Me, when a drummer brings a double-kick pedal into my band.

Blood, Sweat and Tears. But mostly blood.

Man, there is blood over EVERYTHING in this movie; blood over his hands, his drums, his cymbals, his sticks. It’s like you can’t practice the drums without a significant amount of blood loss. So this is jazz, huh?

WHIPLASH shows us the rugged reality of chasing dreams, the mind-numbing repetition and unsung practice; about a drummer giving his all to be the best, about a teacher that gives no quarter to get the best; filled with pain and abuse and fear and loathing – and jazz that is actually listenable…

Miles Teller (21 & OVER) is Andrew Neiman, a young ambitious drummer overjoyed to be chosen for the prestigious Schaffer Academy of Music’s top tier jazz ensemble. J.K. Simmons (THE CLOSER) is Fletcher, who runs the fictional Schaffer ensemble like a Gunnery Sergeant from FULL METAL JACKET.

As a piano tutor, I had to watch this, right? As any kind of tutor – WHIPLASH is our bible and our damnation.

At their first class, Fletcher welcomes Neiman by leaning in paternally (maybe a tad too close) and cooing obliquities into his ear (“Don’t worry about what these guys say – have fun!”), but Neiman soon discovers Fletcher tortures more than teaches, his morbid methods based around a singular anecdote: “Charlie Parker became “Bird” because Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head.” (In reality, Jones threw it at Parker’s feet derisively.) Meaning that if veteran Jones had given the neophyte Parker any kudos or leeway, Parker would not have strived to be the best. Only by telling a musician hard truths about how much they had to learn would they become great – IF they had it in them. At least, that’s Fletcher’s diehard philosophy, throwing chairs at the heads of his students, verbally abusing them, mentally traumatizing them “to push people beyond what’s expected of them.” Fletcher tells Neiman: “There are no two words in the English language more harmful than ‘good job.’”

JK Simmons: once J. Jonah Jameson, now – The Lizard!

J.K. Simmons is this generation’s Pete Postlethwaite: eternally 50, never looks younger, never gets older. Buffed like a Spider-Man villain for this role, clad in vanta black, his one-size-too-small tee showing off his triceps like a threat, his conductor/musical director role perfectly cast, as he is a former musician who wanted to be a composer and conductor! (Later in the film, we would see him confidently coax a mellow jazz melody from a dive bar piano. It’s a good and lame moment – to discuss later.)

Just as Miles Teller is also perfectly cast – in real life, a rock drummer! For the film, he was taught jazz rudiments (and that cacky-handed style of holding the sticks!), his teacher none other than Nate Lang, who plays lead drummer Tanner in Fletcher’s troupe, whom Neiman is in constant battle with to earn the chair. Whiplash is one of the feature jazz pieces that would haunt their classes.

Yes, WHIPLASH contains minor discrepancies that will make deep-rooted jazz players cringe, but these faults don’t detract from the overall kinetic clashing of the two principals. Like complaining about IMMORTAL BELOVED, a movie that captures the wild spirit of Beethoven even whilst swirling with incorrect facts in characters, chronology and history.

WHIPLASH revolves around the Neiman and Fletcher characters like a referee circling the Thrilla in Manilla. There is nothing outside of their headstrong spheres – at home Neiman is a restless drum-battering trainwreck, following an untraditional career pathway that his dad (Paul Reiser) doesn’t understand but supports passively; Neiman doesn’t succumb to a traditional boyfriend-girlfriend relationship (with Melissa Benoist), breaking it off rather than pandering to society’s idea of couplehood; when Neiman is onstage with Fletcher in public competitions, we never see the judges, or even the audience reactions – only their battle of wits and musicianship; we never see Fletcher interact with other teachers, and even when they fire him for his student abuse, we don’t see that meeting… it is all about Tutor vs. Student. Like Fletcher, the editing and storyline is cut lean and mean, by writer-director Damien Chazelle (LA LA LAND, FIRST MAN). The movie is apparently semi-autobiographical, as Chazelle was a jazz drummer who suffered at the hands of his own Fletcher.

Fletcher’s insults are scathingly hilarious, his character seemingly based on perfectionist drummer Buddy Rich, most notably from “the bus tapes” – audio recordings of Rich going off on his neophyte bandmates like a shark smelling fresh bleeding leg. As if to strengthen that influence, Neiman idolizes Buddy Rich.

In WHIPLASH, Chazelle has crafted a canny study in absolute power and fear of mediocrity. Jazz is simply a stepping stone to the pathological meat of the damaged characters. Fletcher wields his absolute power for fear of himself becoming a mediocrity as a tutor. (He would admit later that he has yet to find his Bird.) And the students don’t simply walk out on his abuse because Fletcher has instilled in them that same fear of mediocrity; the fear of failure, the fear of never having given it a shot at being one of the greats.

This is not SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISHER, with the message that you can be a prodigy at one thing, and then balance other interests around that one thing – this is maximum overdrive dedication; this is only that one thing existing in your orbit; this is not about the joy of music, or the love of creating art – this is pure uncut Obsession.

Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.
— Confucius

“Yes, but how will this 7/8 beat get me chicks?”

After sustaining a major car accident and yet trying to perform, for fear of Fletcher’s wrath, Neiman is thrown out of the class, all bloodied and broken. This prompts the Academy to approach Neiman to anonymously testify to Fletcher’s abuse, and would result in Fletcher’s ousting. Months later, Neiman would discover Fletcher playing piano in a dive bar…

Why is Fletcher’s piano scene good and bad? Well, all the performed music in this movie is diegetic, and the sound sync on all the performers is almost flawless, including Simmons here, who is actually playing, which is great for his character (a piece that requires control and nuance, that would be repeated as soundtrack under Neiman re-discovering his drums) – HOWEVER – this is not what you’d hear at a New York jazz club, where cats come to throw down fresh jive. Fletcher would complain to Neiman about “Starbucks playing,” and this is exactly the soporific, safe, Starbucks playing that true jazz aficionados would laugh at. Was it an indication that, for all his bluster, Fletcher himself was merely a mediocrity?

Which leads us to that enigmatic ending: Fletcher sits down with Neiman at this dive bar for a casual drink – it’s heartening to see Fletcher so down to Earth after all the cartoonish rage. And when Fletcher invites Neiman to sit-in at an important jazz festival, it seems all the animosity is behind them—but wait!… Fletcher sets up Neiman to fail… Onstage, ready to start, Fletcher bluntly tells Neiman, “I knew it was you” [who got him fired], and then performs an unfamiliar song that Neiman flails through hopelessly.

Neiman slinks offstage humiliated, but then storms back on to the drumseat unbidden, to the chagrin of Fletcher, to throw down a monumental battering jam, with him leading Fletcher’s orchestra (which is a big “fuck you” in itself, but Neiman also mouths a silent “fuck you” to Fletcher to boot). I woulda thought that Fletcher’s original drummer would have been there, ready to jump in after Fletcher sprung his trap – but there’s no one manning the drums, which begs the question: What was Fletcher’s endgame? Because he ruined his own rep by having a doink on the drums, and no backup – as he keeps reminding us, all these performances redound to HIM: “his” band, “his” charts, “his” musicians. And HE is on trial as much as any of the musicians. So I suspended my disbelief for Neiman to climb back into the cockpit… And when we think it’s over – his drum solo is just beginning! (At which point there is blood all over the drumkit – of course.) He wins the respect of Fletcher. And before it cuts to black on the final crash, we see a slight smile cross Neiman’s face as he meets Fletcher’s eyes. In hard closeup, Fletcher cracks the barest of smiles back…

Do the protagonist and antagonist BOTH win? Not that easy. [Not my tempo]

Neiman’s dad peeks from the wings, and the look on his face during Neiman’s solo says it all. At once, amazed that my son could achieve such things, and simultaneously, that I have lost my son. Lost to the surrogate father, Fletcher. And to jazz. During the solo, Fletcher starts coaching Neiman, but not in a condescending way, now as an equal, not taunting but encouraging, approving nods and gestures, guiding Neiman to the greatness that he knew was in him all along. Whether Neiman had gained the respect of Fletcher or not is irrelevant, because in Neiman overcoming the grandest adversity, Fletcher had been vindicated. Fletcher had won. No matter how cruel and unethical and illegal his methods were – he had found his Bird.

Reminds us of THAT’S MY BOY – yes, a Jerry Lewis comedy, which ends on a seemingly up note, when Jerry finds his place in football… But football was his father’s dream, not his! To eke out that “happy ending,” his character succumbed to the will of his abuser. So too in WHIPLASH. And we are left wondering whether this is an UP ending or a DOWN ending. What is the message? That Neiman does, in fact, thrive on torture? That music, if done correctly – isolating yourself, being misunderstood, practicing past pain – doesn’t tame the savage beast, so much as turn us into savage beasts ourselves?

And if that’s the case, then with WHIPLASH, Chazelle has forged a song for the damaged. And if music’s wrong, we don’t wanna be right. The blood is just gravy.

END

Marvel’s Inverse Law Of Mask-Wearing:
As Your Pretty INCREASES, Your Mask DECREASES.

Not Tingling.

After Tony Stark’s death (in AVENGERS: ENDGAME – c’mon, where you been?), Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) bequeaths Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tom Holland) the command of all Stark’s tech, via a pair of magic sunglasses. Five minutes later, Parker relinquishes his superhero status to chase after panty (the SUPERMAN II syndrome), and hands over the glasses to interdimensional stranger and all-round responsible chap, Mysterio (Jake Gyllenhaal in mo-cap pajamas). When it is discovered Mysterio is just an efx maven with fancy holograms who wants to be a fake superhero, punching ensues.

SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME is technically the sequel to the Tom Holland Spider-series that started with SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING (2017), yet so much has transpired in the Marvel Cinematic Underpants between the two Spidey films (namely, INFINITY WAR and ENDGAME), that the movie seems like a continuation of some other grand adventure, with many star players missing (like Cap, Wanda, Natasha, Thor, Hulk, et al). So there’s an overarching feeling of nothing being as important as it is made out to be – because if it WAS, then all those other supers would’ve been here. It’s Marvel’s own fault. They’ve setup the connective tissue between all these movies so sturdily that they’ve now got to make “excuses” for the absence of other heroes. Thor is “off world,” Dr Strange is “unavailable,” Captain Marvel is– “don’t invoke her name” – excuses that ring faker than Zendaya’s padded bra.

In a world mourning the absence of Iron Man, Peter, during a school trip to Europe, is smugly kidnapped  by Nick Fury and Maria Hill (Cobie Smulders), who run those excuses and petition him as the only superhero they can force to protect Earth without pay. But what about Wanda? Panther? War Machine? Or someone like Ant-Man/Giant-Man, who can turn as big as the water monster that appears in the film’s first lame battle? An inter-dimensional entity is threatening to annihilate Earth and they’re too lazy to send out a carrier pigeon to find Cap or Hulk or even Hawkeye fer chrissakes? And that’s another thing: Why does Fury keep chastising Peter as if he’s an employee who doesn’t want to turn up for work? No one’s paying Spider-Man (or any heroes) to save humanity. What hold does Fury have on anyone with super powers?

The lameness of this whole absentee superhero scenario is equivalent to the lameness of the film’s actual plot. Luckily, the guy who looks like Tobey Maguire turns up in his fishbowl helmet, purple cloak and Christmas-light bodysuit, and magics the water monster away. He calls himself Quentin Beck, but civilians start calling him “Mysterio,” and he claims to be from Earth in another dimension—sorry, MULTIVERSE (happy?) – and he’s followed the monsters here from that dimension to kill them.

Fury and Hill are quick to offer Spidey up as second banana to Mysterio, and more special effects battle ensues, with a big fire monster, Mysterio shooting beams at it and Spider-Man swinging around doing fuck-all. And there’s NOTHING AT STAKE. Because we don’t know what this thing wants. It’s just roaring and breaking stuff. We also don’t know the parameters of its powers or the limitations of Mysterio’s powers as he keeps greening his beams at it with varying effect until at some point it just dies from the beams as if it was Padme (i.e., it lost the will to live).

Soon afterwards, Mysterio scams Stark’s magic glasses off Peter, and he orates his evil plan to his troupe of outcasts. Up to this point, Gyllenhaal has been underplaying as a sincere, trustworthy, staid protector; now he chews scenery like a cartoon as he exposits how everyone in his troupe is personally involved in a revenge plot against Tony Stark. But why are you telling THEM this? They already know. That’s why they’re here helping you with your plot, Hamlet!

Mysterio’s Grand Plan? To unleash these fake monsters – which are really holograms created by drones – and to defeat them publicly as Mysterio, until the world heralds him as “the new Iron Man” … Okay, so you become the new Iron Man. Are you going to fight alongside the REAL AVENGERS when a real threat appears, like Ultron or Thanos or Galactus? Do you think Thor or Steven Strange or Bruce Banner wouldn’t see through your lie about being from another multiverse in one second? Speaking of which, how did you con Fury? Did Fury do ONE SECOND of due diligence background check on Quentin Beck when you claimed to be from another dimension? And why would you put yourself in real jeopardy if you are a charlatan? Have you thought this idiotic plan through, Quentin?

Like his lame plan to kill the kids in Peter’s class: they are tricked onto a tour bus, and the driver stops the bus in a “kill zone” and leaves. A Few Seconds Later: We see all the kids running away from the bus, before the bus goes up in flames … So Mysterio’s plan was to kill the kids in a bus, that they could escape by opening the door? Takes Bond Villain inefficiency to a new level.

The performances are comical and poignant when they have to be, the monster effects are, of course, stunning though unnecessary; the best effects being the way Spider-Man swings and attains those frenetic positions straight from the comics panels (love it!) – but the storytelling is atrocious! Aspects like Fury’s lack of awareness grinds at our suspension of disbelief, especially since he and Hill are surrounded by magic computers and neither of them thought to do a simple Google search for “Quentin Beck” to discover he created tech for Tony Stark, before falling for his tale about multiverses. Not to mention all the other pointless sub-plots, like Peter’s BFF Ned (Jacob Batalon) acquiring and losing a love interest; Aunt May (gorgeous Marisa Tomei) and Happy Hogan (gorgonzola Jon Favreau) having a fling; MJ (Zendaya) discovering Peter is Spider-Man – the affairs all begin and end with this film; it’s dull, fan service storytelling.

In his first 5 seconds onscreen, Spider-Man takes off his mask to speak. CAN NO ONE SPEAK THROUGH A MASK OR HELMET ANYMORE? And the pedestrian, non-scientific CGI manner the masks disappear is insulting to our intelligence. What, all those metal parts are going into a ring around his neck? Why isn’t there any bulge there? Apologists pule that the masks are “nanotech” (another name for magic who cares fuck you) – so Mysterio’s cloudy fishbowl is also nanotech? Where do the clouds go when his bowl blips into his neck housing?

I cannot believe how Marvel have conned everyone into believing this is a thing. WHICH SUPERHERO IN THE COMICS BLIPS OFF THEIR MASK FOR EVERY SPOKEN LINE AND THEN MAGICALLY DOIKS IT BACK ON AGAIN? Show me one superhero that does this?! Yet Marvel have pushed the boundaries of this mask-removal so far that when Spider-Man is walking around WITH a mask on, it seems weird; so weird that Fury tells him to remove the mask because everyone at headquarters has seen him without it anyway! Jesus, it’s a nanotech of stupid up in here!

The poster for this Spider-Man movie doesn’t even have Spider-Man on it! Instead, it shows Tom Holland – wearing a Halloween costume that almost looks like a Spider-Man outfit. Tom Holland is not my childhood hero – SPIDER-MAN is! Is it too much to ask to see Spider-Man on a movie poster for a Spider-Man movie?!

Peter excitedly talks about physics and multiverses – and everyone gives him a look like ‘Stop being a smartarse!’ So he stops. And Mysterio tells him, “Don’t ever apologize for being smart.” Isn’t this exactly what the movie just did?! This is American humor: someone speaks intelligently, others in room glare at him like HE’S the crackpot; he stops out of – respect? not wanting to make them look dumb? not wanting to insult them by being smarter? What exactly is this joke? It only ever happens in dunderhead American movies. Did those days come and go so quickly with Scientist-as-Hero (Stark, Banner, Alan Turing in IMITATION GAME, Oscar Isaac in EX MACHINA, Steven Hawking in THEORY OF EVERYTHING)? And Americans wonder why the rest of the world considers them dumbos.

Peter gets waylaid in the Netherlands, remarking how kind every stranger is (America, meet Europe, you belligerent redneck ignoramuses), and Happy picks Peter up, by landing a jet in a field full of carefully tended flowers. And America wonders why the rest of the world considers them Ugly Americans.

The climax is a whirlwind of eye-damaging effects that are ambitious, yet feel unnecessary; the drone-fight sequence only existing to create an arc of Spidey having lost his spider-sense (what Aunt May calls his “Peter-tingle” – another dumb and unnecessary running gag) and re-acquiring it when the stakes are high. In a battle where he doesn’t know what’s real and what’s fake – well, he IS fighting Donnie Darko.

Only in this final sequence do we see the classic Spider-Man costume at last! Did I mention how much I HATE that “Iron Spider” CGI costume?! Writers Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers, and director Jon Watts knew they couldn’t let Peter retain that garish costume from the opening scenes because it is too over-powered (what the fanboys call “OP”), so to create adversity for this hero which Marvel has cavalierly over-powered in his last few films, these numbnuts now have to actively rob Spider-Man of his powers, putting him in the black Archer turtleneck duds and the ski mask, and calling him Night Monkey (yet another pointless gag – nothing works in this film, seriously!). In the second act, they magically swish him through costume changes that are illusions – like they’re trying to eat their cake and still have it – but it’s all magic who cares fuck you – it’s a gyp! – it’s a swindle! – it’s the shallowest of fan service visuals! In trying to appeal to everyone – they appeal to no one! Removing the intensity of Peter’s struggle with all these distractions!

Yet the world populace will laud this pap as another Marvel masterpiece. And it will make a billion dollars. And people will call Zendaya beautiful. Only proving that America is getting dumber and uglier.

END

The tricep-ian directorial style of Zack Snyder.

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.

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.

fun fact…

Ben Affleck: the superhero we didn’t know we kept hiring.

An observation on roles for aging men and women: In 2006, Ben Affleck played Diane Lane’s illicit lover in HOLLYWOODLAND, where he actually portrayed the George Reeves Superman –making him the only actor on Earth to have played both Superman and Batman (and Daredevil!). Now, I love Diane Lane, but 14 years on, Affleck is still a hulking symbol of sex – and Lane is playing someone’s mother. Don’t hate ME – I’m just the observer.

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…

The super man, the black suit, the punchaboo…

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

The League of Extraordinary Superpeeps.

Nobody should come to the movies unless he believes in heroes.
— John Wayne.

An interstellar villain tries to destroy Earth, but is vanquished with punching and computer jargon, by a fresh clique of supers called the JUSTICE LEAGUE.

Batman (grizzled Ben Affleck) recruits The Aquaman (warrior Jason Momoa), and Barry Allen not-yet-called The Flash (hipster Ezra Miller), to combat an otherworldly threat; while his potential love interest, Wonder Woman (salubrious Gal Gadot), recruits a man-of-steel-parts known as Cyborg (stoic Ray Fisher). Together they beat on the supervillain called Steppenwolf (voiced by Ciaran Hinds). And then Superman (Henry Cavill) shows up, so everyone can go home.

For all the deflective advertising, director/co-writer Zack Snyder and writers Chris Terrio and Joss Whedon might have called this movie TRAILERS WITHOUT SUPERMAN; or maybe HOW MUCH YOU BENCH, BRAH? Instead, they went with the name that DC comics dubbed their second ever supergroup, The Justice League of America, honed to JUSTICE LEAGUE for millennial cred. (The first ever group of comicbook supers that banded together was DC’s The Justice Society of America in 1940. The League debuted in 1960. And for historical context, Marvel’s Fantastic Four became supers in 1961, and the Avengers and X-Men teams both started cos-playing in 1963.)

And I find it hard to fathom – what – the – hell – everyone is whining about.

JUSTICE LEAGUE, which seems to have attracted every NON-lover of comics as a critic, is a fine superhero film, Movie Maniacs! It won’t win any awards, but not only does it feature literally the greatest superheroes in world history – Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Aquaman and Cyborg – it is crafted with sincerity and humor, enough quiet interactions to humanize its gods, and enough bombast to satisfy a CGI nerd.

Steppenwolf: Born to be mild.

There is but one overarching problem with JUSTICE LEAGUE – the villain. As we all know: A hero is nothing without a compelling villain; The more interesting the villain, the more exciting the hero; Two sides of the same damaged coin; Yin and Yang… However you phrase this, JUSTICE LEAGUE is an example of the misstep of presenting a literal two-dimensional villain, thereby making all its heroes look flat.

A wormhole opens on Wonder Woman’s island of Themiscyra (featuring Connie Nielsen as Queen TouchMyBottom), and down flies the CGI villain Steppenwolf. Myriad ideas have been posited on why JUSTICE LEAGUE “fails” – from the Amazons showing too much man-ab, to Superman’s ‘stache – but it’s the not-quite-realistic computer-generated villain! Looking vaguely like Liam Neeson fashioned from runny candle wax, this Steppenwolf is no magic carpet ride. He’s a video game. It’s BEOWULF meets I AM LEGEND. DC, you idiots! You couldn’t afford one more above-the-line actor (Gary Oldman, Geoffrey Rush, Eric Bana, Dolph Lundgren, et al) to give this villain heft? Even the guy voicing this abomination, Ciaran Hinds, would have made a fearsome bad guy; instead, we get the laughable confrontation between humans and cartoon.

To make matters worse, Steppenwolf doesn’t have any compelling backstory or characteristics, except that he enjoys elocuting like Shakespeare in the Park, and comes with a big side of winged mothmen that DC lovingly calls parademons – simpleton minions that feed on fear. There is a hurried exposition on his absurd motivation: gathering three “motherboxes” that will allow him to destroy the world blah blah (although, like so many supervillains before him, he seems to have all the power in the universe at his behest even without the motherboxes – I mean, if you can take a punch from Superman and still be able to sire kids, that goes on the top of the résumé for life!). But with no foreshadowing of his reputation, without the first idea of his powers or limitations, the role itself is merely a shallow antagonist trope. There is no ambiguity in Steppenwolf, no mitigation of his evil that might turn our sympathies. He sticks the superhero landing in Themiscyra, bitchslaps a few trannies and quite easily steals the first of the three motherboxes…

Why should we care, when the Amazonians kept this coveted, planet-crushing box in an open room? The Atlanteans (Aquaman’s people) are no better, keeping their entrusted box in an open underwater room. Step two for Steppenwolf. At least the humans – who are criticized for burying their box merely three feet underground – BURIED their box!…

It is this last motherbox that Cyborg acquires, that primes the plot to reanimate Big Blue [can we get a snatch of John Williams’ epic Superman Theme? Just a snatch? No? DisaPPOINted!]– But hang on! Did the humans leave their box unguarded? Of course they did – it was buried! But if it was that easy to locate, why didn’t Steppenbro grab this one first? Or did Cyborg have to punch someone to acquire it? If so, it was so easy that the battle isn’t even shown. And if they just gave it to Cyborg, how could they know he was a good guy? Avoiding these pertinent questions, Cyborg just lands with it, and the League rendezvous at Bruce Wayne’s bat-mansion to have coffee over it.

After finding that punching and flashing and wondering and batmobiling and aquamanning and borging are not curbing Steppenwolf’s steppin’, Batman lightbulbs on a great marketing ploy – bring back Superman! The same conscience that caused Batman to attack Superman (in BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE) is now eating away at him; he harbors the guilt of destroying a person who was “more human than me.” And DC can sell more dolls.

The League’s debate over using the otherworldly motherbox to resurrect the man from another world, reminds me of that discussion in STAR TREK IV to “slingshot around the sun to travel back in time.” That science-y TREK debate went something like, “blah blah slingshot around the sun to travel back in time” and someone said, “Why, that’s crazy!” and someone else said, “But it just might work!” and they did it and it worked and everyone was happy. In JUSTICE LEAGUE, the conversation was much more realistic, and went something like, “blah blah use the motherbox to bring back Superman” and someone said, “Why, that’s crazy!” and someone else said, “But it just might work!” and they did it and it worked and everyone was happy.

It’s ironic how Bruce, arguing to bring back Superman (even against Barry’s caveat of turning into PET SEMATARY), says, “Even if there’s a fraction of a chance that it might work, we have to try,” for that was his exact reason for killing Superman – the “fraction of a chance” that Superman might destroy Earth. “The world needs Superman, and the team needs Clark.” That would be Superman’s alter ego, Clark Kent… you know, the guy who DIED in the last movie. Since Clark doesn’t interact with society in this film, the explanations of his return to life can be left for another sequel. And his dolls weren’t selling anyway.

Now here is an example of the “Interesting Villain” clause in action: When Superman is resurrected (like Jesus!) he is discombobulated enough to attack the entire League, thereby making him the villain for a few moments. Why is this segment compelling? No, not because Henry Cavill is shirtless, but because Superman is an interesting villain – more interesting than as a hero, even! – and the League superheroes (called “meta-humans” by Bruce, because – street cred) seem more relevant when trying to quell Superman’s anger at being woken, even if they are ineffectual against his awe-inspiring might.

One of the coolest scenes is when Superman grabs the whole League by the pussy, and Flash ramps into super-speed to try to outflank him… and we see Superman turn his head to follow the Flash! Such POWER that makes even a cucumber… moist.

Superman. Clean shaven.

JUSTICE LEAGUE opens on Superman. Cellphone footage, with excited kids asking him questions. Here’s a prime example of another reviewer going overboard derogating this movie for the sake of being kewl. Reviewer writes that Superman comes off as aloof and doesn’t interact well with the kids. No such thing! Superman coolly answers their questions (describing the symbol on his chest as “hope”), and when they ask him, “What’s your favorite thing about Earth?” he gets a faraway look, and we are allowed to substitute anything we want (Lois Lane, his job, Lois naked, the yellow sun, Lois moaning, Chinese food, Lois in doggy position, Paris coffee, Lois choking on his—it could be anything!), and it cuts away before he can answer. That’s good storytelling! However, Reviewer read that look as ‘…a somber Superman that makes us yearn for Christopher Reeve.’ You’re an imperceptive tool, Reviewer. I just wish I remembered your name.

And why this sudden love for Chris Reeve? He cut a fine visual as Superman, yes, and he was a tireless activist, and his life ended tragically, but don’t imbue him with qualities that are demonstrably absent. Remember all those jokes about The Man of Wood? 40 years later, he’s Olivier?

Movie then cuts to a world devoid of Superman. After his death in BATMAN V SUPERMAN, giant black banners bearing the “S” symbol adorn world landmarks (giving hope to fanboys that they might see Superman return in his seamless black ballet outfit and rock star mullet). Crime rages in the streets – and once again I will thunder that I DETEST the way “crime” is represented by movies like this: thugs being arrested and tipping over fruit crates in their anger; as if “crime” is these small-time hoods, when these are the bottom-rung symptom of the true crimes being committed by people in high office. A world without hope. Because of thugs in the streets. Not because Russia tampered in American elections, and the president committed high treason, no.

The first hero shot is a low angle upskirt, showing us Wonder Woman’s glorious black nun’s panties. (What was that again about empowering women?) A re-introduction to her powers as she saves civilians with her bracelets and super-speed, and prevents terrorists from blowing up a bank by kicking them sensually.

Aquaman is no longer for the fishes. He’s for the laydayz!

Then we see Bruce searching the arctic wasteland for Arthur Curry, “the Aquaman.” The best line: “He comes on the King Tide.” (I dunno – I just love that line!) Lion-maned, body-painted, leather-panted Jason Momoa ain’t your daddy’s yellow-and-green sea-queen, as he polishes a bottle of whiskey before diving shirtless into the tempest. When it comes to rebooting characters, Aquaman – with his Haight-Ashbury ethos, quindent (not trident!), his haughty derring-do and laughter in the face of overwhelming odds – is surely one of the coolest in superhero history. And wettest. That means YOU, ladies!

Then another great scene, done to death in the trailers: Bruce visits young Barry Allen’s man-cave and throws a bat-shuriken at him. Barry steps aside and plucks it out of the air. Listen to the sound design on this scene alone – sparkling steely shinks and crackling electricity. (Or the sound design on Cyborg walking, or the snippet of Danny Elfman’s Batman Theme when Batman appears to Gordon; throughout, this movie’s sound and music are pitch perfect.)

And the representation of Barry’s super-speed is breathtaking! An aspect which filmmakers got so wrong with Jeff East running alongside the train in SUPERMAN, the Flash’s running scenes here are accompanied by arc-lightning searing the air around him, the scarlet speedster himself tilting forward in dynamic-momentum slomo, which gives the impression he can travel much faster than Evan Peters’ Quicksilver. Flash’s quirky personality, although not canon, is very entertaining. They’ve made him post-teen (in direct competition with his ambiguously-gay TV counterpart), and he’s not a forensic scientist – he’s some kind of millennial nerd just discovering his powers, although I don’t know why they had to mess with his sleek comics costume and make him look like a Transformer.

The Flash: faster than a teening bullet.

Flash confesses to Batman before a fracas with parademons, that he is not ready for battle, that he has only “pushed people and run away”; it makes for the most poignant moment in the film, when Batman, ever the tactician, quickly gives Flash a purpose. In that gritty voice: “Save one.” That’s how heroes begin. “Save one person. Don’t talk. Don’t fight. Get in. Get one out.” He really heard Flash. It gave Batman’s character such empathy and heft.

Billy Crudup as Barry’s dad, Mr. Flash. In jail. Canon. Another solid aspect of this film is how they tie up all these minor characters in the end.

Cyborg/Victor Stone (a character created in 1980) was not in the original 1960’s Justice League (and retconned as a founding member in 2011), and I don’t care much for the character, but I understand the marketing reason he is here – for the Iron Man demographic. Doing double duty with the minority demo. Nice seeing Joe Morton (who died after creating Skynet) as Victor Stone’s father, Mr. Cyborg. Trying to keep his son alive by using the motherbox, he only succeeded in turning Victor into a cyberfreak. So Victor also fulfills the Spidey demo, by being a troubled youth (“Ever since Superman, people have been waiting for the next alien invasion. Now I gotta wonder if I’m it.”) He discovers various powers as he goes, like a constantly upgrading iPhone.

Amy Adams, as Superman’s love, Lois Lane, has so little to do and so much gorgeous to do it in. There is no time to re-establish her as investigative journalist, or even to visit with Perry White and The Daily Planet. Adams merely fulfills the role of pining girlfriend, and secret weapon to stop Superman angrily grabbing the League, to romantically grabbing hers. And I think they filmed all her scenes before Hair and Makeup could even smooth out her bed-head. Her scenes with Supes are short but poignant, and it almost seems Adams is way too talented to be “wasting” her time on a superhero movie – but her depth and crystal sotto voce lends weight to the romance. She is also the link to Superman’s mother (Diane Lane), whose reunion with her son is touching.

J.K. Simmons takes time off from abusing musicians to play Commissioner Gordon like a tight snare. (He was already J. Jonah Jameson in Raimi’s SPIDER-MAN movies. Shouldn’t there be some rule that if you were already in a Marvel movie, you can’t be in a DC movie?) Aren’t there any other actors to hire? If you want the fucking part, earn it!

“Trying to please these fan-dorks is a mission impossible…”

One of the minor characters is a major player: Bruce’s liege, Alfred (Jeremy Irons). His few lines are profound, and I wish we had time for more. Maybe he could have reminded Batman of that batsuit with the glowing eyes that made him as strong as Superman, which would really help right now with Steppenguy. Is it at the cleaners?

The most minor character is actually the Justice League’s greatest villain in the comics, and is relegated to an Easter Egg mention by Steppendude, “For Darkseid!” simply for fanboys to gush over. Who else would be aware of this hulking New God (the analog to Marvel’s Thanos) except people who attend the theater with wraparound Steppenwolf horns?

For a movie that seemingly moves at breakneck pace, there are many heartfelt moments between the group’s members. Barry and Victor actually dig up Superman’s coffin, with Barry trying to get a fist-bump, which Victor denies him. During the final hero shot, Barry gets his fist-bump; it’s not highlighted, simply another small detail that the film gets right, and that its critics will never be attuned to.

Wonder Woman/Diana does the old “tending-wounds-intimately” scene with Batman, where they philosophize over lost loves. However, whatever sexual position Bruce is cultivating with Diana is shredded when Superman appears, and Diana is the first to gush, “He’s back!” All talk of her lost love (Steve Trevor from WWII) is forgotten, as this super woman realizes the only person who can properly pound her is a super man, and her eyes go directly to the place where he now doesn’t wear panties.

During the League’s darkest punching hour, Superman appears with the cheesy line: “I believe in truth… I’m also a big fan of justice.”

When Batman sees this, he spurts a little in his tighty-blackies.

Possum codpieces and black nun’s panties – a winning combination.

As soon as the man of steel addresses the problem, it is resolved within minutes. This includes: saving civilians, preventing the motherbox from melding three-into-one (how Christian of it!), and defeating Steppenwolf. Quod erat demonstrandum. This movie’s slogan is, “You can’t save the world alone.”

Well, you can if you’re Superman.

And in modern film, his powers can be depicted as the most breathtaking we’ve ever seen. Every time he takes off, there is a sonic boom as he disappears in a haze of blue blur; his flying is seamless, his strength simply awe-inspiring – as when he shows the youngster Flash how it’s done, by carrying a building full of people, as Flash saves just one van-full.

But what’s the big deal with his mustache that no one can see? Poor Henry Cavill had to contractually retain a giant porn-stache for his role in MISSION IMPOSSIBLE 6, during reshoots of JUSTICE LEAGUE. So the LEAGUE digital artists painted over it. And the internet collapses with this news. And critics sacrifice their viewing pleasure to gaze intently at Cavill’s philtrum to nitpick single frames… Go on. Stare all you want. You’ll get so bored trying to find fault with Cavill’s perfect features, you might even start paying attention to the movie again. If it weren’t for the studios leaking the mustache imbroglio, no one would ever have known!

One of the two post-credits scenes features my two favorite supers: Superman and The Flash. They both gots to know… as they take their marks on a deserted road…

JUSTICE LEAGUE’s faults are more to do with expectations than lack of quality or fun movie-making. The plot is simple, the villain unremarkable, the story sometimes lacking in logic and depth; however, the movie itself features the greatest incarnations in filmic history of the superheroes of DC’s Golden Age, taking every aspect into account, from the production design to the performances, from the casting to the special effects.

Different age groups will have their faves – Kirk Alyn’s 1948 SUPERMAN, Chris Reeve’s 1978 SUPERMAN, Michael Keaton’s 1989 BATMAN, Christian Bale’s 2008 DARK KNIGHT; with television lagging far behind, with Linda Carter’s 1975 WONDER WOMAN, and John Wesley Shipp’s 1990 THE FLASH; with Aquaman and Cyborg never represented on the silver screen until now – but we arrive at a pinnacle in movie history with JUSTICE LEAGUE.

Cavill, with his angular face so like Reeve’s and his body built by Adonis, purveys the nuance and silent majesty of a being that can crush a planet, with creative flying scenes and mega-human power that packs a visceral punch; Affleck has shown his vigilante’s violent tendencies and a poignant side, as well as the most muscled bulk of any Batman, and tech that only a billionaire could possess; Gadot’s Wonder Woman charged onto the silver screen with female empowerment and tritones screaming, power like a goddess and thighs to match; while Jason Momoa rips apart the conventional image of the fey fish-talker to slam down his rambunctious brawler – He comes on the King Tide!; and only with modern computer graphics could we begin to visualize the surreal time-warping ultrasonic velocities of Ezra Miller’s fastest man alive.

It’s for those of us who believe in heroes, Movie Maniacs!

JUSTICE LEAGUE ends with narration that brings a tear to my eye, telling of:

“…heroes, to remind us that hope is real.
All you have to do…
is look…
up in the sky.”

Oh god, I nearly did what Batman did.

END

Dude, Where’s My Computer?

An uninspiring movie about an inspiring innovator, JOBS is a schmaltzy biopic of Apple Computer’s pioneering founder and edge-of-science-fiction visionary, Steven Paul Jobs (1955-2011).

JOBS (written by Matt Whiteley and directed by Joshua Michael Stern) turns the life of this driven inventor madman thinking machine into a soppy three-act melodrama that hits all the requisite Hollywood beats. No wonder Ashton Kutcher plays Steve Jobs. Funnily enough, the problem with this unfocused movie is not that the star of DUDE, WHERE’S MY CAR is Jobs (Kutcher gives a studied, terse performance and actually looks like the young Jobs), it’s how the movie is put together as if it’s your typical fictional character overcoming adversity.

Taking the documentary STEVE JOBS: ONE LAST THING (2011) as corroboration, it would seem Jobs’s less savory personality traits and deeds are correctly handled in JOBS: the fact he is painted like an eccentric prophet, an innovative artist in techno mind-freak, who didn’t care about the feet he stepped on or the feelings he hurt to get his way; the fact that he abandoned his close friends when he could find no use for them anymore; the fact that he was not the hands-on guy, but the entrepreneur, the marketer, the “producer” if you will, that made all the elements of his projects come together; he had a knack for relating the technology to the reality: “What did the garbageman, the schoolteacher, the kid in Nebraska need from a computer?”; he could bridge the gap between the techs who soldered the raw parts and the marketers who shilled the finished product.

Jobs introduced the first Macintosh personal computer in 1984.

JOBS deals mostly with young Steve Jobs and the coalescing of his fresh-faced team of pathfinders; onto the formation of Apple, its nationwide success, his subsequent ousting from the company and triumphant return. The movie opens with middle-aged Jobs unveiling the iPod, but it doesn’t circle back to this point (bad screenwriting setup with no payoff). Final two-shots show us the actors and their real life counterparts.

Josh Gad is best friend Steve “Woz” Wozniak, who did the heavy lifting when they were young (i.e. the solderer); Lukas Haas is engineer Daniel Kottke, who backpacked across India with Jobs; Victor Rasuk is computer engineer Bill Fernandez (who takes credit for introducing Jobs to Wozniak, not shown in the movie). These three would ignite the core of Apple in Jobs’s father’s garage. Rod Holt (Ron Eldard) would join them as electrician. Dermot Mulroney is investor Mike Markkula, whom Jobs impresses with his canny negotiating. Matthew Modine is Pepsi marketer extraordinaire John Sculley, whom Jobs would employ when Apple is off the ground, to take it into orbit.

Jobs was disloyal, selfish and blinkered. He knocked up a girl in college and abandoned her with their kid (who kept sending him “dear daddy” letters); his backpacking friend was ignored into resigning; his best friend Woz resigned in a hail of tears (“remember when it was fun?”); investor Markkula didn’t support Jobs when he was ousted from Apple, and the first thing Jobs did when he returned was to sack Markkula… So Jobs was a success at the expense of his friends, allies and his own humanity. I don’t think he cared; however, there is just not enough depth in this movie as to why he was such a champion a-hole.

Jobs was definitely in many respects a genius, so we give him a pass for his unsavory traits. Show me a leader who is a savory character and I’ll show you a follower. However, with its jumpy chronology and seeming impatience to be over with scenes which are little more than vignettes, JOBS doesn’t convey the truly trailblazing nature of Jobs’s achievements. Consider that Steve Jobs lived in a world where “computers” were big boxy things with reel tapes mounted on them and flashing lights, like in 1950s science fiction movies. Jobs envisioned the computer not as clinical robot that took up the space of a refrigerator, but a personal device, and pushed to make the interaction with a computer a one-on-one intimate experience. No one – and I’m guessing not even Steve – knew exactly where they were headed, but there was definitely something better than those reel-boxes and Pong; we know this now… but just try to imagine the close-minded climate Jobs had to break out of back then. He literally had to think “outside the box” – outside the refrigerator box…

Though Jobs was a far-seer, there was a synergy erupting in the computer universe. Apple was in constant battle with IBM (trying to outdo IBM’s cheaper creations, keeping its designs secret so they didn’t end up in IBM machines, competing with IBM sales, etc.) and with a little company called Microsoft. Microsoft’s own computer miracle man/founder, Bill Gates, was a contemporary of Jobs and they had that respect/hatred relationship reserved for vampire lovers – two people so alike that they simultaneously attract and repulse each other. Apple’s earliest devices used Microsoft parts, and Gates bailed out Apple when Jobs returned to take the reins again. The movie doesn’t cover this relationship at all, opting to show only one scene where Jobs cusses out Gates on the phone, “You psychopathic, unimaginative criminal!” believing Microsoft had stolen Mac ideas (which was probably true, but Jobs fails to acknowledge how many other people’s ideas he had stolen, in a life spent rationalizing theft of other people’s ideas, “We have always been shameless about stealing great ideas…”).

There are two major disconnects in the movie: Jobs is portrayed as The Artist, willing to spend any amount of money to perfect his designs before releasing them for public consumption. Despite warnings from his board of directors (headed by J.K. Simmons as Arthur Rock), he loses so much company money that they vote him off the board. IBM overtakes Apple in sales. Jobs decides to quit, and establishes another computer company, NeXT. Here’s the first disconnect: If Jobs applied the same ethos to NeXT – and if there were no advisors to warn him of losses, as there were at Apple – how did Jobs ever make money? He must have started playing by the rules that ‘near enough is good enough’ for the masses, otherwise, how do you succeed with a business model where you spend more money than your products are making? None of this realization or arc is portrayed.

The second disconnect: Years later, Sculley the marketing guy runs Apple into the ground and new CEO Gil Amelio (Kevin Dunn) asks Jobs to return to the company. And in a swoon of cognitive dissonance, Jobs balks, citing a laundry list of losses and debts and layoffs– Waitaminute! Isn’t that why YOU were kicked out in the first place? For being a stubborn ass and losing money?! So when Jobs was trying to push his vision and lost money, he was a lone pirate hero on the seas of adversity striving for perfection, yet when Sculley tried to push his vision and lost money, he was just an evil corporate loser? And Jobs, what gives you the audacity to imply that if you resumed your position you would make money? Would you be applying your patented Steve’s Way Or The Highway business model again, sir? Oh, that would be delightful!

Obviously, something a lot more complicated transpired – some reconciliation with profit and product (and the Gates infusion is never mentioned) – and Jobs does in fact pull the company back from the brink. A stupid metaphorical scene showing Jobs weeding his garden as Apple is weeding out the bad management, is not enough to explain how Jobs himself turned his attitude around. Which brings us to a third disconnect: When Jobs is young, he is shown as a canny businessman, negotiating like a shark with Markkula; suddenly at Apple, he is Ahab, throwing out profit to focus on designing a better drop-down menu or somesuch; then he’s ousted – suddenly he’s the businessman again at NeXT, so much so that the people who kicked him out for being a blinkered artist want to hire him back for his business savvy! What the hell is going on here? Ctrl+Alt+Delete…

Final insult is aimed at young turks dreaming big: in an orchestra swell, Jobs sits at a studio mic doing a flesh-crawling voiceover: “Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels…” What is this slomo montage in aid of? You don’t have to “create” any inspiration around Jobs – his life is inspirational. He’s not some unknown hero – we’ve all got Steve’s handiwork in our pockets RIGHT NOW. This techno-architect did change the world. Why the self-aggrandizing soliloquy?

“…because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world… are the ones who do.” Well, that’s not exactly true, guy. I’m crazy enough to think I can change the world. Nothing happened. Now I’m just crazy.

Jobs was successful enough at a young age to become quite insular, so maybe he did voice this patently ridiculous platitude at some point, but in the context of this unfocused movie – it just does not compute!

END

Celebrating 40 Years of Stunning Mediocrity.

The American comedy institution SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE continues its tradition of not being funny, by throwing a 40th Anniversary Special and not being funny.

SNL 40 is not only Not Funny, it’s embarrassing, pathetic and painful. Why do these people put themselves through this? Why do they put US through this? Why do audiences keep watching? Excepting a few quality seasons during its formative years, and a handful of good gags and entertaining personalities through its history, SNL has never been a prime cut; longevity seems to be counting more towards SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE’s comedy legacy than actual quality.

SNL 40, broadcast by NBC on Sunday February 15, 2015, touted as “Comedy’s Biggest Stars Come Home,” boasts a studio audience that consists of everybody who is anybody (from Spielberg down), brings together past alumni, past hosts, shows montages of classic sketches and bits, only has time for a few musical numbers, showcases veteran cast re-doing classic bits, and retains an overall sense of undeserved mutual cock-stroking.

I’m not going to outline a laundry list of bits; in this overlong show, the bits themselves are irrelevant. It’s the overarching impact of this drudgerous wankfest; the cognitive dissonance of continually hearing how “good” it is and yet witnessing exactly the opposite. Bits which are poorly written and badly rehearsed, amateur timing from supposed professionals, forced laughter, titters where there should be guffaws, and sometimes, those uncomfortable silences into which your career spirals never to be resurrected again… We view this whole shenanigan with hands over our faces, peeking through the gaps in our fingers.

It reminds me of the recent Monty Python reunion shows at the O2 arena (Jun 2014: Monty Python Live (Almost)); though that tour was a nostalgic success, even an artistic and commercial success, it was a complete failure in its attempt to recapture the timing and verve and urgency of youth. Which is what reunion shows like that – and this SNL one – are all about. Recapturing our youth. (And of course, selling advertising and merch to us in the process.) To the young or uninitiated, these shows will be a success or failure purely depending on NOW. To we who lived our youth through those original times, these shows succeed or fail on how well they recapture it. And let’s face it, they can’t recapture it. They will always only remain “failed attempts.” But it’s not just that metaphysical youth aspect – it’s the fact that when an old person tries to do something they did when they were young, it just doesn’t look right or read as well as it did when in their prime. It’s a terrible, sad fact of life.

Dan Aykroyd cannot possibly recapture the original “flavor” of his Bass-O-Matic sketch from the 70s. But he tries valiantly. And fails. In one of SNL 40’s first sketches, Aykroyd appears with that cheese-eating grin. He looks old. Really old. And fat. Camera pulls back and we see he is holding up a dead fish, a bass…

Silence.

Not even crickets. It’s just an old fat guy holding a fish. Now one would think that after all the lengths they’ve just gone to, of bashing us with the message that SNL is some kind of mythical laugh factory, that seeing the opening to the “classic” Bass-O-Matic sketch would elicit a cheer of recognition from the audience.

Silence. Because the studio audience (not the old stars, but the civilians) are too young to recognize this 35-year-old sketch! It was never one of the best sketches, but at least the performance in its heyday had a young, vital guy delivering his lines fitfully in a Pythonesque lightning strike. Now it’s just an old fat guy holding a fish. (At least with the 2014 Python shows, when Cleese came on with his dead parrot, stating, “I would like to register a complaint!” the audience’s rousing roar of recognition drowned out the pathos. Here, it was just pathos. This was devil’s territory from the get-go.) There was no way Aykroyd could attain the verve and urgency and timing of his youth. His speech was too slow for comfort, he missed putting one of the fish into the blender, he turned on the blender and it froze… His fake smile went on for miles, but the flop sweat on his soul was glistening hot…

You ask, “Why don’t they just pack it up?” Because this is what they do! What else CAN they do? This is how they made their bones. But recapturing the magic is definitely out of the question after a certain time…

Chris Rock gives a prolonged tribute to Eddie Murphy, who has gone the way of the dodo. The last quality thing he did was …um… uh… Then Eddie himself steps out to raucous applause and proceeds to do two minutes of SNL tradition (i.e. see paragraph 1).

The opening dance number with the somehow-talented Jimmy Fallon and ever-talented Justin Timberlake is spiffy. No complaints there; it retains that just-above-mediocre level that SNL sometimes attains on its absolute best nights.

Then the monologue with old hand Steve Martin (long since Not Funny himself, but somehow squeezing some last driplets of humor from his dead soul). During the monologue, Martin is beset on all sides by superstars who want to host, including Tom Hanks, Alec Baldwin, Chris Rock, Peyton Manning, Billy Crystal, Paul McCartney and Paul Simon… and then producer Lorne Michaels makes one of his many missteps, in his quest to attract a younger, more current audience (it’s a well-known fact that Michaels has final say on all decisions, good and bad, and all the artists cringe and bow to his every whim, as per WAYNE’S WORLD): Into this lion’s den of icons, Lorne decides to trot out… Miley Cyrus. Wait– Miley Cyrus?! Yes, that class-less hooker whore cunt Miley Cyrus shares the stage with the above legends who have done something useful with their lives. (No, tell us what you really think of Miley Cyrus, Poffy?) God knows how long she had to burnish Lorne’s perineum with that ball-licking trollop tongue to score this spot over other performers closer to the human race.

McCartney tanked. Introduced by Gollum– I mean, Keith Richards, the Beatle’s minstrel, the songster, the legend – bombed horribly. In the first seconds of Maybe I’m Amazed we could hear his voice is non-existent. And it went downhill. Now I’ve even closed the gaps in my fingers. I don’t want to watch. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to live. At the time of writing, you cannot even find this performance on YouTube – you have to go deep into the TV station’s archives to find it – which means everyone involved (from management to McCartney himself) unanimously agree that it was so bad, it needed the hiring of pro hackers to restrict this video from being posted on YouTube at all costs. They will fail, of course, because YouTube is a behemoth that will eat all of us alive and screaming in the end.

People clapped. You have to clap, right? But now you’re not clapping because you were blown away by the performance or inspired or even mildly impressed (unlike that artistic inspirational perfection of George Harrison and Paul Simon doing Here Comes The Sun and Homeward Bound on SNL in 1976); you’re clapping in pity, that a 75 year old man can kinda sing a Paul McCartney song with a band and everything. Isn’t that special? He gets so excited when they let him out of the home and the boys let him play with them, it’s good for him, great-granddad needs to make some new friends…

The saddest thing is that of McCartney’s tens of thousands of times performing this song, when it hit the atmosphere crackling like a million suns, this SNL 40 abomination (when it surfaces in mainstream social media) is going to be the most codified, the most batted about the internet like cats and tits, commented on and analyzed and critiqued by this generation of twitter twats. Weep for the death of legends. Weep for the death of youth. Weep for Gollum who lost his Precious.

Some apologists might mitigate, Well, a couple of things were good (Billy Crystal asking, “You are Steve Martin, right?; a reasonably enjoyable “digital short” from Sandler and Sandberg, Will Ferrell’s Jeopardy, etc.). Of course a couple of things were good – these are professional comedians, and a stopped clock is right twice a day. But only a couple of things, in a show that is supposedly THE comedy lodestar of the United States? If you were making automobiles or heart monitors, this kind of percentage would be entirely unacceptable.

If SNL 40 had kept it to nanosecond montages of old bits, it could have salvaged a shred of dignity. Instead, each personality dragging their feet onto that supposedly hallowed stage just prolonged an agony that wasn’t going to go away with the constant sucking of Lorne Michaels’ dick.

Here’s to the next 40 years of not being funny.

END

“Pleased to meet you – hope you’ve guessed my name…”

Killer me saucy.

A farcical heist movie, with quirky characters, sharp, dark storyline and dialogue so delicious you can feed your cat with it.

It’s not describing a suave Bond-type; the title of this movie is literal – but easier said than done. THE LADYKILLERS follows confidence man Professor G.H. Dorr (Tom Hanks in the sauciest, most enunciated performance of his career) who assembles a cadre of inept thieves to rob a casino via an underground tunnel dug from an old lady’s rooming house; when the old lady (Irma P. Hall) discovers the heinous activity, she must be disposed of – but which of the five miscreants has the minerals to off her?

THE LADYKILLERS is a remake of the 1955 movie of the same name (starring Alec Guinness), and though it is established through dialogue that Oprah and Montel Williams are contemporary figures in this story, it might as well still be the 1950s. Joel and Ethan Coen write and direct this modern day old-fashioned tale, actually improving on the original in story, tone, characters, humor and directorial finesse.

The tone is set in the opening scenes: an a cappella choir harmonizes a gospel dirge, while a garbage scow dolefully floats its refuse into a clotted bay; dissolve to a Sheriff’s office standing resolutely alone on a deserted and dusty small town street; within, the deputies snore at their desks… Old Marva Munson (Hall) appears, ranting about some neighbor’s boy she wants arrested; the deputies have heard it all before and pay her no mind. Many might fall for Hall’s larger-than-life performance as the movie-stealer, but she’s a reg’lar ole cantankerous black lady trope – no, the best part of this movie is undoubtedly…

Tom Hanks, whose sneaky-twitchy performance as the scheming Professor Goldthwait Higginson Dorr Ph.D is so deliciously eeevil, so mysteriously Southern, so unhinged loquacious that it is something quite against his usual grain. Even Alec Guinness in the original – who had all the prosthetics and overacting to turn his character into something unique – opted to remain quite staid and simply slapstick. Though Hanks’s accolades stretch for miles, here he earns them, his every gesture a cheeky exercise in verbosity, deception and misdirection. When he inquires of the feisty, devout Marva about his “ensemble” hiring the root cellar to indulge in “music that has been composed to the greater glory of God,” his pointy beard veritably leaps off his chin in devilish mendacity.

The Gang consists of: J.K. Simmons as Garth Pancake (explosives), Tzi Ma as The General (tunnel king), Ryan Hurst as Lump (muscle), and Marlon Wayans as Gawain (inside man). The farce is played with broad performances reminiscent of Marx Brothers and Laurel and Hardy vignettes. The Coens’ darkness filters through when the plan goes awry and an unplanned explosion causes Marva to discover the robbery, precipitating Prof. Dorr’s ignominious decision to kill the old lady.

Each of the gang attempts the task, while trying to double-cross each other and remain alive against each others’ double-crossing, the garbage scow unwittingly playing a major role in the comedic atrocities.

The story holds together very satisfyingly and – unlike some of their other films – the Coens find a humorous rhythm to the killing off of their sociopathic characters, rather than sudden shocking deaths that alienate their audience.

As far as feeding the cat, it has the last laugh with Garth Pancake’s dismembered finger, as the Coen Brothers (FARGO, THE BIG LEBOWSKI, O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU?) do that voodoo that they do so well.

And after all the verbal gymnastics by Hanks, the funniest line is from Wayans, when Simmons holds in an attack of Irritable Bowel and explains to the gang, “IBS!” to which Wayans replies, “You be what?”

END

Factory Space.

Mike Judge (OFFICE SPACE, 1999) writes and directs this amusing little tale of Joel (Jason Bateman), owner of an extract factory, who is so dissatisfied with his non-existent wife-sex, he conspires to force her into an affair so that he himself can have a guilt-free affair with one of his hot new interns. To his chagrin, his plan goes horribly right.

Ben Affleck is Joel’s best pal and Bad Influence who convinces Joel to hire a male prostitute (Dustin Milligan) to pose as a pool boy and seduce Joel’s apparently frigid wife (Kristen Wiig).

Meanwhile, all is not well on Joel’s factory floor, as an injured employee (Clifton Collins Jr.) is threatening to sue the company for an accident that nearly castrated him. And the temp whom Joel wants to fool around with (Mila Kunis, still scoring acting jobs based on her looks) is a grifter busy seducing the injured employee to scam him for the insurance money.

EXTRACT, though not a classic like OFFICE SPACE, is still an amusing diversion; well-written and directed, with many funny vignettes: Joel and his buddy trying to get seduction details just right with the airhead gigolo; the gigolo returning time and again to do Joel’s wife “for no charge, dude”; the death metal bandguy handing out flyers to his “gig” (a backyard garage performance); Ben Affleck’s long-haired, bearded barman character whose sage advice on dealing with life problems is suggesting which hard drug best suits each problem…

Judge knows how to fill the screen with quirky characters: the neighbor like a skin rash who won’t take a hint (David Koechner); J.K. Simmons as the floor manager whose disdain for the staff causes him to call them all “Dinkus” and/or “Boy Genius”; and another Simmons as the dastardly Jewish lawyer – the one and only, Gene – overacting as if he’s onstage at a KISS concert.

Judge creates a very watchable comedy – although I don’t think I can ever forgive him for Beavis and Butthead.

END

Loner Class.

UP IN THE AIR is that rare chick-centric movie that doesn’t make me want to vomit or slap someone. It is a story about love, but it’s not a Love Story; it’s a movie about romance, but it’s not a Romantic Movie; it takes us on a bucking and diving flight across the landscape of human emotions and leaves us… up in the air.

Two ships pass in the night. And keep passing.

This movie is refreshing as a bottle of Orange Cream-Mama being shaken and opened in your face. A story about an enigmatic connection between two attractive, intelligent, middle-aged protagonists – not teen hipsters flapping platitudes and doing drugs in tight t-shirts. A movie that doesn’t dumb itself down, nor dumb us down, which surprises even the best of us nihilists.

Ryan Bingham (George Clooney, charm working overtime) and Alex Goran (curvy, sensual Vera Farmiga), two Constant Travelers turned on by each others’ elitism, meet at an airport bar and strike up a steamy, traveling relationship, never daring to get closer than a few cities apart. Clooney and Farmiga work beautifully together, underplaying against each other with an easy chemistry that sits on them like favorite sweatshirts.

Ryan’s job is to fire people from theirs, a kind of Termination consultant brought in by corporations too gutless to face their own employees when letting them go. Much like the impermanence of the job market he sluices through like a shark, Ryan’s life is uncluttered and itinerant – that’s the way he likes it: “All the things you hate about flying are warm reminders I’m home.” He describes the time he spent in his apartment last year as “43 miserable days.”

Alex is a little more mysterious, which will prove to be this movie’s trump card.

Ryan’s boss (Jason Bateman) saddles him with a termination novice, Natalie (Anna Kendrick), whose naiveté about career and love is in stark contrast to Ryan’s and Alex’s mature, intelligent take on life, sex and other mishaps. Natalie is an uncomfortable naif in her own skin, representing the flapping teen demographic and spouting the Chick Flick platitudes to prove it. She details her mundane life plan as something worth aiming for, and Ryan’s brother-in-law to be (Danny McBride, in a poignant, subdued role) details the exact same plan later as if it is a fatalistic dead end.

It is during this opening of hearts that Ryan realizes what he is missing. And here is where the movie comes into its own. We’ve all seen that character arc coming, where a guarded character realizes he is missing “opening up to love” and does the Bride-Running-Through-Streets gag to end up with his soul mate and retch vomit splash-on-shoes. But when Ryan realizes he would like a “co-pilot” to share his life, and tries to do something about it – he is thwarted! The character arced, the redemption awaited, and – as so often happens in real life – it was blown to pieces by the complexities of being human. And that bit of realism was beautiful for its left turn.

Directed and co-written by Jason Reitman, UP IN THE AIR and his other auteur work, THANK YOU FOR SMOKING (2006), are so much more honest and compelling than that girlie crap he merely directed, JUNO (2007, written by Diablo Cody). Movie’s denouement is a welcome shake to the shoulders, heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. Produced by both Reitmans (Jason and father, Ivan), from a novel by Walter Kim, UP IN THE AIR takes the Chick Flick Handbook and tears out the pages on Making Real Men Vomit. Men (and pussy-men alike) can safely watch this whole movie with the person whose purse holds their balls, and not pretend to fall asleep or threaten a brain aneurysm.

Effective cameos from J.K. Simmons as a sacked employee, Zach Galifianakis as a vengeance-crazed sacked employee, and Sam Elliott, whose mustache is now completely out of control.

END

Verging on Virgin-on-Virgin.

I know that JUNO was a big hit with the pedophiles and sweaty-mouthed goons trying to catch a glimpse of sugartit, but I just have to get this off my flat green chest: Sorry Jason Reitman (director) and Diablo Cody (writer), but this movie doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Are you trying to purvey the underage pregnant chick in your movie as a role model, an independent woman, a strong character, or a slut? And when young girls eschew the Pill to follow in the footsteps of their role model Ellen Page (starring as pregnant, underage Juno), who are they gonna blame?

Just one question: How many GUYS are buying this crap? Oh, we know that 16-year-old girls across America are swooning in wide-thighed empowerment. But how many men over 20 hear Juno’s lament, “I need to know that it’s possible that two people can stay happy together forever,” and clasp their breasts in romantic abandon?

Answer: None more virgins.

The splash-reviews squeal, “outrageously offbeat comedy hit” – the only outrage is the hypocrisy of the American public that would scream statutory rape when 16-year-olds are impregnated in real life and then embrace this movie as “outrageously offbeat.”

“Delivers huge laughs and feel-good fun” – after dealing with the reality of ostracism at school, sociological intolerance, stretch-marks and ugly baby belly that never quits, psychological implications of abandoning a child for adoption, morning sickness, mood swings, tender nipples, birth screams, deformed child, premature birthing, unending anxiety – when exactly does the “feel good” kick in?

Page plays Juno with the verve and vivacity that the part requires, and her performance sells the movie; problem is, she’s playing it like a woman twice the age of her character. She knows too much. It’s not that she’s “mature for her age” – her cultural references are from another generation, all delivered with an irritating cynicism and insouciance that makes her sound like Jim Henson’s Tarantino Babies. How many instances of Iggy & The Stooges, Soupy Sales and Dario Argento can she possibly pull out of thin air and remain credible?

Reitman (THANK YOU FOR SMOKING) directs, with his balls in a vice; John Malkovich (yeah, the crazy one) co-produces.

J.K. Simmons and Allison Janney are Juno’s credible, likeable parents, and Michael Cera is the guilty willowy boyfriend, Bleeker (if anyone can imagine his sperm possessing the swimming power to actually impregnate someone), with all the screen presence of an apology.

Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner are Mark and Vanessa Loring, the cutesy couple who wish to adopt Juno’s baby, whom we discover have problems living up to their glossy-magazine aspirations. Bateman, though reined in, gets a few good Bateman-isms in here, and Garner, as always, looks and acts like her high cheekbones haven’t healed yet.

I’ve got nothing against teen pregnancy. I’m against the hypocrisy of pretending like it’s something wrong. If an organism CAN procreate, there is nothing morally, ethically or psychologically wrong with reproducing. JUNO’s makers think they’re doing something new, forgetting that the earliest hominids (and many tribal societies today) mated and reproduced when they were slightly younger than Juno MacGuff – without all the egregious societal hypocrisy.

After pretending to be “outrageously offbeat” JUNO safely falls back on that demonstrably stupid message that someone “meant for you” might have been under your nose all along. This sixteen-year-old with warring hormones and no idea on how to be a woman tells Bleeker, “I love you” – and we’re meant to buy that as sincere. When just yesterday…

… under some cloud of hormonal maladjustment she had tearfully jumped in her car, smooshed on lipstick deliberately, and drove out to actively seduce Mark Loring, then couldn’t understand why she was doing it. And when Mark told her he was leaving his wife, did any inference seep into her small mind that he was inviting her to be a casual squeeze without strings or guilt? All proving that Juno doesn’t know the first thing about relationships, love or sex. So we’re supposed to believe her supposed epiphany when she declares her puppy love for Apology?

Message To Girlies: That wasn’t an epiphany – that’s weighing her options and deciding on Apology. After his smitten blue-balled confession that he thinks she’s “beautiful all the time,” she figures this dorknozzle has his uses as a provider. Wait until they’re both 24, after she’s squeezed out a couple more kids (who aren’t his), and he’s between gas-pumping jobs and they can’t make payments on the trailer….

Movie is made well enough, in that prosaic manner of all American teen comedies, but it is not “original” or “delightful.” Juno spells it out just in case anyone missed the sledgehammer message of why this movie was “different”: “You’re meant to procreate AFTER you fall in love, but with us we procreated first.”

That’s nice, slut.

END