Reviews

There is and will always be something really special about a film that is so unapologetically unique and beautiful it becomes iconic in every frame of its runtime. And for a piece based on a Tezuka manga, it's more than due justice.

Working as a retelling of sorts of Fritz Lang's all-time classic Metropolis, plus the cultural digestion of decades of cinema and Tezuka's works to influence this re-imagining, Metropolis tells the story of a fragmented society, with glimmers of technology tainted by the elegant flair of the hopeful future of the early 20th century, where the sights are monumental and the streets are filled with the propaganda of the Duke Red's hubris filled promise of progress beyond the stars. Such sights have all been brilliantly realized with stunning, but sometimes sloppily experimental panoramics and animated pans, most of the film (funnily enough) fells like an tech demo to what computers will allow animation to do in the future (this being a 2001 film, after all). The world fells eternally engulfed in patterns, skyscrapers and complex steam machinery, making every frame an adventure to explore, nontheless. The world of Metropolis is fascinating to explore. One that, as familiar as it might seem considering the reprise of the themes of Lang's original in cinema since then, still stands out with a smooth and sombre, yet elegant portrayal of Tezuka's timely sensibilities. His iconic artstyle springs to life in a way that it makes me regret not seeing it more often in animated and/or film form anymore, complimented with a cinematography that could make the traditional live-action student film blush and a soundtrack that hasn't aged a day. Seriously. A 1:1 translation of this on live action would not look wrong. It's just that good. In that sense, at least...

Now, sadly, as much as I would sing this film endless praises, it doesn't allow for such. Whereas the beautiful character-driven animation gives our protagonists a lot of personality, there's not a lot of them to go around in the runtime. Its greatest enemy is its execution of the idea of the plot. Although this movie served to me as a lesson as to how effective exposition can be when implied, it still lacked several points in it's stitching, and over did it others. The film's desire to explore the more Tetsuwan-Atom-inspired sociopolitics of the relationship with men and machine (and with how much the main character mirrors the story of Astro Boy) seemed to overshadow the curious appeal of the little characters, specially with a lacking resolution to it. The big grandiose world makes a fantastic job on making the characters feel small and fragile, but the plot doesn't fully succeed in grounding them and making them stand out from the visages. Characters who should be identified as primary, or even secondary don't get a balanced screentime that highlights them, and character arcs, instead of feeling satisfyingly circular, become repetitive in their development. Pacing issues could have also had us see more of the world in more plot-fulfilling ways.

It is unfortunate that it's story and pacing hinder this film's overall potential, but it wasn't enough to disappoint me from experiencing it (one that was quite the hustle to find with subs as well :s). It was one I was greatly looking forward to see, and one that definitely pleased my eyes in earnest. It's a classic that deserves to be revisited, both by aspiring animators who want inspiring visuals to put on their walls, and visionaries who wish to revisit Tezuka's vision of one of the most iconic fictional concepts of all time. One that frames a future that, the closer we get to it, feels nothing more than certain.

(the ost of this film is also a very hearty recommendation. I've had "el bombero" stuck to my head since yesterday. Help.)

(also, forever glory to besto girl Tima. We really should bring back Tezuka's good hairstyle sensibilities)

I would just leave a silly joking review saying that "It's just like Wizard of Oz, except more existentialist, with almost 100% less music numbers and 200% more slav 70's Jason Statham", but that would be a disservice to my enjoyment of this film.

As my first exposure to the cinema of Tarkovsky, it's an interesting journey to get used to. The ominous silences, the long static camera, the reflective feel of it all... Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of those kinds of things, but for most of the run time, it really felt like this film was going nowhere, with the expectation of a retro take on the wonders of the unknown brought by the vastness of space on a meteorite. At most, I was expecting this to be like an episode of The Twilight Zone, away from the silly sins of our modern perception of the sci-fi genre due to the date and birthplace (1979, Soviet Union).

But much like A Clockwork Orange, it's sci-fi in name only, using the genre's tendency to displace the human being on a situation of alienation as a mere vessel to detach the characters from any sense of normalcy and logic, no more than that. It felt as if the film was playing me a trick, as if it wasn't as simple as it seemed, as if it demanded me to look closer, to review what I had experienced so far. And I wasn't wrong to do so. Beneath it's "boring silence" lies a sombre and quiet journey to one of the most mystifying places ever committed to film, The Zone, a place where your wildest dreams come true. To guide you through it is The Stalker, a broken man with a broken life left with only a sense of selflessness and purpose, to guide the souls of the miserable men of the world into the alien land of The Zone as a guide of sorts, a man that, instead of displaying the wisdom of an elder, feels at times like a virgin to The Zone, no more than the people he brings in, implying the place is as much of a mystery to him as to anyone else. He's not a Miyagi type of character, but rather the perspective of a survivor, a man no more human that his guests. But one that, at times, seems to reflect the sentience of The Zone, to mirror its purpose, using him as a vessel for metaphors and abstract visions.

What ultimately is The Zone, then? Everyone is eternally engulfed by this film's main location, so I'm more than compelled to give my own take on it, due to its subjective nature, adding to the legacy of thoughts this film has left behind since it's release. It isn't a land of aliens, or surrealist visages, it's not a tourist attraction, or a gateway to another world. It's the resting place of the damned, of which only those fully in despair would take the hike to reach it, let alone learn about it. It's a living metaphor for the concept of inner silence, the inspiration the Writer yearned, but not one provided by some unspoken entity from outer space, but one born from the detachment of one self, an answer we all know but refuse to listen to, stubbornly. It's merely a field, surrounded by mental caverns and abandoned structures that merge with the blooming grounds, places that were seemingly once manned, but were abandoned, existing only as a warning of the dangers of it, how men of stronger poise might have fallen for their surrender to hubris or destructive weaponry. There are tanks and guns, and despite there being nothing to shoot, they all lay inert, destroyed somehow by a force greater than gunpowder. A force only relatable to the human spirit, no lesser than a nuke. It's a place as real as any dream we've had. It contrasts with the dead colours of the real world, "so unutterably boring, ruled by cast-iron laws", a reality that drowns the human being to a useful tool of a inertia-driven society, the colourful soul that we all bear, The Zone then almost painting the image of the truth found within, a escape of the imprisoning mundanity that creates doubt about our purpose. Dead within it, as the camera pans through submerged rubbish of travels past, we can imagine The Zone replenishing its flower beds as noted by The Stalker as the sepia fades away, burying old doubts and rejoicing in the fulfilment of its new visitors, placing a brand, vast new world ready to welcome them, almost like a theatre performer cleaning the wounds of a previous tragedy, ready for the next play. It reflects those who visit it, almost akin to the TARDIS in Doctor Who.

The Zone is the living embodiment of human self reflection, and therefore, one of its greatest cinematic depictions.

Personally, I was fascinated by this experience. The simplicity of its craft tricked me into thinking this film was way older than it actually is (Star Wars was already out then, which is fascinating to consider), and its way of performing exposition is pretty exquisite, delivering dialogues that work in the supposition of a prior understanding, only to be established later. It does slip a little bit into "le random" territory sometimes, specially at the end, but it gets the point across, and that final scene, with them sitting at the puddle, is still one of the most harrowingly human images committed to fiction. What a surprisingly good film.

All in all, Stalker is not a film about funky costumes, paper mache sets, laser guns, people in lizard costumes, or the Earth ceasing to spin, but rather is a cinematic experience of self-reflection, of silence, of stale doubt led by a very relatable feeling of personal emptiness pleasured only by the mysticism of the unknown. It's a hard, patient watch, and it will probably not be a hearty recommendation for a Netflix-and-chill (chances are you'll be making out while the film is still in sepia), but it is a thing of beauty for those who enjoy cinema. One that, like any art form, becomes each artist's personal Zone. So who are we, the audience, then? A Writer, a Scientist, or a Stalker?

Throughout the whole movie, Sub Zero's mask was somehow perfectly misaligned, not quite fitted into his nose. It was a small detail, but I feel like that one perk encapsulates the "director's vision". If such a simple thing was overlooked, imagine what the rest of the movie looks like...

I know asking for longer movies is seen as parody since Zack Snyder's Justice League (which now has ": Justice is Gray" in the name for some reason), but out of all movies that have had fans semi-jokingly asking for them, this one desperately needed more time. It is as painfully Hollywood as it gets. Cramming up too much into its 1h:50 run time really hurt the results, specially since it tries to eat more than it can chew. It is a film that, ironically enough, could have beneffited more from having a tighter roster and less characters to work with, leaving bigger rosters and secondary character building for potential sequels. Regardless, not having Liu Kang as the protagonist (again) was a pretty lame mistake.

I previously mocked the "director's vision" since I've seen some interviews he's made about this film. He purposely created the protagonist, Cole, to deny Johnny Cage the spotlight, arguing "diversity reasons", which right of the bat told me two things: 1. A stupid argument, given that Liu Kang exists, and 2. He takes his "vision" seriously, which is hysterical given the end results. Not only were Cole and Liu Kang miserable in portrayal and writing, but many pre-release materials where hyping the combat (sorry, kombat...) as a highlight of the show. Can't really review the latter, as the generic industry editing makes the coreography almost indigestable. And what a shame. Sub Zero and Scorpion were credited as the showstoppers, as the actor's skills were hyped as "too fast and too much", despite the characters having very little screen-time. The pretentious nature of the director's promotion was already a red herring. Shame there wasn't any verve to back it up.

I didn't hate it, but it's irritating how Hollywood continuously misunderstands how to treat creative properties. I get that calling things "cookie cutter" is very cliche, but can I just say... the actual cookie cutter Hollywood has not only is dreadful, but it frequently fails and flops. I think it's time the industry chooses another template. One that is, at least, humanly bearable.

I find myself unable to come up with a sufficient review for this series, as words are not enough to describe the madness and brilliance of this masterpiece. It's existence is purely subjective, so my perspective on it is merely a disservice to its experience. Do yourself a favour and watch this anime, at least once in your life.

The PS2 videogame is so much of an improvement it gives it masterpiece status, which only has ever been said about once or twice about a videogame based on a film. That along is merit and a half.

Gaspar Noé is a sick nihilist, and the fact that he definitely embraces that fact with pride makes the delivery of his work all the more sensual in its inadequacy. Anything he does is a one-viewing guilty pleasure, and Irreversible is the guiltiest of them all (on account of it being his most (in)famous film).

I'm always a weakling for films that challenge the constructs of the cinematic experience. Not talking about plots or characters, although they can definitely be mutual. No. It's the films that take you for a ride, that break the boundaries of the orthodox way of presenting an idea or a plot, something Gaspar Noé has proven to always try, seasoning it with a generous spoonful of nihilism and human despair. At the center of his weird cinematic universe (the movie opens with a monologue from a character from another Gaspar film, The Butcher) lies Irreversible, a tragedy told in reverse.

It is unfortunate that its fame as the raw depiction of the brutal r*pe of its main character has unfortunately tainted its perception in the public eye, in what it's otherwise one of the most fascinating and unique depictions of the concepts of revenge and inevitability, as we see the actions first and the consequences later, supported by its maddening sense of nausea provided by a camera manned by a heavily dosed Gaspar, as we descend into the silent madness of the late streets of France. There were genuinely surprising sequences within Irreversible that display a mastery of cinematography, as I kinda was expecting it to be more ratchet, what with its independent status and all that, but instead melodically puts you in the position that you need to be into, in every given scene. It is, even a respectful portrayal of a r*pe scene in such a way. Unfaced, unerotic, raw and harrowing, static, as if time itself was stopped in its horror, never stepping away for gratuitousness. There were definitely moments where the spoken plot and the later scenes feel unimportant and boring, but I guess it makes sense, since we see the climax of the story right at the beginning. It's functional in its purpose, but it sometimes comes off as "too alternative", making some of its steps in uniqueness hurdle its rewatchability.

(I would be lying if I said that it isn't an unpleasant film. I doubt I'll give it a second viewing, and I advise anyone (especially those suffering from vertigo and epilepsy) to thread on this film with care. It's not an adventure for the uninitiated/nonconsenting, and watching it it's definitely equivalent to consenting to getting punched in the face, so if you decide to watch it, you can't really complain, as you've been warned). I It is recommendable for anyone deeply interested in cinema, as it is a trip from start to end, and it's an example of audiovisual arts taking themselves seriously as the means of human creativity.

Speaking of audiovisual, the big surprise is definitely Thomas Bangalter, who delivers a unique, Oscar worthy soundtrack, unveiling a record both analogous to the catchy commercial style of his role as one half of Daft Punk, and posing as a subversive, ear melting symphony of sensory nausea that compliments the already unwatchable visuals. Some of the songs from the soundtrack are some of my personal favorite works from him, and that's saying something considering Homework exists...

Le temps detruit tout. It really does.

Proof that prominently featuring Blue Monday in your film's soundtrack/trailers should be considered a red herring and proof that the makers of such production don't know how the hell the 80's/retro aesthetic works.

This film, for all that it lasted, should have been a boring classical music concert, and, even though it doesn't fully reaches Pink Floyd/Yes levels of live concerto, its rock & roll enough to warrant a second viewing.

Rarely will you find a piece of media that can be accurately summarized or expressed through musical poetry. Don't expect me to do so, though. I'm not that epic. But I wish I could.

Luther is one of the few cinematic experiences that truly understands the human experience in a way that can portray the morally nebulous and the blind destructive drive of love and passion as a relatable concept rather than a distant mockery for those with sanity. Detective shows/cop dramas are not afraid to get edgy from time to time, portraying the negative effects of the job and the questionable aspects of it's fray, but few of them can challenge the bleak beauty of Luther.

It is, so far, the most visceral portrayal of an anti-hero. A man so purely moral that his actions often bleed into the unacceptable, willing to reach any extreme to protect those who he loves, almost making his civic legal duties a work of inertia. It almost sidelines the detective work more as a consequence of obsession and a catalyst of chaos, focusing more on the characterization than on the cases, which becomes the show's greatest strength. It serves the audience the simplest of plots, subsequently tangling it through character driven choices, the simplest of situations can be escalated so greatly by the complex psyche of the characters, something only those with great understanding of cinema can achieve without fault.

My absolute favourite thing about it it's is cinematic presentation. Although Luther doesn't get's super crazy with it, in no way could I ask for more. It's tightly perfected to serve its narrative without falling into pretentiousness. The cinematography is unusual but readable, the performances are unparalleled (Idris Elba and Ruth Wilson are underrated as hell) and truly elevate an already brilliantly directed vision to instant classic territory, and the soundtrack, carefully curated to not be distracting, creates that sense of poetry as described above, masterfully recontextualizing the poetry and musical intent of its soundtrack to fit into the vibe of the show. Its unapologetical lust of music makes its soundtrack symbiotic with its literature, rather than a pop culture aperitive.

Despite its laurels, hiccups in later seasons gate it from a 10/10, and although it wasn't game-breaking for me, I can see why it would for others. Nonetheless, it stands proud as one of the best detective dramas to be created, exuding in creativity and lovingly daring in its humanity.

There's a fun pattern I've noticed. Media that includes Massive Attack in its soundtrack tends to be extremely good. Luther, choosing Paradise Circus as its opening title is genius, as if the song had been composed exactly for the show, and perpetuates that pattern I've noticed. But it goes without saying. Always trust a director with good taste in music.

Wandavision is, so far, one of the most interesting experiences I've had this year. The long awaited primer Marvel TV show to show the MCU's new colors, debuts with a very solid presence, as it flaunts its unique concept with contagious confidence. The series follows the eponimous Wanda Maximoff and Vision, as their traumatic runaway lives finds them starring in what appears to be a series of american sitcoms. I can't say for certain if this is the first show to ever execute the idea of theming every episode around an era of television history, cronologically going forwards in every episode, as the black & white becomes technicolor, and the clothing goes from conservatist to bombastically hippie. But if it is the very first incarnation of such an idea, then kudos to Marvel and the showrunners for creating such an interesting concept.

Still, for as exciting as it was to wait for every new episode, WandaVision still resulted in a mixed result. As the series engages in its first, second, and former third acts, it maintains its dramatic momentum, with its unique aesthetic, era-inspired comedy, building up on the tension of the mistery surrounding the show. The performances are praise worthy, as the choice of new and returning characters (with some fun casting surprises), having the spotlight shine on Olsen's and Bettanny's as they play this characters as never before, clearly having as much as fun as possible in the process. It its in its latter third act, however, where things fall apart, quite dramatically, in fact, as the series surrenders much of its vision (pun intended) to tap into its greater picture. The final episodes felt rushed and unfinished, grasping for straws not only as it transitions back into the actual MCU, but as it tries to needlessly subvert the audiences expectations, even daring to throw away its own setup.

And an interesting side note: the special effects fall extremely short, sometimes displaying gilmpses of the cringeworthy creative/cinematgraphic CGI practices of the CW shows. At first, I gave the show some slack given the thight budgets of episodic formats, but as of today, the first episode of Falcon & Winter Soldier was released, effectively aging WandaVisions effects by a decade. Marvel seems to be willing to make the investments towards making this shows have film-like quality in its special effects, given the exciting first part of today's Falcon episode. They seem to have denied WandaVision such commodities, for some reason, as its effects look on par with Age Of Ultron, a movie that itself looked worse than its predecesor.

At its worst, WandaVision is an future MCU commercial, less subtle than the actual timely mockmercials present in every themed epìsode, as its sequelitis slips through the cracks, promising future productions instead of present cohesiveness. At its best, however, WandaVision shows glimpses of its own independant strenght, and it makes me wish it dared to stand prouder on the merit of its unique concept as a more standalone production. Of course, still connected with the wider universe, but more commited to its own arc, daring to fully embrace its love for television. Cuz', honestly, don't we all love it, too?

To think that a Star Wars film could represent some of the most negative aspects of modern cinema, modern pop culture, fandom, and even society, is the sad reality we live in. Once an institution of imagination, technological achievement and effective storytelling simplicity, The Last Jedi becomes the antithesis of what Star Wars once stood for, becoming an icon of one of the most cancerous social mentalities of our times, and its damage, not only to the entertainment industry, but to the cult of fiction (and even the making of such) should not be understated.

It's divisive in a way that it shouldn't, its perplexing in its creative decisions (like infamously firing the director and main creative force half way through the trilogy. Mozel tov, Kathleen Kennedy), and its experimental in extremely unappropiate ways, even going as far as to insult any member of the audience that disagreed to the genius, as if us mere mortals weren't deserving of such a masterpiece. An honor it shouldn't proudly boast of, since its juvenile, "first draft" pimples could be smelled from the back seat of the theater. It gets an extra star for some token efforts in terms of art direction, but that ain't saying much. It isn't enough to consider it "style over substance", even. That's the level of tokenism it executes. Then again, Disney's/Lucasfilm's history of corporate racism and performative activism is evidence enough of their tendencies of tokenism, so that's that. Speaking of which, it makes you feel sorry for the cast, who had to smile through the fallout, in what once was the dream of any aspiring actor, now just a regretful stain in their résumé.

This "movie" hasn't faded into the oblivion of the public consciousness solely on account of its infamous legacy since, as far as its cinematic merits go, its as mediocre as you would expect from a cashgrab sequel, Amazing Spider-Man 2 style, which is not exactly what you paid for in the ticket booth. Its painfully mediocre to the point of frustration (since a greater evil wouldn't be this damaging), barely holding a candle to the likes of Attack of the Clones. At least that one had a decent lightsaber battle, something TLJ couldn't even bother to attempt. Its bland, it undermines the previous movie and its predecessors, it tarnishes its legacy, and it sent pop culture into an obscurantism of sorts. It's fair to deem it "one of the worst sequels of all time", as it truly is an excercise of caution for any aspiring filmmaker, writer, and artist who honestly cares about the craft.

Not even the memes can save this one. Please, no one top this one.