"Trolls" Offers a Zany and Colorful Sugar Fix

Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake bring energy to Trolls.

Trolls was my daughter Cassie's first movie-going experience, so I'll cop to being completely swayed by her reaction. We cuddled the whole time, and she loved it. Thus, I loved it.

But the reality is that this isn't a very good movie. Trolls is entirely targeted at children, and so it doesn't have the strongest sense of plotting, character development or humor. Sure, it's cute, colorful and catchy, but it's mostly a formulaic, derivative mishmash of energized cover songs and zany visualizations in which characters fart glitter and poop cupcakes.

Beyond that though, there is, I think, a troublesome message in here about force-fed happiness and conformity, one that is directly opposed to the more nuanced takes in superior works like Inside Out and The Lego Movie (reviewed here). I'm not trying to be unfair. I like that the film ably gets the point across that it's important to look inward for happiness, and I challenge anyone who watches this thing not to be a little moved by the True Colors musical number. But I can't deny there's a disconnect here.

This is the high fructose corn syrup of the movie world. As with the real thing, it's a good idea not to overindulge on this type of treat, but it still offers a wallop of gratification for those looking for a sugar fix.C+

Live-Action "The Jungle Book" Provides Fresh Take On Old Tale

Jon Favreau's take on The Jungle Book is pretty damn good.

In recent years, Disney has fully committed to remaking their animated films in live action. Alice in Wonderland, Cinderella, Maleficent, Alice in Wonderland: Through the Looking Glass, The Jungle Book and the recently released Pete's Dragon have already come out, and a slew of others, including the hotly-anticipated Emma Watson-led Beauty and the Beast, are in the pipeline.

The strategy makes sense. The six films Disney has already released have garnered upwards of $2.5 billion worldwide. Why attempt to create something new when that kind of lucrative layup is right there for the taking?

I'm generally ambivalent about the concept of remakes, although I'll cop to preferring an artistically legit, non-monetary reason for making one. I prefer remakes that improve upon flawed films in some way (Ocean's 11), bring great stories to a larger audience (e.g. Insomnia, The Departed), or add some new wrinkle or point of view. For all its flaws, Maleficent accomplished that last point, while films like Cinderella and Alice and Wonderland felt like pure cash grabs through and through.

Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book proves itself worthy. The fact that effects have advanced to the point that this world can be believably rendered in "live action" could justify a remake on its own, but the film seals the deal by taking a decidedly modern approach to a story that has long been stuck in antiquated and offensive concepts of racial superiority. As originally conceived by Rudyard Kipling and then reiterated in the 1967 animated version, this story has historically advocated that we all need to be put in our proper place. It's imperialistic propaganda, a creed against social upheaval that simultaneously implies primitive cultures need to adopt Western advancements.

Throughout the film, Mowgli (Neel Sethi) is chastised for utilizing ingenuity to accomplish tasks because "it's not the wolf way" to use such tricks. Seeing the inherent benefits of what Mowgli does, Baloo (Bill Murray) reacts by saying "who cares?" And that's definitely the viewpoint this version hammers home. It follows the "you do you" ideology, suggesting that differences are to be celebrated and that nobody has to fit into predetermined boxes.

It's crazy scary how much of Christopher Walken's actual face the mo-cap

people transferred to King Louie.

From a plot perspective, the most interesting thing this version does occurs at the end. In the original text, Mowgli uses fire to best Shere Khan, achieving supremacy over the animal kingdom by embracing civilization. This results in him being forced to leave the jungle and be with man where he never really fits in anyway. As a result, he becomes a being with no nation.

That's far more tragic than the animated film many of us are most familiar with. In that version, the fire doesn't distance Mowgli from his friends, but he does make the decision to embrace humanity and civilization anyway, because it's what is best for him. In other words, he steps into the predetermined box he belongs in.

Here, Mowgli definitely learns to appreciate his position as man, but, ever the noble savage, he avoids distancing himself from the animals by rejecting fire and avoiding the corruption that comes with civilization. As what is essentially a mouthpiece for Kipling's original vision, Shere Khan (Idris Elba) has spent the entire movie warning against that corruption, and, yet, when Mowgli throws man's red flower away and proves him wrong, he says it's the stupidest thing the mancub could've done. Neither Khan nor Kipling understand the outside the box thinking.

There is so much going on here thematically, that it's hard to believe this is a kids movie. For instance, some could argue that Shere Khan functions as a stand-in for current isolationist politicians that prey on fears related to immigration and race. Others might see allusions to gun control or technology run amok in Mowgli's decision to reject fire and the power and adjoining distance that come with it.

That being said, this isn't some heady experience. Like the animated film, this new version is a ton of fun, and it even offers it's own renditions of "Bear Necessities" and "I Wanna Be Like You." The vocal performances of both Murray (soulful conman) and Elba (seriously terrifying) are the undeniable highlights of the voice cast, but Ben Kingsley, Christopher Walken and Scarlett Johansson do strong work as Bagheera, King Louie, and Kaa. I particularly appreciate how Walken's interpretation of King Louie as a sort of mob heavy sidesteps the distracting racial controversy surrounding the animated version of the character.

The effects in this thing are ridiculously good most of the time, and this is probably the best use of this technology since Life of Pi (reviewed here) or Avatar. However, there are moments where the cracks show, which are extra noticeable since the other moments around those moments have been so good. Fortunately, Sethi, the one real thing on screen, is up to the task of carrying the movie. His authenticity goes a long way toward selling this whole endeavor as a family experience fully worthy of your time. A-

Fun In Parts, "Suicide Squad" Is Still Spoiled By the Same Old Wanky D/C Plotting and Characterization

Will Smith and Margot Robbie display good chemistry in their second 
film together.

Like several of its main characters, Suicide Squad suffers from some sort of personality disorder. At times, it feels fresh, vibrant, and kinetic, operating with the same type of tongue-in-cheek mania that defined Deadpool. But unlike that incredibly successful Marvel adaptation, this D/C Comics joint fouls up many of the basics of superhero 101. The main bad guy sucks of course (that’s usually the way it goes), and the climax involves the same tired race to stop some doohickey from destroying the world (ditto). But worse than the that, the fights aren’t very dynamic, the logic of the whole thing is a mess, and, the characterization is problematic at best. As a result, the film plays a lot like The Losers, another mediocre team-up film from D/C that basically nobody remembers.

However, while The Losers was a totally innocuous property, Suicide Squad features small roles for Batman and Joker, two of the most popular comic book characters on the planet, and thus it can be sold as a major event to fans. As such, it simultaneously reaps the benefit of a built-in audience and gets crushed under the weight of expectations.

When I say small roles, I'm not kidding. Batman (Ben Affleck) and Flash (Ezra Miller) are inserted into short sequences solely to provide set-up for our antiheros. Joker (Jared Leto) has more to do, but not much -- he's really nothing more than tangential chaos on the margins of the main story. He's an interesting tertiary baddie, but he basically rates less on the importance scale than Yondu did in Guardians of the Galaxy.

Instead, the primary focus of the film is on the titular suicide squad, or rather it's supposed to be. The idea here is that ruthless government official Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) has implanted explosive devices into a gallery of gifted villains, with the aims of forcing them to do the nation's dirty work. It's a familiar concept, but also a good one. Unfortunately, only half the team gets any semblance of development, while the rest serve as little more than set-dressing.

This is comically evident during a finale in which the villain attempts to neutralize our heroes by promising to fulfill their deepest desires. Conflicted mercenary and expert marksman Deadshot (Will Smith), Joker's crazy mol Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), fire-wielding El Diablo (Jay Hernandez) and Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), the soldier in charge of all these wackos, all have visions of their desires, but the film doesn't even bother investing the time in the other members of the team, including Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), and martial arts expert Katana (Karen Fukuhara), a character so extraneous that she doesn't even get an introduction in the opening montage.

Not that it would've meant much. In his introduction, Captain Boomerang is shown to be a shit-bag who turns on his accomplices at the first opportunity, and yet, with no development whatsoever, the script has him go all Han Solo/Jack Sparrow in the end. A similar moment occurs with El Diablo, who is far better realized but still doesn't earn his departing line about the team being his new family. Excepting the bonds Deadshot independently forms with Harley and Flag, none of this camaraderie is earned in even a kinda-sorta way. Consider how much less credible these people feel as a team than the characters of Guardians or The Avengers do.

This all sounds super negative, but the film is a mostly enjoyable watch. It's stylish, has a lively soundtrack and some game performances. Smith and Kinnaman are fine anchors, and although he isn't given the room to deliver an iconic take like his forbearers, Leto is interesting as a thug Joker. Robbie and Davis are the standouts, suggesting distinct shades of villainy and vulnerability, which is a pretty cool thing to say when talking about such a dude-heavy movie and genre. As poorly as the film serves the rest of its cast, it serves these characters pretty well, which is a valuable thing since they are the five most important ones. Still, I wish the second tier characters had been afforded the same level of thought that Marvel affords the likes of Scarlett Witch, Vision or Falcon.

But, of course they weren't, because this isn't Marvel, it's D/C. Like Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice, this feels like a cool concept sunk by poor characterization and screwy plotting. Of chief concern with that last point -- why the hell is Waller even bothering to utilize such potential security threats when she has access to information that could lead her to more heroic accomplices like Batman, Flash and Aquaman (Jason Mamoa)? I'm going to assume it has something to do with a sadistic impulse to control powerful beings, but, once again, that means the D/C Universe is lazily asking me to just assume character beats it's not actually developing (as they did with Lex in Dawn of Justice). Not exactly the kind of thing I'm thinking about when I hope for consistency in such a cinematic universe. C+

Far From Ruinous, "Ghostbusters" Is a Celebration of a Childhood of Busting Ghosts

Proof of my childhood obsession. I wore this

constantly, usually along with my proton pack.

People have been lobbing unjust grenades at the latest Ghostbusters movie since it was first announced, based partly on the fact that Sony was rebooting the property at all, but also simply because it was going to star women instead of men. The narrative: this film was ruining childhoods and PC culture had gone too far. It's a pretty hilarious fear when you consider this tweet from David Ehrlich, senior film critic at Indie Wire.



Ghostbusters (2016) is finally out in theaters now, which means there's actually a product to judge, as opposed to blind speculation. The film is getting mostly good reviews, but it's hard to say if that's a knee jerk reaction from reviewers keen to knock nostalgia-huggers and misogynists down a peg, or a legitimate reaction to the film itself, which in the here and now isn't so much a movie as it is the locus of a warped culture war.

Based on the finished product, writer/director Paul Feig certainly has a sense of humor about all of it. Early in the film, after they post a video of an encounter with a ghost on the Internet, the leads read some of the comments, including "Ain't no bitches gonna hunt no ghosts." They brush aside the criticism, saying something about the pointlessness of putting stock in what Internet trolls type in the middle of the night (zing!).

But the film also addresses what it's like to be a woman in a man's world in the way it consistently puts the leads up against obstructionist men who seek to delegitimize them. Every female in the film provides them with help in some way, whereas every male functions as hindrance or a road block. Reflecting on it now, it's hard not to consider the way our culture treats women and the victim-blaming that follows sexual assault.

That's all in the subtext, but I don't want to overstep. Questioned credibility and presumed incompetence is an inherent part of a Ghostbusters outing, or really most paranormal-tinged movies in general. Believe me when I say this is a popcorn film first and foremost, and one of my favorite things about it is that the sex of the leads is largely irrelevant. By doing nothing more than modifying a few jokes, this film could easily star the likes of Jason Sudeikis, Will Forte, Bill Hader, and Craig Robinson instead of Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, and Leslie Jones. The fact that it doesn't isn't an indication of out of control political correctness, it's just the way it is.

It really is amazing how nostalgia manifests itself. Sometimes, there's out-sized excitement when studios bring back beloved properties (e.g. Fuller House, Jurassic World), and other times there's this type of overblown negativity. I remember getting into a conversation with an angry fan just after the release of the first CGI Alvin and the Chipmunks. She was incensed that a movie studio was stomping on the sanctity of her childhood memories, taking something she had loved and denigrating it for monetary gain. I remember arguing that a cartoon about singing chipmunks wasn't exactly a beacon of artistic integrity, that it was always a mediocre property designed with a bottom line to make money and sell merchandise. It's basically processed junk food, but it has been all along - the quality is really no different, the perspective is.

Kate McKinnon is amazing.

Ghostbusters is a bit different in that regard, because it has a deserved reputation as an outright classic. As such, someone could certainly make a legitimate argument that doing a follow up besmirches the original solely for the sake of commerce. At least they could have 30 years ago. The reality is that the franchise itself has already been diluted with oodles of lesser entries -- multiple cartoons, video games and a true sequel -- none of which can hold a candle to the original.

Unsurprisingly, this film doesn't either, but it's not a bad successor by any means. That's mostly because it's very funny, but there's also the refreshing fact that it's preoccupied with being its own thing. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of callbacks and cameos, but when it comes to tone, this one is very different. A laconic edge hangs over the original film, which is tons of fun no doubt, but also carries the same melancholy that defined every Bill Murray/Harold Ramis collaboration.

It's often said that Ramis grounded Dan Aykroyd's fantastical treatment for the first film, and while this one doesn't get as crazy as his original vision, it definitely leans more toward the Aykroyd vibe, which is unsurprising given his status as executive producer. It's still got an air of anarchic mischief (mostly due to the bemused live-wire that is McKinnon who's Holtzman feels like the greatest possible amalgamation of Peter, Egon and Ray), but it's more joyful than cynical, excitably spastic and consumed with an over abundance of technobabble and gadgetry.

While the central players in the original had a blue collar, been-there-done-that vibe, these new characters are fresh-faced and beyond giddy. In terms of plotting, that makes sense (the original takes place over a far longer period of time), but it's more than that. Honestly, I lost count of how many times a character says something like "that was awesome" or "this is so cool," but we're talking multiple dozens.

And it is cool. Whereas the original film played things pretty simple (proton pack to subdue ghosts, traps to capture them, and a resolution featuring one foe), the new one introduces an armory of gadgets, allows for ghosts to be vaporized, not just trapped, and ends with an action-packed slugfest between our heroes and an army of ghosts. Needless to say, the toy possibilities are endless. And that's kind of appropriate given that this film is less an ode to the original film as it is to The Real Ghostbusters cartoon and what it felt like to play Ghostbusters as a kid.

The Times Square throw down is indicative of the different approach here.

Getting more specific on the particulars of the film, I'll say that I'm a big fan of all these funny ladies bouncing off of each other, although I thought the script went over the top with all the scientific speak. I greatly enjoyed Chris Hemsworth's commitment to stupidity, and thought hanging the spine of the film on the fractured friendship between Wiig's Erin and McCarthy's Abby was a smart move, even if the resolution felt formulaic. I liked the way Slimmer and Stay Puft were used, but at the same time I was pretty underwhelmed by the film's inability to introduce new fun adversaries like them.

Speaking of adversaries, the big bad guy ultimately morphs into the ghostbusters logo (a nod to the opening credits of The Real Ghostbusters), but before that I found him to be the weakest part of the film. I guess they weren't exactly going to vilify the environmental protection agency in 2016, so an angry nerd makes sense, especially when you consider how well his arc plays off of the central one involving Erin embracing outsider status.

As far as science fiction antecedents with a debt to Ghostbusters are concerned, this doesn't quite measure up to Men in Black but it's a step above the likes of Evolution. It certainly doesn't trample all over any childhoods, and I say that as someone who's whole childhood was defined by Ghostbusters with a dash of Ninja Turtles, '60s era Batman and Monster Squad thrown in.

Some may not like that a group of women are leading the film, and they may even stoop to suggesting Ramis is rolling over in his grave (more on this in a great essay by his daughter), but screw 'em. This puppy brought back vivid memories of running around the school yard pretending to be ghostbusters with boys and girls, not to mention the original badass girl ghostbuster, Janine. The film is a celebration of what it meant to love Ghostbusters as a kid, and girls should get to play in that sandbox too. I stand by that claim, even though I acknowledge it is nudgingly muddied, at least on the symbolic level, by the image of four females literally shooting the Ghostbusters logo in the nuts at the end of the film (zing!). B

"The Big Short" and "Spotlight" Tackle Uncomfortable Truths Enroute to Screenplay Oscars

The Big Short uses Jenga to explain the unsound structure of CDOs.

Late in The Big Short, Brad Pitt, who gets to play a voice of reason and anger in a landscape of sly schmucks just as he did in 12 Years A Slave and Killing Me Softly, chastises his compatriots, saying, “If we're right, people lose homes. People lose jobs. People lose retirement savings. People lose pensions. You know what I hate about fucking banking? It reduces people to numbers. Here's a number - every 1% unemployment goes up, 40,000 people die, did you know that?” It’s a sobering moment, one that is undercut by the character’s willingness to go along with the scheme he's involved with, as well as his assurance that excitement is ok as long as you “just don’t fucking dance.”

That scene perfectly highlights the fact that while the featured players in The Big Short pride themselves on being anti-Wall Street crusaders, they're actually worse than all the amoral scum that started the problem by banking on high risk subprime loans, because they know better and still opt to short the investments. No matter how you slice it, these are men who looked at a terrible situation and decided to profit off of it instead of doing something about it, making the situation 10 times worse in the process. They may have thought they were sticking it to the big banks for screwing the American people, but by trying to profit in the offing, they guaranteed the American people would be left holding the bag. 

The Big Short doesn't shy away from the issue, even while it's courting viewers to root for all these shifty characters. Michael Burry (Christian Bale) opts to leave hedge funds behind because "business kills the part of life that is essential," while the film's smug narrator Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling) cops to being a douche, saying “I can feel you judging me. It’s palpable.” Vennett admits he's not the hero of this story, right after which a quick cut to Mark Baum (Steve Carrell), the most incensed of our protagonists, acts as movie code for "here's your hero."

And he is... sort of. He's the lead of the film, the one with a tragic back story that has filled him with anger and made him obsessed with taking on the system. He's hubristically convinced he can hurt the big banks where it counts, but in doing so he fails to account for just how sneaky they can be. When he finally realizes that type of victory is impossible – when he dines with a particularly vile piece of work and learns the banks have responded to the short sales on their collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) by shorting the shorts with synthetic CDOs comprised of credit default swaps – he decides if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. He tells his team to "short everything that man has touched," further adding to the mounting crisis. Later, when he finally opts to sell, the movie asks us to sympathize with Baum, because the banks got bailed out and he rightly predicts that in a few years everyone will just "be blaming immigrants and poor people.”

I don't know how to respond to that -- part of me loves that the film coaxes us to root for these guys, making us complicit in their scheming, only to have us come out the other end incensed and angry at everyone, these characters included. But most of me just wants to take a bath. There’s an ingrained desire in a film like this to have a character to gravitate toward, someone who distances him or herself from all the hustlers and sort of condemns them for what they've done, ala Bud Fox in Wall Street. But ultimately, I think writer/director Adam McKay made the right call avoiding that type of plotting, and that's specifically because it left me so much more outraged as a result. 

Like The Wolf of Wall Street before it, The Big Short employs a flippant dark-comic approach in its depiction of financial corruption, even going so far as to break the fourth wall with multiple celebrity cameos to make the financial terminology easier to understand. The tone works, and so too does the disdainful and cynical mood that is engendered by an ending note that warns CDOs have come back into the current market as "bespoke tranche opportunities," not to mention the ludicrous moment in which the leads are mentioned in the same breath as Robert Redford in All the President's Men.

Dogged investigative journalism unearths a major Church sex

scandal in Spotlight.

That Redford comparison would be far more apt for the characters of Spotlight, which takes a far more serious approach to what is essentially a very similar story. Sure, The Big Short takes aim at the 2008 financial crisis brought on by the U.S. housing bubble, while Spotlight tackles child molestation cover-ups by the Catholic church, but both function as cinematic activism about uncomfortable truths, or, put another way, as dramatized public service announcements about renegades railing against entrenched institutional villainy. The main characters in each film even sit on their scandalous information for an extended period of time, but while analysts in The Big Short do so to reap the financial benefits (and because the banks won't allow the other shoe to drop until they distance themselves a bit from the fallout), the reporters in Spotlight do so to ensure they write a strong story built on evidence so they can truly make a difference and enact change (and because of delays related to the tragedy on September 11).

Spotlight is a procedural set against the backdrop of a unique time in journalism, right when the proliferation of Internet content brought on a whole slew of cost-cutting measures and online poser "journalists" that crippled the previously prestigious and powerful print media. Long-term investigative journalism in which a reporter (or in the case of the Boston Globe's Spotlight team, a whole team of reporters) spent months breaking a huge story by rooting out actual nuggets of verifiable information used to be common practice, but now there's barely enough money to adequately staff breaking news coverage and even less time to properly confirm sources. The Globe's Spotlight team is still doing this type of work, but such opportunities are increasingly few and far between. As such, Spotlight also serves as a love-song to a profession that has fallen on hard times, but that, at its best, can expose corruption and righteously check institutional injustice as the fourth estate.

At the outset of the film, Martin Baron (Liev Schreiber), a new editor from outside the city, is brought in to take over the Globe, and immediately the newsroom is whispering about potential layoffs and apprehension over his lack of Boston roots. His first order of business is to question the staff about a column that mentioned 25 defendants have hired lawyer Mitchell Garabedian (Stanley Tucci) to bring a civil lawsuit against a catholic priest accused of sexually abusing more than 100 children. The records are sealed, and unlike the rest of the Globe staff, many of whom have ties to the church, Baron, a Jewish outsider unfamiliar with the power and influence the church wields in the city, wonders why. And so he puts the four-man Spotlight crew on the case, all of whom have a different reaction to the case, especially as the number of potential victims continues to grow.

Sacha Pfeiffer (Rachel McAdams) is so shaken by the victims and perpetrators she interviews that she stops going to mass and finds it difficult to talk with her devout grandmother. Meanwhile, Matt Carroll (Brian d'Arcy James) is alarmed that the church has a house for "retired" priests right down the block from his family home, and Michael Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) is angry, so angry that he wants to publish the information as soon as possible to protect the public. Section editor Walter Robinson (Michael Keaton) wants to wait, mostly to get the story right (he needs to convince a source he has a personal relationship with to confirm information), but also partly because of the shame he feels because he, and anyone who came across this information in the past, deserves some blame for not exposing all of this a long time ago. As Garabedian says, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one."

In a story like this, process trumps character, but writer/director Tom McCarthy (who shed light on the less attractive qualities of modern journalism as an actor on season 5 of The Wire) peppers in a series of effective character moments without ever tipping the scales into heavy-handed melodrama. It helps to have such a phenomenal cast giving one lived-in performance after another. Ruffalo and McAdams received nominations for their work, but everyone is on point here, especially Keaton, Schreiber and Tucci. They bring gravitas, authenticity, compassion, and a palpable sense of tenacious professionalism.  

The Big Short and Spotlight are two of 2015's tightly-structured films, and so it should surprise no one that they walked away with the screenplay awards at this year's Oscars. Both cover infuriating systemic treachery, albeit in completely different walks of life and with completely different point of views. If I prefer Best Picture winner Spotlight, it's mostly because it left me entirely satisfied by its well-oiled machinery and the win for the good guys, especially compared to The Big Short, which, by design, left me unsettled and foaming at the mouth.

The Big Short A-, Spotlight A

"Captain America: Civil War" Does the Warring Super Hero Thing Better Than "Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice"

Both Dawn of Justice and Civil War promise super hero smack downs.

It's pretty hard not to compare Captain America: Civil War and Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice. Not only did they come out within weeks of each other, but they both feature a super hero throw down built around a disagreement over civilian casualties during world saving battles. Furthermore, they both focus on normally squeaky clean, super-powered American icons acting as renegades while traditionally darker billionaires with major tech advancements try to stop them. The big difference is that Civil War features coherent conflict rooted in long-term character development, while Dawn of Justice is an uneven mish-mash of incomprehensible plot turns and motivations, with some nonsensical foreshadowing thrown in.

Before going any further, I should probably list my reviewer baggage in the interest of transparency. Going into these films, I expected to like Civil War more than Dawn of Justice. That’s basically because I have long admired Marvel’s gutsy move to do a slow build with their cinematic universe, while I suspected D/C was rushing theirs in an effort to get to that big Avengers-type money as quickly as possible.

That doesn’t mean I hate D/C. I loved Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, liked Man of Steel quite a bit, love Ben Affleck, and appreciate the cinematic grandiosity director Zack Snyder is trying to bring to this whole thing. It also doesn’t mean I’m totally in the tank for all things Marvel. They rely far too heavily on macguffins, generally lack compelling villains and tend to prioritize synergistic plotting over artistic identity. Sure they gleefully embrace a lot of genres and develop good characters, but there’s a reason many of their directors have been culled from the television world. Unlike in traditional cinema where individualism and idiosyncrasy is praised, TV values a director’s ability to blend and make his or her episode(s) feel like one piece in a larger puzzle. So too does Marvel.

Given the length of this piece, I think it's best not to go over the plots of the films. If you need a plot refresher, head over to Wikipedia, because otherwise I'm just diving right in to analysis.

The biggest appeal of both these films is the fact that they’re packed with super heroes fighting against each other. You can tell that much simply by looking at the posters, which feature heroes on opposite sides staring at each other intently. And action-wise, both films are pretty great. The central fight of Civil War is amazingly fun, and while nothing in Dawn of Justice is quite up to that level, it totally owns the Batman (Affleck) fights, showcasing both the fluid choreography of the Nolan films and all those wonderful toys of the Tim Burton ones.

Promising a big melee like that is a fun, but dangerous proposition for a film, one that can lead to great action, but muddled narratives. Overcrowding in comic book movies rarely works because it requires too much juggling and doesn’t allow for enough development. Spider-Man 3 and Batman and Robin are great examples, of this, and to an extent, so are the mostly good X-Men movies, which consistently marginalize huge chunks of the team in favor of Wolverine, Magneto and Xavier.

Cap's team operates as rouge agents once the Sarkovia accords are passed.

There’s no doubt Civil War is far more crowded than Dawn of Justice, but while it has four times as many super heroes, it does a better job of servicing their stories. Spider-man (Tom Holland) and Ant-man (Paul Rudd) are ringers for each side (and provided the highlights of the blowout fight), but everybody else has strong motivations rooted in actual character development. Captain America (Chris Evans), Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), Winter Soldier (Sebastian Stan), Black Panther (Chadwick Boseman), and Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson, the soul and stealth MVP of the MCU) get particularly strong material to play. The same can’t be said of Dawn of Justice, which relegates Superman (Henry Cavill) to a bit player in favor of doing what’s basically a Batman movie on drugs.

Discounting Dawn of Justice’s “blink and you’ll miss ‘em” cameos from Aquaman (Jason Momoa), Flash (Ezra Miller), and Cyborg (Ray Fisher), each film actually introduces two new super heroes, one of whom (Batman, Black Panther) is far more central to the story than the other (Spider-man, Wonder Woman).

Batman and Black Panther have similar revenge arcs, and both actors make strong impressions. However, although Batman is basically the main character of Dawn of Justice, he’s very one note, and structuring his about-face around the fact that both he and Superman have mothers named Martha is pretty goddamn stupid. Meanwhile, Black Panther isn’t asked to carry the load of his film, and yet he still feels more dimensional and his turnaround tracks better dramatically.

The inclusion of Spider-man and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) in these films is inorganic and reeks of corporate desire to sell toys and advance the universe engines at play. Wonder Woman is kept intentionally mysterious, so Spider-man ends up feeling like more of a character. He’s also a hell of a lot more fun, which helps mitigate issues surrounding his inclusion.

But really, inserting characters into these stories as setups for future films doesn’t bother me all that much. To some degree, these movies are always going to do that, so you just have to hope they can also stand on their own as well. Spider-man and Wonder Woman function fine, and the D/C cameos found in the videos Wonder Woman watches are appropriate teases.

However, sometimes these things go a bit too far, and I’d venture to say Dawn of Justice oversteps when it has Flash come from the future to warn Batman in a dream sequence. I assume Superman will become evil, maybe due to red kryptonite, and this message will tie in with The Justice League somehow, but, as a piece of this movie, it’s just confusing and feels like wasted minutes. In fact, all the Batman dreams feel that way. If all that time dedicated to dream sequences was spent on further developing characters, the film would’ve benefited greatly.

In stories like this, it’s a fait accompli that the main bad guy is going to be sidelined. That’s because narratively speaking, the main bad guy isn’t the main adversary; the other super hero serves that function until the third act at which time the super heroes basically hug and realize they need to join forces to stop the actual bad guy.

To it's credit, Dawn of Justice definitely looks cool.

I fully expected this dynamic going into these movies, but, once again, it’s pretty surprising just how similar the set-ups are. Neither Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg) nor Helmut Zemo (Daniel Brühl) are some side threat looking to take over the world; instead both are just interested in coercing super heroes into killing each other.

Their reasoning is what separates the two. Zemo was a Sarvokian special ops type whose family was killed during the events of Avengers: Age of Ultron. The movie implies he’s trying to gather a collection of super soldiers for a nefarious purpose, but that’s just a red herring. All he wants is to get revenge on the Avengers, and his whole plan is built around exposing the fact that Bucky Barnes killed Tony Stark’s parents to accomplish that task. The plotting’s not airtight – it’s left unclear how Zemo knew such information existed or how he knew Captain America would react the way he does, but it’s simple and it works.

Meanwhile, Luthor’s motivations are far more complicated. He’s basically a megalomaniacal millionaire driven mad by a grab-bag of shit, including thirst for supremacy, the very existence of metahumans, and daddy issues. If I think hard enough about it, I’d guess his daddy issues caused him to become a cut-throat social climber/innovator, which brought about a sort of hot-shit god complex that was completely obliterated by the existence of meta-humans, chiefly Superman. But that requires a lot of work on my part, while asking very little of the screenplay.

Truth be told, that’s really not a bad arc, and could totally play if given the proper development. But when you’re fitting all your world-building into the margins, it just doesn’t work because it doesn’t have the time too. If you’re going to have a sidelined bad guy, better to have one with streamlined motivations, instead of ambitious overreaching that leads to a crazed Luthor inexplicably gaining access to the information within the Krytonian ship and, even more ridiculously transforming the corpse of Zod (Michael Shannon) into Doomsday.

But that's generally the whole deal with Dawn of Justice, which looks great and gets some things right, but continuously borders on ridiculousness. And it's so far beyond the Doomsday crap, the Martha thing (god, the Martha thing), and the Flash dream sequence. It's also the fact that Batman is gullible as hell, or that he nonsensically abandons his kryptonite spear, or that Superman's super hearing super sucks (not only can he not hone in on his kidnapped mother's location the way he does routinely with Lois (Amy Adams), but he can't even hear a bomb that's like 10 yards away from him).

This meme that references Step Brothers is the perfect takedown of

a major plot point in Dawn of Justice.

Many of Dawn of Justice’s problems are born of D/C’s insistence in taking short-cuts toward a team-up movie instead of laying the proper foundation over a series of films like Marvel did. I can imagine a world in which D/C Comics wasn’t taking short-cuts to The Justice League, but instead decided to make a legit Man of Steel sequel that took place during the 18 months skipped between the two movies, allowing for some development of the Clark and Lois dynamic, as well as the Luthor’s obsession and a hint about his search into metahumans (say for instance, a post-credit sequence indicating he found footage of Wonder Woman).

They could’ve then followed that up with their Wonder Woman movie, which could’ve ended with a post-credit sequence showing Wonder Woman discovering Luthor has her picture. This would’ve effectively laid the seeds for her whole story thread in Dawn of Justice, while also grounding her and Luthor as actual characters worth giving a shit about, not to mention lending further shading (and thus further shit giving) to Lois, Clark and they’re relationship. Then, you could let Dawn of Justice play out as a Batman introduction, while setting up The Justice League.

But no. Instead they decided to bum rush Batman, Wonder Woman, Lex Luthor and metahuman concept into one movie all because they wanted their own Avengers without waiting through years of buildup. As a result, Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice is hit-and-miss entertainment, especially compared to the well-oiled, emotionally involving Captain America: Civil War.

Captain America: Civil War A-, Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice, B-

For added fun, here's my personal rankings from all these franchises.

Marvel Cinematic Universe

1. Captain America: The First Avenger A
2. Iron Man A
3. Guardians of the Galaxy A- (review)
4. Captain America: Civil War A-
5. The Avengers B+ (review)
6. Captain America: The Winter Soldier B+
7. Thor B+
8. Ant-Man B+ (review)
9. Iron Man 3 B+ (review)
10. Avengers: Age of Ultron B
11. Thor: The Dark Ages B-
12. The Incredible Hulk B-
13. Iron Man 2 C+

Batman Films

1. The Dark Knight A+
2. Batman Begins A
3. Batman Returns A
4. The Dark Knight Rises A- (review)
5. Batman B+
6. Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice B-
7. Batman Forever C+
8. Batman and Robin D+

Superman Films

1. Superman A-
2. Superman II B+
3. Man of Steel B+ (review)
4. Superman Returns B-
5. Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice B-
6. Superman III D
7. Superman IV: The Quest for Peace haven’t seen it

Tarantino Entertains with Darkly Funny Western "The Hateful Eight"

Samuel L. Jackson and Walton Goggins lead an amazing cast in

Quentin Tarantino's latest, The Hateful Eight.

And so the pattern repeats.

Three years ago, I wrote a review comparing Wes Anderson and Quentin Tarantino that discussed how each director had plowed through mid-career criticisms by taking a hard left into the idiosyncratic approaches that were supposedly holding them back, only to emerge once again as critical darlings.

A year later, Anderson continued to prove my point with Grand Budapest Hotel, and it seems Tarantino has followed suit with The Hateful Eight, a western that revolves around a collection of nasty sorts trapped together at a secluded stopover during a blizzard not long after the conclusion of the Civil War.

Intoxicating in the way that only great Tarantino can be, The Hateful Eight is the quickest three hours I’ve ever spent in a theater. And that's the case even though I saw the film in its glorious 70mm Roadshow Exhibition, which ran with an introductory musical overture and an intermission between acts, while also providing wider, more detailed images... because, you know, Tarantino.

Like many of the director’s films, The Hateful Eight is told in chapters, some of which are out of order, and built around a series of long, tense and often side-splitting conversations that eventually boil over into violence. For all the pomp and circumstance that came with the roadshow experience, the film is basically a talky chamber piece with the attitude and accoutrements of a mean-spirited western.

More specifically, The Hateful Eight is a western-flavored dark comedy mash up of And Then There Were None, Tarantino’s own Reservoir Dogs, and any number of plays by Sartre or Pinter with the racial tensions of post Civil-War Americans hanging over every moment. It's thought-provoking, titillating and, above all, entertaining as hell.

Other than a win for the eerily foreboding score from the legendary Ennio Morricone and a nomination for Jennifer Jason Leigh's hilariously gnarly performance, the Oscars stayed away from The Hateful Eight, which makes quite a bit of sense given the content. However, this is a master class in acting, writing, directing, editing and costuming, with Goggins and the underrated Jackson (who easily could've been included in my piece on #OscarSoWhite) providing standout work.

Having said all of that, I have some issues with the film, all of which are built around character motivation and plotting. To talk about them, I kind of need to spoil the movie a bit, so, spoiler warning. Enroute to Red Rock to deliver the fugitive Daisy Domergue (Leigh) for hanging, bounty hunter John Ruth (Kurt Russell) encounters Major Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a black bounty hunter and former Union solider in possession of three dead bounties, and Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins), a former Lost-Causer militiamen who now claims to be the new sheriff of Red Rock. Ruth allows both men aboard his stage coach, and they set out for Minnie's Habadashery to seek refuge from the storm.

Upon arriving at the habadashery, they meet hangman Oswaldo Mobray (Tim Roth), cowboy Joe Gage (Michael Madsen), former Confederate general Sanford Smithers (Bruce Dern), and Bob (Demián Bichir), a Mexican watching over the place while Minnie visits her mother. Tensions escalate on multiple fronts. Suspicious that any of this lot could be in cahoots with Domergue, Ruth forcefully disarms all but Warren since they have met before and have agreed to protect one another's bounties. Meanwhile, Warren feuds with both Smithers and Mannix over race and doubts the legitimacy of Bob's standing as the operator of the habadashery, an establishment he has frequented many times.

A third act flashback reveals Mobray, Gage and Bob are all members of the Jody Domergue gang and that they, along with Jody (Channing Tatum), arrived at the habadashery ahead of Ruth’s party so that they could kill him and free Jody’s sister. They kill Minnie and all other inhabitants of the habadashery except Smithers (they reason another occupant will add to their cover), hide several guns around the place, and then Jody hides beneath the floor boards just before the rest of the lead characters arrive.

During an argument between Warren and Smithers in which Warren arms Smithers and then baits him to draw on him so Warren can kill the older man, Gage secretly poisons the coffee, ultimately leading to the very gruesome poisoning of Ruth and his driver OB. Ruth almost kills Daisy before he dies while her brother remains in hiding and the his conspirators simply watch instead recovering their hidden weapons and taking advantage of the fact that Warren and Mannix are completely distracted. This is particularly problematic for Gage. He may have acted on his own in poisoning the coffee and thus surprised his compatriots, but then why is he also so unprepared to react to the aftermath?

Instead, they stand around like innocents allowing Warren to take control, arm Mannix and kill Bob. Only then does Jody fire upon Warren from below the floor boards, but once again he and his gang fail to act decisively (something made even more annoying by the later revelation that Mobray has already armed himself off screen) allowing Mannix and Warren to gather themselves and regroup. Although this development sets up a dynamic Mexican standoff and leads to a strong ending that unites Warren and Mannix against these outlaws, it also stretches credulity. What was the point of lying in wait and having a cover if you were just going to act like total fools at every opportunity? Sure they could’ve never anticipated that Warren and Mannix would show up with Ruth, and they absolutely never would’ve known about the dynamic between those men and Smithers, but those surprises still don’t explain their awful play here.

I think it would be foolish to suggest I have a better idea how to craft a script than Tarintino, but I’ll give it a go anyhow. I think the whole sequence would’ve played a lot better if Gage wasn’t one of the Domergue gang, but rather just another inhabitant of the haberdashery like Smithers and another wrinkle in their plan. Maybe he shows up in between when Jody goes down below the floor and Ruth’s arrival or maybe they just opt to keep him alive too, but what if he was just a cowboy visiting his mom just like he says, one that made the isolated decision to poison Ruth, not because he wanted to free Daisy, but because he was enraged that Ruth took his gun. That would certainly explain why the gang wasn't prepared to take advantage of Ruth's poisoning, while adding an extra level of chaos to the proceedings. Obviously, I’m just spit balling here, but I think something should’ve been done to diminish this narrative annoyance, which seems to be one of those "the plot required it" situations.

Regardless, even though this element of the film bothered me, it’s really just a problem that keeps me from viewing the film as perfect, because otherwise that’s what it is. Like the best of Tarantino, the film is shot beautifully and populated with great actors cutting loose with a well-observed and irreverent script filled to the brim with long, tense moments that seem tailor-made for the stage. And the ending, oh boy that ending -- it's some kind of perfect.

"Mockingjay: Part 2" Caps Off the Better-Than-Necessary "Hunger Games" Franchise with a Worse-Than-It-Could've-Been Finale

Gale (Liam Hemsworth) is a sad panda. A sad, genocidal panda.

The first Hunger Games came out just after I started cataloging reviews on this site, and I realize now I've written quite a bit about this franchise over the last several years. Given that I reviewed each of the first three films, I've decided to review Mockingjay: Part 2 to close off the loop. If I wasn’t a completest, I probably wouldn't be reviewing this film. There are a lot of other movies I'd rather spend my limited time dissecting, mainly because so much of Mockingjay: Part 2 feels like pointless wheel spinning.

That's thematically the point, I get it, and, in fact, I like it. I really like it. The fact that this whole franchise and this final passage in particular, is basically a subversion of young adult genre tropes is pretty awesome in my book. I love that this isn't some heroic “chosen one” thing. I love that the romantic triangle is simultaneously treated as real and silly by these characters. I love the wary melancholy and the ruminations on perception over content, packaged violence and idealism turned rotten. And I love that the main character basically plays no part in the climactic battle, and that nearly everything she does in this film is pointless until the final 10 minutes or so.

At the same time, this really doesn't work as a movie, particularly because of that last point. Katniss is just a propaganda tool to the rebels, enslaved in many of the same ways she was by the Capitol. She's the inverse of Captain America, a hero who started as a bullshit rallying ploy but quickly became an assertive hero. She takes the opposite journey, and while that's a pretty awesome and downbeat concept for a blockbuster film to explore, it all plays so lifelessly here. Thank heavens for Jennifer Lawrence, who does so much heavy lifting here to make this thing play. It’s probably become cliché to adore her work, but goddamn she is amazing as Katniss Everdeen.

When I reviewed part 1, I suggested it was an artistic mistake to split Mockingjay into two films, and part 2 confirms it. This whole thing would've been far more potent if it was culled down to one film. Mockingjay: Part 1 was actually pretty effective on its own, because there were so many flavorful character moments to enjoy. Here, other than Katniss, Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), Gale (Liam Hemsworth), Coin (Julianne Moore), and Snow (Donald Sutherland), nobody has anything to do, and even many of those players aren’t afforded much. If you're going to break this relatively short book into two films, I feel like I'm at least entitled to more worthwhile moments with this great cast. Sadly, in this form, it all feels like a giant misuse of talent.

There are other annoyances too. For instance, I think it was a questionable character decision to cake so much makeup on Katniss toward the end of the film. And, at this point, given the size and success of these films, I am bewildered by how consistently mediocre and tacky the effects have been in this series. This is a multi-billion dollar franchise, so why do the effects look like something out of a direct -to-video Mimic sequel?

Ultimately this is an honest and poignant end to a series that was way better and far more nuanced than it needed to be. Author Suzanne Collins made some really great decisions with her books, and this film doesn’t shy away from those in the interest of pleasing the plebs, and I really like that. The film makes some strong points about heroism, sacrifice, disillusionment, and bull-shit trafficking. I just think it could've been even better if the filmmakers would’ve tightened these two parts into one instead of opting to milk every last dollar out of the cash cow. B

Exploring the #OscarsSoWhite Controversy By Looking at Four Black Films

Creed was one of the best movies of 2015, but barely got any

notice at the Oscars.

Earlier this year when absolutely no people of color were nominated for acting Oscars for the second year in a row, there was a justifiable backlash that was succinctly described by #OscarsSoWhite.

As with any racially charged issue about unequal treatment, there were a fair share of white people who blanched at this movement. And it wasn't just racist white people, but good-hearted and kind white people who simply seemed unwilling to acknowledge systemic racism because it's uncomfortable for them. Did you ever think, these people argued, that maybe there's no story here? That maybe the nominated actors just happened to give the best performances?

My answer to that would be a resounding no. And I don't even need to bring people of color into the argument to prove my point. Ready? Here goes. There is absolutely no way in hell that the 40 acting performances the Academy nominated over the last two years were even the best 40 performances given exclusively by white people. The people who get nominated for these awards are almost never the best, and that holds water beyond the acting categories. So can we please just take that argument off the table?

The reality is that people of color don't get as many opportunities, partly because stories featuring diversity are not being funded as much and partly because ethnic artists aren't being considered for choice gigs that should be race neutral. That's what makes the casting choices of Star Wars: The Force Awakens so damn awesome.

Somehow, this whole thing became a black and white issue that left other minorities out in the cold. And that's unfortunate, because the issue is even more dire for them. At least black films get distribution and black actors are occasionally cherry picked for choice roles. Most people with a clue about current pop culture can probably name at least two dozen black actors off the top of their head. But what about Hispanic, Indian or Asian actors? Hard to imagine most people could list 15 combined.

Of course, that actually makes it easier to focus on the black community in this argument, because they do actually get some opportunities, meaning we are able to see how much they are getting screwed when they don't net nominations. In thinking about all of this, I bounced over the to the wiki page of the Black Reel Awards and realized I've seen most of this year's feature-length award winners with the exception of Spike Lee's Chi-Raq and the French film Girlhood.

Straight Outta Compton is a standard biopic with a topical hook.

Readers of this blog already know how much I loved Creed. It was the big winner at the Black Reel Awards, and it deserved Oscar nominations for director, actor and screenplay at the very least, not to mention other categories where black artists weren't the ones getting hosed like Best Picture and Cinematography. It's not the first great movie to be mostly ignored by the Academy -- hell, 2015's best film, Ex Machina, was worthy in multiple categories and only got one nomination as well. Then again, Creed wasn't the only black movie on the Oscar radar. The two most successful black movies of the year were Creed and Straight Outta Compton. Each received exactly one nomination (supporting actor and best original screenplay, respectively), and somehow both of these nominations honored white people. What the hell is that about? Doesn't it seem strange?

Generally speaking, having an opinion on any of this is all just theoretical unless you've seen the movies. Well I have seen some of them, and since I'm trying to get combo reviews out here during my break from school, I thought I'd offer thoughts of some of the films that won awards at the Black Reel Awards but failed to gain traction with the Academy.

A lot of what I've been talking about here focuses around #OscarsSoWhite, but really the problem with the Oscars goes beyond that to include #OscarsSoVanilla. There's a certain type of movie that caters to the Academy, and this "Oscar bait" is typically a period piece or some other serious drama. Biographies, tragedies and war films historically do very well, as do films focused on disabilities. Comedies, especially those without dramatic weight, have little chance. Science fiction and especially horror face even longer odds. Better to be middle of the road than refreshingly off center or anything that isn't dramatic.

Because of all of this, I would've expected Straight Outta Compton, which revolves around the rise and fall of rap group N.W.A., to have a better chance to grab a Best Picture nomination. When black films hit all these quotas, they tend to do well, particularly when they have proper financial backing and powerful producers along the lines of Brad Pitt (12 Years A Slave) or Oprah Winfrey (Precious). Straight Outta Compton is a solid boilerplate biography with tragic elements, one that was received very warmly and had a lot of money and star power (Ice Cube and Dr. Dre) behind it. It's also an extremely topical film given the #BlackLivesMatter movement and the fact that N.W.A.'s biggest and most controversial hit was F**k the Police, an anthem they continued to play at arenas around the country despite pressure from government authorities.

Ultimately, Straight Outta Compton probably just missed being good enough to make the Best Picture cut, something it might have done with a little more narrative meat to chew on. That's really the problem here. The film is never boring and the cast is uniformly strong as one would expect from it's best ensemble award from the Black Reel Awards and it's nomination in the same category by the Screen Actor's Guild.

However, it's all surface level stuff. As Easy E, Jason Mitchell navigates the only real arc of the film well, and O'Shea Jackson is particularly magnetic playing his father Ice Cube (kid's a dead ringer and really delivers in his musical performances), but the script never provides them enough material to get them into any sort of serious awards discussion. That may have to do with the real-life events not lending themselves to the same level of pathos found in something like Ray or Walk the Line, or it could be because the presence of Ice Cube and Dr. Dre as producers limits how close to the bone the film gets.

Dope is one of the most fun films of 2015.

As I alluded to above, Straight Outta Compton did land a nomination this year for best original screenplay, an odd choice given how stock ordinary this one seems. It's not a bad script by any means, it's just hard to believe it's deserving of a nomination. Like the movie itself, the script is adequate bordering on good. I'd argue Rick Famuyiwa's script for Dope would've been a far more deserving option.

A longtime director and writer of black focused cinema like The Wood, Brown Sugar, and Talk to Me, Famuyiwa hit one out of the park with Dope. It's a quirky coming-of-age crowd pleaser, sort of a mix between Risky Business and Boys n the Hood. On it's face, that doesn't sound like the kind of movie Oscar voters generally gravitate toward, even if you take race out of the picture. Then again, the script for Boys n the Hood landed a nomination, and the coming of age dramedy Juno took the top prize in this category as recently as 2007, so it wouldn't have been unprecedented if recognition had gone toward this vibrant, witty and well-observed script.

Dope is chiefly concerned with identity, particularly what it means to be a young and black in a post-racial world. It revolves around Malcolm (Shameik Moore), an outcast in Inglewood due to his affection for 90's fashion and music, dedication to making good grades, and other geek proclivities. Like Joel in Risky Business, Malcolm is a prospective ivy league student who gets pulled into a seedy and illegal business opportunity (drugs instead of prostitution) only to come out the other side wiser, better off and equipped with a romantic interest.

It's an immense boon for the film that this is every bit the star making film for Moore that Risky Business was for Tom Cruise. The kid is funny, vulnerable and magnetic -- the real deal. Unfortunately, it is extremely rare for young upstarts of any color to get traction in the best actor category, especially for a movie like this, so he had no chance. If Michael B. Jordan didn't get in, Moore had no prayer.

Also like Risky Business, Dope offers an irreverent yet insightful examination of the constricting weight of preconceptions and expectations. It's all very craftily done, with stylized editing and assured directing aiding Famuyiwa's fantastic script. My favorite part about the film is that it's not just Malcolm who proves more than what you'd expect on first glance. For instance, A$AP Rocky is both charming and terrifying as Dom, an articulate and quick-witted drug dealer who is bemused by Malcolm, probably because he reminds him of himself before outside influences and bad decisions led him too far down the wrong path.

Meanwhile, Kiersey Clemons busts stereotypes as Diggy, a lesbian tomboy who is adorable, loyal and confident, but still a nerd in transition, an outcast that will have no problems flourishing and getting girls when she comes into her own in college. In that way, she fits in perfectly with fellow outsiders Malcolm and Jib (Tony Revolori, great in a role that's quite a bit different than his turn as Zero in The Grand Budapest Hotel), her partners in BMX biking and all things '90s, not to mention fellow band mates in a punk band called Aweeroh (pronounced "Oreo"). These three are entirely believable as friends in a way many other teen comedy leads are not. Their also atypical representations of urban youth, and that's pretty damn dope. The movie is too, even if it was always slated to be an improbable Oscar nominee.

Tangerine puts two real-life trans women front and center.

If Dope would've been an improbable nominee, the uncompromising Tangerine would've been an impossible one. That would've been the case even if the story starred white actors, because there is simply no way in hell that a movie shot on iPhones and focused on the sub culture of trans sex workers on the streets of LA would get that level of recognition. Like I said, #OscarsSoVanilla.

Starring transgender actresses Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor, Tangerine concerns a day-in-the-life of Sin-Dee Rella (Rodriguez), a trans sex worker who, upon being released from a four week prison sentence on Christmas Eve discovers that her pimp and boyfriend Chester (James Ransone from The Wire) has been cheating on her with a biological woman. With a flair for the dramatic, Sin-Dee goes off on a rampage to find Chester and set her rival straight.

Alexendra (Taylor), Sin-Dee's friend and fellow sex worker, reluctantly tags along when she's not handing out flyers for her musical performance later that evening or servicing clients like Razmik (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian cab driver with a wife and daughter at home. It's basically an episodic buddy adventure, one that is often funny and occasionally poignant but always fascinating.

Credit to director Sean Baker for getting such empathetic and powerful performances from Taylor and Rodriguez, two novices with real-life experience in this world, one most people are unaware of but that many in the transgender community are forced into due to hate, discrimination and a general lack of options. The shooting style was necessitated due to lack of funding, but it's inspired all the same, as it lends a vital intimacy to the proceedings. Best of all, Tangerine has a dynamite denouement that concludes a disappointing and embarrassing day, one in what is assuredly a long line of days characterized by struggle and hardship, with a moving gesture of graceful friendship and quiet empowerment.

Idris Elba got robbed of a nomination. Was the snub race or

distribution platform based?

Up until this point, I've mostly highlighted avenues where the Academy could've gone with black artists but where they didn't make a glaring omission by neglecting to. However, that all changes when you consider Beasts of No Nation, the first of the films highlighted here not to be set in Los Angeles. Written, shot and directed by Cary Joji Fukanaga (True Detective season one), Beasts of No Nation tells the story of Agu (a phenomenal Abraham Attah), a young boy in Africa who is recruited into life as a ruthless soldier by a rebel Commandant (Idris Elba) after his family is killed during a dehumanizing and horrific civil war.

Throughout the film, Agu undergoes traumatic hardships and does some terrible things only to come out of the conflict wondering if he is now just a beast and looking to resume some semblance of childhood. Beautifully lensed and thematically reminiscent of the likes of Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and maybe even City of God, Beasts of No Nation is a visceral, sobering, disturbing, and yet ultimately hopeful examination of war and lost innocence.

This is exactly the type of film you'd expect to do well at the Oscars, possibly in the best picture, directing, writing, and cinematography categories, and certainly in the acting categories. Nominations for Fukanaga would've meant recognition for a Japanese artist, and then there are the superlative performances from the black Attah and Elba. Attah never had a chance -- as I wrote earlier, young actors have a very difficult time in the Best Actor category -- but it's extremely hard to fathom how a beloved and respected actor like Elba did not get recognized for such searing, revealing and transformative work. It's particularly hard to figure out how Christian Bale edged him out. Bale is great fun in The Big Short, but Elba does something far trickier, offering a restrained and humanizing portrayal of a monster.

I'm inclined to believe the film and Elba in particular didn't garner nominations because the Academy refused to embrace a Netflix production out of some sort of high-minded fear of new distribution platforms. At the same time, it's totally fair to wonder if Elba's being black had something to do with it. Recent history leaves cause for doubting the Academy. Michael Keaton in Birdman aside, David Oyelowo's work in Selma was more impressive than all of the Best Actor nominees last year and he still didn't get a nomination. This is true even though he had a role and film that screamed Oscar bait.

For what it's worth, the prize didn't even go to Keaton. Instead, it went to Eddie Redmayne for a totally fine turn in The Theory of Everything, a lesser film and performance in every respect, save perhaps it's Oscar bait-iness. #OscarsSoWhite and #OscarsSoVanilla indeed.

Straight Outta Compton B-, Dope A-, Tangerine B+, Beasts of No Nation B+

"Mad Max: Fury Road" and "The Revenant" Display Technical Wizardry, But the Former Leaves a Better Impression

Mad Max: Fury Road literally features a character who just plays a

flaming guitar to set the mood for Immortan Joe's men.

For all their differences, Mad Max: Fury Road and The Revenant strike a similar chord with me. Both feature actor Tom Hardy and both take a hard look at the violent nature of men, but the connection runs a bit deeper than that. They are certainly the most divisive films among the recent Best Picture nominees with each having been called a masterpiece by some and an overhyped piece of garbage by others. I’m somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. While I respect the undeniable craft, ambition and technical wizardry on display in each film, both feature parts that are greater than their collective wholes.

Fury Road is the fourth Mad Max film, but you don’t need to have seen any of the Mel Gibson-led entries to watch it. Not at all, really. Writer/director George Miller has spoken about how the Road Warrior franchise isn’t meant to be some ongoing narrative with sensical continuity, but rather a pliable urban legend of the post-apocalyptic wasteland. These stories are whisper-down-the-lane lore told around camp fires, mythical tales about a man who takes on different shades depending on the orator.

It is helpful to appreciating the film if you view it in that context, because the narrative is little more than a sparse allegory and Miller makes some big stylistic choices that are likely to turn off viewers looking for something a bit meatier and a lot less weird. Fury Road thrusts a haunted Max Rockatansky (Hardy, communicating mostly via his glances and grunts) into a feminine uprising against Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne), a maniacal warlord with several of wives (i.e. sex slaves), throngs of devoted War Boys who view him as a god and even more oppressed plebs just hoping to get bit of the water Joe hoards from all but the select one-percenters.

The action starts when Imperator Furiosa (a dynamite Charlize Thernon), one of Joe’s top lieutenants, goes AWOL during a gasoline run in an attempt to liberate Joe’s five wives from captivity. It’s basically one long car chase from there, but really it’s a psychedelic music video for a feminine empowerment ditty that’s raging against overbearing masculinity and maybe a little against capitalistic over commodification as well. It’s all good zeitgeisty stuff that fits snuggly alongside the likes of Ex Machina (reviewed here) and all the other media examining gender entitlement and rape culture. But, while I expect Fury Road to age well, I’m just not as gaga over the whole thing as its most ardent admirers. There's just some mysterious x-factor missing that prohibits me from connecting fully to the film, which probably says more about me than the movie itself.

Nevertheless, Fury Road is a sensory experience of the highest order. The Oscars it netted for editing, sound, costuming, makeup and production design are well deserved, and the film also would’ve been my choice for director and special effects due to its inventive lensing, energetic choreography and eye-popping stunt work. That doesn’t even cover the performances, which do their fair share in adding to the artistry of the visuals. Take, for instance, Nicholas Hoult, who is somehow batshit manic and introspectively still as Nux, one of the more nuanced takes on a homicidal zealot you’re likely to come across.

Leonardo DiCaprio finally got his Oscar for The Revenant.

The Revenant delivers plenty on the sensory level as well, with stylistic flourishes wrapped around a traditional narrative that will sit just fine with people unaccustomed to tonal idiosyncrasies. The tale of a fur keeper (Leonardo DiCaprio) who is mauled by a bear and then left for dead by the cohorts left in charge of tending to his needs, it’s basically concerned with suffering and survival, although it does make some nods toward the all-consuming nature of vengeance. Much of that is hollow tokenism, especially compared to Prisoners (reviewed here) or even something lesser like Death Sentence.

Packaging impressive long takes and unbelievable camera movements that trump what director Alejandro Gonzalez Iñarritu and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki previously achieved together with Birdman, The Revenant is as viscerally immersive in its best moments as any movie out there. Unfortunately, in between those moments the film is so emotionally static and faux meditative that it falls way beneath their previous collaboration.

DiCaprio won the Academy Award for his work here, and while some would have you believe his victory was basically a lifetime attaboy along the lines of the Oscar Al Pacino received for Scent of a Woman, that would be untrue. DiCaprio gives a grounded and raw performance, and although this doesn’t even rank as one of his 10 best performances and I wouldn’t have even nominated him this year, his win is far from some embarrassing make-good. It’s just that there’s not a lot of meat on the bone. Hardy has more to work with as the chief antagonist, another brooding brute like Max, albeit inverted, rotten and way more talkative. A win for him would’ve made more sense to me, but I’m not in charge of awards.

I prefer Mad Max: Fury Road to The Revenant, but they are both good films chiefly defined by the auteur touches of their directors. Neither is a top 10 film for me in 2015, but there’s always a few of those thrown in with the Best Picture crew, and I would way rather have those spots go to these masters of the form than some boilerplate prestige pic defined by middling competence.

Mad Max: Fury Road B+, The Revenant B