Go Fourth?

It has been nearly two decades since two poorly received sequels to The Matrix threatened to undermine many of the things that people loved about the original. Throughout most of that time, The Wachowskis who created it all insisted that they would never make another. But now, Lana Wachowski has indeed made a fourth movie (without the involvement of her sister Lilly).

More than most movies, how you receive The Matrix Resurrections has a lot to do with your expectations going in. Are you looking for a movie that was worth waiting 18 years for? Are you just looking for a movie that's better than other two Matrix sequels? Are you hoping for a furtherance of the transgender allegories that most of the audience didn't pick up in the original film at the time? Do you just want to see some beloved characters kick ass one more time, under any circumstances?

That's too wide an array of expectations for one movie to satisfy. And so it shouldn't come as a surprise that for me, at least, The Matrix Resurrections was quite a mixed bag. But neither am I surprised by the responses that have been strongly negative, or strongly positive. (Okay, maybe I'm a little surprised at the latter reactions.)

Here's where I'm coming from. I think it will never again be possible for a movie to be as big a visual revolution as the original Matrix. CG can just do so much, so easily, that a modern audience will never react as they did when they saw "bullet time" in 1999. (At least, not until the first time we all get to be inside a fully holographic movie for the first time?) So I think the only way a Matrix sequel could capture some of the "magic" of the original is by presenting ideas that are extraordinary.

The Matrix Resurrections really doesn't do that for me. It's a lot like Back to the Future Part II, in that it wants the audience to revel in their love of the earlier Matrix movies... but without the cool conceit that sequel had of actually going into the previous movie. Most of the first hour is re-staging existing Matrix scenes, presenting meta jokes for a knowing audience to smile at, and even literally replaying footage from the previous films on screens the characters can literally watch. It's all less clever to me than it's presented as, and it really drags.

Eventually, the movie does find some interesting ideas to work with -- actually picking up the end of the third Matrix movie and carrying forward, rather than taking the far easier option of pretending it didn't happen. But still, even as the thoughts at the heart of Resurrections become interesting, the way they're communicated remains weak. The "rules" of this movie are poorly explained (when they're explained at all), lending the entire movie a "making it up as we go along" vibe that, to my mind, none of the previous Matrix films had (not even the two sequels).

But... there's fun to be had too. If you're here because you like watching Keanu Reeves kick ass, you get that. Perhaps even more compelling are scenes in which he pointedly does not kick ass, when the movie acknowledges that this story takes place years later, and Neo (like all of us) has gotten older. The role for Carrie-Anne Moss is more mixed in my mind. You can sort of see as a whole what might have enticed her to return to this character, but at the same time, there's not enough Trinity (and certainly not enough compelling Trinity) in my view.

Some of the new cast members really do stand out for me, though. In particular, I love the casting of both Jonathan Groff and Neil Patrick Harris. Both are out gay actors, and neither is the sort of name Hollywood would think of first (or second) for roles like the ones they're given here. But both of them get to have a ton of fun in this movie, and both leave me thoroughly convinced that they were perfectly cast.

I think for me, The Matrix Resurrections works out to about a C. It's hardly essential viewing. But it does clear the (admittedly low) bar of being a better "end to the franchise" than the third film, The Matrix Revolutions. For most people, it seems like this was not enough of a lure to go to a movie theater in the midst of the far less welcome sequel: the Omicron variant of COVID. But for the next few weeks, while you can watch it in the comfort of your own home on HBO Max? It might be worth it for some?

Eye Spy

The now incongruously named Marvel Cinematic Universe has spawned a lot of television series on Disney+. I haven't regularly blogged about them; Loki was the first time I felt compelled to post about one of the shows, and I used that opportunity to talk a bit about how Loki was clearly better to me than the shows that came before: WandaVision and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Since then, we've gotten What If...? -- a show I didn't end up liking nearly as much as I'd expected. (Some episodes were solid and some weren't, often depending on how compelling the "gimmick of the week" felt.) But now we have the new Best MCU Disney+ Show, stealing the crown from Loki.

On paper, Hawkeye might not have seemed like it would be the best of the new crop of Marvel TV series. Well, on the "drawing board" paper, at least. If you'd had the scripts, you might have begun to suspect. I complained of the earlier shows that each was obliged to forego meaningful character change, leaving everything in position for the next billion dollar movie. But the character of Hawkeye has never had his own movie, and probably never will. Most of the characters in this six-episode story are brand new creations. So there was more freedom here to actually take them on a meaningful arc. Simply, I found this to be the most interesting story told so far in a Disney+ Marvel series.

Then you start to add the intangibles that wouldn't have been visible on the page. Hailee Steinfeld is simply great as Kate Bishop, funny and powerful and charismatic and self-deprecating. Hollywood seems to have realized all at once, "why doesn't she have a TV show?," responding by giving her three (this, Dickinson, and a voice role in Arcane). What's more, her rapport with Jeremy Renner makes the show better still. Hawkeye was a character who had limited sparks with Natasha Romanov... and kind of no one else. Now suddenly, Jeremy Renner and Hailee Steinfeld are one of the best odd couple pairings on television. The push-and-pull nature of their relationship works at every stage of the journey, outshining even the considerable charm Tom Hiddleston brought to bear on Loki.

Add to that a great supporting cast. Vera Farmiga gets more to do than the average MCU side character, and makes the most of that. Tony Dalton has broad, swashbuckling fun. Fra Fee and Alaqua Cox make a compelling pair of their own, more nuanced villains than the MCU usually finds room for. (And the Powers That Be noticed, giving Cox a future series of her own). The series also keeps Linda Cardellini in the mix as Clint Barton's unwaveringly supportive wife Laura -- not the most impressive role, but one that's very much an important part of who Hawkeye is as a character.

And if you'll allow me this one paragraph for SPOILERS... bringing back Florence Pugh as Yelena was wonderful. She was hands-down the best part of Black Widow, and Hailee Steinfeld's scenes with her were even better than her scenes with Jeremy Renner. (I was less keen on the other big reveal: Vincent D'Onofrio's return as Wilson Fisk. This Kingpin may have been authentic-to-the-comics, but to me felt too super-powered compared to his Daredevil incarnation. Plus, I thought that bringing him back here undermined what closure could be mined from the unplanned-for ending of that show after three seasons. And his ending here was too simple if taken at face value, and too pointless if taken as the fake-out it surely was.)

Aside from that gripe, though, Hawkeye felt like pretty much the ideal limited-run series to me, a lovely Christmas-themed stocking stuffer. I give it an A-. I'd love to get another season of it at some point. At a minimum, I hope it serves up some lessons that can be applied to future MCU TV series.

A Lovely Christmas Surprise

I don't have any real "Christmas movie" traditions. There are holiday-themed movies I do like, but I don't make a point of watching them each year. Most years, I don't watch any Christmas movies at all. But this year, I did squeeze in a couple. And I think one deserves some blog recognition, while we're still in the "twelve days of Christmas" period and there might still be a narrow window to foist a recommendation on my readers.

Happiest Season was a 2020 release, added to Hulu a year ago during that time when cable channels are running round-the-clock, paint-by-numbers Christmas movies. Happiest Season centers on lesbian couple Abby and Harper. Abby doesn't really like Christmas, but is willing to open herself up to it when Harper suggests Abby come to her parents' house this year. But Harper hasn't yet come out to her family, and her intentions to do so this year are derailed by a series of complications.

The setup here sounds admittedly trite, but it turns out that this movie is actually really good! That starts by being a movie about queer people actually made by queer people. The story comes from actor-turned-director Clea DuVall, who co-wrote this script with Mary Holland and then directed it herself. And she mustered a hell of a cast (including many out LGBT actors) to be in it.

Happiest Season stars Kristen Stewart and Mackenzie Davis as Abby and Harper. Those who only think of Stewart from Twilight will fail to grasp that she's actually a very good performer. (She's going to be Oscar-nominated this year for Spencer, and at the moment I'm writing this is the slight odds-on favorite to actually win Best Actress.) The relationship between these two characters and performers at the heart of this movie is perfect; their dynamic feels lived in and natural, and so all the ups and downs of the plot work.

Harper's family is full of great actors with a wonderful balance of comedic and dramatic chops. Mary Steenburgen and Victor Garber play her parents, while Alison Brie and Mary Holland (the movie's co-writer) play her two sisters. Each character has an arc of their own, even as the script is mainly engineered to put maximum pressure on the two leads.

Aubrey Plaza brings her signature withering aloofness to ex-girlfriend Riley, while Dan Levy plays broad as "gay bestie" John. While both actors get to display their well-known comic chops, each actually gets a notable dramatic scene that shows off another side of their considerable talents. I don't just mean dramatic "within the context of a comedy," but legitimately emotional scenes.

I went into Happiest Season expecting little more than LGBT representation within arguably the most trope-tastic genre in movies: the holiday rom-com. (Indeed -- I also got exactly that when I watched Netflix's Single All the Way. There's a movie I'll probably just skip in favor of other stuff in my blog backlog. Simply: it's an as-advertised "gay people can be in mediocre Hallmark-style Christmas movies too!" movie.) But Happiest Season was actually moving, actually good. In fact, it somehow landed as my second favorite movie released in 2020.

If it's too late now for you to be interested in a Christmas film, perhaps make a note for December 2022. Happiest Season really was a pleasant surprise. I give it a B+.

No Way? Yes, Way!

I'm back from a week-long pre-Christmas ski trip in Vail. Literally the last thing I did before leaving was to watch Spider-Man: No Way Home, and now that it's more than a week later, it's time to offer up my belated thoughts.

I knew as I was walking out of the theater that it was my favorite of all the various Spider-Man movies we've gotten over the years. No, it doesn't really stand on its own in any way -- though, of course, few sequels do. Still, it does an outstanding job of picking up the batons passed to it and running with them in clever, meaningful ways. It does this so well, in fact, that I found myself comparing it to Avengers: Endgame more and more. And that's when it really clicked for me:

This isn't just the best Spider-Man movie. It's the best movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

That's a bold statement for some, I'm sure. And I intend to back it up. But it will simply be impossible to be coy and dance around spoilers while doing so. So, if you still haven't seen the movie, I'll point you to the virtual exits now with this parting thought: I give Spider-Man: No Way Home an A. It's great.

For those still here for the SPOILERS, here you go. In a nutshell, what makes No Way Home so great is the sheer number of meaningful character arcs the movie includes. It's hard enough for a superhero movie to include important moments for any non-super-powered sidekicks in the main character's orbit, but this one includes "best of trilogy" moments for both MJ and Ned, while giving two of the movie's most powerful dramatic scenes to Aunt May and (unlikely as it might seem) Happy.

But No Way Home is just getting started. It does what very few superhero movies do successfully, giving important character growth to the villain(s). Maybe in this case, the movie actually had to do so, to entice so many actors to come back who in no way needed to be in this movie. In any case, we get a powerful redemptive arc for Doctor Octopus -- Alfred Molina getting to refine the character who was already the most sympathetic villain in the Spider-Man films. Electro gets to be a more menacing foe than last time around, Jamie Foxx more threatening than he was with even less screen time this time around. And the Green Goblin is truly positioned as the apex predator of them all, Willem Dafoe delivering an even better performance with bigger emotional swings.

Of course, the big (and yet worst-kept) secret surprise was the return of Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield as their prior versions of Spider-Man, and No Way Home somehow makes room for them to do a lot in this movie without ever taking the focus away from Tom Holland's incarnation. In particular, Garfield gets his best moments ever in the role: fun comedic banter with MJ and Ned, and a dramatic moment of redemption when he rescues MJ in the final battle. (Andrew Garfield does so much in five seconds with virtually no dialogue, it's unreal.)

It's all so skillfully woven together, and that's before you even consider that the "degree of difficulty" here was off the charts. Yes, Avengers: Endgame was the culmination of 20 films, needed to give "a moment" to dozens of characters, effectively say goodbye to some of them, and be entertaining. But everything leading up to that film was under the complete creative control of the Marvel Powers-That-Be. No Way Home took on the baggage of five prior Spider-Man films that the MCU creatives did not control. And in some cases, it really was baggage -- dour tone, unconvincing villains, bad narrative choices. Writers Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers (and surely many others who don't get a screen credit with them) took so much of both the good and bad, and used it all.

Plus, there were fun moments for still more characters I haven't even called out. And fun callbacks to earlier films. And non-oppressive setup for future MCU films. It seems impossible that this movie could come out anything but a garbled, disjointed mess. That it's actually great creates almost a feedback loop that makes it feel even greater in my book.

So, there you have it. Why I think Spider-Man: No Way Home is the best film of the MCU. I give it an A.

An American Instituition

Not long ago, I watched the classic concert movie from Talking Heads, Stop Making Sense. But that isn't the only concert movie featuring the band's front man. More recently, I watched David Byrne's American Utopia.

Talking Heads broke up long ago, but David Byrne is still making solo albums. The latest, American Utopia, included a nationwide concert tour that ended up in long-term residence on Broadway. (Very long term; it was running before COVID shut down Broadway, and has returned now that Broadway has reopened.) The show features a mix of Byrne solo songs and Talking Heads classics (plus a powerful cover song by another artist). Plus, plenty of the performance antics that anyone who knows David Byrne might expect.

Stop Making Sense was famously directed by a rather big name director: Jonathan Demme would later make The Silence of the Lambs, among many others. To direct the filming of American Utopia, Byrne turned to an even more recognizable name. This movie is a "Spike Lee Joint." Lee is one of those directors with an encyclopedic knowledge of film, and he clearly is very aware of everything Demme did in the concert movie many call the best ever made. His directorial choices on American Utopia are almost in conversation with the earlier film.

Stop Making Sense shows very few shots of the crowd, focusing the camera on the stage more than many concert films. American Utopia picks up this technique, but then makes better choices still on how the stage is captured. A smaller stage, the ability to position more (and smaller) cameras, and very smart choices in editing all add up to much better coverage of the musicians and their stagecraft.

And there is plenty of stagecraft to behold. This is a rock concert in instrumentation. But Byrne decided that he didn't want any of musicians to be rooted in one place. So instead of one drummer obscured behind a drum set, there are half a dozen percussionists who each wear different pieces of a traditional kit; kick drum, toms, hi-hat, ride and crash cymbals, and snare are all divided among performers who can interweave with a keyboard-toting musician and the expectedly free-roaming guitarists, bassists, and singers.

With this unusual band, Byrne has choreographed and controlled this show to a degree that transcends a conventional concert and does indeed make it start to feel more like a Broadway show. I know I've never been to a concert that looks and feels quite like this, and I'm pretty sure most people haven't either.

But, all that praise given, there are some ways in which this movie can't match Stop Making Sense. One is the alchemy that was the particular musicians in Talking Heads in 1983 -- they're better than the sum of their (considerable) parts, with a presence equal to their musical talent. And the set list for American Utopia simply isn't as good. It's not just a matter of "play the hits" vs "we hate the new stuff," because there are some intriguing newer gems I'd never heard, mixed in with more famous tunes from the 70s and 80s. The concert keeps building and building momentum through the first two-thirds, until three slow and introspective songs in a row sap all the energy from the proceedings. (I feel like waves of people must go for the restroom and concessions at that stretch.) The momentum does come back again, heading into the final songs, but this isn't the "every song is a banger" triumph of Stop Making Sense.

I'd give David Byrne's American Utopia a B-. It's streaming on HBOMax, so relatively easy to access for those who might be interested. And I think any fan of David Byrne and/or Stop Making Sense would probably be interested. It's a good performance, even if not as good.

Voyager Flashback: The Chute

Sooner or later, every Star Trek series will get to a "main character in prison" episode. Star Trek: Voyager did it with season three's "The Chute."

Harry Kim and Tom Paris are imprisoned by an alien species. Their escape efforts are stymied by the technological implant in their brains, which stimulate their base impulses. Meanwhile, Voyager searches for the real perpetrators of the crime.

The concept for this episode -- that Kim's humanity would be tested in prison -- was reportedly left behind by executive Michael Piller before he left the series. Staff writer Ken Biller took up the scripting, and got snarled in a logic problem he never resolved to his satisfaction: in his mind, the passage of time is critical to a good prison story. Kim and Paris could only be in prison so long before breaking the foundation of the series... and that still wouldn't be enough time for Kim to plausibly degenerate to a point of questioning his own humanity. Biller's solution was "the clamp," the implanted device meant to stimulate the negative emotions of the prisoners.

In my view, Biller just traded one problem for another. Nothing about the Akritirian prison system makes much sense. There's the dystopian notion that no conviction can be overturned, no matter the new evidence brought to light -- that much was at least intended by the writers. But there's no context for why a society would develop capital punishment in all but name, not actually executing prisoners while fostering an environment where they'll kill each other. And I think there can be no justification for spending the resources to transport these prisoners to a space station somewhere, and still nominally care for them.

As for the dramatic issues Biller thought he was solving by introducing the clamp, I think that justification is undermined by the character who delivers it, the conspiracy-minded prisoner Zio. Is the term "manifesto" ever used to an accurate, well-reasoned piece of writing? Even though Zio is completely correct in everything he says about the structure of the Akritirian prison, his whole vibe is crazed in a way that countless movies and TV shows have taught audiences reflexively not to trust.

The real problem, I think, is that this episode lives in the long shadow cast by Deep Space Nine's "Hard Time." The incredibly clever structure and message of that episode simply cannot be beat -- it solves the "passage of time" problem better, takes a main character much further dramatically, and delves much deeper into the consequences. This episode could have carved its own way better had it at least picked up on a couple of Voyager-specific elements that it didn't bother to address: Paris has prior experience in prison (admittedly, a far nicer one), and this incarceration threatens any hope of returning to the Alpha Quadrant.

The ship-side part of the episode is also strangely incurious. The Akritirians are embroiled in a conflict between an established government and a group of terrorists. What is the nature of that conflict? Are the "terrorists" in fact actually terrorists, or are they the good guys rebelling against an unjust society? Shockingly, Janeway doesn't seem to consider that at all before making plans to hand over a teenager for a life sentence in prison. (Side note: that teenager, Piri, was apparently acting alone in the original script. Late producer concern over depicting a young character in that way led to the introduction of her older brother, Vel.)

And yet... flawed as it is, this really isn't a bad episode. Tom and Harry have a closer friendship than nearly any other characters on the show, and this is a good concept for testing that friendship. Tom being wounded makes for a good reversal: he has usually acted like the "older brother," but Harry has to step up here to keep them both alive. Kate Mulgrew is always strong in moments conveying righteous anger, and she gets a great scene here when Janeway learns that the conviction can't be overturned. Neelix actually gets to be helpful, piloting his ship on the rescue mission. And that rescue mission (illogical as it is for Janeway to lead the charge) feels appropriately badass as people come flying down the chute with phaser rifles blasting.

The production values are pretty strong too. The prison set is a more elaborate build than the series typically manages for a one-off location. Director Les Landau gives it an appropriately gritty look with dark and striking lighting (very unusual for Voyager), and a lot of handheld camera (also unusual). Plus, there are some fun guest stars, including Don McManus (one of those actors that just pops up everywhere) and the perfectly smarmy Robert Pine (the father of actor Chris Pine, in a bit of Trek franchise foreshadowing).

Other observations:

• Tom and Harry basically agree: I'm so hungry, I could eat Neelix's food.

• Neelix's ship doesn't have a transporter, so I have no idea how they got the wounded Tom Paris back up that chute. 

I'd say "The Chute" lands at about a B-. Perhaps it's unfair to be thinking about it in comparison to "Hard Time" at all -- one of the very best episodes in the entire run of Deep Space Nine. But hey, the theme here is that the justice system isn't always fair, so there you go.

Dog Daze

We're at that time of year when talk is circulating about the movies most likely to be in the coming Oscar race. Usually, the list is dominated by things you can't see yet -- film festival darlings awaiting a wide release. But in the age of COVID (and the age of streaming), some of these movies are accessible now. One, now on Netflix is The Power of the Dog.

Directed by the critically acclaimed Jane Campion (and adapted by Campion from a 1967 novel by Thomas Savage), The Power of the Dog is a Western set in 1925 Montana. Domineering Phil Burbank and his softer brother George have a thriving cattle business. When George falls in love with the widowed Rose, Phil hates everything he sees -- from the way George is emerging from Phil's shadow, to Rose's "obvious" gold-digging motivations, to Rose's effeminate son Peter. Phil spews verbal abuse in every direction, driving everyone in his orbit to drastic action.

This is a wildly slow-paced movie, and it doesn't even want to take a stand about who the protagonist is. Between the hand-offs of perspective and the dearth of concrete narrative developments, this is a movie all about tone. Every unspoken word, every lingering camera shot, is an iceberg to be analyzed (with most of it hidden beneath the surface). For some movie fans (and many Academy voters), this will be catnip -- a monument to a director exercising masterful control over every frame of a two-hour experience.

I found it maddening, a movie endlessly see-sawing between superfluous moments and monotonous ones. Once the end credits roll, it's possible to make a pretty concrete statement about who the movie is really "about." And in that long view, that makes much of the time spent on other characters seem utterly unnecessary -- particularly when it's still not enough time to make them all seem like fully rounded characters that the movie is truly interested in exploring. (For a director renowned for her thoughtful explorations of women, the character of Rose is a surprising side piece to this male-dominated tale.)

Mostly, the movie just browbeats you over and over again about what a monster Phil is. It's so heavy-handed that you just know there will have to come some nuance at some point. Combine that with the fact that there's so little plot here, and I at least felt like the mid-movie revelation about his character was obvious well ahead of time.

The same problem infects the movie's conclusion, a "plot twist" that supporters say is so shocking that the movie demands a second viewing to fully contextualize everything you've seen. Again, I didn't find it surprising at all. And I don't say that because I think I'm especially clever; I think so little "happens" in the movie that it's impossible not to take notice of the little that does. The links and the chain that build to this movie's ending are meticulously and sparsely laid; I find the ending inevitable, not surprising (and certainly not ambiguous).

If you were to watch The Power of the Dog, it would be for the acting. Several of these performances are favorites for nominations. In the case of Benedict Cumberbatch as volatile Phil, I think it would at least be deserved. He is the dangerous threat looming over every scene of this movie, whether he's in it or not. It's a physical, transformative, menacing performance. Kodi Smit-McPhee seems a likely a likely Supporting Actor nominee for his role as Peter. It's completely the opposite kind of performance from Cumberbatch, repressed and not showy, very much in sync with the movie's overall vibe that "less is more."

But... this movie was absolutely not for me, and if your tastes run anything like mine, you're not going to like it. I give it a D-. It carried me to the end, just teasing me enough to think it could be more clever than I was expecting. I gave it too much credit.

Discovery: All Is Possible

The newest episode of Star Trek: Discovery is, probably more than any episode of the series to date, a tough one for me to evaluate. I feel like watching it again years from now, maybe even just weeks from now, might evoke a very different reaction in me. I guess it's like the title itself says, "All Is Possible."

Tilly and Adira escort a group of Academy cadets on a team-building exercise, but the mission turns deadly when their shuttle crashes on an icy, treacherous moon. Michael Burnham and Saru are asked to attend the ceremony where Ni'Var will formally rejoin the Federation... and it seems their presence may be vital to ensuring that it happens. And, acting as ship's counselor, Culber meets with Book, to further explore the loss of Kwejian.

I think by now that my readers who read these Star Trek posts know that I openly discuss spoilers in them. But it feels important to repeat the warning now for anyone who hasn't watched this episode yet: there will be SPOILERS here.

Getting straight to the heart of it here, this is the episode where Tilly apparently leaves Discovery -- ship and series. Writers and Mary Wiseman herself are being cagey here, giving assurances that "this is not the last we'll see of Tilly" while (understandably) not talking about the character's long-term prospects on the show. But whether this is a temporary departure (like Saru's, to his homeworld), a more permanent change at Mary Wiseman's request, or the first move in setting up yet another spin-off series, I feel pretty confident saying this: Discovery is going to be a lot worse if Tilly isn't around anymore on a regular basis.

Star Trek series have never really had a regular character like Tilly. Every prior series had a "less-experienced" character, but they've always been effortlessly capable (Harry Kim, Wesley Crusher), brimming with self-confidence (Pavel Chekov, Julian Bashir)... or not really of much interest to the writers (Hoshi Sato). Tilly is a new-for-Trek character who is the polar opposite of unflappable under pressure, but who always rises above to get the job done. Her very realistic blend of boundless optimism and almost crippling self-doubt makes her a potent audience proxy. That she always finds more within herself that she thinks is there makes her an aspirational figure too. All that, and she gets the funniest lines.

Without Tilly, there's a big gap in the types of stories Discovery has told, and in particular, the way they've told them. I now sense that they've been grooming Adira this season to perhaps replace some of what Tilly represents, injecting Adira with doubts beyond what they seemed to feel in season three. (Perhaps if this new self-doubt had been more concretely linked to the thought -- now the reality -- of losing their special connection with Gray, it might have felt more natural?)

I don't feel like there's a good "out" here. If Tilly sort of tries being a teacher and then comes running back to Discovery by season's end, it's hard to see how that would be doing right by the character. But if Tilly really is gone on a weekly basis, I think it's going to be an immeasurable loss for the series. I guess all we can do is watch and see, but I'm quite nervous for what comes next -- perhaps as moved as I would have been had they killed the character. (One thing is for sure: David Cronenberg's character is an "angel of death" on Discovery. When Kovich has an extended interaction with a main character, that main character seems to be on the way off the series!)

There were other subplots at play in this episode, of course, even if the departure of Tilly (temporary or permanent) was the main attraction. The Burnham/Saru story was a bit easy, perhaps, but it was absolute classic Star Trek: our heroes broker an agreement between two groups who can't get there on their own. I enjoyed Culber and Book's scenes, particularly watching Culber grow into his role as a psychologist. Though these were the talkiest scenes of the episode (in an episode that included diplomatic negotiations, even!), there was drama in Culber getting Book to open up. It made me sad that Counselor Troi was underutilized on The Next Generation, because there are many more stories like this that could have been told.

I do wish we had seen more of Gray this episode -- he simply resolves to meet new people and presumably does so off-screen. But overall, I enjoyed the episode. Yet still, I feel like that opinion could swing wildly depending on where things go next, and whether the absence of Tilly (for however many episodes) really does impact the show as I fear. For now, I'll call it a B.

A Storied Musical

Marching boldly into the "don't remake movies I loved from my childhood" debate is Steven Spielberg, who chose for his remake a movie that predated the childhood of most people who seem to make that complaint most. West Side Story is a bold remake choice, a movie that won Best Picture and 9 other Oscars. But then, it is Steven Spielberg we're talking about. If anyone could do it, it's him, right? In my estimation: he did it. I found the new West Side Story to be superior to the original, arguably as good as any version of West Side Story could be.

Here's my real "hot take": I think the biggest flaw of West Side Story is not inherent to the original movie, or even the script for the play, but from the source material, William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. The preposterous pace and intensity of the romance between the two main characters defies reality -- particularly the actions by Romeo/Tony that are forgiven (or that don't even seem to register) for Juliet/Maria. I mean... I guess I'll avoid 60-year-old spoilers here (430-year old spoilers?), but if you know the story, you must know what I'm talking about. Fawning lovers, not balletic gang members, are the toughest thing to swallow about West Side Story.

Accepting that you kind of just can't shore up that part of the story, Spielberg's new take on West Side Story brings basically everything else into sharper focus. A new script by Tony Kushner preserves the major moments of the tale, while crystallizing the race and class grievances, heightening the sense of danger, and being worlds more thoughtful in its portrayal of Puerto Rican immigrants (including lots of Spanish dialogue that is not subtitled for the audience).

And while the movie keeps all the classic songs with only rare lyric changes, a great many are recontextualized in incredibly clever and impactful ways. Going into details here would spoil perhaps the main appeal of this movie for fans of the original, but suffice it to say that the scale of almost every song is changed: "monologues" to a theater audience become confessions to other characters, dance sequences are transposed into different locations, and sometimes even who is singing a given song changes. I find each of these changes to be in service of more than simply mixing things up: they all serve to make the story land more effectively.

The choreography by Justin Peck is a thoughtful blend of homage to the original with new, more aggressive moves. The cinematography by Janusz Kamiński is a wonder; lighting and camera movements are delivered with gallery-ready precision. And Spielberg either elicits or gets out of the way of a number of fantastic performances from his cast.

Two that I would single out? Mike Faist as Riff is dangerous and charismatic. His character is crazy and committed, a rebel with just one cause and nothing to lose. At the top of the pyramid, I'd put Ariana DeBose as Anita. Where nearly every other character in West Side Story is entrenched in a single emotion, Anita goes through wild swings. DeBose nails them all, and delivers each of her songs with strength and gusto. Plus, she does it all with the specter hanging over her of another performer having already won an Oscar for the same role. She even has to act in perhaps the movie's most critical scene with Rita Moreno, the very woman who won that Oscar. If I were an Academy voter, I'd make sure DeBose was nominated for a chance to make history: two different performers winning an Oscar for different versions of the same character.

For me personally, suspension of disbelief will only take me so far when it comes to West Side Story. But, like I said, I don't think I can imagine telling the story any better than this -- not, at least, without discarding major plot points entirely. I give Spielberg's take on the material a B+. It's a case study in why it can be OK to remake classics (especially generations later).

Voyager Flashback: Flashback

In 1996, the two running Star Trek series marked the 30th anniversary of the franchise with special episodes. Deep Space Nine gave us the light and terrific "Trials and Tribble-ations." Voyager took a more serious, but equally nostaglic, approach with "Flashback."

Tuvok is plagued by a repressed memory from childhood, of watching a girl fall to her death. To explore the memory, he mindmelds with Janeway. But their inner journey leads not to Tuvok's boyhood, but to the bridge of the U.S.S. Excelsior during the events of Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. Captain Sulu is attempting a rescue of Kirk and McCoy, as young Tuvok is realizing that living among irrational humans is not what he wants to do with his life. And somehow connected to it all is that mysterious memory of the dying girl.

While there's a heavy dose of nostalgia here -- including appearances by George Takei as Sulu, Grace Lee Whitney as Rand, and several of the actual secondary actors from Star Trek VI -- this episode can stand on its own from its "Paramount wanted us to make an anniversary episode" origins. That's because the real origins of the story came even sooner; the writing staff was already trying to do "time travel without time travel," and had concocted the idea of a mindmeld for Tuvok to explore his youth with Janeway. When the executive edict came down to do something special for the 30th anniversary, it wasn't much of an adjustment to incorporate the idea of jumping into parts of Star Trek VI (both unseen and previously seen).

In fact, it's almost wild how long it takes for the episode to even reach the bridge of the Excelsior. Long early scenes of Neelix waxing poetic about juice and Tuvok playing Vulcan Jenga seem to be delaying our gratification here -- at least, until you hear that these were late additions to the script, after Nichelle Nichols turned down an invitation to appear (on a viewscreen call) as Uhura. Though George Takei personally called Nichols to ask if she'd join, she felt the small scene wasn't substantial enough to be worth the time.

In that, she was right -- at least, in contrast to the roles given here to Takei and Whitney. This whole episode is a stunt, to be sure, but there are nice character moments for both Sulu and Rand here. Sulu gets to give a lovely captain's speech about some obligations being more important than duty, while Rand actually gets to be a supportive and efficient first officer (who gets to do a hell of a lot more than bring coffee around like in the original series). Both get nice comedic moments, from Sulu knowingly commenting on the Vulcan sense of humor to Rand ribbing young Tuvok about an effort to suck up to the captain. (Janeway's button on that latter scene is the best line of the episode: "You never brought me tea.")

Indeed, you get enough of a taste of the Excelsior here that George Takei began lobbying as much as he could for this to be seen as a backdoor pilot for a "Captain Sulu TV series" he was eager to star in. If only the modern streaming model was there 25 years ago, he might well have gotten his wish; Paramount + is busily serving up one Trek series after another these days.

Re-creating the Excelsior bridge was something of a miracle here. They had the design blueprints from the movie... but the set had originally taken 12 weeks for a movie crew to build. This version was simplified a little in order to go up in under two weeks -- but it still looks really great. The visual effects department gives us photon torpedoes that radiate shafts of light in the movie style. The Klingon ship model is hauled out for new shots. Everyone is watching the details.

And the proceedings get a boost from director David Livingston, who made an effort to reuse a lot of the same camera angles from the movie. Indeed, he peppers the entire episode with unusually showy, Alfred Hitchcock-inspired camera work, including a very long push-in on the Voyager bridge (going from Paris' station all the way to a close-up on Tuvok), and a spiraling pull-out from Tuvok's eye (after he collapses in engineering).

It's nice that while the Excelsior scenes are certainly what the fans are here to see, this is still a solid episode of Voyager. Tuvok's character is fleshed out enormously; we get a huge component of his back story, including his shifting attitudes toward humans over the decades, an attempt to study Kolinahr (as Spock did in Star Trek: The Motion Picture), and how he met his wife (a reference to ponn farr, from the original series). Janeway and Kim get to wax poetic about Starfleet days gone by, a nice bonding moment between the two characters. And the "memory virus" is a pretty clever little conceit, with a fun visual payoff at the end when the Doctor eradicates it.

Other observations:

• Here's a wild fact to make longtime Star Trek fans feel old. This year, this episode is as old (25 years!) as the franchise itself was in the year Star Trek VI was made (1991).

• Word of this episode leaked to fans early. In fact, George Takei and Grace Lee Whitney both say they heard from fans that they'd be on an episode of Voyager before the production officially reached out to them. (And writer Brannon Braga says he didn't actually begin the script until they had both of them on board.)

• There's more nostalgia, of course, in Michael Ansara's appearance as Kang. He was not in Star Trek VI originally, though he had appeared in the original series, and reprised the role on Deep Space Nine.

• Neelix has such a bad track record with his cooking that early on, you're kind of led to wonder if that juice he forced on Tuvok is what led to his medical crisis. 

It's probably the longtime Trek fan in me, but I think this is the best episode of Star Trek: Voyager yet. It still doesn't quite reach the "A grades" for me (it's not as good as "Trials and Tribble-ations," which I gave an A-). But it's a very solid B+.

Jungle All the Way

If you've been to a Disney theme park, and you're anything like me, then you unironically think that the Jungle Cruise ride is one of the better ones in the park. I never rode the Pirates of the Caribbean ride before that was turned into a movie, but I had been on the Jungle Cruise. What would that mean to me for the Jungle Cruise movie, starring Dwayne Johnson and Emily Blunt?

Well, there's a lot less "ride" to work with there (not that Pirates offered much). Jungle Cruise is an endurance/appreciation test for lame jokes... and that's about it. In that respect, I suppose Jungle Cruise delivers. Though it does so by front-loading almost all of that in the first 10 minutes, paving the way for the rather uninspired archaeological adventure they've invented for the film.

This is a big dumb action movie. That's elevated to the degree that they went out and got two of the best actors you could possibly get for a big dumb action movie. Dwayne Johnson has made this his bread and butter over a box office record breaking career. And more people should remember how great Emily Blunt was in Edge of Tomorrow. Without these two, Jungle Cruise would be a much worse movie.

But it still isn't a very good one. For a big dumb action movie, there isn't really much in the way of exceptional, memorable action sequences here. A submarine chase that tears up most of a colonial Amazon settlement comes close, but the rest is too-typical gawk-at-the-greenscreen fare. The story holding these action sequences together isn't much to dig into either, a pastiche of supernatural gobbledigook that hopes to recapture the Pirates of the Caribbean movie magic. (I thought to myself, watching this, that it wasn't going to launch a franchise the way Pirates did. Little did I know that the sequel had already been greenlighted.)

There was an unexpected bit of LGBTQ representation here that felt like a small step forward for Disney -- which until now has generally included only a single shot or line of dialogue that can easily be lifted from a film. Here, we get a character for whom being gay is a pretty central element of his background. Discrimination he has faced is actually given a serious moment or two -- as opposed to the sexism toward Emily Blunt's character, which is played almost exclusively for laughs. Could they still cut around this character being gay for foreign markets? You bet. But this does feel like a better effort.

Ultimately, Jungle Cruise doesn't do enough wrong to be a bad movie. But even if your standards are "I just like The Rock" or "I just want some mindless fun," there are stronger movie choices than this. I give Jungle Cruise a C. I guess the source material was better?

Reaching Out

I've posted before about the Skyward series by Brandon Sanderson -- a science fiction saga centered on humans living in squalor on a desolate world, using a handful of starfighters to fend off oppressive aliens. The first two books were both excellent (and I'm in the midst of the audiobook for the third right now). But it turns out there's more to the series than the previously announced four books -- and the unexpected addition isn't delaying the larger project like those authors that distract themselves with prequels, spin-offs, and tie-ins rather than finishing what they originally set out to do.

Sanderson has paired up with author Janci Patterson for a trio of novellas that interweave within the Skyward story. The first of these, Sunreach, is set in between books two and three, and is a marvelous bit of connective tissue. I noted of book two, Starsight, that my only real disappointment was that book one had set up a number of interesting characters... but then the sequel's surprising direction separated most of them from the action. Sunreach is an answer to that exact "complaint," a story focused entirely on the rest of Skyward flight.

Like the main series, Sunreach is written in the first person. This novella changes that person, though. This allows the story to tease out minor subplots only suggested in the main books, and give time to one of the less-developed characters. (Though I do mean "less-developed" and not "under-developed." Sanderson is creating a lot of vivid personalities in this series.) To summarize the plot would give too many spoilers locating the tale in the midst of the main four-book arc, but suffice it to say that plenty of important things are happening while the series' protagonist is away. This isn't "filler," and the main series will be obliged to acknowledge these events for readers who missed out.

It does seem apparent to me, though, that Sanderson's involvement in this advertised partnership seems minimal -- probably on the order of contributing a few major plot points and "blessing" the rest. The writing is notably different than what I've learned of Sanderson, even from just two of his books so far, and I think that's more than just the narrative shift to a new character. This is by no means bad writing, but I think that Janci Patterson's prose (I'm assuming) doesn't quite have the snap and polish of Sanderson's.

If you're an audiobook listener, one constant is that Suzy Jackson also narrates this novella. She's there to provide all the voices for the characters she's already established, and to take on the challenge of perhaps subtly changing her primary narration just a bit to underscore that we're with a different main character this time around. I'm definitely at a point where I'd give consideration to an audiobook -- probably any audiobook -- if I knew she'd narrated it. I'm sure there are audiobook fans who have listened to a lot more than I have, but in my experience, she's among the best in the business.

If you're reading the Skyward series, don't miss out on Sunreach. And if you're not reading Skyward, here's another chance for me to recommend it. Sunreach is perhaps just a B+, compared to the A- I gave the first two books, but it's still plenty entertaining.

Inside Information

Earlier this year, the internet was abuzz about Bo Burnham's unusual Netflix comedy special, Inside. Filmed over the course of a year -- and of course, we're talking about that year -- Burnham created and filmed the entire thing by himself, in one room. In doing so, he captured the mood of a world suddenly feeling trapped inside with only themselves -- and not always liking what this forced them to see.

We may have vaccines now (seriously, people: we have vaccines now!), but Inside is still a very current watch. Even in the future, this special is going to be insightful viewing as a time capsule of this particular period of pandemic life. (Assuming we ever get to stop living pandemic life. That's a feeling this special also captures well.)

Inside is very inventive. Burnham is incredibly clever about making his single space seem varied and different over the course of 90 minutes. It's also very funny, especially over the first half, when it delves into what it's like to live life even more on the internet than we all did in 2019: hilarious songs touch on Instagram, FaceTime, and sexting.

As the special continues, it starts to transition into more serious emotional strain. I imagine different viewers will see different things: is Burnham just leaning into a "bit" with Andy Kaufman level intensity? I myself get the distinct feeling that this is not all a performance, that Bo Burnham really does start to come unraveled, and made the decision to include that in the special. No, it's not always funny (so if that's all you're there for: beware), but it is honest, even courageous. And again, a real time capsule of 2020.

Remarkably, no one seemed to consider the possibility that someone would want to listen to the many songs of Inside apart from the special itself. But when the special was released, public demand quickly led to a soundtrack being made available. Over on Amazon, this soundtrack has pulled off the impossible (at the time of this writing): with over 150 ratings, there's not a SINGLE 2- or 1-star review (and 94% 5-star reviews). These songs are funny and resonate... well... deep inside.

Is this "I can't breathe, I want to watch it again and again" level humor? Probably not, though that would be an unreasonable standard for anything made in 2020. Still, I think just about everyone would enjoy watching Inside at least once. I give it a B+.

Discovery: Choose to Live

The latest episode of Star Trek: Discovery was a pretty strong showcase for both the elements of the series that I respond to and the elements of the series that I've been hearing criticism about so far this season.

Burnham joins her mother and Tilly on a mission to track down a Qowat Milat adherent who murdered a Starfleet officer and stole a vast supply of dilithium. Is there a "lost cause" that can explain the behavior? Or does it even matter in the face of the crime? Meanwhile, Stamets and Book seek the help of Vulcan scientists in analyzing the dark matter anomaly. And Gray is placed in his new golem body, but Adira is alarmed when the procedure appears not to work.

For those not vibing with Discovery's tone, there was plenty of ammunition in this episode. Even though this installment took a little bit of a break from the galaxy-threatening anomaly (pushing it back into a "B plot"), this was still Star Trek WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON, in that even the simple one-off mission saw Burnham saving an entire species from extinction. And in that plot, you had to overlook the illogic of Tilly being brought along at all, the wisdom of leaving phasers at home for a sword fight, and more.

On the other hand... Tilly being there made the story line a whole lot more fun, less dour than it might have been simply at the surface. I enjoy the presence of a character who is not completely put together and unflappable in all circumstances, and cracking jokes to cope feels authentic for Tilly (more so than for some of the other characters).

In the franchise's long history with mindmelds, we've seen them used a lot to speed plots along -- as a sort of science fiction hypnosis, as was the stated premise here. But the real impact of this mindmeld with Book was more in keeping with the most successful uses of mindmelding in Star Trek: as a way to expose buried conflict and emotion within a character. I found it powerful (and a good performance by David Ajala) that Book found his first measure of peace within the impossibly huge tragedy he's facing. And Stamets' place at the edges of the story was quite interesting too. He's grown from the most prickly character on the show in season one to thinking about protecting Book in this situation -- and I appreciate that the characters are growing in this most epic space opera the franchise has ever presented.

Gray's story line was strong for its almost complete lack of subtlety. This is a story that features a transgender actor portraying transgender themes in classic Star Trek metaphor. The sci-fi trappings deal with a disembodied consciousness being placed in a synthetic body. The dialogue -- the actual words being spoken -- quoted almost directly the language I often hear used to describe the transgender experience. Gray could not continue living as he was; he was willing to risk it all to change for the better; once in his new body, things felt as they never had before -- correct. This is just classic, perfect Star Trek, finding a way to talk about a current, real-world issue behind a veneer of science fiction.

But yeah, on the other hand: this was essentially as quiet and introspective as I think Discovery ever gets -- not very. The quieter moments really came only in the B and C plots, and still amid a lot of whizbang visuals. I'd love to see the show find a way to "downshift" even more for an episode, lest it wear the audience out by the end of the season. But still, there were elements in all three story lines here that I appreciated a great deal. I give "Choose to Live" a B.

Voyager Flashback: Basics, Part II

The third season of Star Trek: Voyager began, in Star Trek tradition, by wrapping up the previous season's cliffhanger -- with "Basics, Part II."

Marooned on a primitive world after the Kazon commandeer Voyager, the crew struggles to survive against deadly predators, indigenous humanoids, and volcanic activity. Meanwhile, Tom Paris plans a rescue with the help of the Talaxians. But it will only work if the Doctor and Lon Suder, still on Voyager, can pave the way.

Because writer-producer Michael Piller was leaving the show, he was, in his own words, a "lame duck" who couldn't really assert his way on this script. So "Basics, Part II" ended up quite different from the episode it might have been. The remaining writers were keen to tie off loose story threads once and for all, so this episode sees the death of both Lon Suder and Seska, and the unlikely revelation that Seska's baby isn't Chakotay's after all.

While I agree that the Kazon as a whole were a well long-drained of what little was there, having Seska get randomly taken out, practically off-screen, by an attack that kills no one else on the bridge, is a major letdown for the cunning villain the series has made her out to be so far. None of the writers wanted anything to do with another baby on Voyager, but Piller's instinct to kill the baby (essentially, as moral come-uppance for Seska's villainy) was nixed by other producers Jeri Taylor and Rick Berman as too dark and violent.

Getting all that business done, plus killing Suder (who Taylor and Berman also did not want to keep around), getting the ship back, and delivering some season-opener action, really doesn't leave room for anything else in this episode. So interesting questions about how the Prime Directive might apply to the planet's natives go unexplored. Scenes about "roughing it" on the planet are rushed -- and fall a little flat for me anyway, coming right on the heels of "Resolutions," which had more time to delve into similar themes. No effort is made to understand the language of the natives, though they clearly have one.

Still, for all those weaknesses, I think there's plenty in this episode that's fairly strong. Brad Dourif's final appearance as Suder is excellent. Might I have preferred the show keep him around, Deep Space Nine like, to attempt a full and long-term redemption from murderer to hero? Sure. But dying for something greater than himself is a fitting end as well, and we're certainly shown along the way that this is a sacrifice. Suder has changed, whether you think he can be forgiven for what he did in the past or not, and he is absolutely tortured at the prospect of backsliding into the person he was.

Someone else who has changed is the Doctor. Seska has missed out on a year-and-then-some of his personal growth, and underestimates his capabilities. Much is made of the fact that he lies (well) to her face. But more significant here is his journey in this episode, from misinterpreting Suder's concerns to ultimately giving an earnest pep talk before his final sacrifice. That last scene is, legitimately, the most moving moment in the episode: a truly effective "captain's speech" that gets the job done. The Doctor and Suder make quite an interesting pairing as two characters who can't/won't kill people, thrust into a situation where they must. And actors Robert Picardo and Brad Dourif play well off one another too.

Clearly, a lot of money was spent on this episode. When it comes to the multiple days of filming on location with a large percentage of the cast (plus background performers), they clearly got bang for the buck. The CG is more hit and miss. The rushing lava is good enough for the time, but the giant eel monster seems to have just been beyond the reach of mid-90s television; obscuring the creature's details in darkness seems smart, but the shadows really don't fall on it realistically.

Other observations:

• I wish they hadn't killed Hogan in the opening scenes of the episode. They were already going to be killing Seska and Suder, and there aren't that many semi-recurring minor characters around to be offing like this just to make us care more.

• If the Doctor's innocent question about crew complement reveals Suder's presence, it seems unthinkable that Seska wouldn't have figured it out before him.

• Paris' plan requires that a system be disabled in Engineering. How did he think the Doctor was going to pull that off?

• The makeup on the primitive aliens doesn't really cover all we see of their very human chests.

The cliffhanger resolution here is a bit rushed, which is not unusual for Star Trek. But I'd give "Basics, Part II" a good enough B.

Boom Goes the Dynamite?

Before he created the musical Rent, composer Jonathan Larson wrote a largely autobiographical show called (many things, at different points in the process, but ultimately) tick, tick, BOOM! It is so autobiographical, in fact, that you might think that the new film adaptation of the show is in fact a biopic about Larson's life. But no... or at least, not only; this movie adapts an existing musical that was itself adapted after Larson's death from his original one-man show.

At its worst, tick, tick, BOOM! still betrays that initial origin. It often feels like every cliche one-man show mocked in every sitcom featuring a struggling actor character. It can be incredibly whiny, incredibly self-indulgent, and incredibly something only said actor's closest friends would feel compelled to sit through. The story is riddled with trite platitudes and navel gazing presented as profound revelation.

I mention all of that "worst stuff" up front, because while I really think it drags down the potential of what this movie could be, the fact remains that the rest of the time, when tick, tick, BOOM! is good, it is very, very good.

To be clear, I think it's only the parts of this film that show Larson, the character, performing a "show within the show" that felt self-pitying and cloying. The movie also features plenty of "real life" scenes (sometimes interwoven with music) that feel much more genuine, and much more moving.

And the music is everything that to me, the snippets of staged performances are not. This is a collection of incredibly smart and clever songs by Larson that, for my money, outshines his more well-known tunes for Rent. In these lyrics, I found sharper comedy, greater introspection, deeper emotion, and denser wordplay. In the music, I found more soaring tunes, and smart references to other Broadway shows. (And in this adaptation in particular, very well-crafted orchestrations.)

There are two not-so-secret weapons here working to this movie's advantage. One is Lin-Manuel Miranda. This is his film directorial debut, but I don't think you would know that from the results. This is a more than capable effort that's really deliberate about the use of camera, staging, and editing. The way he conceives his scenes go beyond trying to put a stage production on film; there's a lot of thought here in how to open things up here beyond what you often see in movies adapted from plays or musicals. (A mid-film number, "Sunday," is an especially great moment -- a dream sequence brought to life, and populated with more than a dozen musical theater legends in delightful cameos.)

The other great asset is Andrew Garfield, who is great in the lead role of Jonathan Larson. It's not just "wow, he can sing" (though he can). It's a great performance all around: when simply listening to other characters, when trying to make those whiny stage moments work, when actually making the dramatic interludes work... and yes, most of all in the songs. Particularly moving -- against all odds, because it's the most self-indulgent song in the entire film -- is the ballad "Why," performed alone at a piano on an empty stage.

Since I watched the movie, but before I got to writing here about it, the news came that Stephen Sondheim passed away. He was a key inspiration for Larson, and is played in this movie by Bradley Whitford (and, in a brief voice-over cameo, by himself). The role is too small for me to comment on much, but it feels worth noting that the godfather of modern musical theater is indeed represented here -- perhaps another reason to watch the movie, if you're a fan of his work.

Musical theater inherently requires more suspension of disbelief from the audience... and perhaps that's hardest when the balance is off, as I feel it is here. But as cringe-worthy as I found tick, tick, BOOM! to be at some times, I found it to be equally potent at others. I'd say it works out to something like a B-. Fans of musicals will likely want to check it out; fans of Rent certainly will. Everyone else might show more caution.

Discovery: Anomaly

The second episode of Star Trek: Discovery's second season didn't land as strongly with me as the first, even though you could easily argue that the tones of the two were exactly the same, bold and operatic.

Discovery is tasked to gather data on the Anomaly marauding its way through space. But Book's ship proves the only means to do so, and Book himself is still grieving his unimaginable loss. Can he be relied upon to complete the job?

The scale of the emotions here still works for me. I love how Discovery really goes there in letting its characters experience some powerfully dark moments, and that those moments leave lasting effects. David Ajala is strong in the many scenes that focus on Book's loss, and his difficulty even wrapping his mind around it.

Coping with emotional trauma was the theme in other subplots in the episode as well. I found the story of Tilly coming to realize she needs counseling help -- and asking for it -- to be very interesting. Of course, you would hope that in an enlightened future, there's absolutely no stigma about asking for mental help, any more than you would ask a doctor for help with a physical condition. But this is entertainment for our time, of course, and I thought the line was walked rather deftly. I didn't get the sense that Tilly was struggling to talk to Culber because of how it would be perceived, but more because she's never really been in this position before and doesn't know what to say. (She's never had someone die in front of her in this way before, and she's been a bit conversationally awkward from the start, so...)

But in the actual mechanics of the plot, I feel like the writers made problems for themselves here that they're simply going to have to ignore in the future. If you can use "programmable matter" to tether a probe or smaller ship to a bigger one, why wouldn't you do that all the time? If you can use holograms to project people in dangerous situations from a safe distance, why wouldn't you do that all the time? (Why did they do it here only for Stamets here, and not Book?) If "golem tech" (for giving Gray a body) is as straightforward as Culber makes it sound, why didn't it work for centuries? (I have to believe we're going to see some answers/consequences addressing that.)

So yeah, basically, I had some trouble with the suspension of disbelief in this episode. On the one hand, Stamets is opening up in a way he rarely does, Anthony Rapp was giving a lovely performance in the scene... and on the other hand, I'm questioning the ease with which his character is even there. That sort of thing, pretty constantly throughout this episode. A rough combination for me. And so I think the episode works out to a B- for me.

(Side note: the title "Anomaly" was previously used for an Enterprise episode. Is this the first time the Star Trek franchise has ever reused a title? Besides, I suppose "First Contact" as both a Next Generation episode and movie?)

Get Some

Across the social media I frequent, a huge number of the posts in the past few days have been about the Peter Jackson-directed documentary, Get Back. I've gone around and around with my own thoughts about the three-part, eight-hour film (and I've seen dozens upon dozens of other people's takes), and I've landed here: more than any other movie I can think of, this is a Rorschach test as a film. I don't necessarily mean that you'll find in it whatever preconceived notions you bring to it (though that is certainly a part of it), but that what you see in it is unique, not "wrong," and probably illuminating of something about yourself. So time to expose my own psyche a little, I guess, and tell you what I see.

It is very, very good. And too damn long.

Right away, I'm exposing what level of Beatles fan I am, I'm sure. I have absolutely no doubt that there are people who will lap up all eight hours of this, wish there had been more, and content themselves by starting it all over again. And why not? If I could watch, say, an eight-hour documentary of the making of... Back to the Future -- that actually focused on the making of the movie the entire time, was stuffed full of early takes (including loads of Eric Stoltz footage), and really showed every detail of the creative process and how the magic was made? You bet I'd eat that up and pine for more.

But to me, there is so much dead space in this documentary that maximum enjoyment can only be had watching it a "day or two" at a time. (The film chronicles the 22-day period of the "Get Back sessions," devoting 10-30 minutes to each day.) I certainly don't think you could sweat this down to a conventional movie's run time -- and I'd wager the attempt to do so is part of what made the original Let It Be movie (also made from this footage) so famously bad. But could I cut two to three hours from this and personally feel that nothing of consequence was lost? You bet.

Except... going back to that Rorschach thesis: my "trash" here is probably someone else's "treasure." I don't want to hear Yoko Ono audition as a car alarm, hear the 30th run at "Dig a Pony," watch them noodle on a stylophone for two minutes, or hear snippets of 50 different songs by other artists (would 20 be good enough?). Yet you can easily argue that all of that stuff is a key part of exposing the creative process -- any creative process. Paul McCartney's apparent creation of the song "Get Back" to perhaps 80% completion in the span of three minutes is impressive because it is very much not the norm. Seeing just how much time and tape the band "wastes" in the pursuit of their album is necessary to presenting an accurate picture of the process; to say how much is appropriate is probably quibbling over details.

Many viewers and critics have also said that a benefit in showing so much "down time" in this documentary is that it shows that the Beatles in this late period were not as acrimonious as many (even the surviving Beatles themselves) had believed. That's true to a degree, with highlights including the footage of the Maharishi retreat, John and Paul playing a song like ventriloquists for the hell of it, and the clear joy all of them show when Billy Preston arrives on the scene.

But another aspect of the Rorschach test emerges. I watch, and see Ringo Starr as the only one of the four who is reliably professional at all times. I see John quite disengaged some 75% of the time they're not working on one of his songs. I see no one taking much of an interest in numerous George Harrison proto-songs that would go on to be huge, instead continuing to drive at far less promising embryonic Paul/John tunes. (No one is going to defend Maxwell's Silver Hammer, right?) I see Paul irritating just about everyone at different points of the process other than the famous "George quits" confrontation... and why wouldn't he? No one else other than quiet, unflappable Ringo seems to care if anything gets finished. I see, in short, the inevitable end here, even amid the many moments of joy.

Even if I personally might have cut this tighter than Peter Jackson (who has a license to make long-winded trilogies), he and the team he made this with deserve a great deal of praise. The audio and video restoration on this old footage is jaw-droppingly, impossibly good. Without all the smoking and way everyone is dressed, you'd never know this stuff was 50 years old -- most of it looks and sounds like it could have been filmed this year.

And the presentation of the climactic rooftop concert is perfect. Liberal use of split screen serves to (seemingly) remove the editorial hand completely. You almost never wish they'd chosen this camera angle or that one, shown this performer or that performer... because it's ALL there on screen. You choose which panel you want to watch (or re-watch, if you're inclined), and see whatever you want to see. (The Rorschach test element, once again.) You even get to see the idiots complaining to stop the last live Beatles performance ever. (Can you imagine?)

For me, the stretches of... well, I have to call it "boredom," I think... in this documentary lower it to a B overall. For me personally. At the same time, I wouldn't begrudge anyone who thinks this is the best movie of 2021. But unless you hate the Beatles (seriously?), it's worth checking out at least some snippets of it.

Voyager Flashback: Basics, Part I

At the end of season two of Star Trek: Voyager, co-creator and executive producer Michael Piller decided to step away from the show into a less involved "creative consultant" role. (He would next write Star Trek: Insurrection, before continuing to non-Trek projects.) Piller's final scripts for Voyager were the season cliffhanger and its resolution, beginning with "Basics, Part I."

Still confined for committing murder, Suder wants to find a way to contribute to the ship. But Janeway has little time to consider his request, when Seska sends a desperate message to Chakotay: Chakotay's child has been born, and Maje Culluh is enraged. The crew resolves to help the commander go after his baby, on guard for the trap they sense it could be.

During this period of Star Trek, the writers regularly took a "we'll figure it out" attitude to each season's cliffhangers, writing their way into jeopardy and then figuring their way back out after the break between seasons. According to co-creator Jeri Taylor, that's what happened here too, with the staff working on part two after a six-week break. Still, this finale suggests to me that they at least had more of an idea than usual of how they'd wrap up this story. Escape hatches are meticulously put in place in the form of Suder, Tom Paris, and the Doctor. And indeed, the title itself, "Basics," seems to mean nothing here; it's only the second half that provides the context, that the crew must "get back to basics" to survive without their technology on a hostile alien planet. (What's more, the filming of the episodes reportedly took place back-to-back. A few early season three episodes were filmed -- out of order! -- at the end of season two before production took its break.)

The cliffhanger certainly works, in that the crew ends up in serious jeopardy unlike any they've faced before. The episode, I find more mixed, in that the Kazon-Seska plot is really wearing thin for me. Piller was reportedly keen to wrap up that story on his way out the door, where other writers were lobbying to introduce a new alien threat. Piller was probably correct that loose ends needed tying, but it's getting old to watch the Kazon (made out to be primitive and stupid) get the drop on Voyager. Or, if the argument is "well, they have Seska's help," then it's getting old to watch one person outsmart an entire crew with her plans-within-plans scheming.

But there is good material here. Chakotay's vision of his father is a rare case of the character's invented spiritualism being reasonably respectful of real-world American Indians. To my limited perspective, at least, it does a good job of voicing the history of babies forced by conquerors onto Chakotay's ancestors without actually equating his situation to rape. Interestingly, the episode doesn't shy away from that topic, though. It comes up both in that scene, and later when we learn that as cover with Maje Culluh, Seska claimed Chakotay raped her. Delicate material for a 90s TV series, but also not just included to be edgy.

As you'd expect, guest star Brad Dourif is great. To me, it's clear that Suder fears losing the stability he's found, like it's a fading memory. He's worried about backsliding into the person he was, and is desperate to avoid that. Although none of this subtext is voiced until part two, Dourif does an excellent job of conveying it without dialogue. (His scene with Janeway, in particular, speaks volumes.) But more on Dourif when I get to part two.

I'm divided on the character of Teirna. In a nutshell, I wish the prayer moment wasn't here. Even though this episode was made in 1996, and may not have meant what it looks like today, it sure reads in a very particular way to a modern audience. The thing is, the Kazon have never before been portrayed as especially religious; indeed, we know nothing of their religion at all. So the whole "wait, are they saying what I think they're saying?" aspect could just as easily been avoided. The toenail peeling, needle wielding, distending body elements would be as unsettling either way.

Other observations:

• While actor Henry Darrow had played Chakotay's father before, this was the first time Robert Beltran actually got to work with him.
  

• The Doctor works great for comic relief. The whole sequence where he's projected into space is superfluous and silly... but it also kind of works.
  

• The lava footage on the viewscreen doesn't feel like it matches the location where the crew is dropped off at all.
  

• Director Winrich Kolbe is quite dynamic with his camera choices, without being too showy about it. Interestingly, he himself was kind of mixed on this two-parter; he praised the work while critiquing the very premise: "...why are we going after a baby if we're running out of fuel and everybody wants to get home?" I think only being on the set a few times a season, Kolbe came to the job with Voyager's original premise more in mind: the situation is going to be desperate and resources will be scarce. But over an entire season he wasn't always around for, the writers seemed to gradually blur the line of just how limited resources really were (like shuttles, torpedoes, etc.).
  

I must admit that despite some quibbles, my main takeaway from this episode is still an interest in seeing what happens next -- exactly how they will get out of it (even if clues point the way). I give "Basics, Part I" a B.

That brings me to the end of season two of Voyager. I'd call it a fractured effort. When it was good, I found it measurably improved over season one; I rated only two first season episodes a B or B+, but 11 episodes (over 40% of the season) got there for me in year two. On the other hand, I'd say the season average was only barely better than year one -- when Voyager was bad in year two, it was worse that year one. From this "tale of two seasons," I'd select these five as the best Voyager episodes of season two: "Projections," "The Thaw," "Meld," "Basics, Part I," and "Lifesigns."

On to season three!

Prodigy: Terror Firma

For the first time in more than two decades, last week gave us new episodes of two different Star Trek television series in the same week: as Discovery began season four, Prodigy headed into a mid-season break.

Still trapped on "murder planet," the crew of the Protostar tries to reach their ship. Dal and Gwyn's adversarial relationship begins to soften. Holographic Janeway struggles to keep the ship intact on her own. And the Diviner arrives to threaten them all.

On the one hand, part two of this adventure on planet "Larry" (as Roh-Tahk would call it) was less sophisticated than what we saw in part one. We were getting insight into the hopes and fears of each of the show's characters; now they basically spent an episode running from vines. On the other hand, having already done the more introspective thing, it's good that part two of the story didn't just give us more of the same.

Besides, the episode still found a few moments to highlight character amid the vine-fleeing. It isn't surprising, of course, that Dal and Gwyn were going to stop being at each other's throats at some point. Still, it was satisfying to actually have them drop their guards -- a relief, even, that the show isn't going to continue to draw things out when we all know where it's going ("friendship" perhaps being the kids' show version of "will they, won't they?").

Other characters were still illuminated too, in the group's big fireside chat. I'm particularly enjoying Rok-Tahk's childlike innocence. It seems to me that with Dal around to take some of the flak (deliberately written in some of the ways that early Next Gen writers made some fans hate Wesley Crusher), it clears the way for Prodigy to really let Rok-Tahk be a kid -- not precocious like Naomi Wildman, tortured like Icheb, or often without anything to do like Jake Sisko.

Prodigy ends on a mild cliffhanger of "where did they go?" -- but the larger feeling is that the "prologue" of the series is now essentially complete. The crew has their ship, they've learned one of its major mysteries, and they've united more with one another. The table is set for new adventures when the series returns in January.

Still, it remains the new Star Trek series I'm least engaged with. But it continues to give me just enough to keep watching anyway: I'll probably be there when the show returns. I'd give "Terror Firma" a B-.

Mass Effect

Following The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor, writer-director Mike Flanagan's latest horror mini-series for Netflix is Midnight Mass. Set on a tiny island, the story follows Riley Flynn as he's forced to return to his parents' home after being paroled from prison. He finds a shrinking, declining community, suspicious not only of him, but of a new priest, Father Paul, who arrives to replace the aging local monsignor. Paul soon proves capable of performing actual miracles, but the dark truth behind them threatens the entire island.

This new series is quite different from the previous two (and not just because "The Haunting of" is missing from the title). Hill House and Bly Manor were largely about delivering the scares expected of the horror-thriller genre. There's nothing wrong with that, and I found Hill House in particular to be especially entertaining in its visceral thrills and tricky craftsmanship. But Midnight Mass is something deeper, with a strong point of view and a message at its core.

As you would guess from the title, religion plays a huge role in Midnight Mass. This is a story about things that are objectively horrible, truly "evil," and how some people would use religion to couch that evil in righteousness. It's sometimes subtle, and often not, but the series beats a steady drum against a performative strain of religious fervor, denouncing the sort of person who can justify anything and slot into their preexisting narrative. Indeed, the show is so scathing at times, and such a slow burn in its initial episodes, that you may well find yourself saying, "wait... I thought this was supposed to be horror."

Then a massive curve ball arrives in episode 3 to remind you that, oh yes, this is firmly a horror tale. It's just one that aims to be particularly meaty and thought-provoking along the way.

The cast features many of the "repertory company" Flanagan used in the two Haunting series, including Henry Thomas, Annabeth Gish, and Rahul Kohli. And lest you think it's only favoritism that sees his wife Kate Siegel back in the mix again, she really delivers on key scenes in the series that draw the themes of life and death into sharp focus.

There are several standouts new to the Flanagan fold, though. Zach Gilford is effective as the noble-tortured Riley. Samantha Sloyan is infuriating as the holier-than-thou zealot Bev Keane. And Hamish Linklater excels in the weighty role of Father Paul.

If you're like me, Midnight Mass won't set its hook in you right away. But it absolutely rewards patience. I give the series an A-. It surpassed The Haunting of Hill House to become my favorite of Mike Flanagan's Netflix horror series.