The Shelf

My name is Stew, and I'm setting out to blog about every movie I own. This could take a while. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-30573317-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();

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Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

We don’t allow our heroes to age. James Bond gets recast every couple decades. Comic book heroes rarely get older in any meaningful way. Et cetera. It’s understandable that the characters we’ve immortalized into the modern canon retain an air of (variable) youthfulness, but it also means that they are all but required to have the same sorts of adventures and largely stay the same as a person.

Harrison Ford has no interest in allowing Indiana Jones to achieve immortality, as his fifth and final outing as the character proclaims loud and clear.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny never hits the highs of any of its predecessors, but I posit that it’s not necessarily trying to. Indy does plenty of Indy things (and lightly stretches audience credulity in the process), but by and large Ford and director James Mangold treat the character like he’s aged into his late 70s, both in action and in thought. This movie isn’t intended to be held up as an equal to its genre-defining predecessors. It’s a coda for an icon and in that respect it’s a fully entertaining and occasionally poignant work.

The film kicks off with an opening sequence that’s as fun and rousing as any of the preceding films. The voice modulation on Ford could have used some tweaking but the de-aging special effects are remarkable and for about 15 minutes or so, it’s easy enough to believe that we’re looking at Indy still in his prime, punching lots of Nazis and performing incredible feats of derring do.

Then we cut to the film’s present day. It’s 1969 and Henry Jones, Jr. is now a man out of time. The world around him has passed him by as men are landing on the moon (put there by Nazi scientists hired by the U.S. government). Socio-political movements are upheaving everyday life. Ironically, while he’s no longer a nigh-absent professor, none of his students have any interest in ancient history. Although even his career is leaving him behind with retirement imminent and Marion is filing for divorce.

The only connection he seemingly has left to a life gone by is his goddaughter, Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge). So when Helena shows up out of nowhere, proclaiming she knows how to find a the second half of a dial that can supposedly turn back time, he plunges head-first back into action. The search for Archimedes’ Antikythera nearly drove Helena’s father crazy, but it’s also clear that Indy sees a darker side to Helena’s search and he refuses to let her go down the darker path of seeking artifacts for “fortune and glory” as he nearly did. Throw in some Nazis seeking the dial to rectify Hitler’s megalomaniacal mistakes and you’ve got all the trappings of a classic, globetrotting Indiana Jones adventure.

So why can’t it fully capture the magic of The Man in the Hat’s previous (good) escapades? Well, for one, James Mangold is no Steven Spielberg. No one is. Not even Spielberg, at times (see: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull). There’s simply a magic to the entire affair that is incapable of being replicated in full, try though Mangold does. And to his credit, there are portions of the film that have the spark and kineticism of Spielberg’s Indy films at their best. The World War 2-set opening on a Nazi transport train is simply outstanding and presents a near-perfect mini-adventure for the character. It’s got just about everything you could want from an Indy action setpiece. The car chase through Morocco is also well-staged and full of humor and thrills (even if I couldn’t stop giggling at the idea that little tuk-tuk carts characters drive are somehow capable of traveling at blazing speeds enough to keep pace with full-engine cars). But even once the film is fully rolling, it’s still centered on a character on the cusp of turning 80 years old. And while Indy’s age never fully defies believability, there’s only so much a movie can do if you want to maintain that hold.

Thankfully, the film’s best material leans into the fact that Indiana Jones is in his twilight, and that it’s impossible to defy time and that it is, in fact, essential to embrace it, to understand that some things must pass, that some things are impossible to change. But also, that living in the past (both literally and figuratively) is a fool’s errand.

Dial of Destiny is a reminder that we are more than just the best memories of our lives. Heroes age. Heroes make mistakes. Heroes go beyond what they’ve been immortalized as. That may be a slightly depressing thought, but Mangold and Ford lean into the humanity of it. This is Indiana Jones at his most vulnerable, but it becomes a story about a man finally coming to terms with the good and bad that has weaved in and out of his life as he finally realizes what’s important is what’s in front of you, not behind you.

What makes the Indiana Jones movies so special and different from so many other action adventure movies is that they obliterate cynicism. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom and Last Crusade, each of those adventures ends with Indy learning more about himself, about the world he knows and the parts of it he can’t explain. He starts each of those stories cynical about something, and ends them with his eyes opened to how he was wrong. That element, that destruction of cynicism is what drives the heart of Dial of Destiny. It may lack the dynamism of Spielberg’s entries at their best, but it retains the beating heart of the character and his evolution. It’s a touching, meaningful ending to an immortalized character who has never felt more human than he does now at the end of his adventures.

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F9: THE FAST SAGA

“F9” is one of the stupidest movies I’ve ever seen. I loved every single minute of it. 

I admit that it’s a bit difficult to know precisely how to review something like “F9,” the ninth entry in the impossibly long-running “Fast & Furious” franchise. Though the first few films always had their own tinges of absurdity fueling them, the series has long since blown past anything resembling a “grounded” tone or plot. When the main characters who started out boosting TVs and DVD players are now wrapped up in plots that are equal parts Mad Max and James Bond, how does one critique that? 

My approach to any review is to simply engage the film on its own terms, but after 20 years and nine films I wonder if even that level of scrutiny really matters. But as the movie rockets forward, it becomes increasingly clear the creative minds behind this series have fully thrown caution to the wind, delivering a film that may in fact be impervious to criticism. 

At minimum, though, it’s clear that returning director Justin Lin, producer/star Vin Diesel and the writing collective of Daniel Casey and Alfredo Botello wanted to give audiences as much movie as possible. The first major action scene involves Dom (Diesel) using a bridge rope to swing his Dodge Charger like Tarzan from one cliffside to the next and things only get more absurd from there so I’d say they more or less succeeded. Suffice to say, there is no concept too silly that Lin and Vin won’t fully commit to it, going so far as to literally launch two long-standing team members into space using a rocket-propelled Pontiac Fiero. 

That commitment extends into the actual storytelling as well. It’s been obvious since the fourth film that these movies are really just soap operas with sports cars and explosions, but “F9” embraces that soapy opera-ness with a big ‘ol bear hug not once but *twice*, playing the “long-lost brother who’s now actually a bad guy” and “this character you loved and thought was dead is now alive and well” cards near-simultaneously. One would think that for all of Dom’s posturing on the importance of “family” that he’d at least in passing have once mentioned that he’s got a brother, estranged though Jakob (John Cena) may be. But leaving the reveal until nine films in only amplifies the absurdity.  

Part of me is convinced that all of this ridiculousness is simply Vin and Lin pushing forward with a series of dares as to how far they can push things. Because it feels increasingly clear that they looked at everything people would joke about over the last decade - "Bring Han back from the dead! Go to outer space! Family family family!" - and then defiantly dropped it all into here but cranked up to 11. That it all (mostly) works is nothing short of miraculous. 

But then, there’s also an undeniable strain of self-awareness propelling the proceedings. On more than one occasion, characters question out loud whether they’re actually immortal superheroes. Everyone making these knows how stupid it’s all getting, and they embrace it with a passion. Pushing the limits of what’s actually credulous is now, it would seem, largely the point. Whether that works for you is mostly a matter of preference and frankly I don’t blame anyone who considers it all to simply be A Bit Much. 

That said, pushing the limits of what can be stuffed into a “Fast & Furious” movie does take its toll. This is especially evident in the fact that Charlize Theron’s return as the villainous Cipher is mostly wasted. She films most of her scenes in a warehouse and we never once see her share the screen with Dom or any of the main crew, making me wonder why they even brought her back in the first place. You have the woman who took center stage in a “Mad Max” movie and in two movies you have yet to put her behind the wheel of a car? Baffling. Then again, Dame Helen Mirren practically begged to be cast in the series and it took making a third appearance for her to finally get to drive (in a delightful scene shared with Diesel), so here’s hoping Fast 10 is when Theron gets to do the same. 

Oh and while he plays the heel better than I expected, it still felt a bit of a waste to keep John Cena so po-faced serious for the entire movie. His talents lie in his comic delivery and in playing the good guy. 

Still, what we have with “F9” is a film that works often in spite of itself. This should collapse under the sheer weight of itself with massive, increasingly ridiculous setpieces, to say nothing of the *wild* shifts in tone as it careens recklessly moment-to-moment between scenes of po-faced seriousness and whatever wacky action scene often follows. 

And yet it doesn’t. Or maybe it does. I honestly don’t even know anymore. My affection for these movies certainly has its limits (looking at you “Hobbs & Shaw”), but I’m so largely in the tank for the ridiculousness of each escalating entry that it’s hard to know. All I do know is that I had a blast watching this and I can’t wait to see how they choose to end this ridiculous saga. 

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LUCA

“Luca” is a wonderful, instantly charming film that hopefully also is a sign of films to come from Pixar. 

It’s not a bold statement to declare a Pixar movie excellent. If anything, it’s exceedingly rare to do anything but. With very few genuine misfires in their catalog (looking at you, “Monster’s University”), even Pixar’s lesser films are often better than some of the best material offered by rival animation houses. But “Luca” manages to stand out even among the top tier of Pixar’s work, in part because it feels somewhat outside of the studio’s typical box. 

Luca (Jacob Tremblay) is a sea monster living beneath the ocean surface with his family near the quiet fishing town of Portorosso, Italy. He spends his days tending to his herd of fish and pestering his parents with questions about life above the water. He’s never had the guts to go up there, though, until Alberto (Jack Dylan Grazer) shows Luca that there’s a whole world of cool, human stuff to be discovered. So naturally, having also learned he can assume the visual appearance of a human outside the water, Luca sets out to...get a Vespa. Alberto convinces Luca that the only proper way for them to see the world is on the seat of that quintessential Italian scooter, and the only way they can earn enough money for one is by winning the annual swimming/pasta eating/cycling triathlon held every summer in Portorosso. 

There are, of course, the expected “hide your real identity at all costs” hijinks and plenty of fish (sea monster?) out of water awkwardness, but on the whole the stakes driving “Luca” narratively are refreshingly low. There’s no arch villain. No one’s life or livelihood is at stake. Nor does it have the sort of existential stakes that have dominated so many of Pixar’s films. At worst, Luca and Alberto will have their true identities revealed and they won’t get the Vespa they dream of. 

It’s a refreshing change of pace and focus. Pixar has succeeded so thoroughly over the years because of the studio’s commitment to crafting characters and scenarios that actually carry dramatic and thematic weight. But it had begun to feel as though there was a mandate pushing stories to continually build up to events that hinged on life and death (sometimes literally, in the case of “Coco” and “Soul”), leaving little room to explore smaller, quieter realities. “Luca” takes a much needed step back and simply allows these characters to exist in the moment. 

What struck me most about this more laid-back approach was how much it felt inspired by the animated films of Hayao Miyazaki. For those unfamiliar, Miyazaki’s films - while frequently steeped in fantastical elements - take a significant amount of time to breathe and allow the viewer to soak in the ambiance and energy of a given locale or scene. His films are often as much about what goes on in between the points of dialogue and action as anything else. And while “Luca” never takes quite such significant breaks as a typical Miyazki film, the intent is the same. Director Enrico Casarosa wants you to smell the seaside air, feel the sun beaming down and practically taste the pasta and pesto. 

While not always replicating Miyazaki’s work in form, Casarosa evokes it very much in spirit, clearly drawing from the likes of “Kiki’s Delivery Service,” “Ponyo” and “Porco Rosso.” It’s an incredibly sweet natured film that focuses its energy on friendships and emphasizes the importance of being true to yourself, no matter what others might think of who you are. You may be surprised to find you’re not actually alone after all. 

The animation is, unsurprisingly, wonderful though I was delighted to see some outside influences creeping into the expected Pixar house style, namely that of Aardman Animation (“Wallace & Gromit,” “Chicken Run”). And I also simply cannot say enough wonderful things about Dan Roemer’s delightful musical score. 

Even if “Luca” doesn’t signal the start of a tonal change for Pixar, what it accomplishes on its own is more than enough to have it stand out as one of the studio’s best films. 

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IN THE HEIGHTS

The musical may be a (mostly) dead remnant of the Hollywood studio system, but no one told that to everyone who made “In the Heights,” which has all the heart and energy of its genre predecessors wrapped around a story that feels both personal and timeless. 

Before he unleashed the once-in-a-generation sensation of “Hamilton,” Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote “In the Heights,” a musical that focuses on a medley of personalities who all live in the New York City neighborhood of Washington Heights. Life for these people is changing, and at a far more rapid pace than any expected or is prepared for. 

Our lead is Usnavi (Anthony Ramos), who dreams of moving back to the Dominican Republic and restoring his family’s old beachfront shop, but he feels obligated to stay, ahem, in the Heights and run the bodega they left in his charge. He’s got an unrequited crush on Vanessa (Melissa Barrera), who wants to move to Manhattan in the hope of becoming a fashion designer. Meanwhile, Nina (Leslie Grace) is struggling to let her friends and family know she’s not returning to Stanford for the fall semester as she feels a responsibility to follow through on being “the one who made it out.” Her feelings are all the more complicated when reuniting with her ex-boyfriend, Benny (Corey Hawkins). 

Their lives crisscross and tangle over the course of three days amid a neighborhood-wide blackout. It’s an ensemble of love, regret, passion, anxiety, doubt, insecurity, hopes and dreams. It’s a story about the struggle between being true to yourself and bearing the weight of a legacy and the expectations that come with it. Our leads are all pretty and charismatic in the way you’d want and expect from a musical of this sort. Ramos’ boyish charisma in particular shines through best as he anchors the proceedings. The real question, though given that this is a musical: Can they sing? The answer is, kind of? I guess? This is, after all, spawned from a Lin-Manuel Miranda joint which means that while there is some traditional singing, there’s a whole lot of his particular brand of rap-singing (if there’s a more specific word for the style he uses, please email me). The cast performs well and I enjoy the performance style, but it won’t give audiences a true test of the cast’s vocal prowess. Then again, it doesn’t really matter. The heart and soul of the cast and story shines through thanks to Miranda’s music and lyrics and the gusto with which the cast performs. 

The film as a whole is simply overflowing with an unstoppable energy every time one of the neighborhood’s denizens bursts into a new number. It’s difficult to recall the last time I watched a movie that was so eager and capable of just feeling so alive. “In the Heights” takes its characters and their plights seriously, but never feels overtly serious. Sometimes that’s to the film’s detriment as that energy rarely relents. Characters do get quieter moments to themselves and with each other, but the film could definitely use a bit of modulation when it comes to execution. Still, it’s hard to fault Miranda and Director John M. Chu for this approach. It’s a genuine treat to behold such a colorful and non-cynical production. After a year-plus of being cooped up in our homes, merely seeing dozens upon dozens of real, actual humans singing and dancing in the streets never got old. 

Chu, best known for his recent hit dramatic comedy, “Crazy Rich Asians,” has adapted the Broadway show into a production that both honors its stage-bound roots while also stretching its legs enough to justify being a big-screen spectacle. In other words, if you’re worried this will be a repeat of “Hamilton” when it was released on Disney+ (i.e. just a filmed version of the stage show), don’t be. 

While it is, as the name would imply, confined to The Heights, it never feels stage-bound as Chu makes ample use of streets, neighborhood pools, clubs, apartments, bodegas and even building facades thanks to his occasional dalliance with magical realism. It’s also not a surprise that the choreography and camera work during the musical numbers crackles on-screen given Chu’s track record with two of the best entries in the “Step Up” franchise*. He feels right at home here and I’d happily watch any other Broadway adaptations he might find himself attached to. 

“In the Heights” feels like a rare bird, and not just because musicals are infrequent at best these days at the movies. It’s an uncynical, earnest piece of filmmaking that wears its sentiment and soul on its sleeve. It could stand to display more nuance at times, but it’s hard to be mad at something that’s so eager to show you a good time. 

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ARMY OF THE DEAD

After becoming largely burned out on the sub-genre, Zack Snyder’s “Army of the Dead” helped revitalize my enjoyment of zombie-related entertainment. 

I suppose it shouldn’t be too surprising that Zack Snyder delivered a cracking zombie movie. After all, his first (and some might argue still best) feature film was the superb remake of George Romero’s genre-defining classic, “Dawn of the Dead.” “Army of the Dead” (which is not related at all to Romero’s original or its sequels) takes what had become a shambling corpse of an idea and infuses it with a sense of fun that, to me at least, had long since been missing from the zombie movie sub-genre. 

Snyder, who birthed the story idea and co-wrote the script alongside Shay Hatten and Joby Harold, accomplishes this by playing every inch of this incredibly goofy concept with a level of conviction that most straight dramas aim for. The result is a film that is often flagrantly absurd on its surface, but is so assured in its stone-faced seriousness you can’t help but go along for the ride. 

It also helps that the core concept feels fresh, or at least significantly underused within zombie movies. A zombie infection has nearly consumed a walled-off Las Vegas. In a few days, the President of the United States is set to launch a tactical nuke to (hopefully) eradicate the sea of undead trapped inside the makeshift quarantine zone. A looming nuclear strike, of course, makes for a perfect opportunity for a team of mercenaries to sneak inside, crack open a casino vault and bring back hundreds of millions of dollars for a mysterious businessman who promises them a cut of the payload. 

Oh and they have to do it while maneuvering through a literal kingdom of super-powered, smart (they communicate!), feral zombies who are ruled by a government-experiment-gone-awry “alpha male” who can at-will turn any living thing into one of his super-powered subjects. 

As one would expect, very little goes exactly according to plan and our intrepid team of mercs soon find themselves getting more than even they knowingly bargained for. 

It’s a fun premise, though I must admit that for a heist movie it focuses very little on the actual heisting, which is often the best part of these types of films. And for a movie that runs well north of two hours (it could stand to be at least 15 minutes shorter) there’s a surprising overall lack of action in the first two-thirds. Which isn’t to say it’s bereft of action, just less than one might expect for a zombie flick, much less a Zack Snyder zombie flick. 

No, what really makes this work is the characters, which might be the first time I’ve ever said that about this director’s work. He’s a superb visual stylist and skilled purveyor of often thrilling bombast, but “character artist” isn’t even among his top five skills. Still, I found myself genuinely rooting for this motley crew, even the ones I expected to get on my nerves with how broadly cartoonish they seemed at first. Everyone gets at least one big moment to shine, whether it’s Tig Notaro’s Peters piloting a chopper like an absolute champ, Raul Castillo’s Guzman going on an absolute rampage on the casino floor or Matthias Schweighöfer’s Dieter getting his Götterdämmerung moment, every character is memorable in their own way. 

And it’s in these character moments that I became thankful, for once, that Snyder plays everything so seriously. Even as a staunch defender of his “Man of Steel,” it’s not hard to see why some feel that the resolutely po-faced approach to Superman borders on feeling downright dour. Ditto for his version of “Justice League.” The circumstances and multitude of characters presented in “Army of the Dead” are no less ridiculous than any of his comic book movies, but here Snyder seems to have finally found the perfect note to strike when taking inherently silly elements and playing them completely straight. 

Holding it all together is Dave Bautista in the lead as Scott Ward, a former special ops soldier who was forced to kill his zombified wife and is now merely trying to survive flipping burgers at a rundown greasy spoon diner. Performers like John Cena or Dwayne Johnson may be more immediately charming actors, but Bautista has shown that he’s got the better acting chops of any recent wrestler-turned-actor. His work in “Army of the Dead” is no exception. His particular brand of quiet charisma lends a gravitas to Ward that provides a nice window into a character that might otherwise feel a bit rote on the page. It’s a nice contrast to the outrageousness that otherwise fills so much of the screen. 

If there’s significant criticism to be leveled here it’s that this in no way needed to be a two-and-a-half hour movie. While the movie never particularly drags, this could be an absolute firecracker of a two hour romp if it were tightened in more than a few places. And while Snyder remains a superb visual stylist, his choice to perpetually frame every extreme close-up with the background completely out of focus. This would be fine if it were used for emphasis on occasion or for significant character moments. But he uses it near-constantly to the detriment of the film’s aesthetic. 

Those complaints aside, “Army of the Dead” may well be Snyder’s best movie. I realize that may not be high praise depending on how you feel about his body of work (I’ll personally defend about 50 percent of it), but this certainly feels like Peak Snyder for better or worse. 

*”Army of the Dead” is now playing in theaters and debuts on Netflix on Friday, May 21. 

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MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

there has yet to be a truly capital-G Great movie based on a video game. There was hope that the latest stab at “Mortal Kombat” might stand a chance to break that trend. The short answer is a hearty “No,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t fun to be had here. 

If all you know of “Mortal Kombat” is that it’s a video game that, upon its debut in arcades in 1992, swiftly helped spur a national pearl-clutching tour by politicians and parents’ groups over the level of “realistic” gore and violence found within, you might be surprised to learn that the bones of the story and characters are actually pretty fun. It treads heavily from the roots of comic books and classic kung fu movies which inspired series creators John Tobias and Ed Boon. So while there’s nothing terribly original about a secret martial arts tournament where people with extraordinary powers duke it out to decide the fate of the universe, the sort of (mostly) straight-faced sincerity used to bring it all to life fits perfectly well within the cinematic landscape that regularly sees people with godlike powers traipsing across movie screens these days. 

And to its credit, this take on “Mortal Kombat” never shies away from any of the incredibly outlandish aspects of the series: Warrior monks who can throw fireballs from their bare hands. Laser eyes. A sorcerer who can (quite literally) suck a man’s soul from his body. Another warrior monk but this one uses a razor-edged hat as a throwing weapon and teleportation device. It’s all here. There’s some nominal explanation as to how or why these characters get superpowers, but for the most part it amounts to “just because, now watch this guy with a New Jersey accent wearing a cyber mask use hook swords and run so fast he can teleport.” 

Given the way audiences have simply come to accept comic book heroes and given the movie’s overall embrace of the outlandish, it then becomes somewhat baffling that someone along the line decided it was absolutely essential that we be guided into this world via a brand new character who can act baffled at all this weird stuff happening. It might have made more sense had any questions been truly asked or, more crucially, been answered, but we never even really get an answer as to why exactly a martial arts tournament is what decides the fate of Earth. At the very least it would have been worth it had this character, Cole Young, been played by anyone with even a hint of genuine charisma. Alas, despite his best efforts, Lewis Tan simply doesn’t have the juice to shoulder the weight given him. 

Then again, he’s not really helped by Dave Callaham and Greg Russo’s script. It’s clear that there is an abiding affection for the legacy of “Mortal Kombat” and its world and characters. Fans of the games will have no trouble recognizing the likes of Liu Kang (Ludi Lin), Kung Lao (Max Huang), Sub-Zero (Joe Taslim) or Kano (Josh Lawson). But the story is so thin and gives the surprisingly large cast very little to do overall. 

After losing an underground MMA match, Cole learns that he’s been chosen to take part in a tournament known as, you guessed it, Mortal Kombat. Shang Tsung (Chin Han), an evil, soul-sucking sorcerer, however is bound and determined to make sure a tournament never happens, thus making it that much easier for him to take over Earthrealm. Fights and fatalities ensue. 

And that’s...pretty much it. Cole meets up with an eclectic group of other fighters as they attempt to train and prepare for the tournament, but this mostly relegates them and the film to a massive cave temple somewhere in Asia. Not exactly the most dynamic or exciting location, especially given how wild and vibrant so much of the video game’s fight locale’s have become over the years. 

So if the film’s budget (clearly) held back its visual potential and its lead leaves much to be desired, how could I possibly claim there’s fun to be had? This is where checking your expectations at the door helps. 

To put it succinctly: “Mortal Kombat” is not “The Raid.” It is not “John Wick.” It doesn’t rise to the fairly high standard that has been set since Paul W.S. Anderson directed the first “Mortal Kombat” in 1995. Simon McQuoid’s 2021 film doesn’t even hit the highs of a lot of Scott Adkins’ direct-to-DVD outings. (Although that’s not an insult to Adkins, as he’s a legitimately great movie martial artist and you should watch his movies.) This “Mortal Kombat” lies somewhere in between. It tries hard. It brings in accomplished martial artists like Taslim and even Tan, whose father, Philip, is an accomplished stunt performer and choreographer. 

Could the combat (kombat?) have been better? Without question. But what’s here is fun. The fights are competent and not edited to shreds. But perhaps more importantly, it’s one of the first movies based on a video game to not only nail the iconic visual aspect of the characters, but to truly and fully lean into the fact that these people all do wild and silly things like shoot lasers from their eyes or throw fireballs. It also delivers in spades the games’ trademark, outlandish violence. To save my editor from sternly admonishing me for describing (even mildly) the things certain characters have happen to them, suffice to say it makes the digitized, roughly pixelated violence of the 1992 look positively PG-rated by comparison. No doubt this will turn off more than a few potential viewers, but there’s no denying that fans of the series flock to it in large part for this reason. So if you find entertainment in violence that’s so absurdly over-the-top it swings right around to being comical, this version of “Mortal Kombat” delivers to a satisfying degree. 

I’d be remiss if I didn’t also single out actor Josh Lawson. His performance as Kano is hands down my favorite part of the film and he fills every scene he’s in with a delightfully smarmy energy, much as the late Trevor Goddard did playing the same character in the 1995 film. 

Maybe my enjoyment (or soft judgment) of the film is due more to the fact that it’s just good to see new movies again, and to do so with friends. I got a few (fully vaccinated) buddies to come join me in my backyard, I set up an outdoor screen and projector and streamed “Mortal Kombat” from my laptop and we had a blast laughing at and with the movie and generally relishing the absurdity, the competent fights and some fun characters. 

It’s entirely possible this movie won’t hold up on repeat viewing as such instances will inevitably be divorced from the context in which it was originally viewed, but that’s OK. This time out I got some very basic enjoyment out of it and had a good time with friends and sometimes that’s more than enough. 

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GODZILLA VS. KONG

What do you want out of a movie where a gigantic ape with a magic axe goes toe-to-toe with a nuclear-powered lizard? How you answer this question is the key to whether or not you will experience maximum enjoyment from a movie like "Godzilla vs. Kong".

I’ve never been one to advocate the “just turn off your brain and have fun” approach to movie watching. I think every movie should actively try to engage its audience in some meaningful way beyond (pun intended) lizard-brained mindless spectacle. But we do not live in that world, and when a movie comes along that doesn’t even attempt to provide even a fortune cookie’s worth of thematic depth or meaning and instead focuses purely on going hard into the paint for MONKEY PUNCH LIZARD … well, I honestly have to respect it. 

And boy does it go hard. 

Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t seen a movie on the big screen in nearly a full year. It was, admittedly, a near-overwhelming experience seeing these gigantic mythological creatures duke it out in an image size taller than my house. But the impact of each instance of Godzilla and King Kong coming to blows felt at an echelon above most blockbuster spectacle of late. 

City-annihilating, CGI destruction-fests are absolutely nothing new, and the advances in technology make literally anything possible and even believable now. Following in the footsteps of 2014’s “Godzilla,” “Kong: Skull Island” and “Godzilla: King of the Monsters,” the action in "Godzilla vs. Kong" has a weight to it that simply cannot exist when the subjects in focus are sized as mere mortals. Director Adam Wingard manages to deliver a sense of immersion to the mayhem here that I found overall lacking in many of the previous films. It feels more personal, in a way, which is an odd thing to say about a movie like this. 

Though perhaps it shouldn’t be all that odd. After all, Kong is back at the forefront once more and this version of the great ape has always felt like more of a character than Godzilla in his most recent appearances. By design and, in some ways, necessity, Godzilla is more of a force of nature, an event to behold and survive rather than anything one could possibly begin to identify with. But there’s a humanity to Kong that’s evoked both in Skull Island and here that you can’t help but attach to, even if you’re firmly on #TeamGodzilla. 

As such, throwing Kong face- (and fist) first into an all-out, no-holds-barred brawl for titan supremacy makes the proceedings feel much more interesting than the shodowns in “Godzilla” ‘14 or “King of the Monsters,” all of which felt more detached. There’s no way or reason to invest in who won in those films since at the end, it’s still an uncontrollable monster that comes out on top. But by giving us someone to root for with Kong now in the mix makes the battles feel more dangerous and meaningful, in a way. 

If you’re wondering why I haven’t talked about the plot or even the set up, well, that’s because there’s barely anything resembling as such. 

We pick things up a couple years after Godzilla became reigning kaiju champion and the titular king of the monsters upon ripping Ghidora asunder. Humanity seems to have accepted its status as, at best, observers of Godzilla, ostensibly under his protection from any remaining so-called Titans. However, after he destroys a research plant for the mega-corporation Apex, Godzilla is deemed an imminent threat and Kong is brought out of hiding as a possible means to stop him. 

There are other machinations involving Hollow Earth Theory, mystical power sources, etc. and the humans who get tangled up in all of it, but none of it matters. And I don’t mean that in a metaphorical sense. I mean that you could (and probably should) cut out everything involving Madison (Millie Bobbie Brown), her father (Kyle Chandler) and the two conspiracy nuts who follow her around out of the movie entirely and nothing of value or importance would be lost. In fact, it’d only help make the movie get to the good stuff faster. 

The human presence in these movies has largely been a hindrance, but it’s frankly astonishing just how useless and pointless 80 percent of the humans in this movie are. Either the movie got edited to shreds in post-production, or the script writers simply had no idea what to do with any of the returning characters. Either way, congratulations to Lance Reddick for managing to get mid-tier billing for only saying a single line. 

Thankfully though, as bafflingly awful as the humans are, it didn’t dampen my enjoyment or enthusiasm an ounce. Wingard delivers in spades the thing for which you paid your admission (or HBO Max subscription). The action leading up to it is overall excellent, including the first big brawl, but by the time we get to the neon-drenched battle in Hong Kong, the movie is positively vibrating with energy and it gets released in what is easily my favorite giant monster showdown of recent memory. I cackled like a madman so loudly on multiple occasions during this fight that I elicited stares from my fellow theater-goers. 

Obviously this is not a perfect movie, but it is perfect at delivering what I wanted out of it and at a volume and tenor at which I wanted. Having been unable to watch movies in a theater for a year, I’m not sure I could have asked for much more. 

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The Shelf Reloaded

It's been far too long since I updated this thing. Now that I'm no longer writing about movies for a living, I suppose I'll have a bit more motivation to keep this going. Here's hoping. 

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36.) Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (2010)

I wish everyone could love this movie as much as I do. I know some of you out there do (some perhaps even moreso), but it makes me sad that not everyone can appreciate it and love it and relish it at least on this level. 

That may seem like a somewhat pretentious thing to say, perhaps even a bit reductive of others' opinions. But it mostly comes from a place of wanting everyone to experience the same joy and exhilaration that washes over me every time that I've sat down to take in Edgar Wright's marvelous work. 

That said, I can understand why it doesn't connect with some. It's not a movie that's necessarily for everyone in both style and content. The filmmaking is colorful and kinetic and wild and often breathless in a way that almost no other film I've ever seen has even attempted to be. It's a remarkable achievement, but again, not for everyone, perhaps. 

I will definitely acknowledge some of the complaints about the story being truncated, both in comparison to the comic and just in a general sense of progression and development. Scott (Michael Cera) goes from having only just met the girl of his (literal) dreams to declaring that he's in love with her and willing to quite literally fight to keep her. 

It's sudden, sure, but it comes from a place that feels heartfelt and, above all, honest. It may be truncated but it's all presented in a way that feels genuine, which may be Wright's greatest accomplishment with the film. 

Besides, this is a movie where bad guys explode into a shower of coins when defeated and a girl uses a guy's dreams as a subspace portal so she can make rapid deliveries for Amazon. "Realism" isn't really on the agenda here. 

Either way, this is a movie that I love more every time I watch it. I hope you all have a movie that fills you with the same sort of joy and excitement as well.

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35.) The Rocketeer (1991)

I readily acknowledge that nostalgia may very well be why this movie still works like gangbusters for me. I also readily acknowledge that I don't care. 

Sometimes a movie just works and it's undeniable that the circumstances around your initial viewing are very much a part of why it holds a place in your mind and heart. That's part of the magic of movies. I saw The Rocketeer in the theater when it first came out when I was 10. In other words, I was at the perfect age to have this delightful bit of pulp action launch me into the stratosphere. Rocketpacks, gangsters versus Nazis, exploding zepplins, shootouts. Jennifer Connelly. How could I not automatically think this was one of the greatest things to ever be projected onto a movie screen? This was also one of the few movies I ever got to see multiple times in the theater, an absolute rarity when I was a kid.

So can I be wholly objective about The Rocketeer? Maybe not. I'm certainly able to acknowledge its flaws. It feels like it's missing at least one more major action scene with the rocketpack, for one thing. It's a slim movie. On the one hand, this sort of lends it a feeling of efficiency. It never wastes a second getting to the stuff we really want to see while still ably establishing characters and tone. But director Joe Johnston wants his film to feel bigger than either the script or the budget can truly accommodate. 

But when this sucker works, it really works. It's just so much FUN. 

For one thing, Johnston absolutely nails the tone with a pervading sense of adventure and fun that only comes when you have Nazis and gangsters racing to get their hands on a fantasy contraption like a jetpack. It helps that Johnston populated his film with such a wonderful cast. Everyone knows precisely what they should be going for. Be it Timothy Dalton doing his best Nazi Errol Flynn or Paul Sorvino (once more proving it doesn't matter how many times he gets cast as a gangster, the man is a pro and will find a way to make it memorable), or Alan Arkin teaching Howard Hughes a thing or two about aviation (to this day I still wish we would have gotten an actual movie about Hughes with Terry O'Quinn reprising the role). Jon Polito. 

There are just so many bits and moments to love. Eddie Valentine and Wooly Wolinski pausing to look at each other and grinning before going back to machine gunning Nazis. Peavy making sure Cliff has "a little luck." The running gag of Peavy getting knocked back by the rocketpack's thruster blast. Any time Jennifer Connelly is on screen and looking stunning. (Read: Pretty much every time she's on screen.)  That shot of Cliff on top of the Griffith Observatory, posed in front of the American flag, ready to fly off and save the day. "Go get 'em, kid."

But really, there are two things in particular that always stick out no matter how many times I see this. First is the Nazi cartoon. That short bit of animation shatters any sort of doubts (or at least it should) of what sort of movie Johnston was going for but just couldn't quite make (and, again, I blame mostly the budget and script). It's perfect and encapsulates everything about the spirit of pulp serials that inspired Dave Stevens' original graphic novel. 

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, is James Horner's score. This score might be the sole reason why I feel the same sense of excitement and awe I did when I was 10. Horner has sort of made a career out of cannibalizing his own work, but when the man is on his game, he strikes gold. Others will argue (and with great merit) that he has better scores like Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, but this is his best work. I could listen to that opening theme on a loop and it would still always pump me full of smiles and an everlasting desire to soar through the clouds, twin rocket engines strapped to my back. 

I will say, even as much as I love this movie, I would be first in line to see someone tack a crack at a remake (or even a recast sequel). There's so much fun to be had in this little universe of sorts, it's a shame that Disney gives us multiple TRON movies, but not multiple Rocketeer movies. 

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34.) The Rock (1996)

Michael Bay is in on the joke.

No one wants to admit this, but it's true. Michael Bay is often held up as "what's wrong" with American cinema, a perpetuator of the worst, most bombastic and garish qualities that spill out of Hollywood and into our cineplexes. I won't pretend that at least a portion of that criticism isn't warranted, but I submit to you that Bay is a much more self-aware filmmaker than most are willing to give him credit for or even acknowledge. 

Exhibit A: The Rock.

This movie is a cartoon. Heck, it might even be the best video game movie ever made. (A case I just might make later on, if I feel so inclined.) Everything Bay put together points to The Rock being just that. Nic Cage's performance, the snarling FBI agents, the rogue Marines played with borderline wide-eyed insanity, that car chase. 

In fact, that chase is the perfect example of what I'm talking about. 

It's pretty much a constant barrage of wild edits, crashes, collisions, unrealistic driving (somehow Cage's wimpy lab rat of a character immediately becomes a proficient high speed evasive driver by simply hopping into the seat of a Ferrari) and massive explosions. It also gets progressively more comedic. Beginning with Sean Connery stealing a Humvee (remember, this was 1996 and Hummers were still a novelty owned only by wealthy people with nothing but money to burn) from a comically accented chubby European guy and proceeds to tear down the hilly streets of San Francisco in a way that would make Frank Bullitt blush. Along the way, he crushes a VW Bug painted all hippie-like, smashes through a truck carrying water jugs, narrowly avoids hitting a frail old lady in a flowery hat crossing the street, only to have to swerve out of the way of a team of wheelchair cyclists. It's like it was storyboarded by Chuck Jones. 

Still, Bay's more garish tendencies are in full effect here, though certainly not to the degree of his later films. The average shot length lasts about two-and-a-half seconds. Bay tries really, really hard to give the story a pulse and pathos beyond the action trappings, but ultimately plays things too big and broad for it to hit the mark. Although Ed Harris (the pro that he is) manages to wring genuine emotion and pathos from his Gen. Hummell character, a superhuman feat if there ever was one. 

Whatever criticisms can be leveled at Bay and his films, his casting sensibilities are certainly not among them. The man (and Jerry Bruckheimer productions in general) puts together some of the best supporting casts ever. John Spencer, Tony Todd, Michael Biehn, John C. McGinley, William Forsythe, David Morse, Bokeem Woodbine, you couldn't really ask for a better collection of character actors than that to provide the backbone of your movie. Connery may be the marquee star, but he's busy simply being Connery (not a criticism), it's these guys that really make the movie fun. That said, Connery turns up the smarmy prickliness here to 11 and we're all better off for it. 

Also, remember when Nic Cage had a hairline? Good times. 

I won't go so far as to say that anyone who hates on this movie doesn't "get it," but there's something to be said for a man who so consistently makes precisely the type of movie he has in his head. It may not be art you can appreciate, but it's still art. 

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33.) The Hunt for Red October (1990)

I love this movie to death. There may be no other movie I own which I have watched more, save for the original Star Wars. It's my go-to, a perfect bit of cinematic comfort food. 

That said, I almost hesitate to use the comfort food analogy, as it connotes a lack of relative refinement or even in some cases quality, something that (even though it isn't of "prestige" status) The Hunt for Red October most certainly cannot be described as lacking. This is an expertly made film from a director at the height of his powers. This was the cap to an incredible trifecta of films from John McTiernan, coming hot off the heels of Predator and Die Hard. That we never really saw that McTiernan again is nothing less than a travesty. 

It's funny, because a lot of people seem willing to pass this off as little more than popcorn fare, and large part because of Sean Connery's Capt. Ramius. Connery doesn't even attempt anything remotely resembling an Eastern European accent and for that reason alone some seem content to treat the rest of the film as a lightweight. 

How wrong they are. 

I'll get more into Connery in a bit, but let's talk first about why this really is something of an unsung masterpiece. Foremost is the script and McTiernan's direction. This is an action/thriller, but it's one of the most tightly scripted, character-driven scripts of its kind that I've ever watched. This is a film that is propelled by a series of moments that are anchored by the moving plot, but are driven by the actions and deep personalities of these characters. Everything is motivated by the brave intentions of this core group of Russian naval officers and the perceptive analysis of a low-ranking CIA analyst.

For a film that could have gotten mired in the technical details and politics of the day (though the underlying residual tension of the Cold War still lingers and is surely a significant part of why it was such a hit back in its release), McTiernan and writers Larry Ferguson and Donald Stewart did a tremendous job of adapting Tom Clancy's novel to the screen. I used to be a huge fan of Clancy's work, but even I would get bogged down at times trying to slough through page after page of technical jargon detailing the inner workings of a submarine. None of that's here, and in its place a larger focus on the characters, and the film is all the better for it. 

This shouldn't come as a surprise, though, as McTiernan showed in his previous two films that he has an iron grip on establishing distinct personalities and memorable characters with an almost startling efficiency. Take the motley crew of mercenaries in Predator. Every single one of them is memorable in their own way. Whether it's Hawkins and his horrible jokes or Mac threatening to "bleed ya real quiet" to Dillon, they each get a couple different moments so that they're inevitable destruction actually means something to the audience. The same goes with Die Hard. What could have been a fairly standard action flick gets turned into something much greater, all because McTiernan really knew how to make those smaller, sometimes quieter, moments really count, a skill that is used to an incredible degree here. 

One of the best sequences in the entire film showcases just what I'm talking about (in addition to being a perfect microcosm of everything the film as a whole does right). Ramius and his First Officer, Borodin (Sam Neill), are sharing a quiet conversation in the captain's quarters. Ramius inquires what Borodin hopes to do once they successfully defect to the United States and Borodin speaks fondly of his desire to live in Montana, find a "round American woman" who will cook for him the rabbits he raises. He wants to drive a pickup truck and live in Arizona during the winter.

It's a soft moment, one of unexpected vulnerability from a man who has spent the movie thus far as a stern pillar of support to his captain. Ramius, on the other hand, looks forward to once more experiencing the serenity of fishing. He talks of a lifetime spent at sea, fighting a war with no battles or monuments, only casualties. All of this is intercut against shots of the U.S.S. Dallas as it tracks the Red October, as well as the Russian crew going about their duties. It projects this incredible blend of tension, atmosphere and even an unexpected bit of serenity that still focuses on character amid such a volatile situation at large. 

It's a perfect moment, for my money, anchored by two wonderful performances. Sam Neill shows that Borodin is sort of the unsung beating heart of the film, as it is his character's optimism and dreaming that made such a brash, bold act as defection possible in the first place. Neill is fantastic, making this small moment count, so much so that when Borodin is shot through the heart and his last words of "I would like to have seen Montana" it's impact is at maximum. 

This feels like one of the last warm and nuanced performances we ever really got out Connery (save for Finding Forrester and, I'm told, The Russia House). His work in this scene particularly does a tremendous job of showing the history and bond shared between Borodin and Ramius in such a short amount of time. No, he doesn't sound remotely Russian, but who cares. If you can't see the forest for the trees on this one, stop watching movies.

But it's not just these two. Even some of the "smallest" bit players in this are memorable, be it Kamarov boasting about flying a windowless plane through the Alps with only a stopwatch and a map, or Courtney B. Vance as the brilliant sonar tech. Even Stellan Skarsgard makes a mighty impression with less than five minutes screentime. (The silent rage behind his delivery of "We're going to kill a friend, Yvgeni. We're going to kill Ramius" is nothing short of brilliant.) Oh, and let's not forget the amazing Scott Glenn (aka the American Jurgen Prochnow). 

I'd be remiss, too, if I didn't mention Alec Baldwin as Jack Ryan. Baldwin has never gotten his proper due as an actor, I don't think. Sure, he's a Big Name Actor (though more for his television work lately), but no one's ever really figured out how to consistently use him to his fullest potential. Regardless, he does solid work here and is my preferred screen depiction of the Jack Ryan character. He's calm, analytical but never stolidly so. It's good stuff. 

If nothing else, The Hunt for Red October is proof that you don't have to be nominated for a half dozen Oscars or be subtitled in French or whatever in order to be a masterpiece of film. All it takes is a dedication to character and form to be something truly great. 

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32.) Cop Land (1997)

I'm always more than a little surprised that this movie has more or less been either forgotten or ignored completely since it's release more than a decade ago. Although I suppose that's fitting with its release as no one really seemed to make much of it when it came out, save for the fact that Sylvester Stallone packed on about 30 pounds to play the role of Sheriff Freddy Heflin. 

It's a shame, though, because this is a pretty great little movie, one that has some great, understated performances and an ensemble cast that's tough to beat. 

It centers around Garrison, a tiny New Jersey suburb. It's a haven of sorts for New York City cops as they comprise a significant portion of its population. They're a tight-knit group, always looking out for each other's backs, but everyone more or less takes orders from Ray Donlan (Harvey Keitel), including Sheriff Freddy. Freddy feels like he owes Ray, as Ray was who set him up as sheriff after repeatedly being denied a spot in the NYPD. 

Things begin to spiral out of control in this serene little (mob-financed) community, however, when hero cop Murray "Superboy" Babbitch (Michael Rappaport) shoots and kills two black guys after a night of drinking and partying. Ray, unwilling to let his family's name be tarnished, fakes his nephew's death and him out in Garrison until they can figure out what to do with Superboy. 

I love this movie for multiple reasons, but high among them is that it manages to both feel like a traditional western while also defying the traditional motifs of most modern cop flicks. Cop movies these days seem to only either be procedurals or gritty "examinations" of the shades of gray that exist within the modern justice system. Rarely do you find a cop movie where the protagonist is faced with a clear moral choice with defined choices on either side of the line.

Although, I suppose that's part of what makes this so engaging, because for Freddy, it isn't so cut-and-dried once he discovers the truth about Superboy. He's always dreamed of being a cop (a dream that was shattered when he lost his hearing as a teen saving a girl from drowning in the river). And now he finally has the chance to make the sort of bold stand that good cops must make in administering justice, but he hesitates because of his loyalty to Ray, the man who made him. 

This conundrum wouldn't be anywhere near as effective, of course, if we weren't invested in Freddy and thankfully Stallone makes it easy to do just that. This is easily one of the best performances of his career. Sunken, deflated and burned out from a life spent wishing he could go across the river, Freddy is a fairly pathetic figure. With a lesser performance, Freddy would have simply come off as little more than a sack of dirty laundry, incapable of drawing any sort of sympathy from the audience. But Stallone imbues him with a wounded heart that makes it impossible not to root for the guy, especially once he pulls it together and takes a stand for the first time in his life. It's as soulful a performance as we'd gotten from Stallone since he first played Rocky. 

Rounding things out nicely is the stellar supporting cast with the likes of Keitel, Ray Liotta, Robert De Niro, Robert Patrick, John Spencer and Peter Berg. Liotta is especially great as a coke-sniffing NYPD cop as he gets to essentially be a version of Dean Martin's Dude character from Rio Bravo. It's De Niro, though, who is the movie's supporting MVP. His Moe Tilden is a rumpled, frumpy internal affairs investigator who looks like he stumbled out of any number of cop flicks from the '70s. This was in the final stretch from about 1997 to 1998 where De Niro gave one last mighty burst of effort before going on autopilot for more than a decade. This isn't on the level of his work from that same stretch with Jackie Brown, Ronin or even Wag the Dog, but he's clearly giving it a good push. His "You blew iiiiiiit!" rant at Freddy remains one of my favorite (and oft quoted) bits of the movie. 

I mentioned earlier that this feels like a western and I really think that's something that director James Mangold doesn't get enough credit for in putting this film together. The characters, the defined moral choices, the very concept of a lone sheriff standing alone against seemingly insurmountable odds, it's all classic stuff and Mangold makes it all work in well in a modern setting, something that doesn't always necessarily translate well. 

Really, this is the sort of low-key (but no less solid) film that I wish we got more of. This isn't going to blow anyone's socks off, but it's filled with great performances and has a solid backbone keeping all the elements in place. It doesn't redefine genre paradigms, but it's also not interested in that. It engages in all the right ways and has some great actors doing solid work in the process. It's hard to ask for much more, honestly.

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31.) Spartan (2004)

I've had an uneven relationship with this movie for a while. The first time I saw it, I sort of hated it. It felt barren, broken, stilted and largely like it was trying to make me not like it.

I gave it another shot some time later after developing an appreciation for David Mamet's other films and scripts and I found a significant amount to enjoy and appreciate in it. This was my third time around with it and I found my appreciation of it has gone up even more. 

At this rate, by the sixth or so time I watch it, it'll be a minor classic, I guess. 

I love that this is such a stripped-down film. The complete lack of exposition, the way it spends almost no time bogging down into superfluous details, the way it makes you work to find the details of Val Kilmer's character. Some might call it a barren film, but I like that it feels as no-nonsense as operatives who populate it. It's always great to watch an older movie and see a character actor you love pop up in it (in this case it's Clark Gregg (aka Agent Coulson from the recent Marvel movies)). 

But what really stuck out to me this time around was the fact that this isn't a special ops action thriller at all. It's a hard boiled detective story wearing military fatigues. It may have the dressing of a special ops thriller, but at its core, Mamet is channeling more Daishell Hammett than Tom Clancy. 

That said, it still bugs me to death the way Mamet demands some of his dialogue be delivered so that it comes out sounding stiff and unnatural. His words are already stylized to the point where it's phrased in a way that no normal human being would ever say something like that. Usually it works quite well, but every now and then (typically in films he's directed) he has a line delivered in a way that is distracting in how unnatural and stiff it comes off. This happens on numerous occasions in Spartan. There are probably more instances of it in Heist, but for some reason it didn't bother me as much as it did here. 

Still, this is about as efficient as films get and I've got to give Mamet props for the way he trusts his audience enough to let them suss out details, motivations and arcs enough on their own without ever spoonfeeding a single bite to them. I can't wait to see what new bit of appreciation I unearth the next time it gets a spin. 

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30.) Heist (2001)

Wag the Dog got me itching to revisit more David Mamet material so in went Heist, though I was somewhat surprised to realize just how much of Mamet’s stuff I have in my library. I’ve got more than I thought so it’s going to be fun going through them for the next several entries. 

This is a great little movie. And I sort of want to emphasize the “little” part of that phrase. It’s a contained film. The setpieces are small. The story is contained to only a handful of characters. The heist at the center of it is downright miniscule, compared to what most movie heists go for. But that’s all part of what I really enjoy about this. I love that it seems to be taking place in this nondescript New England town.

Movie heists seem to happen almost exclusively in Chicago or Los Angeles or New York City or some other high profile city. Joe Moore (Gene Hackman) and his crew seem to have the right idea of pulling off jobs where you don’t have a massive police force to respond to a well-planned robbery. That’s not a tactic explicitly (or even subtly) stated, just an observation that seems to fit. Mamet writes Joe as a shrewd, canny tactician when it comes to planning jobs. “I wouldn’t tie my shoes without a backup plan,” he says.

That’s never really shoved in our face, though. Most other movies would likely revel in showing each elaborate step taken to outwit and outmaneuver Joe’s foes (probably in a slick montage with fancy editing, loud music and maybe even some kinetic typography), but Mamet (who also directed) keeps it all very matter-of-fact. He gives us enough to show that Joe is always two moves ahead and mostly leaves it at that. Such restraint is what keeps the movie feeling contained and yet still very satisfying. 

Hackman is great as Joe and it really makes me wish the man had done one last role in this vein before retiring, instead of going out on something like Welcome to Mooseport. They don’t make tough guys like Hackman anymore, just that special brand of creased, no-nonsense professional. 

Which, of course, is why he’s such a perfect fit for Mamet’s material. That precise style of man’s man is Mamet’s bread and butter. Only Michael Mann surpasses him in crafting professional men who live and die by their dedication to doing what they do and doing it well. And now I just want Mamet and Mann to collaborate on something because OH MY GOD THAT WOULD BE AMAZING WHY HASN’T THIS HAPPENED BEFORE?!?!?!

*ahem*

And speaking of Mamet’s affectations, his trademark stylized dialogue is in full effect here (you can always tell it’s Mamet-written once characters start repeating themselves), and like in all of his stuff there’s more than a few lines that make absolutely no sense when you try and say them but in the context of the work itself it just feels right. Not many people can get away with that, but that’s what makes Mamet Mamet, I suppose. 

Movies like this are all too rare, ones that exist simply to give us solid writing, good characters and just be satisfied in providing a contained, well-executed piece of entertainment. When people say “Oh, I just want something to enjoy,” this is what they should be getting. It’s not some profound piece of film that will enlighten you, but it is thoroughly entertaining without being idiotic and watered down. 

More Mamet next entry. Maybe Spartan, maybe Redbelt, we’ll see. 

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29.) Wag the Dog

Given all the presidential election shenanigans going on right now, it felt like the perfect time to revisit one of my favorite politically-centered films: Wag the Dog. 

Films about politics or politicians or the electoral process or what have you are almost exclusively cynical these days. Be it in a comedic or more straightforward manner, I can't remember the last time that a film about politics contained even a shred of optimism. Wag the Dog is one of the most cynical political films I've ever watched. The amazing thing? It never feels like a drag watching it. 

Robert De Niro (in one of his final performances where he genuinely cared about his craft) is Conrad Brean, a "fixer" who gets called in when a political maelstrom threatens the president. It's implied that Conrad essentially acts on retainer and that he's done this sort of thing for multiple presidents. This time he's called in to distract the nation. It's only 11 days until the nation votes to either re-elect or oust the president and the story has just hit that the POTUS has allegedly acted improperly with a Firely Girl (this movie's version of a Girl Scout). 

Refusing to know whether or not the president is guilty (one way or the other, it's irrelevant to his job), Conrad sets out to fabricate just enough of a distraction to keep the press and public at bay until Election Day, which comes in the form of a fictional war between the United States and a band of Albanian terrorists. To do this, though, he needs the help of the best fakery artists in the world, which naturally means he heads to Hollywood to recruit producer Stanley Motss (Dustin Hoffman). 

With costumes, special effects, songs and actors, "It's a pageant," that they're creating, Conrad explains. Which is essentially true. They film about 15 seconds of footage where a young actress is seen fleeing a terrorist-invaded village (all created digitally), which the press then loops continuously. Songs are recorded and then "spontaneously" discovered from the Library of Congress' archives to coincide with the support campaign for a soldier still missing behind enemy lines (who in actuality is a mentally unstable soldier being held in military custody). In other words, all the things that go along with a modern war effort are manufactured wholesale and the public eats it up, hook, line and sinker, all so the president can get re-elected. 

Like I said, cynical to the core, though I'm not sure who David Mamet (who penned the script) is more cynical toward: the public for just blindly lapping this stuff up or the White House for playing puppeteer. 

Despite this, however, it's a remarkably funny movie and director Barry Levinson manages to keep the tone light more or less throughout, to the point where it's easy to miss just how cynical Mamet is being with his script. 

There's a lot to like here, though for me stuff to savor on repeat viewings are the performances by De Niro and Hoffman. De Niro stopped giving a crap a long time ago, and this along with Ronin (which he made immediately following) were the last two films where gave really solid work. Conrad is far from his most memorable role, but he inhabits it well. There's a specific rhythm to Mamet's scripts and De Niro (like he did with Ronin) slips into it wonderfully. I'd love to see the two of them collaborate on something. 

Hoffman, though, might be my favorite thing. The man is about as consistent a performer as you could ask for and here he's visibly having a great time as the fame-chasing producer who never lets a bad situation get him down. No matter how grim things get as they fabricate this war, he always has a filmmaking anecdote that makes the situation seem like small potatoes by comparison. "During the filming of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, three of the horsemen died two weeks before the ending of principle photography. This is...this is nothing." That he does all this essentially in a light imitation of the infamous, flamed-out former mega-producer Robert Evans only makes it better. I love it. 

What's most interesting, though, is how eerily similar the specifics of the entire story match up to the real-life events of Bill Clinton's adultery scandal, right down to military action being taken soon after the scandal came to light. It wasn't intended as such because the script had already been finished and shooting begun when the scandal broke, but it's uncanny how closely they line up. 

Interesting still is how prescient it remained, as Mamet makes the statement that small bands of terrorists will be the spark for international war in the future and that it will be even easier to fabricate evidence to justify those wars. Makes me curious what bit of socio-political analysis is lurking elsewhere in this that will turn out to be accurate another decade or so down the line. 

Regardless, this is a pretty great, largely overlooked film that is worth at least a couple viewings. 

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28.) Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)

Self-awareness is a difficult thing to pull off, especially in films. 

The most obvious risk is playing it too strong. Do that, and the whole thing either feels smug or heavy-handed (or a lot of times both) and you end up with a film that becomes unbearable because it's just oh-so-proud of how "smart" it's trying to be. 

However, when it's done right, you get something like Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, a film which is, for my money, a minor masterpiece in the way it mashes up comedy and hard boiled storytelling with just the right amount of self-awareness. How many other films can comment (often quite literally) on a genre while also serving as a fully functioning entry in said genre? Not many, I would wager. 

And yet, that's precisely what writer/director Shane Black accomplishes with this great, great movie. He's crafted a film that not only pokes laugh-out-loud fun at the pulp detective genre, but also manages to provide a narrative spine that would (were it wholly bereft of its delightful sense of humor) fit right alongside any other piece of its kind. 

Basically what I am saying is that this film is something of a small miracle.

No, really, it sort of is. How else do you describe the result of a first-time director giving a washed-up flame-out like Robert Downey Jr. the role that would propel him toward a fairy tale-esque career revival while also reminding everyone what an absurdly underused comedic talent Val Kilmer is while also pulling off the above described aspects of said film? 

Like I said, a small miracle. 

This is such a great movie, one that remains fresh no matter how many times I watch it. Endlessly quotable and with a breezy energy to it, it makes me sad that Black wasn't flooded with more offers to write and direct after this came out. Oh well, at least he gets to reunite with Downey on Iron Man 3.