Strange New Worlds: Off-Hour

Season four of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds continues with "Off-Hour."

A ship-wide crisis unfolds just as the Alpha crew is going off-duty. Separated all over the ship, they must find a way to escape a slipstream before Enterprise is destroyed. But first they must deal with an electrified bridge, a grisly Sickbay accident, gravity plating malfunctions, sensor failures, dangerous radiation, and more.

For several episodes now, Strange New Worlds has been swerving stylistically each week to push the limits of the stories that can be told on Star Trek. This week's tale is more "typical Star Trek" (indeed, you could compare it to The Next Generation's "Disaster") -- and so perhaps it will be more to the liking of people who haven't enjoyed the swings from horror movie to stoner comedy to film noir to puppet show.

Still, the episode was definitely borrowing visuals from somewhere else. There was no terrorist threat, but this episode was still a clear homage to 24: unfolding in real time, reminding us of the ticking clock, and using plenty of split screen. After four weeks of more elaborate and complete "tributes," I found this sort of surface level mimicry to be somewhat less satisfying.

Yet I wouldn't say the choice to "do 24" added nothing. As I mentioned, this kind of story has been done before on The Next Generation. But on top of several quite different plot elements, "Off-Hour" further differentiates itself with the real-time aspect. Putting the clock on screen might have felt a touch gimmicky, but the sense of urgency was stronger for it.

This episode also felt dangerous. This being a prequel, you can of course know which characters aren't actually able to die here. But from electrical burns to crushed mid-sections to broken legs to extreme irradiation to snapped-off fingers, everything felt life-threatening. And not just because of the grisly makeup and stagecraft to provoke a visceral reaction; even Spock's long crawl along the outer hull felt intense.

It was a strong episode for both Scotty and Chapel, and I thought the pacing did a good job including personal talk between characters without triggering any "why are you stopping to have this conversation right now?!" response in the audience. I particularly enjoyed smaller exchanges between Scotty and A'Sha, Una and La'An, and of course Chapel and M'Benga. But I probably should have watched with the subtitles on. Martin Quinn's real Scottish accent is harder to understand when he's animated than James Doohan's fake one (a fact the episode explicitly joked about.) Babs Olusanmokun's typically soft whisper was softer still thanks to M'Benga's injury. And Carol Kane seems to go broader with every appearance as Pelia.

Some fun nuggets for long-time Trekkers included the slipstream itself being evocative of the wormhole sequence from Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and the "pod jettison" plot point being lifted from the classic "Court Martial." Plus, of course, there was the return of original ship's doctor Boyce -- who I don't think added much here, but is presumably going to be around for multiple episodes and as part of some larger plan.

Overall, I thought "Off-Hour" was a well-executed thrill ride that balanced tension and character well. I give it a B+.

Strange New Worlds: Level-Five Transporter Accident

For quite a while now, fans of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds have known that a "puppet episode" was coming. Those who haven't liked the eclectic genre hopping of season four have no doubt been dreading its arrival. Those who have been more into it (a subset of whom perhaps fondly remember when Buffy the Vampire Slayer spin-off Angel did its own "puppet episode") have no doubt been more optimistic. In any case, the wait is over; this last week brought us "Level-Five Transporter Accident."

Scotty attempts to break the distance record for a transport, using a childhood puppet as the test subject. But then an accident transports the entire crew, fuses them with the toy in the pattern buffer, and returns them all as puppets. Only Spock, who was alone on a nearby shuttle, is unaffected. Before the crew can solve their problem, Orion pirates attack and seize control of Enterprise. Can the puppet crew regain their ship and their original forms?

There was plenty about this episode that I loved, and quite a bit I found disappointing. Two past episodes of Star Trek loomed large in sifting those two categories. One was a Strange New Worlds episode from season two, "Subspace Rhapsody." I loved that episode, in spite of (or maybe because of) the big swing. The writers made some effort to explain away the absurd premise in Star Trek terms, then just ran with it. It worked. So did the only slightly less absurd cartoon crossover, Freaky Friday, and "Spock becomes human" episodes. I think one of the big reasons was, they just went for it!

I'm spoiling the end of the "puppet episode" here... but this time, they didn't go for it. Instead, they went for an "it was all a dream" cop out. Is that supposed to make people happy who weren't on board with the puppets? They didn't even fully embrace the cop out. If this was all Spock's dream, then it should follow that we see nothing he isn't present for. (But we get several scenes without him.)

The other episode that looms large for me is the one that "Level-Five Transporter Accident" is pretty much straight-up remaking: Star Trek: The Next Generation's "Rascals." A transporter accident does something unthinkable to the characters, something so wild and outside the box that a chunk of the audience is going to just reject the idea outright. In this compromised and distracted state, an enemy you wouldn't normally have to take seriously is able to gain control of the Enterprise. Then, the victims of the transporter accident must learn to embrace what's happened to them to overcome the invaders.

That last bit is crucial to the episode, the thing that keeps it from being a total lark and that makes me like "Rascals" more (a lot more) than I think the average Trek fan does: the affected characters actually learn something from their experience. In "Accident," not only does "it's all a dream" rob us of the growth for every character but the dreamer, the script doesn't have an arc for them. Right away, the puppet characters are cowering behind consoles, engaging in Three Stoogery, and generally acting out of character. That's good for laughs, but it totally undermines the eventual revelation that they must start acting like puppets to get out of this situation; they've been doing that the entire time.

Now, if you wall off all those serious considerations (which the episode itself clearly wanted to do), I have to admit... it was entertaining. More of the jokes worked for me than didn't -- and not just when it came to the puppets. (For example, I loved casting Brooklyn Nine-Nine's Joe Lo Truglio as an affable Orion pirate.) You'd probably think from reading the above that I "harrumphed" my way through this episode... when in fact the opposite was true. I smiled often, laughed occasionally, and generally enjoyed it.

And of course, a large part of the reason why was that the puppetry was pretty great. Fantastic design from The Jim Henson Company captured the essence of each character in felt form. Amped-up vocal performances from the cast tapped into the unhinged vibe. The puppeteers did fantastic work. And Ethan Peck excelled as this Muppet Show's human "guest star."

So yeah, I did rather like this episode. I just didn't like that it didn't go all-in on what it set out to be, and was a bit disappointed that what it set out to be was "Rascals" remade. I give "Level-Five Transporter Accident" a B. I imagine that might be a rare lukewarm opinion between more prevailing white-hot and ice-cold takes, but there you have it.

8 Is Enough

I use an app to keep an actual list of movies I'd like to watch. Sometimes I add movies that are out in theaters, so that in case I don't make it, I'll be able to catch up on streaming. Sometimes I add an interesting-sounding movie I hear mentioned on a podcast. Just friendly reminders to myself for later. For these reasons (among many others), I've ended up with a list that includes a lot of movies that I can't remember putting there.

This is how I found Exit 8 on my list. And it's an especially eclectic entry. It's a Japanese movie. (So right there, I'd say the odds are I heard about it on a film podcast.) It's based on a video game. (Which I'd never heard of; but with countless games available for instant download across dozens of platforms, that's no great surprise.) But it had an intriguing premise I felt I just had to see.

A young man gets off the subway and soon finds himself lost and alone in an underground tunnel. It actually appears to be the same underground tunnel, as he keeps walking and taking the same turns only to find himself passing the same features. Then he notices a sign outlining simple rules: he begins at "Exit 0" and can only leave through "Exit 8." To reach it, he must be observant. If he arrives in a corridor and finds any "anomalies," he must turn around and walk the other direction. If there are none, he must continue ahead. The man feels hope as he soon finds his way to "Exit 1".... and that hope is dashed not long after when he finds himself back at "Exit 0." Can he make the right choices enough times in a row to escape?

When I re-read the short description of the movie, I remembered why I'd put it on the list (if not when). It seemed like a ripe premise for a psychological horror film. And I kind of had to know if the filmmakers could possibly sustain the idea. How does what I just described last for a whole movie -- even one that's only 95 minutes long?

Director Genki Kawamura, working with a script by him and Kentaro Hirase, does actually manage to pull it off. I'd really rather not spoil any surprises, but suffice it say that I never felt the movie reached a point of stagnation. Before I would ever begin to wonder "this isn't really all the movie is going to be, is it?", it would expand the story. Through a clever combination of "twists," character motivations, and effectively creepy imagery, the movie kept me with it the entire way.

It has a couple of other elements helping it along. One is some very smart camera work. There's a lot of very horror-savvy placement of the camera. And while the movie doesn't try to present itself as a single take for the entire duration, there are plenty of great tricks to hide edits. Sure, there also a few obviously CG-assisted moments with ambition too great for the movie's budget, but I don't feel they really detract from the whole.

Another key asset is the movie's main star, Kazunari Ninomiya, who gives a good performance as The Lost Man. There is a very limited cast in this movie, and Ninomiya really has to do some heavy lifting. Working without a scene partner. Believably talking to yourself. Two of the tougher challenges in acting, and he handles them both.

My one reservation -- I'm not quite sure the movie sticks the landing. As I say that, I must also acknowledge that this is just one of those story premises that probably can't have a satisfying ending. The idea is more compelling than the resolution. Seeing whether they can keep the ride going is more exciting than the ride coming to an end. Exit 8 doesn't have a "bad" ending, but if you're going to watch it because you're intrigued by anything I've described here, please don't watch it to see how it ends.

I'd give Exit 8 a B+. Perhaps the real enthusiasts -- of either horror movies or foreign films -- are already aware of it. But for most of you, perhaps I'm putting something on your radar you've never heard of.

Strange New Worlds: A Case of Chiaroscuro

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds continues to bring us a new show every week (almost a completely new show) with "A Case of Chiaroscuro."

Una, M'Benga, and Uhura are sent on a shuttle mission at the edge of Klingon space -- in a region where stellar radiation flattens the visible color spectrum to black and white. When they're forced to set down on inhabited planet, they must disguise themselves as locals to blend in among a Klingon occupation. But for Una, "blending in" isn't an option; she is mistaken for the leader of a dissident movement and is quickly drawn into its plans. Meanwhile, aboard Enterprise, La'An investigates potential tampering with a spy probe.

I felt it necessary to post my thoughts on Spider-Noir before getting to a review of this episode -- because I'm quite sure that watching that series affected the way I received this installment of Strange New Worlds. After I'd watched Spider-Noir brilliantly thread the needle of poking a little fun at film noir conventions while simultaneously honoring them, I couldn't help but feel that this episode was not that. Put simply, there's more to film noir than putting on a certain kind of costume and filming in black and white. That's where "A Case of Chiaroscuro" fell short for me.

The "A plot" of this episode is an interesting storyline for Una: as she reminds the audience, she has a lot of experience pretending to be something she's not... but this time she's doing it for a cause bigger than herself. And with a backdrop of opposing a totalitarian regime, the story has topical echoes that are ripe for Star Trek to tackle. Throw in some solid moments for Dr. M'Benga and Uhura (particularly between the two of them), and you've got the makings of a decent episode.

But the thing is... it's not film noir. Actually, it's Casablanca. This isn't a beat for beat remake of that classic film, but you can clearly see where character roles, story elements, and visuals are inspired directly by that movie. (Perhaps never more so than the scene where locals in the bar start up a beloved song to drown out interlopers.) Casablanca is, of course, a black and white film. But that's just a consequence of when it was made; that doesn't make it a film noir. 

Indeed, it's the "B plot" aboard the Enterprise that tracks more closely to the elements of a true film noir. La'An is a detective trying to get to the bottom of a mystery. She sees a larger conspiracy in a place where "the authorities" have dismissed it. She uncovers the truth and learns that things aren't... (ahem)... black and white. Force this analogy past the breaking point, and maybe Spock is some kind of "femme fatale" figure who betrays the detective (by not believing in her)?

Yeah, this doesn't quite fit the film noir formula either... possibly because it feels a bit thin. Still, it highlights the jumble I felt in this episode's conception. Down on the planet you have the fedoras, the suits, the Dutch angles, the deep shadows... all the visual trappings. Up on the ship you have the actual mystery, the questioning suspects, the uncovering of a deeper plot... and none of the visual trappings. "A Case of Chiaroscuro" is nominally the episode where "Strange New World does film noir." Yet it doesn't. It prepares all the ingredients for a meal and then leaves them separate on the counter without cooking.

Yet even though I found the episode to be somewhat disappointing, I didn't think it was bad. As I mentioned earlier, I think all three main characters on the planet had interesting moments. And there was also fun in getting a (p)return of a classic Klingon character, Kor -- and getting to actually see his "mind sifter," which up until now had been mentioned only in one classic Star Trek episode to never be spoken of again.

Overall, I give "A Case of Chiaroscuro" a B-. It might be an example showing that, thanks to its great cast, Strange New Worlds will still be decent even when it stumbles.

Happy Brim-Day to Me

Over 40 years ago, director Ron Howard made the movie Cocoon -- a "probably couldn't get made today" tale of how alien life force rejuvenates a group of retired seniors. Among the movie's cast of older actors was Wilford Brimley. I imagine Brimley may not be known at all by today's younger generations, but there was a time he was known universally for talking about diabetes, eating oatmeal, and being perpetually grizzled. He was the exactly the sort of actor that a movie like Cocoon needed.

And, impossibly, on the day that Cocoon release in movie theaters (June 21, 1985), Wilford Brimley -- professional cranky old man -- was 50 years old. The archetypal example of "older than the hills" was 50 years, 9 months, and 6 days old to be exact.

Many years later, this led to an internet meme I've found quite funny over the years: the Brimley/Cocoon Line. This website and feed have been around for a while now to essentially point out that 50 isn't what it used to be, by pointing out when famous celebrities have crossed the "Brimley/Cocoon Line," the age at which they're now as old as Wilford Brimley was on the day Cocoon was released. It was a headscratcher when Christian Bale crossed it, quite funny when Paul Rudd crossed it, and instantly aging when Drew Barrymore crossed it.

Today, I cross it.

I'm now "Wilford Brimley" old. Nothing left to do, I guess, but wait for alien intervention. At least I have family and friends, many of whom already crossed the line ahead of me. Now we can all sneak out of the retirement home together to use the neighbor's pool

Black and White, but Not Plain

Like most people who saw Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, I was entertained by the parade of increasingly unusual parallel universe heroes. But did that mean I was clamoring for an eight-episode television spin-off about Spider-Noir, the film noir inspired character voiced by Nicolas Cage? Not really. And yet, that Spider-Verse movie itself had come at a time where there was no shortage of Spider-Man movies, when "no one had asked for this," and it had turned out to be really good. Could that history repeat itself with a new TV series?

Set in a crime-ridden 1930s New York, Spider-Noir follows private investigator Ben Reilly. Devastated by the loss of a loved one, he's hung up his superhero alter ego, The Spider. But when superpowered villains begin to terrorize the city, he must step up once again.

I'm sure I've blogged this many times -- so at the risk of repeating myself: I don't really care for film noir. I've watched a lot of the classic movies of the genre, and found only a couple that I enjoyed. Generally, I think they're too cliché, from the performative accents to the mandatory character archetypes to the formulaic plots. I was sure that's what I was in for Spider-Noir.

It turns out: I was, but in all the best ways. The developer and show runner of the series, Oren Uziel, clearly knows all the trappings of film noir -- and clearly loves them dearly. Well, no one can do parody quite like a person who deeply knows and loves the thing they're parodying. Spider-Noir isn't a straight-up Mel Brooks-style joke fest poking fun at a genre... but it is a show that knowingly turns the film noir cliches up to 11 and doesn't quite play everything straight.

And if you ask me, that's a perfect thing to fuse into the superhero genre. "Taking everything super-seriously" is about the only way a superhero movie or show gets made these days; even when the results are supposed to be a little funny and irreverent, they almost always turn serious for the big climax. But all the while, there's a fundamental over-the-topness to comics that edges oh-so-close to silly. And it turns out that for me, putting that together with the same qualities of film noir was like mixing peanut butter and chocolate.

Better still was casting Nicolas Cage in the lead role. This was, of course, no casting coup; Cage voiced the character for Into the Spider-Verse. But it's hardly a given that a man in his early 60s would be the smart choice to play a romantic lead and superhero on an action-adventure show. Here's where I confess that however skeptical I am of most film noir, I'm doubly so of a performance by Nicolas Cage. That's because I find him broad to the point of self-parody. But as I just covered, that is exactly the tone of Spider-Noir: it dances right along the line of making fun of itself, occasionally putting a toe on the other side of that line only to playfully drag it back. In that recipe, an over-the-top Nicolas Cage performance suddenly feels like exactly the right ingredient.

He's one "ingredient" among several in the cast that I think works great. Karen Rodriguez is fantastic as the takes-no-guff assistant to private investigator Ben Reilly. Lamorne Morris is quite funny as his reporter best friend. Filling the noir-required roles of the heavy and femme fatale are are a wonderfully menacing Brendan Gleeson and effectively alluring Li Jun Li. Those are just my favorites; the bench of superpowered villains are a lot of fun too.

In the end, much to my surprise, I quite loved Spider-Noir, and give it an A-. Two final notes on it. One, it's a perfectly packaged little mini-series, and I find myself hoping they don't actually try to make more. Two, you can view it either in full color or in moody and authentic black-and-white. I did the latter, only checking out a minute of how it looked in color when all was said and done. (Wrong, wrong, wrong. Don't do it.) Indeed, Spider-Noir may have set a bar high enough to make me enjoy this summer's Spider-Man movie a bit less.

An Epic Movie for an Epic Poem

With the collective insistence that IMAX was the definitive format for seeing The Odyssey, it took me several weeks to finally catch up with it (at a showing with decent seats). But this past weekend, I finally got to see what all the hype was about.

I have a pretty distant relationship with the original source material. I never had to read The Odyssey for school. I was well aware of many of the plot elements, though perhaps unclear about which details were part of this classic Greek story or that one, or perhaps just part of Greek mythology generally. I assumed that I certainly wouldn't notice which details were altered by writer-director Christopher Nolan for this adaptation.

But I am someone who has seen all of Christopher Nolan's movies. (Yes, even Following.) He's only ever made one film I didn't much care for, and several I really love. Suffice it to say, I feel quite able to pick out his "signatures." Whether they were always there in The Odyssey, drawing him to that for his next movie, or they were something he imposed upon it for his version, the result is a strong vision -- a Venn diagram of "Oscar bait" and "action fantasy" we haven't seen at the movies since the original The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Like the other blockbuster I recently caught up with, my feelings were mixed. Starting with things in the "plus column": the visuals. While they might have been a touch too desaturated on average for my tastes, they were stunning throughout. The supernatural moments were clear standouts, from a monstrous and menacing Cyclops to a truly horrific and uncomfortable sequence about Circe's witchcraft. But even more mundane images looked great; the many scenes in Penelope's dining hall never became repetitive thanks to raucous staging and subtle camera positioning.

It may be that Christopher Nolan is incapable of telling a story in pure, linear fashion. But I thought the jumbling of time frames here helped the story overall. The use of flashbacks helped avoid clumping all the action at the beginning and end of the story, and also served to highlight different perspectives on the same events. All of this heightened a moralistic theme I feel fairly sure was minimal (maybe even wholly absent) from the original story: this version of The Odyssey is not a story about one man being punished by the gods so much as it is about one man punishing himself.

Clever as that inversion is, I'm not sure the source material quite supports the adjustment... and here's where I get started on more of a "minus column." The Odysseus of this story has profound regrets over his actions, most keenly that he chose violence in condemnation of Zeus' law. But after we watch him beat himself up about that for hours of screen time, the story culminates in him doing that again and apparently feeling no reservation or remorse about it. That's the ending here because Homer told us that's the ending, but it's an ending that doesn't quite fit the message that seems to have been imposed (or at least highlighted) here.

Also in this "sort of minus column," the casting. Christopher Nolan is a director who likes to work mostly with the same actors. At this point, he's built up a lengthy contact list of people -- with still more admirers who would be happy to work with him in any capacity. And so The Odyssey is an epic movie with an epic cast: an almost endless parade of A-listers, or at least recognizable faces. I don't think this is always to the movie's benefit.

Sure, you have Matt Damon ably carrying the movie, Anne Hathaway playing an unexpectedly strong-willed Penelope, Samantha Morton giving us an eerie and memorable Circe, and John Leguizamo in a surprisingly serious role as Eumaeus. You have "fine" work -- neither exceptional nor bad -- from the likes of Tom Holland, Himesh Patel, and Robert Pattinson. But then you also have a lot of squandered talent: thanklessly small and uninteresting roles for Zendaya, Charlize Theron, and Lupita Nyong'o. And even though you could argue this telling of The Odyssey turns entirely on the character of Sinon, Elliot Page doesn't get much screen time to make an impact.

Still, while Spider-Man: Brand New Day has turned out to be a "fine" movie that's wilting in my estimation with each passing day since I've seen it, The Odyssey might be a "fine" movie that's growing in the opposite way. The more I think about it, the less I fixate on whether this movie is a "waste of Zendaya" and the more I appreciate how novel and new it made very familiar material seem. I'd give The Odyssey a B-. For now. I may be revisiting the movie one day, and my opinion of it.