Pops Saw Some Movies: Coyote vs. Acme, Tony, The End of Oak Street, and Supergirl

COYOTE VS. ACME
Despite a lifelong love of the Looney Tunes, I confess I’ve never enjoyed a single feature length movie starring the Warner Bros. roster… to me, the anarchic nature of those cartoons makes the seven minute length the perfect amount of time before exhaustion sets in (even if you watch a whole bunch of them in a row). On top of that, the Road Runner cartoons were never my favorites, due to their inherent repetitiveness (the first cartoon was designed by creator Chuck Jones as a satire on chase cartoons, not a new entrant in the genre). So I was surprised by how much I loved COYOTE VS. ACME, a funny, smart, and surprisingly heartfelt satire on corporate America (which I’m sure had nothing to do with its shelving by clueless Warner CEO David Zaslav in 2023). The movie shows remarkable restraint in its usage of the A-listers, with Bugs, Daffy, and Porky reduced to effective cameos, while Tweety Bird plays into my favorite line in the film, as given by John Cena as the ACME corporation’s head attorney: “You TAWT you taw or you TAW? I don’t pay you to TINK, I pay you to TEE!” The understated animation thankfully lacks the overdone texture and shading of previous big screen Looney Tunes, and the integration with the live action aspects is wonderfully done. Will Forte as an ambulance chasing Albuquerque lawyer (hmmm, sounds familiar) is a perfect foil for both Cena and Wile E. Coyote (who’s given far more depth than I ever thought possible). It’s just a really, really fun time. 

TONY
I was skeptical of the very notion of a posthumous biopic of Anthony Bourdain, given the complexity of the man’s story and the apocrypha that defines the very genre. But while the film’s focus on the impactful summer of 1975 the chef / author spent in Provincetown, MA certainly contains many made-up elements, so did Bourdain’s own account of that part of his life in his own KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL, so it doesn’t feel like a betrayal. Rather, this unexpectedly languid and sweet coming-of-age story captures what it must’ve felt like to be swept up in a life in which passion and debauchery was as vital to life as air, water, and (eventually mostly) food. Dominic Sessa is just terrific as the 19 year-old wannabe writer, a narcissistic, reckless, but smart and talented lovable asshole (I guess… he was complicated, is the point). In the end, the movie feels almost like a culinary BATMAN BEGINS or CASINO ROYALE, with all the trials and tribulations of its protagonist serving as an origin story for an amazing, inspirational, and ultimately heartbreaking saga to come. 

THE END OF OAK STREET
Let’s just say that I dozed in and out of sleep for about 40 minutes through the middle of this movie, and feel like I missed absolutely nothing. The plot (A section of a California suburb gets transported to prehistoric times) feels like it sprung from the mind of a 12 year-old, the script from a five sentence AI prompt, with A-List actors walking through rote scenes of mayhem wrought by CG dinosaurs (at least these ones have feathers) and a trite ending that once again shows that all marital problems can be solved by living through a nightmare together and realizing how much you still love each other. I guess. Awful. 

SUPERGIRL
Sigh. Make that Sighs. A plurality of Sighs. 

SIGH #1: This is the first Superman-related movie that I did not see in the theater in my entire life (that’s a long time, kids). I had every intention, but life got in the way, and then suddenly, there it was on streaming, so. For me, that’s a bummer.

SIGH #2: The movie itself. I didn’t hate it, but it was such a missed opportunity, a neutered, watered down adaptation of a truly wonderful story, one that redefined Supergirl and gave her a complexity that made her far more than just a female version of Superman (seriously, read WOMAN OF TOMORROW by Tom King, Bilquis Evely, and Matheus Lopes). The casting is fine, but the writing is so flat, the action so generic, the color palette so bland (especially compared to the source material), Lobo is utterly superfluous, and the ending is an utter sellout. The tools were there; The end product was just that: product.

SIGH #3: That the movie was so infamously compromised by studio interference makes me not only sad about how SUPERGIRL turned out, but, paired with both my feelings about LANTERNS (which I’ll share when the season is over) and the impending Paramount / WB merger, gives me extreme pause concerning the future of the still-new DCU. I mean, sure, it’s a giant corporate entity overseeing a very corporate IP, but this aging fanboy had such high hopes after last year’s SUPERMAN. Now I’m not so sure. 

And finally, SIGH #4: The fact that our current horrific, toxic culture doomed SUPERGIRL before it was even finished. Misogyny, intractable toxic fandom, clueless online commenters elevated to critic status by the two-headed democratization of social media, and virulent superhero haters all conspired to doom this film. I firmly believe that even if it had been a better movie, it still would’ve faltered at the box office. 

ONE FINAL SIGH, JUST FOR ITS OWN SAKE: Sigh.

Pops Read a Book: HORROR STORIES by Liz Phair

Sigh. I just blew through Liz Phair’s HORROR STORIES (Random House, 2019), and it’s only exacerbated my complicated feelings about someone who was once one of my favorite artists. Ostensibly a memoir, it’s a nonlinear collection of stories that delve deep into Phair’s personal life, primarily her mostly shitty relationships with men. I mean… I get it… as my pal, WFMU's Therese Mahler said, “Have you heard her lyrics?” But I wasn’t prepared to so frequently have to fight the urge to say out loud, “What are you DOING!?!” as I read this book (on a commuter train!!). I realize that great art is often created by complicated, often difficult personalities. I wouldn’t want to hang out with many of my favorite artists in numerous mediums. But I was hoping this book would delve deeper into the evolution / de-evolution of Liz’ highly controversial career arc, which is barely touched upon in the book. There’s also an interminable chapter about having her child (we get it, it’s magical and gross and beautiful and painful and you’ve never felt a love like this bla bla bla…). But, as much as the content often had me wincing, it’s never dull… the woman can write, for sure. And there are some segments (including the heartbreaking chapter on her own #metoo moments, centered around an ill-fated collaboration with the asshole [unnamed] Ryan Adams and a vivid tale of the New York City blackout) that will certainly stay with me (and make me keep this on the music books shelf). Ultimately, as frustrating as it can be, the book works for the same reason her music had an impact: It’s brutally honest, heartfelt, and bracingly her own. 

Pops Saw a Movie: OBSESSION

OBSESSION (SPOILERS AHEAD)

Every once in a while, hype works on me. Not big blockbuster hype, with films like that, I pretty much know what I’ll see and what I won’t (MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE, no no no no, SUPERGIRL, of course), but rather when something smaller bubbles up and becomes such a part of the conversation that I can’t ignore it. Such is the case with Curry Barker’s OBSESSION. 

I braved the multiplex to see OBSESSION by myself on an early Sunday afternoon, in a thankfully mostly-empty theater (nobody sat in front of me, so I had no distractions), and not only does it live up to the hype, it’s better. The plot is simple: A shy, introverted guy named Bear (short for Baron) uses a magical “One Wish Willow” stick to make his co-worker crush, Nikki fall in love with him. Like, deeply in love. Crazy love. And things do not go according to plan. 

As Nikki’s actual personality is sublimated under the artificial “Freaky Nikki,” helplessly bearing witness to everything that unfolds, and frequently struggling to escape, the craziness begins to escalate as Bear begins to understand that his wish might have been a bad idea. But this is the most horrific, aggravating part of the story: Bear’s immaturity, selfishness, and weakness keep him from doing anything…. ANYTHING to stop what’s unfolding in front of him, ultimately resulting in tragedy for everyone. 

Curry Barker (the writer / director / editor) is a YouTube creator who’s mostly made comedic shorts, and while some viewers of OBSESSION strongly disagree, I think this movie is fucking hilarious at points. I saw an Instagram video that was excoriating people for laughing during the movie, claiming that it was the height of antisocial behavior during a horror film (accompanied by the far more antisocial video shot on a cell phone during said screening). But I laughed out loud about a dozen times… it was uncomfortable, cringe laughter, to be sure, but… I genuinely cracked up. 

One big reason is the astonishing performance of Inde Navarrette as Nikki. Another thing many people are getting wrong about OBSESSION is thinking it’s POSESSION. Nikki is not taken over by an evil entity; she is forced to become someone she’s not, but her true personality remains. Navarrette manages an incredibly tricky balance of enough layers to dip a tortilla chip. In the same moment, you see both the artifice that’s in love with Bear and the tortured soul beneath. She can be screamingly (literally) over the top one second and chillingly understated the next and it all feels genuine. Mark my words, this is the birth of a movie star (and the funny thing is, one of the reasons I ponied up to see this in the theater is that she was up till now best known for being Lana Lang’s daughter in SUPERMAN AND LOIS). 

As Bear, Michael Johnston does well with a thankless role. He’s pitiable from the get-go, testing a Hallmarkesque profession of love for Nikki on a waitress. But apparently, one of the things people are getting wrong about OBSESSION is that he’s not to blame for his wish going wrong and that he’s just a nice guy in over his head (I’ve seen lots of people referring to him as “relatable,” which, ew). YouTube creator Maria McBain posted a video comparing Bear to other ostensible pop culture “nice guys” Ross Geller from FRIENDS and Ducky from PRETTY IN PINK, rightfully pointing out that these characters are primarily “nice” as means to an end to win the objects of their affections and that they’re actually fairly selfish, petty men. Bear is not a hero in any way. He mourns the cat (whose death was his fault for leaving Nana’s open oxycodone bottle in the kitchen) more than he does his recently departed grandmother (whose house he inherits and does almost nothing to make it his own other than tacking up a few posters and shoving a computer station in the corner of the living room). He has countless opportunities throughout the film to do the right thing and he always, ALWAYS chooses the coward’s way out, right up to the end. Anyone who takes Bear’s side is not only missing the point (spoiler alert: it’s about female autonomy), they’re displaying some at least slightly misogynistic tendencies. 

Visually, Barker shows incredible restraint when it comes to mostly eschewing horror tropes like jump scares, and the gore—while effective—takes a back seat to the darker, creepier moments. There are moments that I instantly wanted to rewatch, but then I reached for the remote and realized I was stuck in a damn movie theater (meaning I’m probably going to end up owning this on a shiny plastic disc). 

The film’s very unhappy ending is a fait accompli, but it still carries weight. We don’t know what Nikki’s final fate is, but she ain’t living happily ever after (reportedly, in the original script, Nikki kills herself, but this ending is somehow even more tragic). 

Ultimately, OBSESSION is one of those films that’s become a sensation almost despite itself. It’s way more than just a well-made horror film. It’s smarter, funnier, and mostly darker than most people even realize, and I think it’s destined to be considered a classic of the genre.

Pops Read a Book: CRUMB: A CARTOONIST'S LIFE

I finished CRUMB: A CARTOONIST’S LIFE (Scribner, 2025), Dan Nadel’s intensive (and intense) biography of arguably the most iconic underground cartoonist of all time, and one of the most polarizing, complicated figures in not just comics, but culture. I’ve always had a tangential relationship with Crumb, recognizing his genius, but often put off by the ugliness that his work at times displays (there’s also beauty, for sure). CRUMB (even more than Terry Zwigoff’s 1995 documentary) spends an awful lot of time trying to parse the artist’s misogynistic and racist works as sociological studies of human nature, and I’m sure that’s true to some extent. But as this book often lays bare, Crumb is also frequently just a raging id, both on the page and in real life, and I’ve never been comfortable with people who justify selfish, harmful behavior as artistic expression (being when separating the artist from the art is as impossible as removing their flesh). Then again, my relationship with much of the most important work of the 1960s is cultural appreciation more than subjective enjoyment. 

CRUMB is riveting (although the extended family becomes a bit tough to keep track of, making me wish for a family tree for reference), alternately enlightening, aggravating, inspiring, and heartbreaking. But I didn’t come out of it with a burning desire to add more of the man’s work to my library. I’m good with what I have already (a few collections, some anthologies of underground work, and oh yeah, every issue of WEIRDO), as well as the arm’s length at which I keep it. 

Pops Watched TV: DTF ST. LOUIS

 For the past month or so, I’ve been proselytizing HBO’s DTF ST. LOUIS to friends, praising it as being something truly unique in an ocean of streaming television: A pitch black comedy / murder whodunit about sex in the suburbs, middle age ennui, and identity crises that was simultaneously twisted and unexpectedly sweet. Jason Bateman, David Harbour, and Linda Cardellini play friends caught in a complicated three-way affair that ends in the death of Harbour’s character, Floyd Smernitch. Two detectives, a grizzled older white man played by Richard Jenkins and a young African American woman (Joy Sunday) investigating the case focus on Floyd’s wife, Carol (Cardellini) and best friend, local meteorologist Clark (Bateman), and what initially seems like a typical tale of suburban infidelity leading to murder (for reasons financial or jealousy?) unravels as the details of the three lives are slowly laid bare (literally). 

Harbour is particularly moving as Floyd, a tortured, gentle soul desperately trying to find human connection. His relationship with his stepson, Richard (Arlan Ruf) will rend your heart in all of the ways it can be rended. Bateman evokes middle age weariness in a way that will make anyone who grew up watching him on TV feel every ache and pain they’ve ever endured. Cardellini’s Carol often comes across as cold (particularly towards the climax), making her rare moments of warmth and love have real resonance. The performances are all great, and often startling in their honesty. Which makes the ending (it’s not a spoiler, it’s the setup of the show) all the more painful. 

But not the good kind of dramatic painful. As the show’s final moments played out, I was left asking, What’s the Point? DTF ST. LOUIS goes to great, at time excruciating lengths to show us the complexity in these three characters (Clark’s wife, Eimy is barely in the series, presumably for a reason, although I can’t help but think having her more fleshed out would’ve helped us understand Clark’s situation more), but in the end, all we get is sadness. There’s no catharsis for anyone, no greater understanding of why life is so fucking hard, no silver lining woven into the tragedy. Everyone is just suffering (unless you count the detectives, who grow closer as a result of the investigation). 

Anyone who was frustrated by the conclusion of OZARK will feel familiar pangs of longing for a more just ending with DTF ST. LOUIS, but, as with Bateman’s crime drama, there’s more than enough good here to make it worth watching. But goddamn, it’s not an easy watch.

Pops Saw a Movie: JOHN CANDY: I LIKE ME

 Colin Hanks’ new documentary, JOHN CANDY: I LIKE ME is a true rarity in Hollywood biographies in that… there’s no dirt. Nobody’s telling secret, behind the scenes stories of what a jerk Candy was. There aren’t tales of rampant drug use and racist, misogynistic rants in the makeup chair. Nobody’s talking about how he was a raging egomaniac who abused his co-stars and took advantage of his fame to trample the little people. The worst they can come up with is that he was kind of a perfectionist who didn’t take care of himself and that one time, he got mad that he wasn’t making as much money as his SCTV co-stars. But that’s it. 

Nope, it seems as if this is one of those rare instances where a beloved celebrity was, well, just like you’d hoped he’d be: a super sweet guy. Sure, there’s drama surrounding how people’s reactions (both positive and negative) to his weight affected him (and his career), an ongoing undercurrent of sadness related to early loss in his life, and a bit about how his inability to say no to friends resulted in some poor movie choices, but mostly, this is a heartfelt celebration of John Candy… and if you’re old enough to have been affected by his untimely death in 1994 at the age of 43, make sure you’ve got something handy to wipe away a river of tears. 

Haven and I watched this Sunday night, and within the first few minutes, we were both sobbing. The film opens at Candy’s funeral, and a montage of images of the actor play under Dan Aykroyd’s emotional eulogy, which—I’m not being hyperbolic—is one of the most beautiful arrangements of words I’ve ever heard. An A-List of talking heads (Including Tom Hanks, Bill Murray, Mel Brooks, and Steve Martin) share memories of working with Candy, but it was stories from his SCTV compatriots that moved me the most, as that is the context in which I’ll always think of John. 

I remain of the mind that SCTV, while certainly hit-or-miss, was the greatest sketch comedy television show of all time, and when I was in high school, it was as important to my sense of snark and rebellion as Bugs Bunny and the Clash (way moreso than SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, which rather quickly became a victim of its own success and lost much of its anarchic spark). SCTV was smarter, took more chances, and somehow managed to be both intellectual and absurdist. Its pop culture references were often obscure (teaching me about things like OCEAN’S 11, Rusty Warren, and William B. Williams), and its recurring characters felt real (none moreso than Candy’s Johnny LaRue, whose drunken wish for a crane shot in episode 94 never fails to elicit tears from myself and my kid brother). Seeing Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Martin Short, Dave Thomas, and even Robin Duke (sorry, Robin) reminiscing about those turbulent, at times taxing, but creatively enervating times got me choked up way more than discussions of PLANES, TRAINS, AND AUTOMOBILES (which is fine, but, you know… John Hughes). 

Anyway. If you dig Hollywood biographies for seedy showbiz salaciousness or to get a sense of schadenfreude out of watching the mighty take a fall, then I LIKE ME is not for you. But if you’re one of the legions who watched John Candy in STRIPES or SPLASH or UNCLE BUCK or NATIONAL LAMPOON’S VACATION or SPACEBALLS (et al) and thought, “Man, I like that guy,” then make sure to check out this heartfelt tribute.

Pops Saw a Movie: FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS

 Maybe THE FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS suffered from coming out so soon after SUPERMAN (review here), as comparisons are inevitable and I think I might have liked this movie a bit more had I seen it first. 

My immediate reaction is, it’s fine. The story is serviceable, the effects are pretty good, the elevation of Sue to the most powerful member of the quartet (as she’s been portrayed in the comics for years) is long overdue. Both Galactus and Silver Surfer look and sound great (I am a huge fan of both Julia Garner and Ralph Ineson, and they make the most of their roles despite being buried under CG). It was a nice surprise seeing Natasha Lyonne as Ben’s not-blind-sculptor love interest, Roz (named after Jack Kirby’s beloved wife, a sweet tribute). The movie’s stakes feel high, and while the forced “it’s all about family” theme is usually wince-inducing to me, it makes sense here. I actually like that the sweater-like costumes look like they were made by J. Crew (who knew they had access to unstable molecules?). And hey, Franklin looks like an actual baby. 

But some of the casting feels off. I love Pedro Pascal, but he just doesn’t evoke the somewhat detached cerebral nature of Reed Richards, he’s more of a socially-inept, reluctant celebrity. Ebon Moss-Bachrach’s Thing feels a bit insubstantial, with a pointless beard and an oddly-unaltered voice (I know, I know, the actor doesn’t want to totally get lost in the performance, but it just feels off). Joseph Quinn’s Johnny (now also a genius for some reason) is pretty dull. 

I was surprised that I enjoyed the presence of H.E.R.B.I.E. (Created as a replacement for the Human Torch in the 1978 animated series), but why does Reed call him “Herbert” when the robot’s name is an acryonym? Was that and ad-lib from Pascal or was that in the script? Was it supposed to show that Reed’s so buttoned up he can’t use nicknames even when it’s not a nickname? *(I fully acknowledge this is a supremely nerdy nitpick.) 

But the film’s biggest problem is also one of is strengths… the retro-futurism of the alternate universe 1960s is one of the key elements to differentiate this from other entrants in the MCU. And it’s all pretty striking. But it’s so overwhelmingly art directed that it rarely feels organic (I'm gonna guess that many of the designers had to research the MCM esthetic), I always felt like I was looking at props rather than parts of the Fantastic Four’s world, to enormous distraction (the fake TV show that serves as an exposition dump is the worst example of this). And the rampant product placement is sadly typical, but still annoying. Ironically, it was this aspect of the movie—something to which I was really looking forward—that kept me at arm’s length more than any performance or plot point. 

I dunno. Like I said, it was fine. But it certainly didn’t feel like the kind of fresh restart for a universe that’s been struggling to regain an audience. Maybe when I see it again (which will not be in the theater), I’ll feel different. 

BUT WHERE WAS WILLIE LUMPKIN?!?!

Pops Saw a Movie: SUPERMAN

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

On my Instagram page, The Daily Superman, I did a series leading up to the release of James Gunn’s SUPERMAN rating the previous live-action portrayals of the characters along with every motion picture. As I revisited the 77-year history of movies and television starring Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster’s creation (aka my all-time favorite pop culture icon), I had the sad realization that there had not been a good Superman movie since SUPERMAN II, which came out 44 years ago (with everything since then ranging from just okay all the way to terrible).

And despite my fervent desire to keep my expectations for Gunn’s reboot in check, it hit me that if I didn’t like this latest attempt to bring the character to life, I might have to give up on ever getting a good Superman movie again (which honestly, I kinda did after MAN OF STEEL). 

Thankfully, that decades-long bad streak ended on July 11th when SUPERMAN came out and completely blew me away. Is it perfect? No. Is it my new favorite Superman movie? Nah, that top spot will always go to ‘78 (let’s face it, despite some flaws, Donner’s original is a classic, and there will never be a more perfect Superman moment in any medium than when Christopher Reeve answers Margot Kidder’s query of “Who… ARE you?” with a smiling, simple, “A friend.” Gets me every time.). But this new movie is a damn close second. 

The marketing of the film promised a stark departure from Zack Snyder’s dark and dour DC Extended Universe, but I simply was not prepared for it to be such a complete 180. It’s not just the bright colors and the trunks and the dog, SUPERMAN is a comic book movie that—finally—is not ashamed of its roots; In fact, it embraces them with a grand, gloriously goofy sincerity, mostly lacking in Gunn’s usual wink-wink piss-taking on the genre. The new cinematic DC Universe is not deconstructionist, it’s not trying to show what superheroes would be like IRL (cough), it’s not trying to give a pseudo-scientific explanation for everything (except, for some inexplicable reason, throwing in the lame “hypno-glasses” reason for Clark’s successful disguise, taken from an instantly-undone 1978 issue of SUPERMAN). 

For the layperson to click with SUPERMAN, you have to accept that this is a world In which superheroes (or “metahumans” to use the current nomenclature), aliens, monsters, and other fantastic phenomena are just a part of normal life. It’s why the citizens of Metropolis are just as likely to stop and take pictures of a rampaging Kaiju as run screaming for cover. If you can get with THAT program, then you’re in for a ride. If not, well, there’s another season of THE BOYS coming at some point that I’m sure you’ll enjoy. 

The story is stuffed, but straightforward: As Superman embroils himself in an international conflict (which doesn’t help Clark Kent and Lois Lane’s struggle to define their complicated romantic situation of three months), Lex Luthor has hatched a rather elaborate plot to not only make himself the ruler of what would be a newly-established techno-autocracy in Eastern Europe, but also eliminate the one person whom he feels undeservedly has more power, fame, and veneration than he (three guesses). Luckily for Lex, he discovers something that turns the public against the hero, who now (in addition to being caged and kryptonite-poisoned in an other-dimensional gulag) faces an existential crisis regarding his place on Earth (but thankfully—unlike ALL of Superman in the DCEU—it doesn’t last long). 

There are lots of sprinkles on the cupcake: Superman’s altruism is put in stark contrast with the corporate-funded, less-humane Justice Gang (not their name), comprised of the brilliant but irascible Mr. Terrific, the violent, short-tempered Hawkgirl, and Green Lantern Guy Gardner, who’s just an asshole. Lex forces Metamorpho, the Element Man to do his bidding by kidnapping his son, Joey. Superman’s got robots who downplay their sentience but in fact really care about him. The staff of The Daily Planet actually gets to do journalism! And the super-powered dog that Superman’s watching is a fucking nightmare. The pacing is somewhat frenetic, but there’s room to breathe, and it’s all in aid of world (and character!) building that doesn’t feel rushed ala the DCEU, but fresh and full of promise.

Visually, SUPERMAN is stunning, but I’ll admit that I’m not the best arbiter of good and bad CGI… as someone who doesn’t play video games, I’m usually not distracted by VFX that look like they’re being controlled by a Nintendo Switch. But Gunn’s usage of more practical effects and makeup than these films usually employ added to the movie’s impressive action and immersive feel. You really will believe a man can fly… really fast!

But (as with Donner’s first film) none of this would work without good casting, and MAN, did Gunn and his casting director, John Papsidera nail (almost) every character. Nicholas Hoult SEETHES with hatred, hubris, and disdain in every scene as Lex Luthor (aside from the curious choice of a few tears at one point). Edi Gathegi makes Mr. Terrific an instant breakout character. Nathan Fillion was born to play Guy Gardner. Anthony Carrigan looks exactly like Metamorpho even without makeup (although his personality doesn’t match the cockiness of the comic book version). The entire Daily Planet staff (who actually have things to do here) not only feel fleshed out (granted, I knew all of them from the comics, so your mileage may vary), they’re believable as not just coworkers, but actual journalists! 

And, of course, David Corenswet and Rachel Brosnahan are not only both absolutely pitch-perfect as Clark / Superman and Lois Lane, but their chemistry—whether they’re bickering, consoling, or canoodling—is electric. I do wish they’d had MORE to do together, but we’re just getting started here. 

In advance of the movie, there were a few things that gave me hope, primarily the casting of Lois Lane. As a huge fan of THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL, I was thrilled to see her take a stab at the part. Brosnahan’s got the pluck, wit, and brains to slip right into that purple sweater (it’s canon), and man, is she perfect. In fact, my favorite scene in the whole movie might be one in which she tries to explain to Clark that pop punk is NOT, in fact, punk. God, I laughed so hard at that scene (and it was an absolutely brilliant shorthand to explain the difference between them). 

David Corenswet (the doomed projectionist from PEARL), like Christopher Reeve, understands the delicate balance of charm, strength, and humility required to portray the world’s most powerful man as just a sincere (if kinda nerdy) nice guy. Sure, he’s not quite as indestructible as previous versions, and maybe the squirrel scene was a bit over the top, but goddamn, I’ll take that over Routh and Cavill’s mopey Christ figures all day long. 

Not every portrayal worked for me. I am decidedly not a fan of Bradley Cooper, and even though his perpetual smugness kinda worked for this version of Jor-El, it still made me wince. And it took me two viewings to accept Pruitt Taylor Vince and Neval Howell’s country bumpkin portrayals of Pa and Ma Kent (thanks to the fact that my old bladder made me miss the pivotal scene when Lois brings the injured Superman home to them when I saw it the first time).

One of my issues with James Gunn as a filmmaker is his propensity to play to the Funko Pop crowd by inserting some cutesy characters into his movies, and SUPERMAN’s no exception. Both the baby Kaiju and Metamorpho’s son, Joey (the worst thing in the film) seem designed to placate the toy companies (there are figures of both of them). But one character that could’ve been too cute and overused actually ended up adding a brand new dimension to the story: Krypto. While I was initially excited to hear the superdog would be making his actual live-action (well, CGI) debut (we’ve seen Kryptos before, but they’ve always been Earth dogs sans powers), early marketing for the movie had me a bit nervous that he’d be Rocket-Raccooning the shit outta this thing. Thankfully, the digital doggo not only serves numerous important functions in the plot, but I love that he’s actually “not a very good (dog),” which makes perfect sense (as a side note, if you dog lovers didn’t like Krypto’s treatment in this movie, you may want to skip next year’s SUPERGIRL, at least if it follows the pup’s arc in the movie’s comic book inspiration).

But maybe my biggest issue with the movie was my first one from a year ago… I’m not nuts about that costume. I mean, I appreciate its brightness and the presence of the red trunks (without which Supes just ain’t Supes), and I don’t really care that it’s not skintight with painted on muscles… but it could fit a LITTLE better, and lose the “New 52”-inspired piping and high collar (and once again, the cape is way too long), the rectangular belt buckle, and mostly, that goddamn shield. With a Superman suit, people seem to forget that less is more, and that the classics never go out of style. I wish Gunn had trusted the iconography a bit more. 

When the first leaked image of the new \S/ was hinted at in a social media post showing actor placeholders at a read-through, I refused to believe that the film was going to actually employ the KINGDOM COME-inspired shield, not just because it’s actually REALLY “not an S” (more resembling “banned” signage), but because (at least in the source) the design has meaning, being that of a Superman who no longer feels connected to humanity… If Henry Cavill had worn it, sure, but everything James Gunn had said about the version of the character he was writing felt anathema to that. So, I guess it had more to do with giving the marketing department something unique to license. Wait, is there merchandise for the movie? I hadn’t noticed. 

I’m kidding of course. Everything from T-shirts and action figures to Keebler cookies and milk bones bear that new glyph. And if there’s a silver lining in my distaste for the design, it’s that I am currently saving a LOT of money on merch. To date, I’ve purchased exactly two tie-ins (three if you count a Metamorpho figure), being a McFarlane Toys action figure (which I refused to open until I saw the movie, even though I’d still have kept it for historical reasons) and those sickeningly sweet “Strongberry” Fudge Stripes (that impulse purchase was a mistake). 

But If the glyph is (as retconned by the 1978 film and made canon) a symbol of the House of El, then wouldn’t Kal’s discovery of his family’s shitty intentions make the family crest a mark of shame? Perhaps a shift to a more traditional, classic \S/ might be in the cards? Hm? And less piping? Maybe? Please?

So, let’s talk about that controversial twist: I was one of the Superman nerds who was so wedded to the notion that Jor-El and Lara had to be selfless and noble that I didn’t listen to the MULTIPLE times the film tells us that the message they sent along with their son’s ship was indeed real; That they actually DID want him to grow up to take advantage of his powers by ruling the planet and spreading his Super-seed amongst a harem of wives in order to bring upon a New Krypton! Yikes! 

Gunn is insistent that this message is not faked, so we have to deal with this enormous change to the mythos. But how will it play out in terms of Superman’s important relationship with his heritage.. I mean, Pa Kent didn’t help build that Fortress (and what does it do to Supergirl’s origin? Will we find out if her father shared his brother’s eugenicist attitudes?). I get that anyone who tackles this nigh-90 year old property wants to bring something new to it, but it’s going to take me a while to get used to Jerk-El and Lara (although it did perfectly set us up for the “nurture-over-nature” message and that beautiful, emotional final shot of the film).

In pretty much every interview with James Gunn that I’ve seen, he diplomatically insists that (aside from “kindness is the new punk rock”) there’s no intentional political metaphor in SUPERMAN, which is about as believable as Alan Moore denying that Batman murders the Joker at the end of THE KILLING JOKE.* I mean, I guess it’s possible that Superman being an “illegal alien”/refugee, Lex Luthor illegally imprisoning people in an other-dimensional gulag without due process, the Boravia / Jarhanpur conflict, the army of monkey Internet trolls, and Superman Robot #4 deciding he wants to be called Gary all just coincidentally align with real-world issues. Then again, it’s more possible that Gunn would rather show than tell (the guy’s gotten enough shit from the Right as it is). 

But let’s talk about that. 

This past month, as I’ve watched right wing pundits whine about this film’s “wokeness”  (seemingly not understanding that superheroes are INHERENTLY “social justice warriors,” Superman particularly, and for his entire history), anti-Americanism (just because the anachronistic slogan, “truth, justice, and the American way” is not invoked), and Superman’s “weakness” (because he bleeds, struggles, shows emotions, and saves a squirrel), I’ve been painfully reminded not only how much the Right really doesn’t understand SHIT, but also of the seemingly permanent rift in society and how the discourse is beset with culture war distractions.**

Which is why I believe this movie is not just fun, it’s genuinely IMPORTANT right now. It gives an audience of people who are exhausted by the vitriol, duplicity, and selfishness that defines America in 2025 something ridiculously cathartic. It gives us someone with ultimate power for whom we can actually CHEER because he’s not a bad guy. 

And, as a lifelong fan (to put it mildly) of the character, I’m also ecstatic that, with this movie, it seems as if people (well, most of them) FINALLY understand Superman. They finally get what’s made him mean so much to me as someone who can’t relate to much of humanity and often feels that we’re careening towards a well-earned extinction and NEEDS the escape of adventures starring a character who’s the opposite of the people who vex me on a daily basis. They finally see that Superman’s  power doesn’t make him boring, it’s what makes him so fascinating precisely because it’s actually NOT what defines him. It’s his humanity. 

So, nerdpicking issues aside, GodDAMN, am I in love with this new film and so, so excited for what comes next. SUPERMAN is bright and bold and silly and exciting and maybe most of all, it’s heartfelt and sincere. In fact, I recommend SUPERMAN to not just fans of the genre who are understandably suffering superhero fatigue, but to anyone who needs a balm for the insufferable reality in which we currently live.  

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* Read it again. The entire book is utterly pointless without this ending and it was originally intended to be an Elseworlds book for a reason.
** The pathetic, small but loud army of screaming Snyder trolls pretending that this film is a flop and nobody loves it are a whole different issue that’s not even worth discussing.

Pops Saw Some Movies: OPUS and SMILE 2

In the past week, I’ve watched two horror movies set in the world of pop music, one of them surprisingly much better than the other, both of them making me think about my relationship with that genre (pop music, not horror). 

The new A24 film, OPUS (written and directed by Mark Anthony Green) is about a hugely popular and influential pop star who comes out of retirement after decades to release his long-gestating masterpiece. Alfred Moretti (now there’s a pop icon name for ya) invites a small, select group of media tastemakers to his Utah compound for a special listening event, but everything goes south when it turns out that he’s a cult leader whose agenda only starts with revenge…

It’s… not good. It’s head-scratchingly bad, in fact. Despite a nice performance by Ayo Edebiri of THE BEAR as the hero of the piece (the one chosen guest who’s not a drooling sycophant of Moretti), there’s way too much of a been-there-done-that feel to this movie (many have noted its similarities to films like MIDSOMMAR and THE MENU, the latter of which I quite enjoyed, the former, not so much), and this horror sub-genre has reached the saturation point at which there are very few surprises (even the jump scares don’t pop). The ending is also a little muddled and forced, and I won’t spoil it apart from saying that its metaphor of the cultural brainwashing that a cult of personality engenders is not only a bit heavy handed, but almost redundant at this point. 

But the film’s biggest blunder is its casting, primarily of the enigmatic and hypnotizing pop icon. Alfred Moretti is presented as being bigger, more acclaimed, and more influential than Madonna, Taylor Swift, David Bowie, and Michael Jackson combined. There’s a montage of his last hit, “Dina, Simone” being sung along to by fans around the world and it is a laugh-out-loudly unbelievable construct in which dozens of wannabe actors get their Tic-Toc moment (which, I guess, is apt). Numerous times we’re shown that there are millions who would sell their soul to be in the presence of this icon.

... And he’s played by John Malkovich. No, for real. 

Now, Malkovich is obviously a great actor. Few would argue that. And he chews the scenery in many glam outfits that would make Elton John say, “that’s a little much, don’t you think?” But if part of the point of this movie is the superficiality of celebrity worship, wouldn’t it have made more sense to cast someone who… how can I put this… looks a bit LESS like… John Malkovich? The actor actually sings and raps and dances in a few scenes, and it mostly made me cover my eyes in embarrassment more than any sense of horror. It’s such a weird misstep that I have to imagine Green has some kind of reasoning for the casting, but for me (and others), it just makes the whole setup impossible to buy. 

I mean, at this point, A24 has pretty much lost any automatic prestige it once enjoyed. But let’s move on. 

A few nights later, I decided to watch last year’s SMILE 2 (written and directed by Parker Finn), despite having never seen the first entrant in the series. The plot is pretty simple: A demonic entity moves from victim to victim, causing them to experience horrific hallucinations that eventually drive them insane, compelling them to commit heinous acts until they kill themselves, the demon then jumping to any nearby human vessel (the “Smile” is the demon attempting to ape human emotions and not really getting it).

The possessed person in this film is Skye Riley, a pop star recovering from both addiction and a tragic, drug-fueled car accident that killed her actor boyfriend (she caught the demonic entity from a former dealer from whom she had the misfortune to try to buy some Vicodin). Skye’s comeback is overseen by her manager mother, whose unwavering support is tested by the increasingly erratic, unhinged behavior of her daughter. Skye is told the true nature of her possession by the brother of a former victim of the entity, but it takes a few more nightmarish events / hallucinations for her to be convinced. Skye then takes radical action to free herself of the Smile demon. 

The film is better than I expected, with some genuinely creepy moments (the eeriest one being a scene that contains practically no gore, but rather a smiling, advancing pack of background dancers in Skye’s apartment) and a wallop of an ending. But what truly makes this movie worth a watch is its lead, Naomi Scott, who gives an absolutely astounding performance as the tortured Skye Riley. Scott manages to make us feel empathy for a character whose flaws and wasted opportunities (even before she becomes possessed) normally elicit schadenfreude from an audience who always thinks they’d handle wealth and fame better. She beautifully portrays the conflicted emotions a celebrity often feels towards their fans and their fame. But once the demon takes hold of Skye, Scott’s portrayal of her escalating confusion and terror is nothing short of brilliant. I am not shitting you, I have NEVER seen a performance like this in a horror movie… or any film in which the protagonist suffers an unimaginable nightmare. It’s not just Scott’s willingness to make herself look bad, grimacing with snot running out of her nose and clumps of hair pulled from her head, she absolutely makes you believe that her entire life is falling apart in the worst way imaginable, and there’s nothing she can do to make it stop. It’s a stunning performance, and if I gave any credence to movie awards of any kind, I’d call it a crime that she’s not nominated for anything (genre acting rarely is). 

But what also struck me watching both of these movies back to back is again how utterly disconnected from mainstream America I often am. The pop music world in which these films are set is something in which I’ve never had an iota of interest (aside from a very brief period when I kinda dug Madonna), and often held in high disdain. I sometimes even forget that overproduced, visually-centered, hyper-theatrical, choreographed, style-over-substance stuff like this is something that MOST of the humans unabashedly enjoy without a lick of irony. I mean, I get it, neither of these movies would have worked as well if they’d employed the lead guitarist of a traditional rock band (such as they exist anymore), that the theatricality and excessive lifestyle of a huge pop star makes for a far more dynamic and accessible milieu. But I do wonder if my antipathy towards that genre made me enter these movies with more detachment than if, say, the singer in OPUS were more Bowie and less Swift? Or maybe because I think that stuff is already inherently horrific, it actually helped me to get into the horror mindset? Hm? 

Anyway. Don’t visit a cult compound. Or buy a ticket for stadium pop concerts. It’s risky.

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POSTSCRIPT: A few days after posting this, I watched M. Night Shyamalan's TRAP, another thriller set in the world of pop music. I'd not bothered to see this movie before because I am most decidedly NOT a fan of that particular auteur. I probably should've sucked it up and watched it to round out this review, but...  no, on second thought, I'm glad I didn't. 

Pops Watched TV: ADOLESCENCE

I tuned out after two episodes of Netflix' limited series, ADOLESCENCE partially because I’m already depressed enough about what social media has done to society, but also one of the reasons I took a pass on procreating was to avoid this kind of agony. 

But the main reason I couldn’t keep watching was the show’s usage of the supremely tiresome SINGLE SHOT for each episode, which I find a distracting, pretentious trope that negates one of the medium’s primary storytelling tools (being editing). It worked in Alfred Hitchcock’s ROPE (wherein the single apartment setting made it a more subliminal trick that did actually amplify the tension), but every use since then (including BIRDMAN and OLDBOY and yes, even the opening of GOODFELLAS) has just taken me out of the moment as I find myself paying attention to the technical HOW way more than the narrative WHAT (which is not a good thing on which to focus). 

As always, your mileage may vary. Oh, and I keep meaning to ditch Netflix, so this is a good li’l kick in that direction. 

Pops Saw Some Movies

 The past handful of weeks have been a trial, so I’m behind on yapping about some movies I’ve recently seen. Here’s a little bit of catch-up. 

THE APPRENTICE
Having read Mary Trump’s book, TOO MUCH AND NOT ENOUGH, I have to say, Ali Abassi goes too easy on the protagonists of this film. Roy Cohn is made to be pitiable, Fred Trump is not nearly demonic enough (in behavior or appearance), and Donald Trump (as played by Sebastian Stan, the Winter Soldier, which is kinda apt) is portrayed as a semi-naive waif being taught the dark arts by villainous groomers. Hell, he’s even given a fuzzy rom-com sequence in which he woos Ivana in scenes that wouldn’t be out of place in a Hallmark movie. There are enough glimpses into Trump’s “origin” as a serial liar to make the film interesting, but it’s not going to move the needle at all on this bizarre Idiocracy in which we now live. 

ALIEN: ROMULUS

After a promising first act (marred by some ginormous plot holes and a grating Gen-Z cast), Fede Alvarez’ film quickly breaks down into lazy retread and unearned fan service (a “Get away from her, you BITCH!” Is maybe the most pathetic example of pandering I’ve ever seen in a movie). ROMULUS is yet another genre sequel / reboot (ala HALLOWEEN, THE THING, APARTMENT 7A) that is overly reliant on the hope that the audience is unfamiliar with the source material. Then again, there hasn’t been a good ALIEN movie since the first two, so… 

JOKER: FOLIE A DEUX
I didn’t like the first pointless, nihilistic wankfest, and may have skipped this altogether were it not for its trainwreck status, which made me want to rubberneck. And while it’s not good (it feels more like an epilogue than a full movie), it’s certainly not worth the venom it’s garnered. While many decry the musical aspect of the movie, I have to wonder if that animus is more aimed towards the Great American Songbook selections sung by Phoenix and Gaga than the genre itself. And while the film’s climax ever so slightly redeems both films by (slight spoiler) confirming the theory that this “Joker” is not “THE Joker,” it still feels like a movie made more out of spite than inspiration. 

THE SUBSTANCE

I need to watch this again, because my take certainly does not align with that of many people whose opinions I respect. While I think the movie has a strong setup, some great performances, and a stunning visual style, for me the metaphor loses strength in the third act when I found myself asking too many questions to get lost in the batshit body horror of the thing (which felt more like an homage to Cronenberg & Raimi than its own thing). Also, add my name to the list of people who think the most disgusting thing in the film is the closeups of Dennis Quaid eating prawns. I’ll give Coralie Fargeat's feminist horror another shot… but probably not until after the holidays. 

WOMAN OF THE HOUR
The only one of these films I truly enjoyed, Anna Kendrick’s story of Rodney Alcala, the serial killer who appeared on THE DATING GAME in the 1970s is a riveting, brutal portrait of the many layers of misogyny that (still) permeate society, broadly ranging from casual sexism to murder, and everything in between. Kendrick humanizes the victims rather than just presenting them as plot points as do so many serial killer dramas. A dive into the real story reveals more than a handful of apocryphal moments, but that’s to be expected, and doesn’t diminish the power of Kendrick’s first film as a director.

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: 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.