all the way.

And what was originally the absolute best scene – Superman battling the League and Flash trying to outflank him – is now just one of many great vignettes that make up this colossal movie. But why is Aquaman surprised? Superman is confronted by people he’s never met (except Wonder Woman briefly), all ATTACKING him. And they’re saying something’s wrong with HIM? What would Jesus do? Well Superman IS Jesus, so…

Shirtless Clark is calmed by Lois, and they visit his farm, to get his mind back. Then Lois does a terrible thing – she gives him a shirt.

In his short screentime, even Superman has a powerful arc. He comes back alone, afraid, lashes out. Then he connects with his love, his mother, his past, and finally, comes into full power when he joins his “family” of metahumans, the League.

Clark visits his Kryptonian ship to get – his BLACK SUIT [dun dun dah] But hold on, fanboys, this is not the Regeneration Suit from Reign of the Supermen – this is just a “black suit” – that Snyder uses here to link to Kal-El’s homeland, where everyone, if you remember, wore black. And here’s the kicker for this scene: as Clark walks the hallowed corridors, we hear two voices in his head inspiring him to Be Best – his blood father Jor-El and his adopted father Jonathan Kent, in alternating lines, preaching their truths. Russell Crowe, great in the role of Jor-El, and Kevin Costner even greater in the role of Jonathan Kent. Man, every time Kevin Costner speaks, I cry. Every time I think of the perfection Henry Cavill brings to the role of Superman, I cry. Every time I hear this soundtrack, I cry. I cry more than a grown man should.

This movie’s ORIGINAL slogan was, “You can’t save the world alone.” And everyone, including me, made the joke, “Well, you can if you’re Superman.” But in Snyder Cut, they truly are a team.

the flash…

In 2017, Barry was introduced by Bruce throwing a bat-shuriken at him. A spectacular scene, just for the sound design alone – but we go even deeper in the Snyder Cut, as we meet Barry saving the life of a young girl – she’s meant to be Iris West – Barry’s love interest since the Silver Age. As her car slams a truck and she is thrown forward, Barry smashes through a window to save her. This glass smashing is actually part of Barry’s arc – he has not yet learned to vibrate his molecules through matter. Snyder has chosen his source music perfectly, in this scene, “Song To The Siren” by Rose Betts; I noticed that the song isn’t quantized – it breathes with its own timing; Barry is so fast he can take the time to marvel at the girl’s face and hair, as the song takes its time as well – brilliant! – as he eases her gently to the ground, and her car triple-flips like a Michael Bay movie.

I love the breathtaking representation of Barry’s speed, with the arc-lightning searing the air around him – definitely some physics tied up in that, like the friction with the air molecules creating static electricity – and I love the way his body strides, tilted forward, arms swinging, really unique and cool. His quirky personality, though not canon, is very entertaining – Snyder has made HIM 80% of the comic relief, and removed a lot of the clumsy humor from other characters in the 2017 version.

Also very refreshing – we see these heroes performing small heroic deeds: Aquaman rescues one man from a sinking trawler, Cyborg fills a poverty-stricken mother’s bank account, Wonder Woman nullifies a hostage situation, and Flash saves one girl from a crash; whereas Whedon showed muggers kicking over fruit stands to represent crime running rampant in the streets, when that’s the bottom-rung SYMPTOM of the true crimes being perpetrated in high office – Snyder opts to show unfortunate people just being beaten by the exigencies of life.

Y’know, I coulda regarded JUSTICE LEAGUE as a kiddie film all the way up to… Flash. Turning back time to save the world. They got me. The culmination of Flash’s arc is the culmination of everything – As the motherboxes achieved unity – so did the League: it was Flash who yelled in their first battle, “Guys, this is NOT together!” – at the end, they are together. The first battle, Flash tripped, now, sure-footed. He was an outcast from society, now, society’s only hope.

With the resurrection scene, we saw a foreshadowing of Flash’s powers to turn back time as the motherbox rose from the liquid to meet his electric touch – didja notice that?; now…

The ticking clock runs out. The Justice League fails. The boxes annihilate creation. In that nanosecond, Barry sees the shockwave heading towards him – he once broke glass to go through it, now, he vibrates his particles so that the shockwave passes through HIM! That eerie soundtrack as Earth’s disintegration expands into the distance behind him – Tom Holkenborg’s orchestral score is a sweeping exhilaration that makes you wish you had done more with your wretched life.

And Barry runs. Faster than he’s ever run. Toward the source of the explosion, faster than light, faster than time, pulling the particles backwards, re-integrating reality.

During this arc lightning, his arc is achieved – all his life he’s been trying to make something of himself – to please his dad (the great Billy Crudup); he’s even trying to earn a law degree to litigate his father’s wrongful imprisonment. Now at world’s end, his thoughts turn to his father, telling him he fought alongside the best of the best. We were ALL this guy! Seeking the approbation of our parents, and then one day, finding that we were running toward our destiny!

In 2017, Flash pushed a truck out of the way – here, he saves Earth… KNEEL BEFORE FLASH!

epilogue…

JUSTICE LEAGUE is told in 6 chapters and 1 epilogue with seven LORD OF THE RINGS endings, and Amber Heard speaking British. I personally think Zack blew it here. There’s too much setup for future movies and nothing of substance. I loved the 2017 ending: “All you have to do – is look up in the sky…” with Superman ripping from the ground into a sonic boom – but then, I’m partial to Superman, and I realize he did NOT play a big part in this movie, so I understand the decision.

Here… it’s touching narration by Silas Stone. Fitting, considering Cyborg’s major role.

We also see Jared Leto’s Joker (from SUICIDE SQUAD) in a dream sequence. Taking a cue from Heath Ledger, his makeup is now smeared. And fanboys, he only says, “We live in a society…” in the trailer – a phrase from a Joker meme. Then 2 cents worth of Martian Manhunter. All of this tease and setup is just conjecture at this point, because we’ve lost the two best top-tier superheroes we will ever have – Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill. Unless some hashtags can save the day.

9 STARS…

… because no matter what Martin Scorcese or Bill Maher say, a great superhero film should fulfill every aspect of what makes any NON-superhero film great – excellent production, sincere intent, compelling story, identifiable characters, nuanced performances, adult themes of existential crises, and arcs of redemption or damnation. Check. Check. Check. / Check. Check. Check. Check. And if there is sacrifice– bonus. If the soundtrack makes me weep- bonus!

It’s grand enough filmmaking to take us along for the ride once we accept its contradictory world. [aside]: Exhibit A, Your Honor: STAR WARS A NEW HOPE is in the same bucket.) Yes, there will always be fanboys complaining about SOMETHING, however, as far as DC aficionados are concerned, ZACK SNYDER’S JUSTICE LEAGUE is canon now. Warner Bros. disagrees, maintaining that, even though Snyder just proved how big his balls are, they’re still gonna throw him off all future DC projects.

Onto the next hashtag: #RestoreTheSnyderVerse.

Movie Maniacs, use the Speed Force and buy it, rent it, steal it – what I’m saying is: “If you seek his monument, look around you” – it’s the writing on the dais at Heroes Park, it is originally from the tomb of architect Christopher Wren at St. Paul’s Cathedral. Look around you, Movie Maniacs – JUSTICE LEAGUE is Zack Snyder’s monument.

KNEEL BEFORE ZACK!

END

Thunder-belles and Shirtless Sean!

I lost track of how many women James Bond bangs in this movie. Is that why they call it THUNDERBALL?

Truly, THUNDERBALL features the best-looking collective female cast of any Bond adventure! And there is not one standout beauty – they’re all stunners! The Blond Nurse, The Sisterly Agent, The Villain’s Naif, and The Redhead Slut.

Sean Connery returns, in this fourth Bond film, more manly than ever (from the ninth Ian Fleming Bond story, Thunderball, published 1961), directed once again by Terence Young, who also directed DR. NO and FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE, but has found a real hero stride in this film that raises it killing levels above its predecessors.

The cold open is sensational, as Bond ferociously beats off a transvestite—uh… then straps on a thruster and blows into the sky—uh… then shoots loads of his liquid onto men trying to take him roughly from behind—uh… Well, it IS called THUNDERBALL…

After the lackluster action in GOLDFINGER, this was a welcome return to form for Bond, with a noticeable upgrade to breathtaking fight choreography, and with an all-new hairline that looks considerably fuller! (Connery’s augmenting toupees had begun.)

The opening credits drag us underwater, with silhouetted swimming naked women, while Tom Jones beats to death the title song Thunderball more ferociously than Bond just beat that ladyboy. (The man in drag was, in fact, Bob Simmons, Connery’s stunt double; we can clearly see the resemblance. I think Connery took an extra pleasure in beating Bob here since he had been doing all the gun barrel sequences up to this point.)

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We met the worldwide criminal organization known as S.P.E.C.T.R.E. in the second Bond film (FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE); now we see it in all its glory, in a capacious underground lair, with a leader named Number One, whose face is still obscured as he sits in an elevated chair and strokes his pussy. Before him, in two rows of chairs, all his “numbered” agents sit, making their reports; when one displeases him, Number One electrifies that agent in his chair, which would sink into the floor with the corpse, then rise again, empty. All done via a control panel at Number One’s fingertips with buttons that still look like marshmallows.

S.P.E.C.T.R.E (SPecial Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion) would become the bane of Bond’s existence over numerous films to come. (Number One would be revealed only in the next film, YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE.) Their plot here: steal two atomic bombs and extort world leaders for £100 million on the threat of blowing up UK and US cities.

We meet Number Two (Adolfo Celi as Largo), tasked to steal the bombs and look Italian.

The bomb-stealing scene is a drawn-out affair, showing every step in dragging detail, I imagine because international espionage plots as big as this were new to cinema, and the filmmakers wanted to establish how meticulous the planning was; we see an impostor stealing the plane with the bombs, sinking the plane in the ocean, Largo’s diver team recovering the bombs, then spreading camouflage netting over the plane on the ocean floor… phew! I thought we’d never get back to the girls in bikinis…

After Bond blackmails the needy Blond Nurse (Molly Peters) into a sauna-bang, he is summoned to MI6. In an intriguing scene, we see the seated backs of all the other 00 agents – it seems there are nine of them – as they face their boss M (Bernard Lee) and a British toff. (There’s always a British toff crying to M to save their bacon.) The 00s are tasked with finding the bombs within the next four days in an assignment called “Thunderball” – for the mushroom cloud the bombs might make, or the number of chicks that Bond might make.

Bond requests being sent to Nassau in the Bahamas because he saw tits in the mission dossier – serves them right for having more pictures than writing (Movie Trope #1!). Bond tracks down the offending mounds of fury, straining against the bikini of Domino (Claudine Auger) who happens to be Largo’s naïf mistress. (What are the odds?!)

Q (Desmond Llewelyn) makes an appearance “in the field” to outfit Bond with spy gadgetry, and chastise him for treating all his inventions “with equal contempt.”

THUNDERBALL does not globe-trot, basing itself in one stunning location; blue seas, coral reefs and glistening sand, sun-dappled tropical palms – the scenery is breathtaking. Bond’s ever-present CIA go-fer Felix Lieter meets him in the Bahamas (Rik Van Nutter, the third actor to play the role, in as many movies), along with a smokin’ brunette Agent, Paula (Martine Beswick) whom Bond treats like a sister; I think it’s because, sadly, she takes her cyanide pill when captured by SPECTRE, and they didn’t want to complicate Bond’s already full plate of groinal investment.

This is where it gets confusing, because the naïf Domino and the Redhead Slut assassin Fiona (Luciana Paluzzi) look so much alike that I lose track of who Bond is banging – their only difference being Domino is quiet and collects starfish, while fiery Fiona turns up on a motorbike with missile launchers. (Can I help it if they’re both metaphors for sex?)

Later, Fiona, who has promised Largo that she would be the one to kill Bond, mocks him for thinking that he could turn her with a stiff bonk, “I forgot your ego, Mr. Bond, where you make love to a woman and she starts hearing heavenly choirs singing. She repents and turns to the side of right and virtue – but not this one!” A direct piss-take of GOLDFINGER (where Pussy Galore did exactly that in the clunkiest of plot twists). Apparently, it was quite a common critique of GOLDFINGER at the time, prompting the filmmakers to insert this self-effacing jab!

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THUNDERBALL retains a much more elegant look and feel after the stodgy GOLDFINGER. Terence Young’s camera is livelier than in past Bond adventures, taking us with it panning into the action, employing creative screen wipes, and sometimes using what seems like a Steadicam as it tracks the walk-and-talks (a nod to filmic technology improving, no doubt). Written by Richard Maibaum and John Hopkins, the storytelling is kinetic, the fight scenes energetic, and Bond doesn’t let himself get captured nor wind up in easily-escapable traps; and no villains tell him their grand plan (the one time we hear the world-shaking Plan is from Number One himself on the ransom tape). For the first time, James Bond is ahead of the game; whether it’s avoiding sharks or saving all his agents in an underwater skirmish, this movie renews our faith in Bond and justifies his epithet as a superspy. And, Ladies, due to all the water sports and shirtless action, you get to drink in that former bodybuilder’s buff body. Uh-huh. Itself a trap. Not easily-escapable…

Probably the only pointless sequence is the spine-stretcher, where Nurse Blondie straps Shirtless Bond into a wanking machine, and an unseen instigator – “Nice to have met you, Mr. Bond” – ramps it up to Penis-Comes-Off-In-Hand level. Pointless scene, pointless machine, and Bond achieves pointless sex as a result.

Largo at the card table; a GPS tracker on Bond; a pool full of sharks that devour henchmen (Connery actually confronted by one shark without Perspex shielding; his terrified reaction is real); a final richly-staged underwater battle between Largo’s henchies and Bond’s agents, firing spearguns, cutting air-hoses, battling with knives – it’s Helm’s Deep Aquaman Edition! With sea life wading in and out of the fight choreography for authenticity (n.b. sharks WERE harmed in the making of this film!)

The final fistfight onboard Largo’s yacht is again very well choreographed, with its share of ferocity – but the rear projection of the yacht speeding out of control flops us right out of the movie!

This is not the first time Bond has ended up on a lone life raft with a busty woman (one of those chicks above – who cares which one, right?), but in keeping with the kinetic nature of this outing, instead of plowing the wet wench, Bond sends up a balloon with a tow line attached – and an MI6 cargo jet swoops overhead, grabs the tow line and YANKS all four of them right out of the raft! They fade into the sunset on the tow line, behind the jet – Bond, his woman and his big thunderballs.

END

BUTTERFINGER, or, The Case For Firing 007.

There are two mentions of “008” in GOLDFINGER. Are we being reminded of James Bond 007 being dispensable? Or is it because in this third outing (from the 7^th Bond novel by Ian Fleming), Bond keeps proving how terrible he is at his job?

Consider, from this film: how easy it is to sneak up on this “superspy” to Spock Chop him after sex; that he is knocked out more than once, captured no less than 4 times (with captures overlapping in their frequency!); that he fails to prevent his new girl’s bizarre murder, is locked in a cell for a large part of the movie’s runtime, and ultimately has to let another agent defuse a bomb right under his nose. Seriously, how can this guy be so smug?

GOLDFINGER cold-opens on a manly mission, with Bond (Sean Connery’s third time) showing off the qualities that greenlit the funding for this Bond adventure: knocking out soldiers, blowing up factories and bedding a nubile wench (Nadja Regin, the most beautiful woman in the film; it’s funny that Bond films are renowned for their prurience, yet Nadja exits a bath holding a big towel over her front-parts to kiss Bond, and even when they’re interrupted by an assassin who knocks her out, she goes down clutching that dishrag for dear life over those mounds of justice that would cause children to become murderers were they to catch a glimpse.) Unrelated to the actual plot, simply an action piece to demonstrate Bond’s proficiency, this opening would be the only time Bond is ahead of the game.

The opening titles slink in over gold-painted girls in golden bikinis, with Shirley Bassey ululating Goldfinger, backed by blaring discordant horns that sound like elephants having sex.

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Miami Beach. Swinging music. Reminding us that Bond is a young hep cat; not only a sophisticated rake for the ladies, also a Boys’ Adventure role model. But he’s given a contra-character line: “That’s as bad as listening to The Beatles without earmuffs” – the hell–?! Makes us question what demographic producer Albert “Cubby” Broccoli was aiming at, back in that groovy year of 1964. Because Bond’s juvenile punch-explode-screw plots were surely not for conservative old white men, but teenage boys’ fantasies. So why alienate them with that derisive jab at their idols, the number one selling band in the world? The world is not enough to tease out the sociology of those different times…

Agent Felix (Cec Linder, replacing Jack Lord – was Lord too good-looking?) alerts Bond to a card shark at the swinging Miami hotel, Auric Goldfinger (big bloated blond Gert Frobe), whom Bond quickly calls out, then beds Goldfinger’s girlfriend accomplice (Shirley Eaton) because he’s a homewrecker. After sex, Bond is Spock Chopped and out for hours, waking to find the girlfriend covered head to toe in gold paint, dead. An iconic shot (even if the logistics of killing someone like that are totally economically unfeasible, from the killer’s wages, to the paint expended, to the danger of being discovered with the time spent over the corpse; and Bond says later she died from suffocation of the paint, which means she lay there patiently while the killer covered her?). All Bond’s fault.

M (Bernard Lee) and a Bank of England toff assign Bond to infiltrate Goldfinger’s organization, to find out why he’s stockpiling gold at an alarming rate.

After the assigning, as usual, Moneypenny (Lois Maxwell) flirts with Bond, then Q (Desmond Llewelyn) shouts at Bond for never bringing back his gadgets in one piece; this time Bond gets an Aston Martin (instead of a Bentley from his last outing) with missiles, ejector seat, smokescreen and other toys… We’re sensing a pattern emerging in Bond movies…

So Bond tails Goldfinger with the finesse of a first-year acting student trying to cry on cue, enjoining the gold baron to a game of golf as if he’s some visitor to the club. But  Oddjob (Harold Sakata) is Goldfinger’s caddy – the guy who Spock Chopped Bond and covered the girl in gold – so HE knows who Bond is, which means Goldfinger should also know. Goldfinger gets Oddjob to demonstrate his oomph Bond gimmick – a bowler hat with a cutting edge that he throws at a statue, decapitating it. What’s he trying to convey to Bond with that move? That he’s onto Bond as a spy? That if Bond starts winning, Oddjob starts decapitating? Just a pointless move, to go with all the other pointless moves in Bond movies…

Yet the game proceeds without any animosity (with both players cheating for no reason, as it doesn’t affect the plot), until the end, when Goldfinger angrily intimates Bond has a secret agenda. Either the director miscommunicated to these actors how they should convey this complex web of emotions or the actors couldn’t pull it off. Either way, it’s just a naff sequence, with Bond eventually planting a tracker on Goldfinger’s car, which he could have done a million different ways, without the padding of the golf scene. Maybe Connery just wanted to play golf while pretending to act? After Andy Garcia’s stories of Connery on the set of THE UNTOUCHABLES (1987) turning up in golf clobber, I’m inclined to believe the latter.

Tailing Goldfinger, there is one great pullback shot, of Bond watching him from a cliff, camera pulling back to see that Bond himself is being watched from a higher cliff.

Bond meets Tilly (Tania Mallet, sister of the dead, gold-covered girl), who wants revenge on Goldfinger. After a rear-projection car chase, Oddjob captures Bond and kills Tilly, and that’s the end of that thread, making her presence almost as unnecessary as Bond being here.

Richard Maibaum – who screenplayed almost every Bond film until LICENSE TO KILL – writes this movie like he hasn’t the first idea of story structure. Guy Hamilton directs (his first of four Bond films) with a languid basic action style.

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Tied to a table spread-eagled, a laser inching its way up to his balls (the laser efx are quite good actually), Bond asks: “Do you exshpect me to talk?” Goldfinger: “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” It’s funny because we expect Bond NOT to talk, and instead, escape!– But wait! Bond starts talking! When he realizes honey badger Goldfinger don’t give a shit, the only way OUT of this trap IS to talk! He starts blabbing about everything he knows about Goldy’s plan, which means that even if it wasn’t Goldy’s intent to make Bond talk, Bond talked! Goldfinger wins! Bond is SO terrible at his job! He blabs: “If I fail to report, 008 will replace me!” Seems reasonable; Goldy doesn’t want an additional agent on his tail, so he keeps Bond alive; we understand his strategy—but wait! Bond never reports back to base. Goldy’s men just knock him out and fly him to another location, courtesy of Goldfinger’s female pilot, Pussy Galore—[record scratch] Okay, now they’re just fucking with us, right?!

Honor Blackman plays Pussy like a busty schoolmarm who’s just waiting for a misogynist to slap her to the ground and take her roughly from behind. Which Bond does. I think it’s called rape these days. When they spar in the barn, Pussy matching Bond throw for throw, Bond asks, “Pushy, who taught you judo?” Because girls don’t have the time for learning a craft, what with all the cooking and cleaning… (I’m guessing Bond’s question is a jab (ha!) at Honor Blackman coming directly from the hit British TV spy series THE AVENGERS (co-starring in Seasons 2 and 3, 1962), where she was renowned for her judo, her leather attire, and taking down her male co-star with saucy dialogue. Though the Bond production gave her a little power, they burdened her with a name that just branded her man-toy from the outset.)

Pussy heads a team of 5 female pilots called The Pointy Bra Brigade (because does anyone really give a fuck what they’re called after a name like Pussy Galore?).

Goldfinger gathers all the U.S. mob bosses in a big room and outlines Operation Grand Slam: breaking into Fort Knox to explode an atomic bomb inside and make all the gold radioactive, so that his gold will be worth more on the world market. He uses giant dioramas that rise from the floor, which make the bosses trip balls on the wondrous technology as if they were 3D holograms or something. Those good old days of 1964 when carpentry was the new CGI.

Then Goldfinger kills all the mob bosses.

Again Richard Maibaum’s plotting never fails to make us go: Really? Goldy just wasted his breath, and those snappy dioramas, on guys he intended to kill? The only purpose it served was Bond eavesdropping and reporting the plan back to MI6. By the way, one of the bosses said he wanted no part of Grand Slam, so Oddjob drives him out to a backstreet and shoots him. These guys really have nothing better to do with their day than waste time with people they intend to kill anyway.

Then they capture Bond for the – I’m guessing – 12^th time, and ferry him around in his three-piece suit, cuffed to Oddjob for the duration of the caper. No more rationale of “they might send other agents”; it seems Bond’s only purpose now is to satisfy the narcissism of Goldfinger.

Pussy’s Pointy Pilotesses spray gas over the Fort Knox property, knocking out thousands of troops patrolling the grounds (including Felix and MI6 agents waiting nearby), so that Goldfinger’s troops in gas masks can storm the gates, explode the front door, and wheel in a big box that looks like a lighting truss roadcase for Judas Priest – but it’s full of atom bomb. Oddjob cuffs Bond to the Judas Priest roadcase and sets the timer…

Let’s take a step back: Bra Brigade flies around unmolested and unnoticed as if every inch of airspace over Fort Knox is not monitored; like five planes in close formation can put the 109,000 acres of Fort Knox personnel to sleep; the lead Bra counting down: “5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 0!” What happened to 1? That Maibaum magic at work again…

Then something miraculous happens – all the Fort Knox troops wake up! Felix reports “They’ve armed the bomb!” and everyone rushes to shoot down Goldy’s faceless Chinese troops inside. We find out later that Pussy was banged so studly by Bond that she replaced the gas canisters in the planes with harmless whatever. So let me get the MI6 plan straight: they PRETEND to be knocked out so that the villain can transport an atom bomb into Fort Knox and arm it before they make a move? And I thought if I said it out loud it might sound stupid or something.

Bond manages to kill Oddjob, but fiddles around with the bomb’s controls ineffectually until another agent steps up and defuses it – with 007 seconds to spare– hahaha! Didja see what they did there? [eyeroll]

Hilariously, I don’t think even the filmmakers realized how they emasculated Bond in GOLDFINGER. In a movie this sexist, Bond is ironically the person who proves he is only good for one thing – the same one and only thing he has used women for since he began these adventures. He proved himself such a good lay that the villainess betrayed her organization, thereby saving the day. Bond did nothing else to actively bring the villain to justice. He screwed every opportunity he had, and then screwed to make it right.

But what happened to Goldy? Well, since he is such a unique character (big bloated blond), one would think that no one could miss that Nazi-lookin’ roly-poly amongst all the Chinese henchmen and American troops – but apparently, all it takes to fool these Knox troops is to put on an American uniform and saunter out. Ah yes, the Clark Kent Five Point Palm Exploding Hat Technique.

The last set piece is a wonder of confused script-writing, as Bond is on a private plane to receive a medal from the president. Goldy appears with a golden gun. And talks instead of shooting, telling Bond that Pussy is flying the plane– Wait-what?! By this time, Goldy must know it was Pussy who betrayed him with the gas, and yet he’s hired her to fly for him? And the amount of maneuvering for Goldy to have commandeered this government plane specifically commissioned to fly Bond to the white house– I don’t even wanna think of the logistics – and neither did Maibaum.

Goldfinger goes out the window, and Bond ends the adventure in Pussy. (Geez, innuendo’s no fun anymore.)

END

The one-take war.

War! Huah! Good God y’all! What is it good for?! Absolutely Oscar!

GALLIPOLI meets SAVING PRIVATE RYAN in the Newest Generation’s gritty war film, “1917.” (The year people started to realize Archduke Ferdinand probably wasn’t worth all this bone and blood sausage.)

World War I (a rare topic, as most modern war movies cover WWII onwards). Two young British soldiers are empowered to cross enemy German territory to deliver a message that will save 1,600 British soldiers from walking into an ambush. Without the help of Wonder Woman.

Lance Corporal Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman, GAME OF THRONES) and Lance Corporal Schofield (George MacKay, CAPTAIN FANTASTIC) are the two men, nay boys, chosen by the General (Colin Firth) because Blake’s older brother is in the battalion that needs the warning. Schofield is along because he happened to be napping near Blake when they came for him. (Closet homosexual Mike Pence warns: “See? Don’t get pulled into war by sleeping with other men.”)

Directed by Sam Mendes (SPECTRE), 1917 is made to look like it was filmed in one take. A roving camera follows the boys from their nap in the field, to the end of their journey, without once leaving their side. Of course it’s not “one take” but due to the meticulous creative magic of Mendes and cinematographer Roger Deakins (THE BIG LEBOWSKI, JARHEAD, BLADE RUNNER 2049), it damn well looks it. You can be a killjoy and find the cuts amongst the long, long takes (what the filmmakers call “blend points”), but Deaky isn’t gonna be giving back his Oscar any time soon.

Movie opens on a field of yellow flowers, (not unlike the last scene of the BLACKADDER saga where the WWI trench massacre cross-faded into just such a field, growing where the dead lay), then pulls back to reveal two sleeping soldiers, Blake (Seth McFarlane Short?) and Schofield (Anders from WORKAHOLICS?); awakened and summoned by the General, the camera pulling back and leading as they walk-and-talk, never leaving them, in medium shot, no cutaways, no inserts, as the mise en scène opens up behind them: a tableau of soldiers in the grassy expanse, resting, washing clothes, cooking, milling aimlessly, camera still pulling backwards as they enter a shallow trench, whose sides gradually grow to over 10 feet high, as they ponder the nature of their summons, soldiers passing them; we see “street signs” to differentiate the endless canyons of mud-walled, boarded trench, wires snaking along the walls, sandbags, rifles, blankets, helmets, poles, rags, muck… we did not even realize the imperceptible morph from flowers in fields to wet mud and dried blood. This opening shot alone is over 9 minutes long, one take, and “ends” with Blake and Schofield entering the General’s dugout…

But it doesn’t end. Camera has followed them into the dark and is now continuing filming what would ordinarily be, in any other movie, another scene. Then it follows them out again… (Mention must go to the somberness of Firth’s General. Star power like Mark Strong and Benedict Cumberbatch will also make grim cameos, but are definitely not the pillars that this movie need rest on. The main event is stolen outright by George MacKay as Schofield)… No Man’s Land depicted in garish hellishness, the horizon-stretching mud, blasted earth, bloated horse carcasses, gunmetal sky, barbed wire, which Schofield would cut himself on… (the horrific realism of that tiny cut; it’s small, but it’s there, bothering him every time he puts that hand out to grasp something)… Blake and Schofield ultimately making – the German trenches!… Into the German tunnels… deserted bunks and hefty rats, pitch-black – tripwire – booby-trap…

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This one-take approach is not as stultifying as we might imagine, as the camera is free to roam far from our protagonists; we see them in long shot if they skirt a muddy, body-filled trench, or wander across a blasted hillock; the name of the game is to just have eyes on at least Blake or Schofield or both at all times. The filmmakers created trusses and ziplines and truck-mounts to extend the camera’s freedom of movement, but for us viewers the single shot creates a sense of claustrophobic dread, as if we have no peripheral vision, as if there is something fatal just around the next broken outpost. And then, in the most benign, unimaginable manner, that fatality comes from open skies…

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1917 does not romanticize war: rats eating flesh, body parts rotting, even Blake’s and Schofield’s slow, crouching advance across deserted throughways reveals so much abomination caused by warring humans; the worst abomination of all – the paranoia and distrust of human toward human. Every time they encounter an enemy soldier, we feel that since they are only two lone soldiers, maybe there is some spark of humanity that will allow both parties to pass each other unmolested, if neither initiates attack – but no. Every enemy soldier is just that – an enemy, hellbent on killing Brits by any means possible.

Title card tells us it’s April 6^th, 1917. It is never brought up in the movie, and it would only matter to history buffs – it’s the date America “officially” entered World War I. Funny they should be so specific, because this tale is not based on any specific event or person(s), rather a composite of war tales Lance Corporal Alfred H. Mendez told his grandson Sam, who would grow up to be this movie’s co-writer/director. There is no scope of the grander picture of the war, or the politics behind the Austria-Hungary conflict with Serbia that brought in Germany and Russia – nothing except that one message that needs to get through.

Surely the most amazing aspect of this production is a basic film-school principle that is completely ignored here, that is, that every camera move must have a start point and an end point. Yet from the moment he turns it on, Mendes’s camera has no end point! It’s in a constant dance to the very end of the film! Another incredible production aspect: when our boys walk for long distances through trenches, we never see a repeated stretch of trench – those trenches have actually been dug into the English countryside (Bovingdon Airfield), over 5,200 feet of them, for maximum walk-and-talk amaze-balls. Steven Spielberg changed the game when he authentically recreated the Normandy invasion exactly how we imagined it to be; now Mendes changes the game in the most authentic trench warfare recreation ever committed to film; even more brutal than we imagined it to be.

The realism is not just reflected in the muck and murder (biplanes dogfighting in the distance, a plane crashing in our vicinity, a knife-stab, buildings burning and flares winding down through the shifting shadows), there are innocuous details, like an Indian Sikh soldier nonchalantly amongst the whiteboys in the back of a troop transport. Representation for what was a large percentage of other-ethnicity troops amongst the British soldiery (just like America’s ranks in wars were swelled by African-Americans, Latinos, Polish, Asians, you-name-the-Others). Guess we can now call 1917 a “revisionist” war movie – for that crazy reason that it’s actually portraying reality rather than the whitewashed version we’ve been milk-fed the last 100 years.

The movie utilizes ambient daylight to light its mostly-outdoor shots (so the crew were always waiting around for the clouds to cover the sky – not too long a wait in England), with the burning building sequence lighting itself with the actual flames – cinematically masterful, the raging immolation of the village creating literal roaring beauty.

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Schofield finds a short respite in this village; an interlude in an abandoned cellar, with a fearful French woman and a child that is not hers. Our rom-com hearts come out to flutter, as we wish with all our might that Schofield would just stop here, with this beautiful dirty blond imploring him to stay, giving her solace and help and, of course, man-love. But there is that damned message, and the only human gesture Schofield can afford is to bequeath her the milk he collected earlier from a cow. To truly prove his worth as a man, we know he needs to desert her.

There could have been just the message, but that added impetus of Blake’s brother would tug at the heartstrings in the film’s final emotional scenes.

1917’s forward momentum would come to a kinetic climax in Schofield’s end-run. All stealth thrown to the winds, with minutes to spare – Schofield runs toward the bunkered officer who can call off the Allied charge into ambush. And it is so inspiring because he is NOT running from danger, NOT running to save himself; he runs to save the lives of thousands, his mate’s brother among them. He’s fulfilling not just an order, but a vow. Like Jefferson’s chest-beating end-run in THE DIRTY DOZEN, like Mel’s final sprint filled with dread in GALLIPOLI, Schofield gives it more than his human frame can bear, plowing across the line of rabid soldiers going over-the-top, as shells rend the earth around him, knocked down, recover, knocked down again, recover. Run. RUN!…

… Like an exhausted bookend, Schofield closes his eyes, and Mendes’s camera finds its end-point… on a field of flowers.

Not everyone could be saved – but the message got through. We hear that message, time and again, over the last century, but no one’s paying attention:

War! Huah! Good God y’all! What is it good for?! Absolutely nothin’!

But as long as it’s good for a few Oscars, I’m sure it’ll keep happening.

END