Pops Saw a Movie: DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE

 Maybe I shouldn’t write a review of DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE, as I am absolutely not the target audience. I don’t like anti-heroes (being good guys who use the tactics and tools of bad guys). Even a comic book geek like myself is suffering superhero fatigue (and I’m beyond tired of the kind of wink-wink, piss-taking superhero movies that seem to now be the norm). And perhaps most importantly, I absolutely detest the era of superhero comics from which this movie takes its inspiration, being the ultra-dark 1990s, an overblown, Image over substance, hyper-kinetic, trench-coated period that actually made me stop buying comics. Oh, also, not really a fan of Ryan Reynolds. 

However. 

So many of of my friends had asked me if I was going to see this, and for a hot second, I actually considered hitting the multiplex for D&W (despite only having seen the previous two DEADPOOL films on the tee-vee, and the fact that I’ve only seen one new movie in the theater in the past three years, being THE BATMAN, which, meh), but quickly decided I couldn’t deal with being stuck in a chair with this film for over two hours. Still, I was curious enough that when I saw it dropped on PLEX (the Napster of movies) this past week, I dove in. 

And I pretty much hated it. D&W fails for me on every level, comedically, as a superhero movie, and emotionally. 

Comedically: I actually had a notebook next to me so I could keep track of my actual laughs during the movie, and the final tally was Two: One came 33 minutes in, when we get to see Wolverine at his actual comic book height (he’s very short). The other hit a half hour later, when Dogpool won’t stop licking Deadpool’s face. That’s it. Two laughs. Maybe a few smirks throughout the rest of the film, but the relentless spray of snark and meta jokes and fourth wall breaks and, mostly, about a hundred dick, balls, and ass jokes (seriously, this movie is so obsessed with goodies, bits, and butts that it makes Joel Schumacher’s Batman movies look like conversion therapy videos) just felt like I was being pelted with urine-soaked spitballs for 128 minutes. 

Dramatically: I mean, “dramatically” in superhero context. So, after Disney+’s LOKI series spent two seasons working to fix the MCU’s multiverse timelines, bringing its lead character from villain to sacrificial hero, with a dramatic, emotional climax, this movie… is about fixing the MCU’s multiverse timelines, right down to the bit about the heroes wanting to save their loved ones in their own branched realities (where was the meta joke about this plot basically being the same as that show’s?). I’m not sure what’s more aggravating, the ongoing convolution of the Marvel Universe, or the attempts to fix it (didn’t Kevin Feige ever hear of CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS? Google it, non-nerds). And, as much as I disliked LOGAN (and I did!), I have to agree with that film’s director and writer that DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE pretty much renders any emotional impact of that movie’s climax moot. And speaking of death meaning nothing in the MCU, what’s the point of endless (ENDLESS!!) CGI fights to the death with characters who can’t die? 

I didn’t even get any nostalgic jollies out of this film because (as I so subtly alluded to up there), I have almost zero affinity for (and, in some cases, knowledge of) most of these characters. I liked the X-Men in the ‘80s as much as anyone, but Wolverine was never really my jam. And he’s probably my favorite character in the film! I never read a Deadpool comic, never read a single thing with Gambit in it (what a stupid character), don’t really care about Blade, Elektra was a great part of Frank Miller’s DAREDEVIL run, but she shoulda’ stayed dead, and most of the other cameos just didn’t land with me. As always, your mileage may vary. 

Emotionally: I was actually stunned at how much syrup was poured on the climax of the film. I kept thinking that all the gushing buddy film love slung between the titular heroes was going to revert to the antagonistic back and forth that defined the first two acts of the movie, but no! These dudes now love each other, and pretty much tell say so for the last twenty minutes of the film! The movie even ends with a nostalgic, credit-roll montage of the actors’ histories making Marvel movies for 20th Century Fox, set to—I shit you not— Green Day’s never-not-grating, and utterly played out “Good Riddance [Time of Your Life]”…. UNIRONICALLY!!! 

Phew. Anyway. So, yeah, the movie’s not for me. But even putting aside my subjective dislike of the source material and this particular kind of superhero movie, I don’t think DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE is a good movie. It’s a LOT of movie, however, and, like the overdrawn, needlessly-detailed, hyper-violent comic books of the 1990s that dazzled young fans with style over substance, I guess that’s enough for a lot of people.

Pops Watched TV and Saw a Movie: DAHMER and BLONDE

 I couldn’t binge DAHMER: MONSTER: THE JEFFREY DAHMER STORY (or whatever) because it was just too much to stomach (no pun intended) more than an hour at a time, so it took me over a week to finish. I wasn’t even going to say anything about it until I watched BLONDE last night and decided to contrast these very different dramatizations of real life tragic figures. 

DAHMER is undeniably a riveting watch, but the many protestations over its humanization of the serial killer are not without merit. Evan Peters is way too likeable an actor to not make you feel some sort of empathy for Dahmer as her struggles with his compulsions. As with every “Based on a True Story” film or TV show, I spend a lot of time wondering what’s real and what’s not. I don’t demand 100% adherence to the facts, I understand the demands of creating dramatic fiction, and these days, all it takes is some quick Googling to separate the apocryphal from the factual. DAHMER mostly sticks to the facts, the biggest creative license being merging a number of the killer’s neighbors into one person, and moving her into the apartment next door. But what fascinates me most about this series isn’t the show itself but our collective fascination with true crime. What is it that draws us into being willing to watch ten hours dedicated to the most horrific, gruesome human behavior we can imagine? Why do we love this shit? I’d watch a ten-part series parsing that sociological phenomenon. 

Meanwhile, on the same platform, BLONDE is being marketed as a simple biopic of Marilyn Monroe, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Instead based on Joyce Carol Oates’ 2000 novel, it’s a fictionalized, highly impressionistic overview of the icon’s mental instability and lifetime of various forms of abuse, presented with far more style than substance. The movie jumps from point to point, leaving exposition as to how Norma Jeane / Marilyn came to be involved with the various men in her life mostly cursory. The movie seems to be far more concerned with recreating iconic images of Monroe than fleshing out a tragic life beyond “unhappy childhood - bad relationships - extreme insecurity - oh, and pills and booze.” But unlike DAHMER, BLONDE feels zero compunction about creating some stories out of whole cloth (which will no doubt lead to even more public confusion among those who treat films like this as gospel). The one saving grace of the movie is Ana de Armas’ magnetic performance (although the decision to have her employ “Marilyn’s” breathy girly voice even in her private life is an odd one). Ironically, the timing of this film kind of works against it, as de Armas is currently Hollywood’s “It Girl,” making it hard to forget that it’s her under the wig and veneers. Ultimately, though, 2011’s MY WEEK WITH MARILYN (starring Michelle Williams) is a far more insightful and personal examination of the actual human being.

Originally posted on social media, Oct. 3, 2022.

Pops Saw a Movie: APARTMENT 7A

 Seemingly coming out of nowhere (I hadn’t even heard of it until the day before it dropped on Paramount+), APARTMENT 7A is a prequel to ROSEMARY’S BABY, focusing on the story of the doomed girl Rosemary Woodhouse met in the laundry room in Roman Polanski’s 1968 classic. If you don’t know that film, then (in this context) good for you, because (a) you will enjoy the prequel a lot more than I did, and (b) you get to then watch ROSEMARY’S BABY for the first time! 

It’s not that APARTMENT 7A is BAD; It’s not. It’s well-made, well-cast, with some stunning visuals, a great soundtrack, and a compelling story. I enjoyed it while I was watching it. It’s just that by the end of the film, it offered nothing new. For anyone who knows the original movie, the fate of Terry Gionoffrio is a fait accompli. We know how this movie ends. But the film (co-written by director Natalie Erika James) unfathomably decides to basically retell ROSEMARY’S BABY with a different lead character, leaving us nothing new to chew on and making it impossible to not compare the two films. 

There was an opportunity here to tell a different story; They could’ve focused more on (SPOILER ALERT) Terry’s manipulating benefactors, Minnie and Roman Castevet and the satanic coven they lead in their fancy uptown apartment building (played by NYC’s iconic Dakota), maybe giving us a little more insight into their history and their motivations. They could’ve maybe fleshed out some other members of the coven. Or maybe they could’ve made Terry something other than an aspiring dancer (a little too close to Guy being a struggling actor in the original), or given her a more conflicted personality to ramp up the tension (she feels an awful lot like a single Rosemary in the film). 

But APARTMENT 7A has that unfortunate and cynical tang of a movie made for a young audience that the filmmakers hope / presume are completely unfamiliar with the source material, making it acceptable to so closely echo the original. I don’t think those of us who already love ROSEMARY’S BABY are the target audience. 

The acting (at least by the leads) is great. The always-terrific Julia Garner plays Terry with a compelling mixture of naïveté and strength (I think she’s one of the best actors working today). But I’m sure casting the charming and generous, but also overbearing and, you know, evil Castevets (or, the re-Castevets, heh) was the hardest part of making this movie, as both performances in the original are indelible. As Roman, Kevin McNally channels Sidney Blackmer nicely. But Dianne Wiest as Minnie had the tougher gig; Ruth Gordon’s performance in ROSEMARY’S BABY is iconic: Broad and over-the-top (with Gordon’s exaggerated vocalizations) while still being believable. Wiest HAS to do at least somewhat of an impression, or the audience (at least the audience that saw the original) wouldn’t buy that this is Minnie, but she makes the part just enough her own that it doesn’t feel like she’s doing shtick. 

So, I don’t know if this is a recommendation or not. Again, if you DON’T know ROSEMARY’S BABY, first of all, what the hell’s wrong with you, but you’ll probably be more frightened and surprised than my girlfriend and I were. However, it’ll take a lot of the fun out of watching the 1968 film for the first time. And if you DO love Roman Polanski’s (yeah, yeah) film, your enjoyment will largely depend on how much you don’t mind NOT being surprised.

Pops Saw a Movie and Watched TV: FANTASIA and BATMAN: CAPED CRUSADER

 Here’s a two-part review wherein the only unifying subject matter is animation… and disappointment. 

For some reason, last night I watched Disney’s FANTASIA for the first time in many decades. The 1940 film animates stories to match eight segments of classical music, conducted by Leopold Stokowski (but played in the film by composer Deems Taylor) and performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra. My memory of the movie was that is was okay, but it didn’t move me on a deep level. Maybe I was too young, I thought, so I went back last night with a somewhat firmer appreciation of the music used in the movie. 

And I had the same reaction: It’s okay. Honestly, I think my antipathy for Disney is so deeply ingrained that I’m incapable of loving anything that features Mickey Mouse, even in a cameo. But the rest of the segments are just semi-successful to me as well. They mostly have that flat, reined-in feel and/or overabundance of cutesiness that defines Disney animation for me (I confess I fast forwarded past the "Dance of the Hours" ballet. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.). Only Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring” (depicting the early history of Earth through the demise of the dinosaurs [erroneously credited to a global warming dustbowl, as the theory of the comet had yet to be discovered]) and Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” (featuring the demon Chernabog summoning evil spirits from the grave) held my interest. 

(Also I should note that Disney+ adds a disclaimer about the offensive racial imagery in the movie, but the version I saw still edits out all of the shots of Sunflower, the stereotyped black “centaurette”, so… maybe they meant the Chinese dancing mushrooms?)

My own personal prejudice aside, FANTASIA, despite its lofty aspirations, still mostly feels… to me, anyway… uninspired. 

Which, ironically, is how I also—surprisingly—feel about Prime Video’s new series, BATMAN: CAPED CRUSADER. When it was announced some years back that Bruce Timm (the creative genius behind the iconic BATMAN THE ANIMATED SERIES and BATMAN BEYOND) was to helm a new cartoon featuring the Darknight Detective, fanboys collectively wept an ocean of joy-tears. There was no way this could be anything but a new classic (much as I loathe that oxymoronic term). News that the show would be a retro throwback to Batman’s Golden Age caused some raised eyebrows, but few people didn’t think Timm and company could pull it off. 

Well… again… it’s okay. But just okay. It took me a solid month to get through the short ten episode season, which speaks volumes as to my gut reaction to the first few viewings. Glacially paced, with a drab sepia-toned palette, the rather blocky animation lacks the dynamism of the previous efforts from Timm’s teams. Story-wise, familiar characters are revamped (the Penguin is gender-swapped, Commissioner and Babs Gordon are black, Harvey Dent is a jerk, Harley Quinn is not Harley Quinn, it’s all over the place), but it mostly feels like change for its own sake; very few of the alterations feel inspired by story so much as a desire on the part of the producers to not be bored by treading familiar ground (which also explains the absence of some iconic villains… the Joker doesn’t appear until a teaser at the very end of the last episode). 

I dunno. I think perhaps the retro setting was a bad idea. Where do you go? Hardcore Batman fans know the history, so there are expectations… that the producers will no doubt try to subvert again, with probably the same middling results. I think it could’ve been far more exciting if they had simply continued Batman’s adventures in present day, utilizing some of the members of the comic book cast that have been introduced or developed since the last series ended in 1995 (and I don’t necessarily mean picking up where that series left off, they could’ve started fresh). Batman is perhaps the most endlessly-adaptable superhero in the history of the genre, he works in all gradients from silly to super-serious. So it’s disappointing that this latest iteration is so… (see above).

Pops Watched TV: LIGHT & MAGIC

 While I’m normally (and naturally) skeptical of documentaries that have corporate ties to their subject matter, I nonetheless watched LIGHT & MAGIC, the six-part docuseries on Disney+ about ILM, and find myself—somewhat surprisingly—giving it a solid recommendation. 

I often bemoan the death of “movie magic,” just referring to the cynical lack of wonder and awe over how special effects are made anymore, with the catch-all of “it’s all digital” being the answer to every “how did they do that?” But while the most inspiring parts of LIGHT & MAGIC are certainly seeing the ragtag physical effects artists of the 1970s figuring out how to do everything that George Lucas demanded of them for STAR WARS (indeed, Lucas comes across as rather dense here, less a brilliant visionary than a stubborn dreamer who, when told, “We can’t do that,” just said, “You’ll figure it out,” and was lucky that they DID), and there’s a really depressing section on some of those guys finding themselves feeling “extinct” when JURASSIC PARK rendered them obsolete, there’s a surprising turnaround at the end (spoiler alert) wherein some brand new techniques (“the Volume”… look it up) have reintegrated traditional filmmaking into the modern era in a way that many would previously have thought was done. 

For those of us who grew up witnessing the transition from practical to digital effects and ever gave a crap about how any of it was done, or if you just like seeing smart geeks doing creative stuff, check this series out. Hell, it even made me go back and re-watch all of the STAR WARS films.

Originally posted on social media, Aug. 19, 2022

Pops Saw a Movie: BRATS

 Actor Andrew McCarthy’s new documentary, BRATS (streaming on Hulu) spends the first fifteen minutes showing the actor merely trying to set up this film, which gives an indication of just how thin, self-indulgent, and meandering a project we’re about to endure.

McCarthy’s premise is that his career—nay, his entire life—has been negatively impacted by a 1985 article in New York Magazine by David Blum entitled, “Hollywood’s Brat Pack,” a tag the actor feels prevented him from being taken seriously by the film industry forever afterwards (never mind the fact that McCarthy is barely mentioned in the piece). Insisting that he’s “never discussed” how it felt to be part of that fraternity (a claim I find hard to believe, particularly as this movie is based on a memoir he published in 2021), McCarthy sets out to reunite with his Brat Pack brethren and discuss the term and its impact on their lives. it’s a pretty flimsy basis for a documentary, and what follows is an abject lesson in hubris, self-delusion, and petty self-pity.

From the get-go, McCarthy comes across as, well, a whiny BRAT, blaming his relative lack of success (at least the kind he desired) on everyone but himself. The fact that he gets almost no support for his thesis from the people who actually agreed to talk to him doesn’t seem to crack the facade, even if he waffles—depending upon to whom he’s talking—between hating the idea of the Brat Pack and agreeing that it was something wonderful and important of which he was lucky to be a part. The whiplash-inducing wishy-washiness would snap Charlie Brown’s neck.

While Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson wisely refused to participate, McCarthy does talk to a handful of actors who came of age with him in an era where (according to a number of interviewees) for the first time, movies were made ABOUT young people FOR young people (I guess they never heard of James Dean or the surf films of the ‘60s, and while yes, those were more about teenagers than twenty-somethings, remember the Brat Pack made a bunch of teen films as well). Emilio Estevez seems so uncomfortable having the conversation that he can’t even bring himself to move from the kitchen island and sit down. Ally Sheedy just thinks it was neat to have friends. Demi Moore seems like she never gave it much thought (she was only in one of those films, and was already a recovering alcoholic at the time). And Rob Lowe (arguably the most successful of the Brat Pack) laughs off any negative connotations to the tag, healthfully suggesting that perhaps McCarthy put things in perspective, embrace being a part of something people still remember after thirty years, and move the fuck on with his life.

Other actors who were Brat Pack-adjacent such as Lea Thompson, Timothy Hutton, and Jon Cryer (who shocks McCarthy by suggesting that Blane was not the hero of PRETTY IN PINK, which kind of shows the delusion at work in the protagonist’s psyche) try to humor their old pal Andrew, but not a one of them agrees that their lives and careers were seriously impacted by Blum’s article.

And when McCarthy talks to non-actors about the Brat Pack, they have even less time for his suppositions. Directors, producers, and writers mostly think it was a good thing because it kept the actors in the public eye and made them bankable, not to mention becoming a zeitgeist that helped to define an entire era, something most actors would kill to be able to say. Writers Susannah Gora and Ira Madison III are such fans of the era and its films that it almost feels like they think they’re in a documentary about how awesome John Hughes movies were (side note: The legacy of John Hughes is a topic I’ve looooong been meaning to tackle, maybe someday soon. Spoiler Alert: It’s not good).

Author Malcolm Gladwell, who seems more than a little bemused, tries to put the entire youth culture of the early ‘80s into a sociological context and discusses the etymology of the tag McCarthy so despises, offering, “It’s also funny, the rat pack and the brat pack in sensibility are polar opposites; One is anxious and immature and trying really, really, really hard to figure out their place in the world and the other group doesn’t give a fuck,” to which McCarthy defensively responds, “WE didn’t find it funny.”

Which is part of the problem: Andrew McCarthy doesn’t seem to find ANYTHING funny, his hyper-seriousness throughout the film displays not just a lack of perspective, but a complete dearth of a sense of humor. McCarthy goes so far as to repeatedly ask, “Where were you the first time you heard the term, ‘Brat Pack?’” as if it were a cultural moment as traumatic and consequential as the Kennedy assassination (for the record, nobody remembered).

The dramatic climax of the movie is a confrontation with the man who coined the term in the first place, journalist David Blum. Sadly, Blum comes off as narcissistic and delusional as McCarthy, insisting that what he wrote was not just fine, objective reporting, but was an act of youthful rebellion as important and era-defining as the Brat Pack itself. The two alternately spar and express affection for each other, contradicting themselves constantly trying to justify their respective takes on the article and its legacy. It’s ultimately a pointless conversation, much like the rest of the movie. Hell, the movie even ends with a phone call from Judd Nelson that allows McCarthy to finish with a tonally-bizarre and pandering clip of Bender’s climactic fist pump from THE BREAKFAST CLUB.

Ultimately, BRATS is… well, it’s sad. For McCarthy, anyway. You get the feeling that, despite claiming to have gained perspective and peace with this albatross he’s been wearing around his neck for four decades, he exits the film as desperate for the recognition he felt was so cruelly denied him as he was at the beginning (even comparing his experience to Al Pacino’s lifelong reluctance to be defined by THE GODFATHER). But not for one second of the film does Andrew McCarthy entertain the notion that maybe, just maybe he was held back by a lack of… talent? Or charisma? Perhaps both? Maybe?

But aside from being sad, this movie is also pretty fucking infuriating. Poor, poor Andrew McCarthy! Weep for the actor who’s been working pretty much constantly since he entered show business over four decades ago! Pity him!! For he has received neither the career trajectory nor the accolades he feels he deserved! Love him!!! As he is surely the victim of a cruel and heartless industry that, um, paid him more money than any of us will make in a lifetime and made him famous and allowed him the freedom to make this kind of absolutely repugnant narcissistic waste of 92 minutes that I could've spent wallowing in my OWN feelings of inadequacy and regret! 

Also, Blane was NOT the hero of PRETTY IN PINK. He was a major appliance.

Pops Saw a Movie: CIVIL WAR

Alex Garland’s CIVIL WAR could have been a powerful film. It could’ve been a chilling indictment of blind allegiance to an autocratic President. It could’ve talked about the ever-increasing divide that threatens to rip this country apart. It could’ve been a smart satire about the kind of apathy and ignorance that allow great democracies to crumble. Alas, CIVIL WAR is none of that. It’s actually little more than a rote action film with cardboard-thin characters, almost no plot to speak of, and worst of all, way too many unanswered questions. 

I was actually stunned at how flat this film is (and warning, there are spoilers coming, so stop now if you want to see it and make up your own mind). Garland’s at least tinkered with inscrutability before, and it’s obvious that his priority as a filmmaker is crafting memorable imagery over a cohesive narrative, but this movie isn’t exactly science fiction… it’s more speculative horror, and I wanted… no, I NEEDED it to tell me more. 

The gist is, America (this one) is in the midst of a Civil War incurred by a dangerous President who’s lurched into a despotic rule (he’s in his third term), in which there are numerous factions, the major ones being the Loyalist States (comprising the entire northeast and stretching across the Midwest all the way to Nevada) and the Western Forces, being a teaming of Texas and California. No, for real. We are supposed to believe that CALIFUCKINGORNIA and TEEEYAHHHXAS team up to battle the evil autocratic government. Never has a creative decision made for purely commercial reasons (being, of course, not wanting to alienate potential Red or Blue viewers) had a more detrimental impact on a screenplay, as not for one second can anyone possibly believe this unlikely team-up.

But even if I could accept the WF as it is in the film, it’s just one of way too many unexplained things. Exactly what else did President Nick Offerman (the character isn’t named) do besides give himself a third term? What’s happening in the rest of the country? Why are there zero cars on the highway besides the press vehicles (is this a Hanna-Barbera cartoon?)? Why is New York okay with all of this? How has this impacted culture? And who designed the WF’s logo? 

Nothing in the film is earned. Thinly-developed characters don’t evolve, they just suddenly change. Hardened, grizzled journalists (played by Kirsten Dunst and Wagner Moura) and one wide-eyed wannabe photographer (Cailee Spaeny) just suddenly swap behaviors in the third act seemingly based on one traumatic event, leading to a climax that’s utterly predictable and carries no weight. 

Then again, nothing in this film carries weight. It teases depth, but never delivers. It’s like Garland had the idea to make a movie about America in the midst of a new Civil War, but wrote the screenplay without doing any hard work to make it feel believable. Unless the message of the film is simply, “Images are important,” CIVIL WAR fails to live up to its vast, urgent, and important potential.