#sol remains one of my all time favorite star wars characters to ever exist and it's only getting worse

[shield-and-saber]

[headlesssamurai]

review blade runner 2049 please

[Yo. @godzillaapproved asked me about this too, as did, like twenty other anons at this point, I meant to post this publicly but accidentally replied privately to the epic city-stomper. Here’s what I wrote.]

Yo, my apologies for taking a dog’s age to properly reply to this one. Between working a new job and teaching kids D&D, my schedule… actually hasn’t been that full at all, in fact being busy has got nothing at all to do with what took me so long. I’m just a lazy bastard, I reckon.

Nah, I’m playing. It’s just this write-up’s a tough one. In trying to properly discuss a movie like this, the worst obstacle I’m faced with is offering worthwhile thoughts which can rise above the more quotidian comparisons of old and new, and avoids falling to the level of all those acerbic neanderthals shouting at each other about reboots and franchise fatigue. Regardless of your opinion on it as a motion picture, Blade Runner 2049 is a film worthy of attentive consideration, approving or disapproving.

So, yeh, like, half the time I tried to write it up my thoughts veered wildly off into existentially perverse nonsense most people couldn’t follow if they were jacked up on a cocktail of Ritalin and whatever drug Bradley Cooper was addicted to in that one movie they later made into a shitty TV show. The other half of the time my critical analysis, though coherent, stretched to thirty-six pages (no exaggeration).

I was able to hack apart the latter version with a hatchet, and a few slivers of it have been included in this write-up, along with some fresh thoughts on the movie after giving it another once-over on my home theater system. Hopefully the thoughts shorn off my now axed 2049 manifesto help create a rational measure of insight to share on the artistry and agency of this contemplative film. And here I am wasting your fucking time, explaining how I wrote this thing up instead of just finishing the motherfucker.

I’ll just preface this by saying it’s impossible to discuss 2049 without at least mentioning the first Blade Runner and voicing a few of my thoughts on that film, considering how much it’s meant to me over the years. Also, so there’s no confusion I’ll usually be referring to this new film as 2049 and the earlier Ridley Scott movie as Blade Runner.

If you’re unfamiliar with the concept, Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner was very loosely based upon Philip K. Dick’s short novella Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?, retaining few elements of Dick’s story besides some character names and the general setting of the world. The setting involves a highly advanced technological future, said to be 2019 in the original film, in which genetically indistinguishable androids (the latest model of which is called a Nexus-6), known as replicants, have been created as slave labor, and mostly used for the perilously dangerous industry of colonizing other worlds. It’s not clear how many worlds have been colonized, nor if these worlds are part of Sol’s orbit, or inhabit other star systems, but Earth appears to be a mere footnote by the era of the film. It is heavily implied that Earth is highly polluted, has undergone yet survived various environmental events which have permanently altered the weather and atmosphere, including nuclear war and extinction of many different species, and is now considered a very undesirable place to live.

The original film follows the intertwining story of Rick Deckard, a type of bounty hunter known as a “blade runner” who specializes in tracking down and eliminating rogue androids, and Roy Batty, a dying combat android who Deckard has come out of retirement to hunt. Ridely Scott’s film uses this general backdrop as a mechanism for an aesthetically light narrative of show-don’t-tell, including much visual intrigue and little direct exposition. Though often viewed as a scattershot of stylistic flair with shallow depths to its storytelling, this original film has been praised for years as evolutionary cinema, and has often been interpreted to explore the nature of humanity, consciousness, mortality, and the human capacity for both violence and compassion.

Personally, I tend to shy away from the more relativistic viewpoint in terms of filmmaking, and other forms of cumulative artistic expression and storytelling mediums. I think people who say “Anything can be art” and “Quality is just an opinion” are just people who don’t really know much about art, and haven’t seen enough quality films to be able to distinguish them from those which happen to be steaming crocks of shit stew, never mind the fact that such individuals are likely too dense to grasp what makes quality storytelling worthwhile to begin with. Ipso facto, if you’ve watched enough movies and actually care about movies, and you possess an attention span somewhere north of a toddler on morphine, you probably know what I’m talking about. I want to say this without the sort of high-nosed hauteur normally associated with such statements, but as a talented dude once put it “If it is art, it is not for everyone. If it is for everyone, it is not art.” I’m thankful to say 2049 inhabits a place in cinema well within the span of that distinction and, if box office numbers are any indication, makes no apology for it.

Because Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner has been released in various cuts, some better received than others, there exists a great deal of division over what his film was trying to say, as well as a massive amount of speculation on whether or not Deckard himself actually happened to be an android without knowing it. This level of ambiguity surrounding the original film has become a major part of why its fans adore it so much as praiseworthy cinema. It’s for this, and many other reasons, that Blade Runner remains my favorite movie of all time. Not saying it’s the best movie ever made, I’m just saying it’s my favorite, rivaled only by The Empire Strikes Back.

I was pretty damn rattled when first hearing that somebody in the wretched hive of Hollywood decided it would be a good idea to make a sequel to my favorite movie of all time. Or maybe, as some at the time speculated, it would be a reboot. I couldn’t quite decide which thought was more fuckening. Considering some of the reboots we’ve had, I imagined nothing but a hollow, CGI lightshow of forgettable one-dimensional characters running about a cliché world only vaguely reminiscent of the trend-setting urban dystopia from Ridley Scott’s cultish masterpiece.

That said, clearly Denis Villeneuve isn’t here to fuck around. He’s an established director with a modest, respectably memorable body of work. Even bitterly immersed my previously mentioned revulsion at the thought of a Blade Runner sequel, I recall thinking that if any bastard in the film industry could actually pull it off, it’s probably him. As I previously stated on this very blog, my respect for Villeneuve was deeply conflicted with my closely held conviction that the first Blade Runner is laudable precisely because of the things it doesn’t tell the audience, doesn’t explain, and leaves ambiguous and open to interpretation. Its depth lies in its mystery and somewhat abstract approach to an otherwise simplistic narrative. It’s no surprise this approach wasn’t popular at the time, and continues to be debated among film critics to this day.

I was terribly afraid, despite Villeneuve’s dextrous hand at the helm, there would be a massive exposition dump somewhere in Blade Runner 2049, explaining away gargantuan volumes of plot devices and character motivations from the original movie, effectively destroying everything that made it great. I vehemently avoided any promotional material after the initial teaser trailer, because I wanted to go into the new film cold, no idea of what exactly to expect.

Imagine my surprise upon first viewing the 2049, realizing the abstract concepts from the first movie have mostly been abandoned in favor of a far more straightforward and less nebulous storytelling method, and from the patient start to the unusually optimistic end, the notional mysteries from Ridley Scott’s original film are rarely referenced and safely allowed to remain unexplained. There’s even a scene in which one character proposes an idea to another which could serve as an expository mechanism for something from the first film, yet this is left hanging for a moment before being brushed aside with the feeling that these ideas, this very discussion is irrelevant to the story at hand.

Out of the gate, I appreciated 2049’s ownership of its story, confidence in its approach to that story, and general lack of what I’d describe as cynical filmmaking tropes. Again, like Schönberg said, true art isn’t meant for everyone and by that token 2049 flat out assumes you’re into the sort of vice it’s slinging, and doesn’t even try to placate a wider audience. I loved this about the movie. I haven’t the slightest clue how Villeneuve got a studio to sign off on this approach without adding a plucky side-kick, laugh-a-minute slapstick, or overblown fantastical action sequences, but somehow the bastard grabbed that gem. It’s a movie that’s just trying to be what it is, it doesn’t give a fuck about your politics, your fandoms, your capacity to be offended, and it doesn’t much give a damn about you if romantic comedies are more your speed. From start to finish, this movie comfortably inhabits its own skin without any pandering whatsoever. Even fans of the original film aren’t really catered in any particular way. It’s goddamn amazing to see that sort of integrity in a modern, high budget movie.

Blade Runner 2049 continues the tale of its progenitor, set exactly thirty years afterward. The world is said to have suffered an event called the Blackout, in which most electronic technology was damaged beyond repair, causing digitally stored data to be lost, and some technological regression has occurred as a result. Nexus-6 androids are said to have been scrapped after various malfunctions and uprisings, possibly themselves being the cause of the Blackout, and a corporation run by mega-mogul Niander Wallace later created a new model of androids who apparently have no capacity for free will. Many older models have gone into hiding or on the run however, and thus special squads of bounty hunters still called blade runners are tasked with finding and “retiring” them. The movie follows an android blade runner created to hunt his own kind, Officer KD6-3.7, as he stumbles upon a mysterious clue which could have dangerous repercussions.

While its approach to storytelling differs significantly from its predecessor, 2049 remains a retread of certain material from the previous movie, for instance it’s still set in the dystopian futuristic world of that film, and the story also involves a fair bit of existential quandary, ruminations on human nature, and moral imperatives. It’s a reboot through and through, which builds a sense of atmosphere just as effectively as the original film, but also exists as a reputably well-made film in its own right. Blade Runner, the original, remains my favorite film of all time, so please appreciate the gravity of my admission when I confidently say that 2049 is a better movie.

It’s better because it is far less ambiguous, functions more fluently as a cinematic story, and features thematic elements which effectively translate throughout the plot without turning into fluffy schmaltz, yet still offers contemplative commentary on the human condition, potentially leading its audience to speculate for years on end. While the meditative facet remains strong, we syllogistically have far more coherent story here than the first movie. Odd that ambiguity is what makes the original Blade Runner great for me, yet the lack of it is what makes this new movie equally triumphant. Either way 2049 manages to be its own, different experience while also remaining familiar.

As Officer K follows the trail of evidence, we’re given glimpses of the world around him, once again getting small suggestions that no one wants to live on Earth anymore and that life in “the colonies” is preferable to the polluted, over-populated streets of this overused world. At the same time, it’s cool to see the film sticking to its guns as a follow-up to Blade Runner; Pan-Am still exists in this futuristic dystopia, Atari apparently remains a major manufacturer of electronics, wireless communications seem to be relatively scarce. The world has also progressed somewhat, even since the Blackout, holograms and A.I. are now more common, security and intelligence services now enjoy the convenience of surveillance drones, some cars can still fly but look slick compared to the older models. The level of detail and nuance paid to the production design is breathtaking in maintaining the flavor of the film’s world.

Of course this is aided incredibly by the fact that 2049 is fucking beautiful. CGI and inventive set designs blend wonderfully with practical effects, creating a wonderful sense of immersion. A romantic scene particularly has one of the most memorable effects shots I’ve ever seen. Dirty, polluted, over-populated cities have never looked this spectacular, expansive grub farms and endless fields of solar arrays are somehow hypnotic. Roger Deakins has several decades of cinematography under his belt, so it’s no surprise he’s earned every goddamn ounce of that Academy Award. Aesthetically, you’ll have a tough time finding a more seamless film out there.

There’s some terrific casting as well, with Canadian heartthrob Ryan Gosling in the lead role which, despite some hilarious gags to the contrary out there on the mimetic internets, does in fact require a great deal of subtlety and skill from him as a performer, and he handles the material marvelously. Ana De Armas also stars in the unusual role of K’s holographic girlfriend Joi, a concept which I found slightly uncomfortable at first, but some awesome writing on the part of this character and the way her presence affects K’s arc unexpectedly makes her massively relevant compared to romantic female characters in most movies. Jared Leto flashes his beautiful smug face at us, ironically as egomaniacal industrialist Niander Wallace, neither Lennie James nor Dave Bautista hang around quite long enough to suit me in their cameos but their presence is soothing regardless, Halt And Catch Fire fans will appreciate Mackenzie Davis’ mere existence, and the always elegant Robin Wright appears as K’s superior officer. For good measure, we get short glimpses of veterans Harrison Ford, Edward James Olmos, and Sean Young. Undercelebrated up-and-comer Carla Juri also stars as a kindhearted memory crafter, who helps create artificial histories for replicants.

If we’re talking badass casting though, hands down, Dutch actress Sylvia Hoeks positively dominates as Niander Wallace’s left-hand replicant acolyte Luv. This woman steals the fucking show for me, and I could not imagine how uncultured a motherfucker I must’ve been to have never seen any of her films before this. I’m not quite sure what it is, but she seems to hit that stride of violent femininity almost perfectly without even coming near cliché territory. Luv is my favorite and, I would argue, the most interesting character in the film. In addition to adding some much needed sense of menace to the plot momentum, Luv is written somewhat unconventionally despite being a strong woman, avoiding that flash-and-thunder spectacle most screenwriters just can’t resist, she displays a range of behavior as the movie progresses, some times conflicting, yet relentlessly driven in her purpose. Where K, in many respects, is simply doing his job, Luv seems to truly, unquestionably believe in what she is doing. I also found it interesting that Joi is named after an emotion with almost no negative connotations, meaning pure elation. Whereas Luv’s name is synonymous with a passionate, wild, chaotic mix of difficult to control complexes of emotion, sensations, and compulsions.

Luv’s name and personality reminded me of a line from Catullus;“I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask. I do not know, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.”

I think primarily, the most poignant thing I can tell you about this movie is you might not enjoy it as much as me. It’s very similar to the original film in that manner. It’s science fiction to the core, not swinging too far in either direction, science or fiction respectively, sitting comfortably in that niche and playing to people who are also comfortable right there. In an effort to avoid any direct spoilers, I’ll try to leave my general assessment at that, depending on who you are, you’ve as much a chance to be bored as be mystified and intrigued by this movie. I fucking love this movie, but I’m also not some heckling hipster who wants mainstream audiences to get fucked so I can regress myself back to Shakespearean times where I can head to the local theatre house, buy a tankard of ale and quartroun loaf of oat bread, and watch the players act out the most recently published archaic comedy. I feel just as strongly about this as I do the first Blade Runner, if you don’t enjoy 2049, well I actually could totally see why. It isn’t made for everyone. It’s not quite trying to entertain, or dazzle, or impress, merely trying to tell its own story in the best conceivable way.

Blade Runner 2049 it seems, in the most apropos way, is the rarest sort of movie possible; a film with a wonderful array of talent behind it, an enormous budget to back this up, and a wide net of distribution, but almost no conceit to reach anyone but its target audience. A wondrous, beautiful example of cinematic artistry potentially sold with knowledge that their return on investment would not be entirely achieved, a story both tragic and inspiring. Again, I’ve absolutely no idea how Denis Villenueve managed to get the producers to back this uncompromising approach to such a well-funded movie, but I’m very glad he did.

2049 spins its narrative with a minimum amount of overt exposition, air-tight production design, conceptually interesting visuals, and a great cast of performers, which all gels to offer one of the most memorable, thoughtful cinema-going experiences I’ve enjoyed in the past ten years. There’s a darkness and restlessness to this advanced world, both breathtaking and disturbing, as much grit and garbage as there is streamlined technology and triumphant wonder. Much of this aesthetic filters beautifully into the story Villenueve is trying to tell us. The visuals seem as finely tuned as the editing itself, weaving itself cumulatively into the associative memory of the audience, seeming to hit beats more common of an atmospheric horror movie than a futuristic sci-fi film. Perhaps that’s why I’ve found it so haunting.

My apologies if all of this is a little too generalized for your liking, I could understand if so. As with many worthwhile forms of entertainment, I recommend seeing it and deciding for yourself. I mean, I’m just some asshole on the internet whose noodles are getting cold. Some times I wonder what the hell I’m even talking about, myself. So have a kick-ass day, dudes, and carpe noctem.

               侍   headless                         

[admittedlynotspartacus]

Oscars Post-Mortem: It Was Always “Moonlight”

In 1989, Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing was one of the most buzzed-about films of the year. Personal, intense, and shot with wild ingenuity, it shed a light on the raw nerve of race relations in America, topping Robert Ebert's, Gene Siskel's, and Rolling Stone's lists of the best of the year. But come Oscar time, it was largely snubbed, receiving only one nomination - Best Supporting Actor for Danny Aiello, the only white principal character.

Flash forward to 2006, when the Academy thumbed its nose at "gay cowboy" film and presumed Best Picture frontrunner Brokeback Mountain in favor of the goopy, movie-of-the-week trappings of Crash. Then came two back-to-back years of #OscarsSoWhite, in 2015 and 2016, with notable snubs for presumed nominees Ava DuVernay and David Oyelowo for Selma, Idris Elba for Beasts of No Nation, Benicio del Toro for Sicario, and Straight Outta Compton, among many, many others. Time after time, the Academy seemed to be turning a deaf ear to films about "the other," arguing films should be judged on merit but still rewarding white, male-centered mediocrity like Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, The Imitation Game, and War Horse. There were outliers, sure - Kathryn Bigelow's Directing win, 12 Years a Slave... but usually if your film heavily featured people of color, gays, female leads, or was directed by a woman, you were SOL come Oscar night.

That all came to a head on Sunday night. As we all know, PricewaterhouseCoopers fucked the pooch, and there was a big ol' snafu regarding whether La La Land or Moonlight won Best Picture, before all was set straight and the latter reigned victorious. It really felt like all that Oscars history had all been leading to the beautiful moment of clarity that was the mix-up. In the moment, it was easy to accept that La La Land had taken top prize; all prognostication pointed to that being the outcome, but in truth - it never was the Best Picture. It was Moonlight all along...

... so why didn't we see it coming?

I went to Moonlight on opening day in October and it completely haunted me. I remember how hushed that packed theater was, and I remember feeling like it was something of a miracle that such a film could even exist in today's marketplace. After all, an empathetic window into black queer life, produced for $1.5 million by a relatively-new studio, helmed by a second-time director and starring a mostly-unknown cast, is a far cry from Batman vs. Superman. Upon release, The New York Times review was titled, "Is This the Year's Best Movie?" and it still boasts a 99% score on Rotten Tomatoes. But even despite this, and even despite that it was my favorite movie of the year, my understanding of Academy history didn't allow me to even entertain the notion that the best movie of the year could actually win the Oscar. That prize was reserved for something else, something like La La Land.

From the moment it opened at the Venice Film Festival in August, Damien Chazelle's throwback musical romance was virtually hailed as the Second Coming, with nearly-unanimous praise and claims that it was a "hot miracle" that mixed the joy and exuberance of Old Hollywood classics Singin' in the Rain or An American in Paris with the sumptuous, grand melancholy of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. Add to that two charming, attractive, famous leads, a writer-director coming off one of the most pleasant film surprises in recent memory Whiplash, and the subject of Hollywood and a struggling actor, and it felt like it couldn't miss. Until I saw the movie...

There's been a lot of talk about a La La backlash; in the wake of Trump's America, it's been called everything from a "white savior" film to a glorification of "man-splaining." Suddenly, its escapist elements were blowing up in its face. But that's representative of Internet think-piece culture, not the Academy, and if ever we needed a film of glorious escapism, it's now. So truth be told, I never really bought into much of the backlash. I mean, it was certainly irresponsible to make the only black character of substance the one who's holding back jazz, and we needed no further indication that the movie would've been better served by diverse casting of actual singers than John Legend's Oscar performance. But too often I think white people (and I include myself in this) can overly villain-ize whiteness in an attempt to be an ally, thereby demonizing things that are hardly the problem, especially when Donald Trump is president. In all seriousness, my favorite movie of the last 20 years is Boyhood, which is about as diverse as a Trump rally but remains a masterpiece. So I balk at that being the problem.

No, I think the main issue with La La, and something I felt seeing it opening night, is that Damien made a very naive movie. I mean, the guy's clearly not an asshole; his gracious embrace of Mahershala Ali and Barry Jenkins during the mix-up shows that. But there's a simplicity and lack of texture and depth that permeates the film. While it's technically impressive, with a stunning score by Justin Hurwitz and solid work from Emma Stone, it too often feels solely derivative - paying "homage" to the magic of old movie musicals without seeming to understand what made them magic in the first place. Its screenplay is creaky, there's little conflict or tension, and while the final ten minutes pack a punch, they make little sense as the resolution to the story we've been watching (Why do they break up? Why haven't they talked at all in years? Couldn't they at least have tried and made it work?) In short, it was never going to be Best Picture, but for some reason it developed the narrative that it had to be.

A historic 7 wins at the Golden Globes! 9 of 11 Guild wins! And then, to top it all off, a record-tying 14 Oscar nominations on par only with All About Eve and Titanic. And that was the moment when we all should've pinched ourselves, taken a step back, and realized that this was never going to happen. I mean, even if you LOVE La La Land with all your being, I think you'd be hard pressed to make the argument that it's better than either of those films, or that it deserves a spot in a pantheon above films like Citizen Kane... or Casablanca... or The Godfather. It's just not that great. It's just not Best Picture.

Moonlight is. It manages somehow to take characters and scenarios that could feel cliche and hackneyed, turn them inside out, and reveal to the viewer their utter humanity. Its powers of empathy are palpable; it makes a black, gay story universal. On top of that, it unfolds like a dream, a visual tone poem that feels like a symphony more than a film. It's moving and it's hopeful and it leaves you with a better understanding of humanity and with more love in your heart.

Moonlight didn't win because of #OscarsSoWhite, or the Brokeback upset, or the Do the Right Thing snub. It won because it was the Best Picture. It just took all these factors, plus Donald fucking Trump, to give the Academy the kick in the ass it needed to actually pick the most worthy film. I'll leave others to dissect how that reflects on the black or gay experience in America, but I think the implication is clear.

It's possible La La Land will fade into obscurity as far as film history is concerned. It's also possible that it can now take its rightful place as the cute, mildly charming, fluffy rom-com it is rather than the awards juggernaut the Academy and Lionsgate tried to puff it up into. In the end, for once, the right film won. It was Moonlight.

It was always Moonlight.