"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

"The Force Awakens" Feels Like Classic "Star Wars"

Importantly, Force Awakens gets the new characters right.

So I finally saw Star Wars: The Force Awakens and I have a lot of thoughts. Generally, I’ll admit I really enjoyed the movie. J.J. Abrams and the creative team delivered the film that fans have been clamoring for over the last three decades but that they were denied by the piss-poor prequels. This one is leaps and bounds above those films, and while it’s not really on par with the first trilogy, it’s tightly edited, expertly cast and entertaining as hell.

The Force Awakens basically follows the standard sequel escalation protocol – do what worked before, but go bigger. I mean that very literally. Once again, the bad guys have a planet-destroying base, causing one character to ask “So, it’s another Death Star?” I can’t remember the exact response, but it goes something like, “Sort of, but this one is like way, way bigger,” which is accompanied by a hologram showing the disparity and a lot of gulps from the people standing around. I’m not exactly sure why – since both the Death Star and this Starkiller Base do the exact same thing, you’d think the size would be pretty inconsequential. I guess one destroys worlds harder than the other.

Luckily Han Solo (Harrison Ford) is at this meeting, and he cuts past all the size mumbo jumbo, saying “How do we blow it up? There's always a way to do that.” And low-and-behold there is, and it’s basically the same exact vulnerability that brought down the empire in A New Hope and Return of the Jedi. So, everything’s bigger, but the same flaws persist.

The same could be said of the movie, which is basically a retread of A New Hope, with dashes of Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi sprinkled throughout. As a general rule, that’s not necessarily a bad thing – I recently wrote glowingly of Creed, a movie that does something very similar – but, while that film utilized a familiar construct to fully explore new themes and affecting character dynamics, The Force Awakens mostly trades in nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake.

I won’t lie – I love a great deal of the fanboy service, and I’ll happily revisit this world every year, especially if it feels this lived-in and emotionally resonant (more on that in a minute). But ultimately, I can’t help but feel the whole thing is pretty derivative. In a universe defined in the hearts of fans by its inventiveness and possibilities, we keep bouncing back to the same plot points about the same family in which everything paradoxically boils down to destiny. Rey (Daisy Ridley) may or may not have Skywalker blood running through her, but Kylo Ren definitely does, and it just makes the whole Star Wars universe seem so small. If Finn (John Boyega) winds up being the son of Lando Calrissian or a descendent of Mace Windu – basically the only other black characters in this series to date – it’s going to be hella annoying.

But setting aside these issues, I rather enjoyed The Force Awakens. I do think the film could’ve benefited from slowing down to breathe and allow some character moments, and that it was an emotionally dishonest misstep to have Leia (Carrie Fisher) hug Rey instead of Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew) at the end. But, despite my moaning about the derivative nature of the story, I do appreciate some of the symmetry in play here – as with A New Hope, The Force Awakens contains a lovable droid with a secret message, a hero from a desert planet with mysterious parentage, and a mentor who is struck down by a villain he raised. This makes the movements of the film predictable, but not necessarily in an unenjoyable way.

Because, it needs to be said, when the film delivers, it really, really delivers. Abrams taps into the excitement that defined this world in the original trilogy, and even better, he replicates the feeling that the characters inhabiting it haven’t been created for this story, but instead have been living fully-realized lives. We’ve been plopped into this adventure in media res and there’s a strong feeling that, even though we’re mostly trading in stock archetypes with these characters, nearly all of them have distinct personalities, emotions, histories and motivations. That makes things a lot more refreshing and engrossing than the prequels where everyone was basically a plot-serving automaton.

Harrison Ford doesn't sleepwalk through the film.

Rey and Finn are great characters to spin these movies around, not only because the fact that a woman and a black man are heading up a franchise like this is undeniably thrilling, but also because they are a lot of fun and the actors are unknowns that totally own their roles and have dynamite chemistry (I’ve long held that Abrams’ greatest strength as a filmmaker is his keen casting ability, and that’s extremely true here).

Rey is endearing, self-sufficient and resourceful and while nitpickers are arguing she’s a Mary Sue character (i.e. wish-fulfillment perfection), that’s just some horseshit, because nobody would be saying it if she was a man. Yes, she’s preternaturally good at everything she tries, from flying ships, to wielding light sabers, to controlling the force. She’s “the chosen one” archetype we’ve seen lead every film in this series, not to mention other popular films like Harry Potter and The Matrix, except this time she’s a girl. Have problems with that genre staple by all means, but it would be unfair to dwell on it here since the protagonist is a woman. I, for one, find it a refreshing change of pace.

Finn, meanwhile, is a Storm Trooper with a conscious, a self-interested antihero that initially isn’t so much about doing good as he is about not doing bad. Although he also seems preternaturally skilled with a light saber (although, to be fair, the film does show Rey expertly wielding a staff to subdue attackers early on and Storm Troopers fighting with light saber-like riot gear), he’s much less skilled than Rey, getting by mostly on luck and pluck. He’s basically a Han Solo type without the rapscallion nature and ace flying skills. Put a little more accurately, he’s basically a Ron Weasley type, or, depending on how things develop with his and Rey’s stories, maybe a Samwise Gamgee type.

I love that this role (and the role of Rey) could really be any sex or gender, but since Finn is played by a black guy, there is possibly something to his race on the thematic level. While I wouldn’t go as far as this writer, the fact is that the film gives us a black man rising up and fighting against the constructs placed upon him from birth. With the current state of racial relations and misunderstandings, that’s a noteworthy thing for a major blockbuster to do.

There are other great characters as well. BB-8 is perfectly adorable, and although he’s probably the most prequely character of the bunch since he’s just a stock good guy with no back story, the sheer force of charisma the great Oscar Issac brings to the table makes Poe Dameron far better than any hero we got into those entries. Meanwhile, Kylo Ren is basically what George Lucas wanted Anakin Skywalker to be in the prequels – petulant, whiny, flawed, corrupted and (here’s the difference) compelling. He has an undeniably interesting dynamic with every single one of the good guys besides Poe, which should be a landmine for drama in future installments.

And then, of course, there are the standbys from the first trilogy. Carrie Fisher and (especially) Mark Hamill are glorified cameos, but Harrison Ford brings a lot more energy than I would’ve expected. He carries the emotional weight of the film, forging powerful moments with each of the three main newbies before making his exit from the series.

So that’s my thoughts on The Force Awakens. It gets most of the important things right, and, excitingly, three of the four main roles moving forward are played by a woman, a black man, and a Latino man respectively, which I’m thinking has to be some sort of groundbreaking. While I would have preferred something a bit fresher, The Force Awakens is a strong start that has me excited for future outings, especially considering their being written and directed by a vibrant talent like Rian Johnson. B+

“Creed” Recaptures the Rousing Magic of the Original “Rocky”

Sylvester Stallone hands the franchise off to an up-and-comer in Creed.

The Rocky and Star Wars franchises are very different beasts, but it's amazing how, nearly 40 years into their lifespans, they seem to be riding along the same trajectory. Both started as passion projects for their creators before emerging as undisputable cultural touchstones. And, after devolving into mediocrity, both series have reemerged here in 2015 with original cast members passing the baton to new stars. Star Wars: The Force Awakens and Creed are each the seventh film in their respective franchises, and yet, oddly enough, both films are the first in their series in which the driving force isn't the original creator but instead a total unabashed fanboy.

Expectations are sky high for J.J. Abrams' Star Wars: The Force Awakens, and the stakes are clearly a lot bigger for him than they were for Ryan Coogler, writer-director of Creed. But if Force Awakens can even sort of do for Star Wars what Creed does for Rocky, well, Abrams and most film fans on the planet will be tremendously happy.

 Like Abrams' own Star Trek films or Noah Hawley's Fargo series, Creed is somehow both a loving piece or fan fiction and a great piece of entertainment in its own right. The plot intentionally mirrors that of the original Rocky -- a longshot underdog given an out-of-nowhere shot at the title based solely on his name is coached up by a reluctant old-timer and romances a local cutie -- while offering numerous nods to its increasingly bombastic sequels. A naysayer could say it's a mere retread mixed with elements of The Color of Money, but Coogler simultaneously embraces and subverts cliché, bringing a fresh feel to a familiar self-worth narrative.

Observe his clever spin on the training montage or the way he viscerally films each boxing sequence (one in a single take, another with multiple behind-the-head-shots that evoke a video game), and that becomes obvious. But it really helps that he's created a hell of a role for his Fruitvale Station star Michael B. Jordan, who undergoes a startling body transformation to portray boxing hopeful Adonis Johnson, the bastard son of Rocky nemesis-turned-friend Apollo Creed. Adonis is a rarity in a Hollywood film -- a young, complex black man. He's cocky and timid, charming and infuriating, weak and strong. It's the type of role that Tom Cruise played when he was younger and that almost nobody gets to play now, and it just really works within the Rocky construct.

Having never met his father -- he died in the ring before the boy was even born -- Adonis feels compelled to follow in his footsteps. This is despite the fact that he's an educated man with choices thanks to Apollo's widow Mary Ann (Phylicia Rashad), who plucked him out of the foster system after his mother died to raise him as her own. Mary Ann obviously doesn't condone his desire, and neither does the LA boxing community, forcing the self-taught Adonis to travel south of the border to engage in back-room bouts to get his fix. When that's no longer enough, he heads for Philly to track down Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stall
one) and get some professional training.

From there, the movie feeds you a lot of what you'd expect from a Rocky movie -- training montages, heart-on-sleeve monologues, health scares, inspirational music -- but it also lands some unexpected haymakers. There's the affecting romance with Bianca (Tessa Thompson), a deaf musician who is refreshingly living her own, three-dimensional life beyond the life of her beau.

But the biggest one comes courtesy of humbly powerful performance from Stallone, an actor who was compared to Brando when he arrived in the original Rocky but is mostly, deservedly, a punch-line. His performance here ranks with the best he's ever given -- right alongside the original Rocky and Cop Land -- and the Oscar talk swirling around him is well-founded. Stallone has allowed his iconic presence to do most of the heavy lifting over the last few decades, but here, he and Coogler wield that status like a surgical knife, using it to elevate the performance while also layering in the kind of gravitas, feeling and honesty you can only bring to a role when it has bled so fully into your own life and vice versa.

Creed is formulaic and manipulative, but satisfyingly so. Like last year's Guardians of the Galaxy, Creed is the type of film that is just so enthusiastically hitting all the right notes, that none of that stuff registers as a detraction. Coogler deftly handles everything, getting us to care about these people, and then getting us to root for them. Anyone who knows good Rocky movies from mediocre Rocky movies knows how things will end, but it doesn't matter. In the final round, when Coogler follows the film's best dramatic moment by finally allowing a few bars of Bill Conti's famous theme to play, it's just utter perfection, the kind of movie magic that every film yearns for but so few achieve. A

"The Hunger Games: Mockingjay -- Part I" Changes Up Franchise Formula to Mostly Positive Results

Katniss becomes the face of the revolution in Mockingjay -- Part 1.

In a post Harry Potter world, The Hunger Games series is far and away the best of the onslaught of YA adaptions. I outlined my thinking on this in my review of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, but the gist is this: even though the plot here is just as high concept and ludicrous as those found in many of its contemporaries, there is a credibility to the series because it keeps everything on the human scale rooted in a great lead character played by an actress at the top of her game. As this series goes on, it's getting easier and easier to say it -- Jennifer Lawrence is outright iconic.

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay -- Part I is another winning entry in the series, which is really saying something given all it has going against it. For starters, it doesn't center around a Hunger Games, and so it doesn't have the structure the first two films had. This adaptation was already going to have a meandering quality to it because of that, but then there's the fact that it's also being split into two films, which has only made it worse.

Splitting films has become a thing in Hollywood, but it almost always makes the films feel incomplete and is almost never necessary. At least with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, there was a practical reason -- that book was huge and had the responsibility of tying together so many plot strands that making one satisfying movie would've been impossible. On the opposite end of that spectrum is Breaking Dawn, a two-part film in which so little happens, it's amazing they couldn't do the whole thing in about 75 minutes.

Mockingjay falls squarely in the middle of these two extremes. Splitting the book into two films certainly affords the opportunity to explore character in a way one film never could, but I'm pretty confident the narrative would've been better served without the split. Although the total Mockingjay experience is going to clock in at well over four hours, it probably would've worked best as a three-hour epic. At least 20 minutes could have been chopped off of this first part without doing harm (especially the manufactured drama about Prim's cat and the rescue mission that eats up most of the final quarter of the film and was no doubt trumped up from the books as a means to give this film an exciting ending).

But there's no use talking about what could have been. Mockingjay -- Part I is still an involving film, but fans of the series should know that it's definitely a major step back in the action department. While the first two films hinted at political maneuvering, this film puts such manipulations front and center.

Mockingjay -- Part I gives these frequent costars a chance to 

share some scenes together.

Other than Katniss, the two focal characters in this film are Plutarch Heavensbee (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), the games-maker from the last film who conspired to spring Katniss from the arena, and President Alma Coin (Julianne Moore), the leader of the militaristic District 13 that is leading the revolution against the Capitol and President Snow (Donald Sutherland). In lieu of tournament with kids killing each other, the film spends a great deal of time showing their attempt to unite the districts and incite war with Katniss cast as their troop-rousing mascot. A great deal of effort is put on the PR aspects of war, so, in many respects, this latest Hunger Games film has more in common with something like Wag the Dog than it does with its direct predecessors (which explains why Danny Strong, writer of the political HBO films Recount and Game Change, has been brought on as a a co-writer).

The cast for this series is a huge strength and just keeps getting better and better. Julianne Moore is a solid addition and giving an actor as great as Hoffman more to do is always a great idea. Woody Harrelson gets some new notes to plays as a sober Haymitch, as does Elizabeth Banks as a humbled Effie, who has been added on here in a well-considered streamlining move (her role in the books was filled by lesser characters who had already been marginalized in the previous films).

As indicated above, Lawrence is a dynamo, and it's great to see her do bad acting when filming canned ads for the revolution, only to then see how moving she can be when giving a speech in the heat of battle or singing a soulful and moody song from her youth that is then morphed into a rallying song by the propoganda machine (major props to Lawrence and The Lumineers for bringing those book lyrics to life). Meanwhile, Josh Hutcherson remains the a stealth weapon of the series, conveying a lot of subtext in each of his interview scenes. On the other end of the barely-a-romantic-triangle triangle, Liam Hemsworth remains the weak link in the cast, but I'm not sure how much of that is on him, and how much of that is on the poorly defined character. For what it's worth, he does deliver in his big speech about the bombing of District 12.

Outside of the unnecessary splitting of the narrative, my biggest gripe with the film involves a deviation from the book that definitely rates as as a spoiler (you've been warned). While inter-cutting a rousing victory speech from Coin with Katniss watching a writing Peeta is a fantastic, theme-appropriate way to end here, I'm not a big fan of the overt acknowledgement that Snow allows this rescue mission to occur because of his "brainwash Peeta to hate Katniss" plan (which was more of a safety net in the books where the conversation between Snow and Katniss never occurred). It seems highly unlikely that Peeta would've actually been able to kill Katniss, and I just don't see how a shrewd villain like Snow would take that chance considering how much of a PR victory it would represent for the opposition otherwise. That's especially true considering he didn't bother brainwashing the other two captives. Why not just kill those two if he was going with this Peeta plan? Or, better yet, why not just kill all three? The whole thing worked better when it played like Snow was semi-duped as opposed to actively stupid.

While I'll probably always believe the series would've played best as a trilogy, Hunger Games: Mockingjay -- Part I is another good entry in an increasingly impressive series of films. B+

"Muppets Most Wanted" Plays to Brand's Strengths

The Muppets agree to make a world tour their next adventure.

Early on in Muppets Most Wanted, Kermit encourages Miss Piggy, Gonzo and the rest of his pals to play it safe and stick to their strengths. He argues that even though they are relevant again due to the success of the Jason Segal-led The Muppets (a fact that is emphasized by the opening number “We’re Doing a Sequel”), they are still in a perilous spot popularity-wise, so they shouldn't do much to shake up a formula that works.

He’s talking about the on-stage acts they’ll be delivering during their world tour, but it’s also a meta moment that aptly describes Muppets Most Wanted, a film that doesn't do anything innovative but coasts along amiably on the strength of some giddy puns, a zany energy, a slew of celebrity cameos, and (most importantly) a helping of charming original tunes.

The film focuses on the evil plot of Constantine the frog, a master criminal who looks like Kermit with a mole on his cheek. With the assistance of his number two (Ricky Gervais), Constantine escapes jail and then kidnaps and replaces Kermit, all the while using the cover of a Muppets World Tour to pull off a number of heists culminating in the theft of England’s Crown Jewels. Constantine makes for a poor Kermit, but none of his pals notice (except Animal) because the less structured impostor allows them to do whatever they want with the show.

Meanwhile, Kermit is trapped in a Siberian gulag, helping prisoners like Big Papa (Ray Liotta), Prison King (Jermaine Clement) and Danny Trejo (Danny Trejo) put on a revue at the behest of the warden (Tina Fey). And CIA agent Sam Eagle is working with a Clouseau-like Interpol agent (Ty Burrell) to track down the thieves behind the growing number of heists.

This gag single-handedly justifies this whole movie. 

The narrative is predictably disposable, but the film shines in similar ways to its predecessor. Director/writer James Bobin and co-writer Nicholas Stoller once again deliver fun that's amusingly meta, sneaking in some pretty big laughs  (the appearance of Rizzo and Robin and the sight gag of Kermit and Miss Piggy’s future kids) amidst the mostly knowing chuckles.

Although there’s nothing here that approaches his Oscar-winning “Man or Muppet” or even “Life’s a Happy Song,” Bret McKenzie has littered the soundtrack with some really clever and fun songs, especially “I’ll Get You What You Want” and “Interrogation Song.”  Likewise, while none of the celebrity cameos work as well as the Jim Parsons scene in The Muppets, three or four of the 20 or so included here come close.

As I said, the movie plays to the strengths of the Muppets. Nothing overly special to see here, but a comforting adventure with some old friends – the type of family film that doesn't hit the heights of something like The Lego Movie, but that will play well on repeat viewings with the kids. B-

Linklater Deepens Cinema’s Greatest Romance With Trilogy-Capping “Before Midnight”

After showcasing Vienna and Paris in the first two films, Before
Midnight takes place in Greece.

Every movie fan has more than a few films that their embarrassed to say they haven’t actually seen. For some reason, even though we all manage to catch up with our fair share of obvious duds like Baby Geniuses or Boat Trip, a multitude of true classics always fall through the cracks.

Despite my love for cinema and the crazy amount of time I spend on it, my list is still quite extensive. It’s probably no surprise that I haven’t seen many of the foreign classics by the likes of Godard, Traffaut, Bergman, and Fellini, but there are plenty of American films I’ve missed as well. For instance, although I’m a huge fan of the Godfather and have seen it about a dozen times, I’ve never actually seen Godfather, Part II. Meanwhile, it was only a few months ago that I finally caught up with The Silence of the Lambs, and I’m ashamed to admit I’ve yet to watch Apocalypse Now, A Clockwork Orange, Schindler’s List, Vertigo, and Lawrence of Arabia, among many other legendary films.

I try not to beat myself up over this, because, for whatever reason, there’s just so much more effort involved when you know you’re sitting down to watch a classic. Sometimes it’s just simpler to watch something of-the-moment, even mediocre drivel. Is We’re The Millers better than The Big Sleep? Most assuredly no, and yet I still spent two hours of my weekend watching Sudeikis and Aniston in lieu of Bogart and Bacall. It’s just the way things are.

I bring all this up as a preamble to my reaction to Before Midnight, which is the third in writer/director Richard Linklater’s series of talky films focused on soul mates Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy). Up until a few weeks ago, I’d never seen Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, the first two films in the trilogy. I was aware they existed and knew of the good buzz around them, and yet, I never went out of my way to seek them out. After all, how vital could two movies about star-crossed lovers bullshitting with each other during strolls through European locales possibly be?

After reading the raves for Midnight, I decided it was time to prioritize watching the first two films so that I could sit down for the third. Now, after having digested all three films, I’m fully confident that this trilogy belongs on the embarrassment list of any movie fan that has yet to see them. What Linklater and his actors (both of whom co-wrote the Oscar-nominated screenplays for the latter two entries) have accomplished with these films is outright mindboggling. Each one is great on its own, but as a whole, the trilogy places among the greatest cinematic triumphs I've ever seen.

Jesse and Celine are a long way from the idealized encounters they
shared in Before Sunrise (left) and Before Sunset (right).

For good reason, much of the emphasis on these films will be put on the romantic element and that makes sense. This is dubbed as one of the best romances in cinema history and with good reason – through three films Linklater has detailed the ongoing process that is love. Without giving too much away, it’s fair to say that Sunrise offers a dreamy evening between would-be lovers in Vienna, Sunset rekindles the passion after nine years apart, and Midnight catches up with the duo nine years later , during a critical juncture of what has become a long-term relationship.

There’s a universality to the whole journey – the idealism of a fresh connection, the realization that it wasn’t a fluke, that the love really was palpable and unique, and then, finally, the realism that sets in once you’re waist deep in a relationships, trying to keep love alive while maintaining your personal identity, making compromises and getting on one another’s nerves.

But these films detail not only the arc of a relationship, but the growth in these two people, and there’s something entirely relatable about the way the creative team so expertly captures the contradictions of the life stages in these three snapshots of life.

In his widely accepted Stages of Psychosocial Development, psychologist Erik Erikson* describes the psychosocial crisis for young adults (18 to 40) as love vs. intimacy, and the first two films fall in line with his teachings. There is a giddiness to the first film that echoes what it’s like being in your late teens and early 20s, a time when you’re fearless and exuberant but somehow simultaneously filled with all sorts of doubt. And the second highlights the mounting confidence that comes along midway through young adulthood that consistently clashes with a sort of restless desperation for things to finally come together.

*I’m not trying to be overly clinical here, but it’s very hard not to mention Erikson, especially considering Boyhood, Linklater’s latest film. Shot over the course of 12 years with the same four actors (Hawke included), the film is a literal coming of age story that chronicles the development of a boy from age 6 to 18. Clearly Linklater has a great interest in development and the passage of time, and it’s hard to imagine he hasn’t considered Erikson’s theory himself given that and how the theory perfectly dovetails with what he’s done in this series. If I ever were to get a chance to speak with the guy, you can bet I’d be sure to ask him about it.

Unlike the previous two entries in the series, Before Midnight features several other significant characters.

In Midnight, Jesse and Celine are no longer spring chickens. Erickson would place them firmly in adulthood (40 to 65), a time in which people begin wrestling with the psychosocial crisis of generativity vs. stagnation. It’s a time for people to focus on making a lasting mark in the world, and so, rightly, we find Jesse and Celine dealing with fears related to child rearing and career choices.

Overall, I think I like Sunset the best, mostly because it’s filmed in real-time, which lends immediacy to Jesse and Celine’s race to determine if this connection they’ve long idealized is a love worth changing their lives over. But all three films are absolutely fantastic in the way they capture the contradictions of life and love.

To focus specifically solely on the newest film, I greatly enjoy the ways in which it differentiates itself from its predecessors. Through the end of the second film, we had seen every moment shared between these two people, but now there’s nine years of added history – tender moments and strained concessions we haven’t witnessed – and that adds an extra weight to the proceedings.

Yes, Midnight ultimately focuses on a long and winding conversation in yet another European destination, but Linklater also opens up the narrative in the early going, including a revealing interaction between Jesse and his son from a previous relationship, as well as an extended dinner party sequence during which Jesse and Celine banter with several other couples. These two are no longer the sole voices on display, which is a clever way of indicating the mounting external factors these two are coping with now that fantasy has been replaced by reality. Things get darker in this third outing as the duo begins to feel boxed in by circumstance, and the narrative goes in some deeper and more complicated directions as a result.

Before closing, I have to mention that one of the very best things about these films is how wonderfully each one ends. All of them go out on satisfyingly poignant notes while somehow still leaving things provocatively unresolved. I’m not sure if Linklater, Hawke, and Delpy have the desire to keep returning to Jesse and Celine every nine years, but further entries would be more than welcome if they remain anywhere near as thought-provoking and engrossing as the first three have been. A

"Catching Fire" Takes "The Hunger Games" Series to the Next Level

No that's not a scene from Black Swan. It's the latest Hunger Games.
Notice the guy in the corner with the purple hair?

In my review of The Hunger Games I called it “a solid double that, with exposition largely dispatched with, paves the way for an even better second outing.” The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, the latest entry in the series, lives up to that prediction, deepening and improving what the first film did well, while simultaneously correcting its most problematic elements.

The film picks up with Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) back in district 12, living in the Victor’s Village alongside drunken mentor Haymitch (Woody Harrelson) and fellow tribute Peeta (Josh Hutcherson). She’s dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder and she barely even looks Peeta’s way following the events of the first film, but things are mostly going OK – her mom and sister are safe and living in luxury with her, and she’s getting pretty cozy with long-time friend Gale (Liam Hemsworth).

But, her defiant gestures from her time in the arena have bred hope of uprising within many of the districts. President Snow (Donald Sutherland) isn’t happy with her, and now she has to go on her victor’s tour during which she’ll have to confront the emotional fallout of her time in the arena with Peeta. Even worse, Snow threatens the lives of Katniss’s loved ones, implying he’ll do some pretty nasty things unless she sells the love story rouse believably enough to discredits herself as an instigator and symbol of rebellion.

Needless to say, that doesn’t go over well, causing President Snow to be all “I’m going to kill this chick.” But “Hey, not so fast,” says Plutarch Heavensbee (Phillip Seymour Hoffman, brining the same icy calm and confidence he displayed in Mission Impossible 3), the man who took over as Gamesmaker after the last one was killed for getting Snow into this predicament in the first place. Heavensbee argues killing her outright would only make Katniss a martyr; instead, he suggests a plot that would have her return to the arena in a sort of Hunger Games: All-Stars Edition, pitting her against 23 former winners. He promises her death in a way that will invalidate her as symbol, while also offering the added bonus of eliminating 22 other victors, all of whom now pose a threat due to the hope they instill within the districts of Panem.

There’s plenty of interesting metaphorical subtext in all of this, particularly related to the way our society disenfranchises the lower class while placating them with false hopes and trivial preoccupations. I get that it’s easy to label all sorts of movies as allegories for the Occupy Movement, especially those with dystopian futures (Elysium, In Time, etc.) but there’s something that feels almost fresh about the way this series focuses specifically on “hope” as a weapon used for both oppression and revolution. 

Katniss's defiance has inspired revolt throughout the other districts.

Twilight has been an obvious comparison for this series since it was first announced, but as The Hunger Games continues to distinguish itself as one of the higher quality franchises of the moment, it seems clear that the more apt comparison may be the Harry Potter films. As with Potter, The Hunger Games is working from legitimately solid source material, and it is being treated with dignity by its filmmakers who have put a premium on talent and quality. Superb actor after superb actor populates these films (and will continue to do so as  Julianne Moore is set to join the final two installments), and the behind-the-scenes players are impressive across the board. Look no further than the screenwriters for proof – this episode has been adapted by Oscar winners Michael Arndt (Toy Story 3, Little Miss Sunshine) and Simon Beaufoy (Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours).

As with Harry Potter’s Christopher Columbus before him, writer-director Gary Ross (Pleasantville, Seabiscuit) has been unfairly maligned for his stewardship of the franchise’s first film, with most detractors focusing on the negatives (most specifically, his decision to go all shaky cam). But, it’s worth noting that launching a franchise like this is nearly impossible. Occasionally a bad one succeeds (Twilight) or a promising one fails (The Golden Compass), but young adult literature adaptations usually tend to be gross miscalculations along the lines of Eragon, I Am Number Four and The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones.

The fact that Ross delivered a hit, clearly established the world in an accessible manner and nailed the tone and casting is a pretty spectacular feat, and accomplishing all of that did a great deal of the heavy lifting for this second outing. For my Phillies fans out there, he’s basically what Ed Wade was to the 2008 championship – hamstrung by budgetary concerns and remembered for his miscues, despite planting the seeds for greater achievement.

But just as Pat Gillick deserves a great deal of credit for bringing a World Series trophy to Philadelphia, Francis Lawrence (Constantine, I am Legend) deserves his fair share for Catching Fire. A singular success along the lines of the Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is rare enough, but even rarer is a franchise like Harry Potter – one that not only maintains a level of quality but continues to improve. Regardless of what you think of his previous output overall, Lawrence is experienced with the genre and a far more established visual stylist than Ross, and I think that makes a world of difference. He wisely abandons the shaky cam, opting instead for longer takes that make geographical sense of what’s happening while also allowing the camera to linger on actor reactions and the improved aesthetic of Panem.

Having most of the exposition out of the way is, as predicted, a major boon for the film. With the world established, screen time can instead be devoted to defining character moments. By necessity, the first film is laser-focused on establishing Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) and the rules of the Games. The rest of cast did nice work, but all in support of establishing the lead. Here, they are far more prominent.

To be clear, Katniss is still the undisputed focus of the picture, and, Jennifer Lawrence remains the greatest asset this franchise has going. As Katniss, she manages to be difficult, uncompromising and closed-off, while still coming across as relatable, likable and desirable. It’s a great role and an even more impressive performance, and at this point in her career, Jennifer Lawrence is Hollywood’s Girl On Fire.

The bond between Katniss and Peeta is way better realized this time out.

But the world around Katniss begins to open up in Catching Fire, resulting in a greater sense that the supporting characters are living their own lives and that there’s vastly more at stake than the fate of 24 tributes. Returning costars like Donald Sutherland, Stanley Tucci, Elizabeth Banks, and Woody Harrelson are given more notes to play, and they make the most of them. Meanwhile, new cast members like Hoffman, Jeffrey Wright, Amanda Plummer, Jena Malone, and Sam Clafin all get a chance to make an impression. 

However, Hutcherson is probably the greatest beneficiary amongst the supporting cast. Dude’s practically playing a saint in these films, and that could become awfully annoying, but the script invests great effort into Peeta, and Hutcherson sells the character’s inherent decency and wealth of emotions. As opposed to the first film, which botched the presentation of the bond between Peeta and Katniss, this one gets it right by highlighting several moments that emphasize why this woman might fall for the meek, unassuming baker’s boy when she has a big, brooding coal miner/hunter waiting at home for her.

Twilight has shown this “Who will the girl choose?” crap can be the worst, but this is a very thoughtful take on love triangles, one in which obligation, affection and empathy take the place of sneering and petty possessiveness. Peeta’s not the type a movie of this magnitude would normally pair with its heroine (as The Onion hilariously explored and NPR thoughtfully analyzed), but he has the capacity to comfort and understand her, and, perhaps more importantly, to surprise her. One particular moment of inspiration – having Katniss (and thus the viewer) actually see the picture Peeta painted of Rue, and not just hear about it later on as she did in the novel.

As far as other changes between the book and the film, I’d say the filmmakers make a lot of smart decisions here. It’s a shame to lose out on the stuff related to Haymitch’s victory in the 50^th Hunger Games and the early scenes with Twill and Bonnie, two runaways that hint at District 13 still existing as a place of refuge, but neither was all that necessary.

Just like in the first film, the biggest alteration involves repeated cutaways to Snow and his Gamemaker. Adding a granddaughter for Snow is a simple way to humanize the guy and further establish the fragile system he operates, but more important are the scenes showing Heavensbee convincing Snow to keep Katniss alive until the time is right to kill her.

One of my biggest problems with the book was the hard-to-shake feeling that Snow’s plan seemed a little over complicated, that a guy like him would probably just kill her, or, at the very least, her family. This is especially true given the way he treats others in Panem and the way Haymitch’s loved ones were dispatched with after his victory in the Games. These scenes do a nice job offering explanation for this decision, while also providing a bit more insight into the twist involving the rebellion’s daring plan to extract Katniss from the arena unbeknownst to her (another thing that annoyed me in the book, but that makes sense here).

Donald Sutherland and Phillip Seymour Hoffman are both so good
at acting.

Although I like that, and enjoy how the film shows Heavensbee conning Snow with misdirection, the twist is a great deal more confusing on film. In the book, the ultimate implication is that Heavensbee volunteers as Gamemaker to help carry out the plot to save Katniss after Snow has already decided to do Hunger Games All-Stars. The goal seemed to be saving the symbol of freedom at all cost, so as to save the revolution.

In the film, Heavensbee is shown to be a master puppet master, pulling strings from the very beginning with designs to embarrass Snow on live television and thus further spark rebellion. He’s the one who comes up with the idea of doing a Hunger Games with past victors, and although you could argue he only does that to buy Katniss time, I think there’s a lot more to it than that (after all, the rebels could’ve just picked her up earlier in the film if they were worried Snow would kill her).

Part of me likes this aspect – it implies that even the good guys are ruthless in pursuit of their goals since they are willing to put previous victors in harm’s way to galvanize the public – but part of me hates it because of how densely elaborate the con turns out to be. It’s hard to believe anyone could ever convince Snow to do all these things in this way, at least not if we're supposed to believe Snow is a cunning and worthy adversary.

Additionally, I imagine nonreaders were very confused by the way the end is handled, specifically related to what the plan actually involved. Obviously confusion is part of the point during the events within the arena, but I think more work could’ve been put into explaining what exactly happened once the film transitions to its denouement. A full on, Ocean’s 11 style reveal isn't necessary, but a few throwaway lines when Katniss busts in on Heavensbee, Finnick and Haymitch would’ve gone a long way toward providing clarification for the uninitiated.

Despite these hiccups, Catching Fire is a great time at the movies. It’s long, but it moves; it’s big budget popcorn, but it has some substance to it. I’m skeptical about splitting Mockingjay, the final book in the series, into two films, but the filmmakers have earned some good faith.  I’m genuinely excited to see the next entry, and in a world where so many sequels seem like inevitable chores, that’s something. B+

The Wolverine Marks a Wasted Opportunity

Hugh Jackman is one hugely jacked man. See what I did there?

The Wolverine has done relatively well with critics due to its atypically somber and intimate approach to the superhero genre, but, by and large, the praise is overblown.

The film aspires to be a slow burn, character-focused actioner with a flawed and broken antihero, something along the lines of the underrated George Clooney film The American or even Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven. However, while star Hugh Jackman seems game and there’s some interesting themes buried in the narrative, The Wolverine collapses under the weight of nonsensical plot machinations, lackluster development and a silly finale.

The movie opens with a Yeti-looking Wolverine eking out an isolated existence in wilderness of the Yukon, still haunted from being forced to kill ladylove Jean Grey at the conclusion of X-Men: The Last Stand. However, after being tracked down by pixie-cute martial artist Yukio (Rila Fukushima), he quickly finds himself enroute to Japan to bid farewell to Yashida (Haruhiko Yamanouchi), a Japanese acquaintance he saved from certain death during the bombing of Nagasaki.

When he arrives, Wolverine learns Yashida has become a billionaire industrialist and that, instead of saying goodbye, what he actually wants to do is take Wolverine’s regenerative power, saving his own life while simultaneously granting Wolverine mortality that will eventually lead to the peaceful and honorable death Yashida believes he desires. After Wolverine unexpectedly scoffs at the idea, Yashida dies in the middle of the night.



"Poison Ivy," I mean "Viper," terrorizes Wolverine's girlfriend.

From there, Wolverine gets embroiled in family politics, becoming the protector of Yashida’s granddaughter Mariko (Tao Okamoto) who Yashida names as heir to his empire. This revelation causes uproar with Mariko’s father, and ultimately the Yakuza, an ancient clan of ninjas and Viper (Svetlana Khodchenkova), a mysterious mutant who weakens Wolverine’s regenerative capabilities, factor into the plot.



There’s plenty of action, including a standoff on top of a bullet train and a beautifully shot sequence in which Wolverine goes up against numerous arrow wielding ninjas, but the film’s actually more of a drama in which our hero comes to terms with his immortality and learns to love again.

These through lines are strong conceptually, but the film botches them. For Wolverine’s existential crisis to carry weight, the film should’ve devoted more screen time to the development of Wolverine’s friendship with Yashida, perhaps even showing our hero vocalizing the burdens of everlasting life while hiding in a hole after the bombing. A similar criticism could be levied at the film’s romantic relationship. Although Jackman and Okamoto have a nice chemistry, there’s just not enough there, and, from a story perspective, it makes little sense that Wolverine would pull a Casablanca and fly away from the woman he loves, simply stating “I’m a soldier, and I’ve been away to long.”



Apparently, this scene intentionally evokes Akira Kurosawa's

Throne of Blood. That's cool.

However, that nonsensical plot point is nothing compared to the ludicrous (but telegraphed) twist in which viewers discover Yashida faked his own death and took up residence in an adamantium robot, biding his time until he could steal Wolverine’s power by force via drilling into his claws.

Forgetting for a second that the adamantium-heavy plan makes little sense in it’s own right (Wolverine’s actual powers have nothing to do with the adamantium skeleton Stryker grafted onto him), it’s tough to comprehend why Yashida would go through all the trouble of faking his death and putting his granddaughter in harms way when he could simply imprison Wolverine while he’s sleeping under his roof. It also doesn’t make sense why Mariko and Yukio wouldn’t be in on this plan, and why exactly Viper is helping Yashida at all.

Overall, the film plays like a series of artistic compromises, and while some parts are effectively thoughtful, others are mind-numbingly cartoonish.  Given the end result, it’s easy to imagine why original director Darren Aronfsky was attracted to the project, and why he ultimately bailed on it.

 

In watching The Wolverine, I was reminded of Last Stand, another X-Men film with some interesting ideas that downgraded at director right before production. Although most X-Men fans revile that film, The Wolverine has been embraced as a return to form for the character after two disappointing entries (Last Stand and X-Men Origins: Wolverine). However, from where I’m standing, it’s basically the same as Last Stand – a wasted opportunity. C

'Star Trek Into Darkness' Provides Familiar But Satisfying Entertainment

In the first film Kirk and Spock met and became chums. Here, they

become absolute besties.

It’s been over two months since I’ve seen J.J. Abram’s Star Trek Into Darkness, but I’ve been dragging my feet on writing a review. To be clear, that’s not a reflection of the film itself, which I actually found to be great escapist entertainment.

For fans of Star Trek, the 2009 relaunch of the series, much of Star Trek Into Darkness will feel extremely similar. Once again, the crew of the Enterprise is tasked with dealing with a self righteous, revenge-seeking villain who, early in the film, kills a Kirk (Chris Pine) father figure. And, once again, the major focus is on the developing bromance between Kirk and Spock (Zachary Quinto).

Some could argue that makes this outing derivative, especially when you throw in lifted story beats from an earlier Star Trek film (more on that in a bit), but considering how well they’ve pulled everything off here, I see little reason to complain.

(Ummm…. spoiler warning).

The villain here is first introduced as Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch), a rogue Starfleet Commander who apparently has curative blood and a major vendetta against his employers. Kirk and his team are tasked with hunting him down, and when they do, they discover he also possess superhuman strength and unparalleled intellect. Oh, and they come to learn that he is actually Khan, an extremely iconic Trek character who, as even non-fans like myself know, killed Spock in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

He may not have the ridiculously large chest, but Benedict

Cumberbatch offers up an imposingly memorable take on Khan.

Despite universal praise for Cumberbatch’s magnetically forceful performance, a great deal of criticism has been launched at using Khan for this story, particularly related to the thematic bastardization of the Spock death, which has been twisted here to result in the death of Kirk. A good example of this backlash can be found here.

I actually quite liked this aspect of the film. Although the concept of keeping Khan’s identify a secret from the audience was silly, I think making him the bad guy worked well, especially in the way it played off of the previous history with the character. When Spock seeks the counsel of Spock Prime (Leonard Nimoy), it’s a nice little nod to the original series, but also a story beat that makes sense.

Furthermore, while I understand there was great thematic heft to having Spock be the one that died in Wrath of Khan, I really like that they flipped the script. Instead of building on Kirk’s inability to accept death, this new interpretation (which you can watch here) represents a thematic highpoint in the developing friendship between Kirk and Spock, both of whom are learning from one another and changing as a result.

Some might argue Kirk’s quick revival ruins the impact of his death. I disagree with that, because regardless of his status at the end of the film, the death is still a real and tangible moment for the characters. It still meant something to them and still elevated the relationship to another level. In the first film, Spock Prime told Spock his relationship with Kirk would be “a friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize.” Here, the filmmakers continue to develop that idea.

Alice Eve doubles the sexy woman total on the Enterprise, taking some

of the weight off of Zoe Saldana's back.

That being said, there are some incredibly silly things in this film. Obviously, the Khan blood stuff is hokey, and that isn’t helped by the way McCoy discovers it. And, while I mostly like the way Khan is used, the climatic showdown between him and Spock just doesn’t make sense. I mean, seriously, why would a super human run from one mere Vulcan?

There’s not much more to say. As with its predecessor, all the technical aspects are top notch, and the hurling momentum of the thing is huge plus, but the greatest strength of the film is in the character dynamics. While the film predictably focuses on Kirk and Spock, nearly every character is nicely sketched, well portrayed and feels like a vital part of the team. They may not all interact with each other and some recede to the background, but they all seem to have a very specific relationship with Kirk, a subtle touch that I think plays very well, especially considering so much of Kirk’s development has to do with his standing as a leader. Meanwhile, Kahn isn’t the only famous character to be reintroduced – Dr. Carol Connors (Alice Eve), who in the previous Trek timeline bore Kirk a son, also plays an integral role.

Overall, Star Trek Into Darkness is not quite up to the level of its predecessor, but it’s pretty damn close. It’s one of the better sequels you’re likely to see, because it commendably deepens and expands the themes of the first film, making the combo seem far more apiece than the typical series. B+

Changing Up the Formula Proves Problematic for 'The Hangover Part III'

The Hangover Part III misguidedly turns Chow into a lead and becomes a
heist movie.

In the lead up to The Hangover Part III, director Todd Phillips defended the preceding entry in the series to Empire, saying "Yes we do a wake-up and a blackout, but every joke in Hangover II is completely different. My feeling is that it's better [than the first movie]. I think it's human nature that any time people want to try something for a second time, people go to a negative. I think in five or ten year's time, people will come to realize how brilliant Hangover II is." 

Before commenting on the specifics of such a comment, I should mention that I concur with Forbes contributor Scott Mendelson’s assessment that it is refreshing to see a filmmaker stand by his film, as opposed to shitting on it as a way to sell the next one as an improvement.

Having said that, I do believe most of what Phillips says is nonsense. The second movie is not better than the first, and a majority of the jokes are pointedly the same (as shown in this Vulture piece). For that reason, Phillips was lambasted for making a lazy carbon copy of the original, instead of trying to evolve the story and do something different.

The Hangover Part III seems to be a direct answer to that criticism.  Although Doug (Justin Bartha) is left to the side once again, the movie attempts to switch up the formula. The lead trio is not drugged and they do not spend the movie trying to piece together what happened the night before (despite the title, there is no hangover). Instead, the minor role of Chow (Ken Jeong) is beefed up and action and heist elements are grafted onto the story.


Melissa McCarthy lends the film some much needed humor in her few scenes.

All of this proves a massive misstep. As Community has already proven, Jeong is best used in small doses, and yet here, he’s arguably co-lead with Zach Galifianakis. In fact, the first five minutes of the movie are spent with him, and he is the catalyst for the entire plot, which finds our heroes caught in the middle of his feud with a gangster (John Goodman) over $42 million in gold bars.

Making matters worse, the film is rarely funny, occasionally saccharine and often infuriating. Watching Phil (Bradley Cooper) and Stu (Ed Helms) attempt to discover what happened during a crazy night with Alan (Galifianakis) as an oddball tagalong is a good time. Watching them constantly being outsmarted by a crazy psychopath like Chow, only to feel sympathy for him even though they know he’s a double-crossing murderer? Not so much.

Having seen Part III, I find myself appreciating the second film more than I originally did. While I wouldn’t go so far as to call it brilliant, it is a funny film, and there is something to be said for the way it unashamedly mimics the first one, while simultaneously escalating the events and self destruction to gonzo, nightmarish heights. It’s a sequel that almost plays like a remake, albeit one with more money and more freedom to go full hog. In that way, it’s sort of like Evil Dead 2.

Meanwhile, outside of a few random bits of awkward inanity from Galifianakis, Part III is a just a limp exercise. It’s telling that the biggest laughs come courtesy of a 90-second credit sequence that offers an intentionally derivative glimpse of a morning after hangover following another night of revelry. Hangover films work better with a hangover. Go figure. D+