“And I will terrorize you until—wait, stop laughing–“

Justice, Tween Dream Style.

Can a demon really be scary if it has a name and speaks English? And sounds like Willem Dafoe? I mean, really, if a demon terrorized me with that voice that sounds like he’s biting a teacup in half, first thing I’d do is laugh. Then – maybe terrorized.

I’ve always said, entities that you cannot communicate with are infinitely scarier. Think: lion. Though it is of this world, and built with the same DNA as we cucumbers, there is no way you can “reason” your way out of being destroyed by a lion, in a manner much more horrific than being dragged to hell. You will watch your own intestines explode out of your midriff as it swipes its claws across your torso, and you will be conscious as you watch your innards being consumed, while falling into circulatory shock as your blood finds no pressure to pump against, due to your opened arteries. See? Miles more terrifying than a demon with glowing eyes, whose body type is quite humanoid except for the spikes on his back, using an American vernacular with a propensity for laughing at your discomfiture in all the right places, i.e. we are familiar with his speech patterns and with the guffawing villain trope, so the demon is not presenting anything “alien” to our senses; also, he corrects you in the pronunciation of his name, so there’s some kind of ego there as well, which means, if you can exploit those weaknesses, you’re home free…

So movies like DEATH NOTE lose me from the outset, with that baseline concept of making a supposedly otherworldly being quite worldly and tangible and comprehensible. But onward…

The demon is Ryuk (pronounced “Ree-yook” as per Ryuk himself, voiced by Dafoe), and he appears to womanly college boy Light Turner (Nat Wollf), after bequeathing him a book, in which you can write someone’s name and the manner of their death, and it will come to pass. What Light does with this power is the interesting progression of the story; how he first keeps it straightforward and small – killing his bullies at school, then the murderer of his mother – then progressing to worldwide vigilante, honored, feared and maligned around the globe. With a tenacious detective on his trail…

Mia (Margaret Qualley, Andie MacDowell’s daughter) is the hot college chick whom Light brings into his confidence, because – hot college chick. Mia being one of the cool crowd, the only way Light can cross her panty line is to show her how the Death Note works (because cool chicks love bad guys). Whereupon they join forces and vow to “change the world” by killing dictators and renowned criminals, in a swirling montage of creative deaths, and creative angles of them having sex without us seeing anything.

Light and Mia adopt a Japanese vigilante name, Kira (“justice”), and make their victims scrawl it near their final resting places, and before they can have censored sex a second time, their vigilante movement has attained worldwide acclaim, with copycat vigilantes adorning their kills with “Kira” graffiti, muddying the waters for all the police trying to track the original vigilantes.

Mia finds a website where people post names of people they want killed, and Light rightfully retorts they can’t kill people based on social media whining. And Mia plots to take the book for herself…

A mysterious man named L (LaKeith Stanfield, GET OUT) and his liege Watari (Paul Nakauchi) work with the police to track Kira, bringing a higher level of acting to this teen screamer. Looks a little incongruous, especially when non-binary mediocre actor Wollf faces off with the intense Stanfield. Light’s detective father (Shea Whigham) has no clue, although gives a good performance in a “No Small Roles” manner.

Since it has been ascertained Kira needs to see their victim’s faces to kill them, L wears a constant scarf around his lower face. And I cannot understand his reasoning in removing the scarf after he discovers who Kira is. Isn’t this the exact time you should wear the scarf?

From a manga magazine called Shonen Jump, the story (by Tsugumi Ôba and Takeshi Obata) is an intriguing fantasy, so I question the decision to have the demon portrayed in a manner that is regarded as “scary. If the story holds up well, making the demon frightening only detracts from the tale, because after our heroes are initially startled by Ryuk (where Light literally screams like a girl), they are passé about his appearances, and if no one else can see him, well, what’s the point of being all spiky and black and heavy metal trousers? The heavy cost of the demon-suit (worn by Jason Liles) could have been spared, and it would have served the same story purpose had Ryuk been represented as a dimly-lit guy in a trenchcoat – or maybe even just Willem Dafoe! Pretty scary even without special effects!

Apparently, the characters do not follow the traits of the source material. Paulina Florast writes: “Light is supposed to be super smart and charming not the stereotypical white emo character.” And Addcond5: “L shouldn’t be hosting speeches, he’s antisocial and awkward, that’s like his whole character, he would never make a speech.”

Adding to the incongruity, a contrived chase sequence rips out of nowhere, complete with 80’s synthesizer soundtrack and L sliding across cars like Riggs in LETHAL WEAPON.

In one respect DEATH NOTE is a commentary on trying to do the right thing and not being able to, no matter your moral compass. In another respect – look at that goofy demon! Movie makes good use of source music (opening with Australian Crawl’s Reckless and INXS’s Don’t Change – some Aussie nostalgia for me! – and ending on a powerfully contextual The Power Of Love by Air Supply), and there are many plot twists to keep you seat-edged until the final frames. On the other hand, that demon costume is incongruous to the point of distraction, robbing the good performances of their gravitas and making the mediocre performances look laughable.

In the end, movie is posing the question: Who would YOU write in the book (besides the obvious Justin Beiber, Dumbo Donald and Vanilla Ice)?

END

A film that takes us somewhere, yet goes nowhere.

Quentin Tarantino once again brazenly rewrites history in his scintillating homage to La La Land of the 1960s, ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD.

Hollywood 1969. Two tales intertwine – one, a tale of an actor and his stuntman, hustling for work in a business that has moved past their cowboy attitudes and advancing ages; the other, a tale of a rising young starlet going somewhere, while her throughline goes nowhere.

And that’s the small gripe I have with this meticulously made film: a little less homage, a little more story.

Writer-director Tarantino paints two fictional characters from scratch and portrays one real life character; the fictional pair are actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stuntman bro Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt, as leathery and runneled as Tommy Lee Jones), while the historical character is Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), who is connected to real life acquaintances that would scar history forever – the Manson Family (portrayed as peripheral characters, including a lookalike who could be a young Liam Neeson or, I’m guessing, Charlie Manson).

Tarantino also re-dresses Hollywood the town (either in CGI, practical effects or a combo of both) in the glitter gown it wore in the ‘60s, from the shop facades on Hollywood Boulevard, to the car models from that era, down to the street signs, bus shelters and billboards. And credit where it’s due – that effort in itself is a stunning achievement!

However, Tarantino seems to have lost his throughline in chasing his art. Firstly, only movie-philes would know or care that he has brought 1960’s Hollywood to life so fastidiously; secondly, he spends way too much time with eyes on Sharon Tate. Movie might have benefitted had Tarantino simply followed the two buddies (with their own compelling narratives), because by inserting Tate and rewriting her as a survivor of the “Tate Murders,” her appearance in the film is meaningless to any cinemagoer with no knowledge of her real history (victim to the Manson Family, that murdered five people in Roman Polanski’s Los Angeles home in 1969), and she ultimately becomes nothing but a red herring to those who do know the history. Tate happens to be Rick Dalton’s neighbor, therefore a motivating subplot for actor Dalton, who craves to make contact with Tate’s director husband, Polanski. After the film’s climax (in which Tate is not involved), she appears as a concerned neighbor, in the smallest of comedic payoffs.

That being said, allow me to commend IN HOLLYWOOD for its sudden, savage climax – one of the most satisfying payoffs in cinematic history, with Brad Pitt pulling out his big dick for the type of studied gore-ballet that Tarantino is renowned for. The crafted gutshock blunt blow to our skulls doesn’t get any better. It’s Hero Time.

Most women have to be held back when confronted with The Pitt.

Like the two films that inspired its name (ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST and ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA, both directed by one of Quentin’s heroes – Sergio Leone), ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD is a tale about a few connected characters set against the backdrop of a kaleidoscopic cultural sprawl. Definitely a passion project for Quentin (who admits 1969 holds a rose-colored grip on his youth), movie is a pastiche wrapped in a homage and doused liberally with roman a clef, packed with Easter eggs, classic rock, in-jokes, and parts for all his brahs.

There’s ice-cool Timothy Olyphant and ice-veined Michael Madsen as cowboys, Kurt Russell as a producer (and narrator), stuntwoman Zoe Bell as his wife; there’s even Bruce’s daughter Rumer Willis and Kevin Smith’s daughter Harley Quinn, as Manson cultists. Leo, of course, did DJANGO, and even Pitt has crossed paths with Tarantino before… remember Floyd the stoner in the Tarantino-penned TRUE ROMANCE? “Don’t conden-send me, man! Fucken kill you, man!…”

Al Pacino is producer Marvin Schwarz, who steers Dalton toward spaghetti westerns out-of-country, to build an overseas cachet and return a hero (a real life gambit that rocketed none other than Clint Eastwood to stardom); Margaret Qualley is Pussycat, a free spirit who tempts Booth to the cult; Bruce Dern is old George Spahn, who allows the Manson Family to camp at his Spahn Movie Ranch (which features in the other prime scene of the movie – Booth visiting the eerily stagnant Ranch and talking his way through the ominous female hippies to visit old George, who may be… dead? prisoner? worse?…)

Martial artist Mike Moh plays Bruce Lee (during his Kato period in THE GREEN HORNET), comparing dick size with Cliff Booth on the set of a movie. Booth ends up getting kicked off the set for beating up Lee. Now that’s just wrong. No matter how funny or artistic license the scene is – no one beats up Bruce Lee!

Rare picture of Bruce Lee at one of his Fight Club meets.

The primo performance in this movie is Leo. His Dalton looks haggard, old, he’s coughing, smoking, clearing his throat, he has a slight stutter (which is beautifully played by DiCaprio, not as a full-blown “b-b-b-but” type of impediment, but an occasional slight hesitation when he is talking to people in uncomfortable situations), his usually pretty eyes are bloodshot with lack of sleep, but also with the knowledge that every hour he rests is one less hour he is spending trying to stay on top of a profession which is leaving him in its wake. Though he’s starred in his share of TV serials, his confidence as a viable leading man is waning, because he cannot get the breaks to transition to the big screen, (like Steve McQueen and other contemporaries).

On the cusp of a new decade, Dalton feels aged and used up, realizing the movie industry is No Country for Old Men. And we are in the fibers of his being and suffering with his soul through his existential crisis. And I personally feel every bladed inch of his anxiety; that character – is ME. And I’m guessing a lot of YOU as well…

His crisis is brought to a head when he meets a precocious little girl on set (an outstanding performance by young Julia Butters, who is reading a book where the hero feels the world has moved on without him. Dalton confesses “I’m more useless every day,” and breaks down in tears in front of her.

Tarantino is transmitting directly into my darkest limbic fluids, that place where hope goes to die, my sunken place…

While Dalton is Acting The Shit out of his angst, Pitt’s Booth – also in the autumn of his career – comes across as still vital and more in touch with his previous power. He seems happy to flit from one odd job to the next, always the faithful second banana to Dalton, his stuntman skills serving him well in street fights, drifting, and taking life on the chin; in essence, DiCaprio has the meatier role, while Pitt has the meat.

“I’m having such a good time doing nothing in this movie.”

The Rolling Stones’ Out Of Time drives us into the third act, and I found myself wondering why I was not gripped around the throat yet, which is the usual modus operandi for Tarantino films at this late stage. Also, besides Dalton and Cobb starting a new life chapter, eyes are back on Tate, and no one will fault me for thinking the Stones song is a harbinger of her doom, “Baby baby baby – you’re out of time…” (hinting that her time is up soon?). Not only that, Russell’s narration describes the people who would be the real life Manson victims moving in next door with Tate – but in this movie, they do NOT meet a tragic end, and are therefore useless to this movie’s plot, yet the narration continues this red herring throughline! Looking back on it, I’m actually getting annoyed. Technicians and actors spent days, weeks on these scenes; editors, lighting, costumes, et al, only to have this thread completely dropped when the Manson Family – led by the real life character “Tex” (Austin Butler) – skulked up Cielo Drive to start the mayhem. And Tarantino cut out all Tim Roth’s scenes for that non sequitur garbage?!

Maybe Tarantino is right, when he says he only has 10 films in him. In this penultimate one, he is finding it hard to clear his own high bar; his own legacy of leaving us breathless for weeks, months, years after viewing his iconoclastic product. Besides the compelling performance from Leo and the mantastic muscle of Pitt, this film wasted more time meandering up and down the Hollywood Hills than idiot tourists searching for the Hollywood sign.

ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD, “The 9^th Film from Quentin Tarantino,” definitely ends with a bang not a whimper, which flavors our exit libido, however, do we allow Quentin to skate on the body of the film being “merely great,” or do we insist on nothing less than gripping from film start to final frame?

We await Quentin’s 10^th, insisting on, and anticipating, the latter…

END