Hard Times at Christmas

It's not unusual for me to find time for one Christmas movie at some point over the holidays, but this year I've done a little more than that. On Christmas Eve, I watched Love Actually. (My third time; my husband's first.) Though I last wrote about that movie in the less verbose days of my blog, I really don't feel compelled to expand on my thoughts now. I loved it; I still love it; it's one of my very favorites.

What I haven't written about before is the movie we watched on Christmas night: Die Hard. I've seen it before. I think. I mean, I know I've seen parts of it over the years, many of them several times. But I'm not 100% certain I'd ever watched the movie entirely from beginning to end. Even if I had, it had been long enough that I didn't remember rather substantial chunks of the movie (particularly in the first act).

I'd probably be better off if I could recall with certainty having seen Die Hard before, because it's one of those foundational movies that casts such a long shadow and inspired so much of what followed that it can be hard to fairly judge it today. How much entertainment in the nearly 30 years since Die Hard has been pitched as "Die Hard in another context"? (On a bus: Speed. In a prison: The Rock. On Star Trek: "Starship Mine.") If any of Die Hard seems like silly cliché today, you might well remember that it may have invented the cliché.

I also feel like Die Hard was one of the first movies to embrace the idea that action movies could also be funny. You might quibble with that assertion; Arnold Schwarzenegger was certainly delivering cheesy one-liners around the same time. But Die Hard let other people besides the main character be funny. The movie is filled with quirky, quippy characters. Hell, it even lets the villain be funny.

It also lets the villain be compelling, which I think most people rightly acknowledge as the best thing about the movie. Die Hard was Alan Rickman's first feature film, and what a debut. He's both menacing and fun, clever enough to make things interesting (but foolish enough to lose in the end). Neither Rickman nor the director John McTiernan seemed to feel any fear that Hans Gruber's dry demeanor would deflate the movie, and thanks to that, we got decades of greatness from a wonderful actor. (It's a shame we're not still getting it.)

Rickman steals the show, but Bruce Willis shouldn't be overlooked. Another thing that stands out about Die Hard is how it's willing to make its hero human. He's decidedly not invulnerable in the way of so many 80s action protagonists; by the end of the movie, he's ripped to shreds, exhausted, and ragged. He also human before the action even begins, struggling with a failing marriage and an inability to express his feelings. The McClane character, and the man who plays him, is a key part of the formula that really works.

What's harder for me to judge now is the quality of the script overall. I feel like you can really see the scaffolding on which it all hangs, like the unfinished building in which the story takes place. There's no subtlety or art in how the movie slips in information; every detail arrives practically with a flashing sign telling you it Will Be Important Later. The adversaries outside of Hans Gruber -- the police and FBI agents on the ground outside -- are all laughably inept, and unreasonably mean-spirited just so they can be brought low later. It's funny, but also goes down a bit like empty calories. It's the stuff of more conventional 80s action movies when so much of the rest of the movie aspires to more. Then again, maybe I'm jaded to these aspects of the original by all the knockoffs that followed?

Overall, I find more to love about Die Hard than not. And yet, I'm sure I'm going to catch flak from people out there who I know have this on their lists of favorite movies. I'd put it at about a B+, which would surely come across as a recommendation for any other movie, but will just as surely be "not enough" for some people reading this. What can I say? I'm calling it like I see it.

DS9 Flashback: The Nagus

The Ferengi were conceived in the earliest days of Star Trek: The Next Generation, intended to be that series' ongoing "Big Bad." But their first appearance was such a bust, and followed up by more lackluster outings, that they quickly became the laughing stock of the Star Trek universe. I don't know if the writers of Deep Space Nine made a specific mission out of rehabilitating them, but step one of that process began with making Quark a regular character. Step two came with "The Nagus."

Grand Nagus Zek, leader of the Ferengi Alliance, comes to Deep Space Nine, sending Quark into a panic that his bar is about to be bought out. But the news isn't bad: the Nagus wants Quark to host a conference of Ferengi business leaders, where a grand strategy for the Gamma Quadrant will be hammered out. What's more, Zek is announcing his retirement, and he's selected Quark to be his successor.

Over on The Next Generation, writer Ronald D. Moore developed a reputation for Klingon episodes, writing nearly all of them and charting the creative direction for the race. Though he didn't know it here, writer Ira Steven Behr would eventually fill the same role for the Ferengi. He took the original idea here (from episode director David Livingston) for a meeting of multiple alien races looking to establish a new crime syndicate, and refocused it on just the Ferengi. He also ran with a suggestion from Rick Berman (and/or Michael Piller, according to some sources) to do a Godfather homage.

Behr's script for this episode introduced many of the elements that would define the Ferengi for the entire run of Deep Space Nine. This episode introduces the Rules of Acquisition (starting with the very first one), the Grand Nagus, the idea that Ferengi sell their vacuum-desiccated remains after death, and more. It's also the first Deep Space Nine that succeeds at being genuinely funny (on purpose, anyway) -- and according to actor Armin Shimerman, that convinced the producers that the series could have comedic episodes alongside more serious ones.

The jokes really do land all throughout the episode. There's Quark delegating grunt work to Rom, who in turn delegates it to Nog. There's the best use yet of barfly Morn. Nog gives us the future's version of "the dog ate my homework" in "Vulcans stole my ethics essay." (Why? "Because they don't have ethics?") Quark goes full Don Corleone, with Armin Shimerman mimicking Marlon Brando's performance and the set department even installing blinds on a window of the station just for the visual.

Fun work is born in the fun atmosphere. Composer John Debney delivers a noticeably light and entertaining score. (This was his first time working on Star Trek, and the first of only three episodes he'd do before finding steady work in film.) Actor Max Grodénchik dials in his performance of Rom, for the first time adopting the voice and behavior he'd use for the rest of the series. Even the actors with only a scene or two deliver the goods; Colm Meaney returns after a three-episode absence to show O'Brien struggling to fill in for his wife at school, while Terry Farrell is great in a scene where Dax recalls her failings as a parent over multiple past lives. But no one is doing better work than Wallace Shawn, who gets slathered in the entire makeup budget for most television series and still serves up a hilarious and indelible performance as Grand Nagus Zek. ("You failed! Miserably!")

Another strength of the episode is that it isn't all just lightweight fun. A solid and more emotional B-story revolves around Jake Sisko sneaking around to teach his friend Nog to read. A really honest relationship between Jake and his father is presented, with Benjamin being smart enough to know what will happen if he tries to force himself between a teenager and his best friend. The series isn't using Jake in every episode, but when it does, it's to present something more realistic and relatable that we ever saw written for the Crushers on The Next Generation.

Other observations:

• A recent episode, "The Passenger," did a terrible job in presenting red herrings to fool the audience. This episode does much better, giving us some credible suspects who might be after Quark before revealing that it's his own brother who's looking to kill him.

• Zek really is the only Ferengi we've ever seen who seems to be looking more than one step ahead, at the consequences his actions might bring. He may be the only example that proves the reputation of the Ferengi as cunning businessmen.

I'll readily admit that this isn't top shelf Deep Space Nine. Still, I think it's the strongest episode of the series to this point. And pulling that off in a story focused on the Ferengi is no mean feat. I give "The Nagus" a B+.

Rewind

I've been away for a few days doing various festive holiday things. Also, a few things completely unrelated to the holidays, such as catching up on the latest episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. This installment did what the title promised, rewinding us to the present to follow Fitz's thread in the current story line.

I knew I missed having Fitz around on the show, but this episode featuring him made me realize just how much. He and Simmons are arguably the two main characters who most wear their hearts on their sleeves, and Simmons has been involved in a plot where she's largely had to conceal her feelings. Fitz's return feels like the return of a much needed emotional core to the show.

His escape from custody after six long months involved the return of another character, Lance Hunter. Because Adrianne Palicki is working over on The Orville, Hunter had to fly solo and without Bobbi Morse. But perhaps because The Orville only makes a dozen episodes a year, the writers of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. specifically left Bobbi and Hunter together as a couple, leaving the door open for the two to both return at some point.

Together, Fitz and Hunter teamed up on an adventure that helped fill a few small blanks surrounding the team's abduction, gave Fitz a new alien ally, and called back to one of the better Inhuman-centric episodes of the series (featuring a doomed Inhuman with visions of the future). There was plenty of humor too, thanks largely to the presence of Hunter. (The Empire Strikes Back shout out at the end was especially fun.)

What didn't work so well is how the methodical Fitz threw away caution and crafted no plan whatsoever before hopping in the stasis pod on a one way trip to the future. He has no idea how he's going to help his friends, and no idea if it's possible to return any of them to the present. It's a rather ludicrous leap of faith for him, given that his friends in the future weren't actually going anywhere and weren't in any immediate danger. He had literally all the time he wanted to come up with a scheme before freezing himself. (Kind of a recurring problem in time travel stories, but I expect better of Fitz.)

Still, the flashback adventure was fun overall, and gave me a lot of what I'd felt was missing in this season so far. I'm looking forward to what the show does now with the whole main cast reunited, after it returns from its brief holiday break. I give "Rewind" a B+.

Inquisitive Squirrels

After achieving the biggest hit of his career with Codenames, game designer Vlaada Chvátil has decided to step away from elaborate "gamer games" for a moment and offer up another lighter party game, That's a Question.

Imagine a family-friendly version of "Would You Rather?", and you're in the ballpark of what this game is. Players take turn as questioner, where they can frame one of three "A or B" questions:

• Which would you miss more if it ceased to exist?
• Which of these would you choose?
• Whom do you consider worse?

The two potential answers come from a hand of five cards the player holds, each printed with answers to all three questions. (You spin the cards around to fit the form of question you choose.) That question you formulate is then put to one specific other player, who secretly answers it as everyone else guesses how they'll answer. Guessers gain points for being right. You gain points for framing a difficult question -- points for each person who guessed wrong on the question you set up for someone else.

There are a few other wrinkles in the rules, including a mechanic that spreads questions around and keeps the same player from being asked something too often. There are also single-use tokens (and ways to earn and re-use them) allowing you earn more points on answers you feel particularly confident about, or answers you think most players will get wrong.

Oh, and by the way, you're all squirrels gathering nuts. At least, that's the flavor the game purports to wrap around this entire affair. Not that I understand why.

That's a Question is a bit better than many "get to know you"/"how well do you know each other" type games. You can play with relative strangers, as they A/B construction gives everybody a chance to compete by constraining the possible answers. At the same time, the game's three core questions are well chosen to dig down even among people you know, and the goal to actually stump everyone else actually means the answers will rarely be easy. That said... it's obviously a pretty shallow experience, even by party game standards. Vlaada Chvátil has not followed Codenames with something that's likely to become another massive hit.

I'd give That's a Question a B. It's not a must-have for your collection, but wouldn't be a bad one in it. It might be especially good to have around over the holidays, if you'll be at a large gathering of people who don't play too many games.

A Life Earned

The latest installment of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. was something of a space filler (pun not intended; you know, because they're in outer space right now? sigh). Everyone largely finished the episode in the same place as they began it. The hour was more about painting in a bit more emotional context for characters.

Among the main characters, this was done most effectively in the Mack/Yo-Yo storyline. I had noted of last week's episode that Mack had staked out an awfully high moral high road, one which Yo-Yo had immediately undercut, and that this was owed a deeper look. The writers thought so too, addressing not only this, but bringing in their recent (to them) experience inside the Framework too. Having now lost his daughter twice, Mack is eager not to lose "himself" too, which makes a lot of sense for him. It was a nice bit of character drama amidst the sci-fi backdrop.

The rest of the main characters served mostly to tell the stories of the new characters in mix. Daisy needed to be brought up to speed on the Kree scheme to breed and sell Inhumans, and this involved a new Inhuman character with the ability to read and share thoughts. We did get a good scene of tension out of it, when Kasius confronted Daisy and Simmons and forced them to tell the same lie. Other than that, not a lot of juice to squeeze from this sub plot.

Coulson and May's story revolved around Deke -- exposing his betrayal of Daisy, and scratching beneath the surface to get more of his back story. I was glad they didn't try to convince us that turning in Daisy was part of some "master plan" he was cooking up, that it was more an act of desperation that he now hopes to atone for. But here again, not a lot of forward momentum in the story. (Though there is a bit of a cliffhanger in wondering what happened to May after her battle with Kasius' menacing henchwoman.)

The biggest development came in the episode's final moments, as Fitz somehow arrived on the scene in the future. Surely he has a master plan? Though I suspect the next episode we'll get will revolve more around how he got there, flashback style. (Which would suit me fine.)

So, a bit of a weaker installment, I think. Not bad, but not standout. I'd mark it a B-.

DS9 Flashback: Move Along Home

Even the most ardent fans of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine will acknowledge that the show wasn't great right out of the gate. Its first season is widely agreed to be its weakest, and some will point to one episode in particular as the the series' very lowest point: "Move Along Home."

The Wadi, an alien race from the Gamma Quadrant, arrives on the station for a diplomatic first contact -- but they're far more interested in gaming at Quark's than in any real discussion with the Federation or the Bajorans. When Quark gets caught cheating the visitors, they coerce him into playing one of their games, Chula. Sisko, Dax, Bashir, and Kira are all roped in too -- as actual participants in a virtual world inside the game.

While "Move Along Home" is far from good, I'm not sure it's the complete disaster many claim it to be. It swings for the fences on concept and is fun in moments, which is more than I can say for the worst of The Next Generation's first season. All the creative team acknowledges this episode wasn't their best work. Staff writer Ira Steven Behr claimed that for the rest of the season, "anytime something got screwed up... somebody would peep up 'Allamaraine!' And you'd nod and know exactly what he meant." Writer Ronald D. Moore, who would later jump onto this series after The Next Generation ended, said that when he watched this episode, he wondered "if everyone had lost their minds."

The producers chalk the problems up to money. Years of making The Next Generation had taught them to expect a budget surplus at mid-season, an opportunity to do a more lavish episode. But the elaborate sets of Deep Space Nine, together with the grand scale of the pilot episode itself, had broken the bank. Thoughts of location filming, elaborate in-game environments, and more fell by the wayside in favor of a cramped hallway and a trip to The Next Generation's already-existing "cave" set.

I think the problems are less of budget and more of stakes. In the end, there turns out not to have been any at all. Chula is revealed to be "only a game," in which none of the characters were ever in any actual jeopardy. This ran counter to the original pitch from outside writer Frederick Rappaport. Among his earlier versions of the script was one in which our heroes win the game, but are actually forced to sacrifice Bashir for real along the way. They then have to barter with the Wadi to "give back" the winnings in exchange for restoring Bashir's life.

But even before the ending as filmed, you get the sense that no one is really taking this episode seriously. When the crew arrives inside the game, Siddig el Fadil's performance, "screaming" to wake himself up from the dream he thinks he's in, is half-hearted at best. It's two really bad performances in a row for the poor guy; fortunately, his acting chops would develop much more (as would his character) as the series continued. He's not alone in phoning this episode in, though. The hopscotch-like "Allamaraine" scene deflates any hint of stakes entirely, with Avery Brooks going full "childrens' show host," and Nana Visitor's disgust at the situation seeming too real to be just Major Kira's.

There's also a real problem in the game itself not making any sense. At the "Quark level" of the game, it isn't really a game. Quark just picks "A" or "B," rolls some dice, and is told what happened. He has no idea what's going on at the "inside level" the game. It's bonkers that Quark makes the connection in the first place that people are inside -- the Wadi have not been shown to have the technology to do such a thing, and there's nothing about the trappings that he can see that implies anything about our heroes. It's also quite unclear to the audience to what degree Quark's rolling and decision-making locks in an outcome, and to what degree can the quartet's puzzle-solving abilities inside the game can affect things? Is the lead alien, Falow, actually aware of things both inside and outside of the game? How the hell does that work?

Despite all those flaws, a few elements of the episode actually do land. Armin Shimerman just goes for broke and gives his best performance yet in the series. He revels in the possibility to cheat easy marks, tries to improvise his way out of being caught, and pleads hilariously to be let off the hook when asked to "kill" one of players in the game. There are nice father-son moments between Sisko and Jake (the latter finally back in an episode after a long absence). Characters poke playful fun at each other -- Odo at Quark getting himself into hot water, Sisko at Bashir's undignified screaming, Dax at Sisko for stubbornly risking his life for hers, and more. Quite simply, this episode is not all bad.

Other observations:

• Colm Meaney is still out filming a movie, so O'Brien is still away on Earth. That means security officer Primmin is still around, though his role here is quite small indeed. The character is also completely inconsistent. Last episode, Primmin was a stickler for rules who was basically calling Odo a slacker; here, he thinks nothing odd about half the senior staff failing to show up for work in the morning.

• As we watched the episode, and the interior portion of the game unfolded with its series of puzzles, my husband noted "this is like an escape room." Totally. There goes Star Trek again, predicting stuff ahead of its time.

• As this episode was being filmed, The Next Generation was making "Birthright, Part I," which featured a crossover appearance by Dr. Bashir. His character's part in that episode was originally written for Dax, but the script of this episode needed the friendship between Dax and Sisko to help amp the stakes of the final act. So the crossover role went to Bashir, who was benched part way through this episode anyway. Terry Farrell was reportedly quite disappointed not to make the TNG appearance.

Perhaps my reaction here was too positive, after going in remembering a total stinker of an episode. But whatever the case, I still think there were enough bright spots scattered throughout to elevate a failing premise. I'd grade "Move Along Home" a C+.

They Did Not Save the Best for "Last" (aka: "Last," but Not Least)

I can now emerge from my self-imposed social media blackout -- I've seen The Last Jedi. My Twitter and Facebook seems to be ruled by an enthusiastic reception. My own take seems to be closer to the world at large: somewhat mixed.

For those who have not yet seen the film, I'll start with a short, spoiler-free take. (But seriously, you are living dangerously going online right now!) For me, The Last Jedi comes in well ahead of any of the prequels, but well behind both The Force Awakens and anything in the original trilogy. Rogue One remains the best thing about the Star Wars renaissance so far. Episode VIII is entertaining, and even has some great sections. Still, it's no threat to make my Top 10 List for the year.

Alright, time to leave now if you still haven't seen it. From here on, there be spoilers.

First, the good. This is arguably the best "actors' showcase" of all the Star Wars movies. There's weighty drama here in general, and especially poignant material for several characters in particular. Luke Skywalker is given the most interesting and emotionally complex story line he's ever had, and Mark Hamill gives his best performance in the role by a wide margin. I found it more than enough "apology" for his omission from Episode VII.

The duality between Rey and Kylo Ren really worked for me too. Yes, the dichotomy of "I can turn him / I can't be turned" was mined thoroughly between Luke and Vader in the original trilogy, but I think the mental connection between Rey and Kylo Ren really does add something that makes it play out differently. It allowed the characters to have a dialogue throughout the movie, setting up a long term push-and-pull between the two. Despite the mystical trappings, this feels more realistic to me than undoing 30 years of evil in a single meeting of a few hours, as Luke did with Vader in Return of the Jedi. Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver gave strong performances too. It's not an easy thing to build a rapport between two people who aren't even physically in the same room together, but I thought they made it work.

I also really liked moments where the film took big narrative risks. There were some aspects of The Last Jedi that felt a bit formulaic, but ultimately even more things that shattered the formula. A conventional road map would never have killed off Snoke or even Captain Phasma in the middle chapter of the trilogy. The formula would never have admitted that the question of Rey's parentage was simply a red herring. Episode IX is now positioned to be something truly different -- Kylo Ren truly is the Big Bad, not a mere lackey of the Big Bad like Vader. Yet he's also impulsive and childish, wild and dangerous, not Machiavellian and controlled like the Emperor.

All that acknowledged and praised, it must also be noted that The Last Jedi isn't just the longest Star Wars movie in fact. It really feels like it, with elements that seem forced and some sections that really drag. The pacing of the film is really at odds with itself. On the one hand, the story lines that carry the most emotional heft are quite deliberately paced -- Rey and Luke's dialogue on Ahch-To is contemplative and methodical, as is the unfolding drama between Rey and Kylo Ren. On the other hand, that's all playing out against what is supposed to be a ticking clock of the final ships of the Resistance being stalked and destroyed. We're supposed to feel that time is of the essence and slipping away, but that urgency evaporates completely when the film takes its sweet time (however rightly so) on everything else going on.

The new characters introduced in this installment really do not work. Vice Admiral Holdo, played by Laura Dern, feels opaque and obstinate only for the sake of plot. Her conflict with Poe Dameron seems manufactured, her "redemption" only a turn for the character because she's such an inaccessible cipher up to that point. The hacker DJ is simply annoying, not so much for being a backstabbing traitor as for the inexplicable affectations and tics he's given by Benecio del Toro.

Rose, played by Kelly Marie Tran, is an intriguing enough character, but feels placed in the wrong subplot. It feels off to me to place the survival of the Resistance (both in the literal sense of the plan to board Snoke's ship, and the metaphorical sense of inspiring future Resistance members) on Rose, whom we've just met, and Finn, who's only a newly minted member of the Resistance himself. And the romantic spark between them comes totally out of left field. When she kissed Finn, the person sitting next to me at the theater audibly whispered "stupid" -- and I had to agree.

There's also a streak of snarky irreverence throughout the movie that rubbed me wrong. Star Wars is by no means humorless, but it does take itself seriously overall. It is a "space opera," and the way people act and talk in its universe is by now thoroughly established. Writer/director Rian Johnson puts almost Joss Whedon-esque flourishes into his dialogue on a regular basis that to me feel out of place. Nothing breaks the fourth wall outright, but there are lots of things that brush uncomfortably against it. Especially bad examples included Poe Dameron's "phone call" to General Hux and Rey's awkward reaction to a shirtless Kylo Ren, but moments nearly as odd were sprinkled throughout the film. Though sometimes good for a laugh, these moments pulled me out of "a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away" and made me feel very much "on Earth, in 2017."

Overall, I'd say The Last Jedi was good. Certainly, it's exploding with potential for an outstanding Episode IX; it's easy to see how J.J. Abrams was encouraged to take back the baton, given what he's left to start with. I praise where The Last Jedi took risks, rather than re-mixing things as much as The Force Awakens did. Yet all the same, The Force Awakens was a more consistent movie throughout, and more engaging. I give The Last Jedi a B.

Bird Is the Word

Earlier this week, I continued my progress through the list of likely Oscar contenders by seeing Lady Bird. Chances are you haven't heard of this movie, though if you have, it's probably as the movie being advertised as having a 100% Fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. (That held for several weeks, until one critic gave the thumbs down and spoiled it.) But what is the movie, other than universally well received?

Lady Bird, quite simply, is the story of a high school student in the early 2000s. The title of the film is the nickname she's chosen for herself. Her father is out of work and her mother is working two jobs to try to keep the family going. The movie tracks Lady Bird over the course of her entire senior year, dealing with teenage trials like applying for college, dating, trying out for the musical, falling in with the popular kids (and falling out with her best friend).

This is, as you can tell, real "slice of life" stuff. It's all portrayed with tremendous realism and honesty (and dry wit), and I think that's what all the critics are responding to. Rotten Tomatoes, remember, is just the aggregate score of distilling reviews down to "thumbs up or thumbs down," not capturing any of the nuance. It's hard to point to anything bad about this movie, so that sky high score reflects everything from tepid enjoyment to enthusiastic praise.

Count me in the former category. There simply wasn't enough of a narrative here to really get me engaged. This is the diary of a teenage girl in cinematic form. It's a little bit too shapeless; things happen, and yet it's easy to feel like "nothing happens." It's not even particularly illuminating, so long as you had a female friend in high school (or were female in high school). People who would "learn something" by watching this movie would never watch this movie.

On the other hand, I can clearly see that this movie isn't meant for me. This is 2017, a year in which demand for stories about women, by women, is higher than ever before. (Or perhaps more accurately, as high as its ever been, but being more acknowledged than ever before.) Wonder Woman was both rather conventional and something never seen before, by virtue of its star character. Lady Bird is both not new and entirely novel in the same way,: a high school coming of age story, centered on a character that doesn't often get to be the focus of movies like this.

I didn't love the movie, but I can easily imagine the people who would. For some people, this is going to be a celluloid "spirit animal" that speaks straight to them. I thought very particularly of a good friend from high school, who I imagine would love this movie with all her soul. There will be women who see this and say "this was me and my mother when I was a teenager" or "this was me with my first boyfriend" or "high school was exactly like this."

But my reaction was muted. I thought the movie was alright, though a bit aimless. Saoirse Ronan is great as the title character, giving a wide ranging but nuanced performance that will get her award consideration. Laurie Metcalf is wonderful as her mother, trying to do what's best for "Lady Bird" even when that sometimes means she'll be hated for it. There are also two fun supporting performances from Lucas Hedges and Timothée Chalamet. In his young career, Hedges seems to find his way only into Oscar-caliber films (having appeared last year in Manchester by the Sea and now in this and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri). Chalamet is being talked about as a possible Best Actor contender this year for Call Me By Your Name (still to come on my Oscar to-do list). It's actually a solid cast all the way around, though without many recognizable names.

As the credits rolled, I knew I thought Lady Bird was okay, but knew I didn't love it. I figured it was worthy of something like a B or maybe B- grade. When I went to Flickchart it, ranking it against other movies I've seen, I was a bit surprised to find that it actually fell in among movies I'd call C+. I think that means the reaction I've been talking about is really pronounced: I recognize the movie as something well made, something many people will love... and I'm really not one of those people.

Hopefully, I've given enough detail here that you'll know if you are. Maybe you'll want to take a daughter to see it, or a best friend. Maybe it's one for you to skip entirely. I'll be truly shocked if this somehow wins the Best Picture Oscar, but I won't be surprised at all if its a nominee.

A Disaster Unfolds

I've written on two past occasions about the pinnacle of "so bad it's good" movies, The Room. It's the gift that keeps on giving, entertainment-wise. So naturally, I was going to see the new film about its creation, The Disaster Artist.

Based off the memoir by The Room's co-star Greg Sestero, The Disaster Artist actually isn't primarily about the making of the "Best Worst Movie Ever." If it were, it would be little more than a re-staging of a car accident for people to come rubberneck at. It's actually an examination of the friendship between Sestero and The Room's enigmatic auteur, Tommy Wiseau. How strong must that bond have been for them to see such a train wreck through to the end, or not recognize it for what it was at the time? (Small spoiler: the movie makes clear it's more the former than the latter.)

Because the movie has this relationship as its emotional core, it's more than a mockumentary, and more than a character study of Wiseau. It certainly paints a compelling picture of how Sestero was drawn into the orbit of "Tommy's Planet," and just as compellingly demonstrates what kept them together so long. I'm not entirely sure that it makes me understand what kept them together all the way through to the end, but it's still an accomplishment that the movie makes such sympathetic figures out of people that anyone who has seen The Room might otherwise react to quite differently.

The brothers Franco star in the piece, Dave as Greg Sestero and James as Tommy Wiseau. Both are fully committed to telling a story of struggling to make a mark in Hollywood, never winking at the camera or mocking the material. For Dave Franco, this certainly makes for the most earnest and accessible character I've seen him play (though admittedly, I haven't seen lots of him). Because the character of Wiseau is so impenetrable, it's up to Dave Franco to be the emotional window into the narrative, and he serves ably in this.

But of course, the focus will all be on the meta-performance of James Franco as Wiseau. It's a spot-on impersonation that transcends simple impersonation. On some deep level, the audience is meant to know, James Franco is Tommy Wiseau -- an actor who sometimes makes confounding choices, and who on this occasion decided to act in, direct, and produce his own movie. But it never seems like an impersonation. Hell, there are times where I found myself truly forgetting it was James Franco; I'd just recently re-watched The Room as "prep" for this, and it just seemed like in The Disaster Artist, I was watching Wiseau.

The Room has a lot of celebrity fans, many of whom helped push it into the zeitgeist to begin with, so the movie is full of recognizable faces. A few have somewhat substantial parts, including Seth Rogen, Alison Brie, Josh Hutcherson, Ari Graynor, Jackie Weaver, and Paul Scheer. Many more show up for cameos, including Megan Mullally, Hannibal Buress, Sharon Stone, Melanie Griffith, Zac Efron, Bob Odenkirk, Judd Apatow, and more. Still other "boosters" of The Room appear right at the start of the film as themselves, in talking head interviews, explaining their obsession: Kristen Bell, Keegan-Michael Key, J.J. Abrams, Kevin Smith, and more. There's a deep bench on this movie, and everyone is there to contribute their own bit of fun to the whole.

All that said, I think any murmurs you may have heard about the "movie about the bad movie being Oscar worthy" are overselling it a tad. It's good, no question. It's even insightful while it entertains. But I personally didn't find in it that extra jolt that makes me certain it will stick with me for a long while to come. It's definitely worth seeing, especially if you've seen The Room, but I think I'd limit it to about a B+.

And if you do go, be sure to stay all the way through the credits for a great scene at the end.

A Life Spent

Much of last weekend's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. focused on Simmons and her new duties as the new attendant/toy of the Kree villain Kasius. Not the newest toy, however. That was the newly minted Inhuman that Simmons was tasked with whipping into shape. On the one hand, this was a story line with no surprises: Simmons befriended her, helped her, and then was somehow shocked when the evil baddie did what evil baddies do in the end -- exploiting the Inhuman (in this case, by selling her into slavery). On the other hand, though the story was predictable, it still hit effective emotional beats along the way. Elizabeth Henstridge is always able to make you feel for Simmons.

Meanwhile, Coulson, Yo-Yo, Mack, and May worked together with their reluctant ally in ore processing to track down the mysterious radio signal out in the debris. I liked seeing that Coulson's boundless optimism has its limits, as he and May had a masks-lowered talk about how there may not be a way back to "normal" from this situation. It was also great seeing how Yo-Yo, separated from the others, cleverly used her powers to steal from her captors.

That story line had a lot to do with morality, trying to demonstrate virtue by example. The idea there was good, but I'm not sure I buy exactly where the line was drawn. Killing the henchman so he doesn't rat you out = immoral. Got it. Planting a gun on the henchman so that the villain kills him for you = okay? Not sure I see the distinction. Then again, Yo-Yo was separated from everyone when Mack staked out the moral high ground. Maybe this might even be a point of friction between the two later on?

Daisy had been the last character with full mobility, running free on her own and running scared from the idea that she could have caused the destruction of the Earth. She was, in fact, so focused on ignoring everything Deke said that she also ignored the clear signs that he could only take so much and would double-cross her. Now Daisy is a prisoner too, putting all the future heroes in their own specific peril within the larger jeopardy. It's a "problem nesting doll" now.

Not the most mind-blowing episode of the series, but it kept an interesting story line moving along. I give it a B.

Mad Idolatry

The Orville wrapped up its first season this past week. (And amazingly, FOX has seen fit to renew a science fiction series without blockbuster ratings for a second season.) It went out on a strong note with "Mad Idolatry."

The ship discovers an unusual planet that spends half its orbit in our universe and half in another. Commander Grayson explores the surface as her crashed shuttle is being repaired, and accidentally interacts with the local primitive population before the shuttle can depart. But when the planet vanishes and reappears, the full import of what has happened becomes clear. Time passes differently in the other universe, and 700 years have gone by during the 11 days it was gone. And in those centuries, and entire religion has sprung up around that one chance interaction, deifying Grayson and altering the entire culture.

Star Trek has played around with some of these ideas before, of course -- the culture that experiences time faster than humans, the culture that perceives a crewmember as a god figure. They even mashed these two ideas together a bit in a Voyager episode called "Blink of an Eye," which I now vaguely remember as being decent, but didn't actually remember at all when I was watching this episode of The Orville. And that, I think, may be because The Orville managed to put the parts together in its own unique and interesting way.


The emphasis here was more personal than the clever sci-fi trappings: it was squarely on Grayson and the guilt she felt over the interference she'd caused. It's one thing to feel badly about violence carried out in the name of a religion, and quite another to feel it's being done in your name. I liked that the story wasn't principally about the series' substitute for "the Prime Directive," it was about the emotional toll on Grayson.

The episode also cleverly used Isaac in the story by sending him down to the planet to spend 700 years in its alternate universe. The Voyager episode did something similar with the Doctor, I recall, but on a far less extreme time scale. That makes a difference -- or, at least, it will if the writers actually allow Isaac to be a different character after this. If the passage of 700 years doesn't change him in any way, then it's basically saying he's a character beyond any capacity for growth or change at all, which is a rather big dramatic liability.

The ending sort of out-Star Trekked Star Trek, in a way, as the now-evolved aliens came to deliver the moral message to our heroes, rather than the other way around. Religion is going to spring up around something, they wisely noted, so Grayson should not feel responsible that their planet's centered around her. It was an interesting tweak of the Prime Directive's nose, putting the notion out there that maybe the heroic explorers we follow in these shows can't really change things as much as they think.

And it all played out against the backdrop of Mercer and Grayson exploring whether or not to renew their romantic relationship. I liked seeing this story addressed. The Orville is, of course, most similar to The Next Generation among all the Star Trek shows, and that show was notably stingy about this sort of material. It had meaningful character back stories in place pairing Riker and Troi, and potentially pairing Crusher and Picard, but generally pulled away from dealing with them. The Orville dived right in, and when at the end of the episode the decision was reached not to pursue any relationship, it made sense for the characters. "Doing nothing" was the consequence of something, rather than simply ignoring a potential story.

I'd give this installment of The Orville a B+. Though the series never really rose to truly lofty heights during its first season, it did serve up enough "pretty good" episodes to be worth the time. I'll be back for more when it returns next season.

You Raise? I Fold.

At the kernel of the game Raise Your Goblets is a really fun idea: let's play out the old "poisoned drinks" game with friends.

Each player has a "drinking goblet" in front of them, and a screen behind which a fixed number of glass beads begins, marking "poison," "antidote," or "wine." On each player's turn, they have an array of actions available. They can add a bead to any goblet without anyone seeing it. They can rotate all the goblets in play clockwise or counter-clockwise one position. They can swap the goblet in front of them for one in front of any other player. Or they can look inside their own goblet to learn its contents.

Once a player has played all the "wine" tokens from behind their screen, they gain another option for their turn: they may propose a toast. Every player gets one final action (including them), and then everyone "drinks" from the goblet before them. If they end up with at least an equal amount of antidote and poison, they're fine. More poison, however, and well... you know. Each round, you get a point for surviving, a point for assassinating the player you're "targeting" (as selected by a random card draw at the beginning of the round), and a bonus point if you achieve both goals.

It's a great idea for a game. In practice, though, it simply isn't very fun to play. The problem is that chaos reigns supreme -- or, at least, it does when you play with as many players as the game claims to accommodate. The game takes up to 6 (and up to 12, if you play with supplemental "wine taster" rules we did not have to use). We played with the full 6, and it stripped all sense of control from the proceedings. With just two actions on your turn, and a whopping 10 opposing actions in between, it was simply impossible to know what was going on in any goblet. You'd peek when you could, but then too many beads would drop in too many places between, and uncertainty would encroach.

In the end, the person who actually called the toast each round had the supreme advantage. You'd get the final action. And if you could track just one goblet and be reasonably certain of its contents, you'd just swap that one to be in front of you at the end of the round. Everybody else, leave to random chance. Even then, there was really no telling who would be safe -- often yourself included. The game felt like an elaborate random number generator.

I'd consider trying the game once more with a more manageable number -- three or perhaps four. But it seems like there's a razor thin edge here, between it being too easy to have information and too impossible. And that advantage of taking the last action is always going to be there, in any case. I don't have high hopes that a different player count would yield more satisfying results.

It's a great concept, but in a way that perhaps makes the game deserving of even lower marks, for bungling the potential so thoroughly. I'd give Raise Your Goblets a D. Even under the umbrella of "chaotic group games," there are far better choices.

DS9 Flashback: The Passenger

Many Star Trek fans (including me) think that "The Inner Light" was the best episode of The Next Generation. So on paper, having the writer behind that story, Morgan Gendel, contribute an idea for Deep Space Nine seems very exciting. Unfortunately, that episode turned out to be "The Passenger."

Bashir and Kira come to the rescue of an alien ship in distress, but fail to save the life of a criminal on board, Rao Vantika. That's how they see it, at least. Vantika's escort/hunter/jailer, Ty Kajada, insists that Vantika has somehow faked his own death -- a notion that begins to look plausible when things start going wrong aboard Deep Space Nine. With some digging, Dax arrives at an explanation: Vantika may have found a way to transfer his consciousness into another living being, creating a Jekyll/Hyde duality in someone who doesn't even know it.

Gendel's original pitch for this episode was to tell the story of a cop who didn't know she was chasing herself -- Vantika's mind would be hiding in Kajada's body. Bashir would have become romantically involved with Kajada, and would then be forced to decide how much he could trust her in race against time to find a bomb planted on the station by Vantika. As a freelancer, Gendel admitted he was open to any feedback given so long as he sold his pitch; he recalls a bunch of back and forth meetings where the writing staff tweaked his story, waffled on whether they wanted a villain in the mold of Hannibal Lecter or not, and more.

It feels like the least interesting of all story options was the one chosen. Even if Gendel's initial pitch sounds too centered on the guest star, turning Bashir into a guest star by having him be Vantika's host doesn't seem like the best solution. No consideration is ever given to the idea that Kira -- who was also there trying to rescue Vantika at the beginning of the episode -- could also be his host. Instead, the closest the episode comes to being a true whodunit is in offering up previously unknown security officer Primmin as a red herring who might be in league with Vantika. (In actuality, his subplot was reportedly crafted to cover for the absence of O'Brien for a second straight episode, as Colm Meaney was off shooting a movie.)

The Primmin B-plot actually works better than the Vantika A-plot. It takes the series' inherent culture clash, Federation values vs. the "wild west" of a Bajoran station, and makes it an explicit conflict between Odo and Primmin. There are some great moments here, many using Sisko as the pivot between them. Sisko talks Odo out of a hot-headed decision to quit, and slaps down Primmin by reminding him the Federation are only invited guests here. ("If you want my opinion--" "Actually, I don't." Snap!)

But just about everything in the episode involving Bashir is bad. It starts right in the cold open, with him bragging more than ever before about his medical skills (which Kira takes in surprising stride, by her standards). And while Bashir goes on to be not nearly as pervy or egotistical as usual through the rest of the episode, the sad fact is that it might not be him in the rest of the episode. The episode lays out that the Vantika consciousness is dormant while Bashir is "awake," and vice versa, but there are some moments here and there where Bashir effectively blocks Ty Kajada and her investigation in such a way that you have to believe it's Vantika pretending to be Bashir. That means at this point in the life of the show, a horrifying killer is a more likeable Bashir than Bashir. Yikes.

And speaking of pretending, actor Alexander Siddig makes some unfortunate choices in his portrayal of the villainous Vantika. He plays really broad, and reportedly used a strange, "Bela Lugosi-like" voice on set, which was judged to be so distracting in post-production that they had him redub over all his lines. The result is a bizarre.... almost... Kirk-like... pattern... of... slow... speech that can't possibly be any less grating than what they replaced. (But it's not the worst acting in the final act. When Vantika and his goons board the alien ship, everybody there freezes and waits woodenly to get shot, each performing their cheap fall stunt in turn.)

The mystery doesn't even work. Besides having a lack of suspects for who Vantika could be, the episode's editing actually gives the game away. In the scene where a "mysterious whispering figure" accosts Quark, the voice totally just sounds like Bashir whispering. And when the figure throws Quark, the camera pans unfortunately and actually shows Bashir on screen, for enough frames that you don't even have to pause to recognize him! (This error was much to the disappointment of producer Michael Piller, though there was apparently no way to edit around it.)

Other observations:

• Even Quark is portrayed to respect boundaries more than Bashir in this episode. Quark and Odo have an extended conversation about wanting something (ahem, Dax), but knowing you can't have it. Bashir hasn't learned the second part of that, as shown when he stalked Dax last episode.

• Staff writer Ira Steven Behr spoke negatively of this episode in interviews. He felt this was another story that didn't distinguish itself from what could be done on The Next Generation, noting this could have easily been about Geordi. I find it interesting that his mind went from Bashir, the most romantically "problematic" DS9 character, to Geordi, who the writers saddled with similar romantic hangups.

• While it makes perfect sense that you'd be able to lock the door of Odo's security office, I had a brief mental flash of the creepy stories about Matt Lauer in the moment where Odo had to push a button to let Ty Kajada out of his office.

• I love that Sisko doesn't take chances and just stuns Bashir/Vantika at the end of the episode. It would have been even more potent if he hadn't waited for "Bashir" to claim "wait, it's me!"

• There is some crazy technology on display here, even for Star Trek. First, we have the transporter being used as a miracle cure once again, somehow beaming Vantika's consciousness out of Bashir's brain. Then there's also the fact that since we know the Trek universe has cloning (from just a few episodes ago), that combined with this ability to transfer consciousness basically means they've invented immortality.

• When Ty Kajada shoots the container holding Vantika's consciousness, it's a good thing she doesn't miss. She's got her weapon set to vaporize, and the container is just sitting there on a big computer console.

This episode rates around the bottom of the C- range for me, with the Odo subplot being the element that saves it from falling even lower. It's the weakest episode of Deep Space Nine yet. (Though a famously terrible one is just around the corner.)

Outside: Looking In

Although the Oscar nominations haven't yet been announced (and won't be for some time yet), the race is essentially already on. A number of critics organizations have begun handing out their prizes, the Golden Globes nominations are coming next week, and movie fans are eagerly reading the tea leaves. A few movies are already rising to the top, and some of those are making their way to theaters.

One of those is Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. It's a new effort from writer-director Martin McDonagh, the maker of Seven Psychopaths (which I haven't seen) and In Bruges (which I have; meh). Like Seven Psychopaths, this new film is a large ensemble piece; like In Bruges, it's dramatically taking on some very dark subject matter while leavening the proceedings with a streak of wry comedy.

It's been many months since Mildred Hayes' daughter Angela was brutally raped and murdered, and she thinks the local police haven't been doing enough to find justice. To bring attention to the case, she buys ads on three local billboards, highlighting the brutality of the crime and calling out the police chief by name. She gets more than she bargained for, with not everyone in the town supporting her provocative stance -- particularly since the police chief is dealing with a rapidly advancing form of cancer.

Last year, there was another movie in the Oscar hunt (though in a distant third place) that told the story of a mourning parent unable to cope with the loss of a child. Manchester by the Sea was relentlessly bleak and doggedly one note. In some ways, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri tells the same story without being so rigid. Mildred is trapped in grief and can't find a way out, and you get to really learn why when added context around the loss of her daughter is revealed in the middle of the movie. But this film isn't afraid of having fun along the way.

Neither is the cast. Mildred's grief has only served to sharpen her irreverent, biting wit, and the performance by Frances McDormand never gets locked into one emotional place. She's not dark all the time, though you never lose sight of the fact that her character's humor is usually gallows humor. She's not constantly at loggerheads with the police chief. He really is a sympathetic man, and he really does respect her plight. Woody Harrelson plays the role with humor and dignity of his own, and provides a great look at someone who holds their head high as they face down cancer.

There are plenty of other characters in the mix to bring variety to the story. A rage-driven man-child working in the police force is a vehicle for examining police brutality and racism -- and often in funny ways, believe it or not. The character has enough of a story that you might consider him a co-protagonist in how it unfolds, and he's played wonderfully by Sam Rockwell. Lucas Hedges plays Mildred's surviving son (and he also appeared in Manchester by the Sea, which is perhaps how I made that thematic connection). He's processing grief in his own way, with a jagged brand of teenage angst. John Hawkes plays Mildred's abusive ex-husband, Peter Dinklage plays a sad sack local, and many other recognizable faces pop up in tiny one-scene roles.

One other thing that really elevates this film in my mind above the relentless sorrow of Manchester by the Sea is that there is another message here besides "grief consumes." Layered in the background throughout, and then made explicit in the final act, is the notion that hate only engenders more of the same. It all resolves in a wonderfully ambiguous ending where you have to decide for yourself -- have characters really turned the corner on their lives and changed, or will they fall back into the same patterns they had a chance to snap out of?

I have many Oscar contenders left to see. (And we can't even really say for sure what those even are yet.) But if this season overall stands anywhere near the quality of this movie, I have a good run of movies ahead. I give Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri an A-.

Orientation, Parts 1 and 2

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. has begun its new season, and a new premise, with the two-part episode "Orientation." I'm trying not to read too much into ABC unceremoniously dumping the show on Friday night, the killing field of science fiction television. For years now, the thing that has kept this show on the air has been its so-called "Live+3" ratings, the number of viewers who catch up with the show within three days of its first airing. But I suppose 5 years is a good run for most shows, so I'm beginning the season-long process of preparing for this year to be the show's last.

It certainly starts in a fruitful place. Over the course of the two-parter, we learn that our heroes (minus Fitz) have been transported across both time and space, to an alien station of the far future, orbiting a dead Earth. Someone, yet to be identified, sent the agents there in the hopes they can save the day. But in the concentration camp atmosphere of the alien station, they're hard-pressed to get the revolution started.

The meta-commentary throughout the installment was perhaps the most delicious part of it. There was constant joking on the inevitability of being placed in this situation ("the only thing we haven't done"), the plots of alien/horror movies, and more. With such a dark story, the humor was all the more important, and landed well throughout.

There was also good work done in starting individual story lines for different characters. Simmons has been conscripted into the inner circle of the Kree ruler of the station, and it's already clear that the "pampered life" will have dangers of its own. Daisy has been paired with Deke, a defeated entrepreneur of the future that she'll have to whip into a hero. (She also learned, in the episode's final moments, that she is responsible for the end of the world. If true, she's got a truly incomprehensible amount of guilt to reckon with.) Coulson, Mack, and Yo-Yo are all consigned to a slavery within slavery, caught working for a "middle man" human who has them under his thumb. (Played by one of the creepiest, best "working actors" in the business, Pruitt Taylor Vince.)

There were a few misfires for me. The degree of May's injury conveniently came and went, depending on how much ass she needed to kick. I would have liked to see them play her wounded leg as truthfully as possible; it would be a nice turn for May's character to see her have to work without one of her strongest assets, her ability to beat down enemies with her bare hands. (But I also hope that ship hasn't yet sailed, depending on the time scale in which this season unfolds.)

I also was disappointed at the contrived separation of Fitz and Simmons once again. The writers hung a lantern on how the couple is, as always, cursed, but this obstacle thrown between them feels unnecessary to me. There's already the fallout of the Framework to deal with, and Jemma now being a servant of the Kree. Separating them by time travel is just one more obstacle on top of all that, and actually prevents the thoughtful exploration of the other two obstacles. Perhaps my opinion on this will shift if the story bounces back to the present and gives us an episode showcasing Fitz, but for now I'm just missing his presence of the show.

Overall, though, the episode(s) kicked off a promising arc to come. I'd give the two parts of "Orientation" a B+.

New Dimensions

The Orville has always been a loving homage to Star Trek: The Next Generation. In their most recent episode, they actually did an episode that The Next Generation should have done, but didn't. In a re-tooling between seasons one and two, TNG moved the character of Geordi LaForge from his job at helm to the role of chief engineer. It was a creative decision that definitely helped the character and the show, but came with absolutely no explanation -- how does one even make that job transfer?

The Orville, in an episode centered on LaMarr, showed us exactly that. After Commander Grayson is looking through LaMarr's personnel file and learns he's been hiding extraordinary intelligence, she pushes for him to be promoted to the recently vacated position of chief engineer, which doesn't go over well with Yaphit.

I wonder if there was always a "plan" in place to make this character move with LaMarr, or if the creative team behind The Orville went through the same discovery process as the staff of The Next Generation -- learning that the chief engineer is actually someone you'll want to feature a bunch, so you might as well have that be one of your main characters. It's not the first time The Orville has explored putting a character in charge who feels ill-equipped for the job (they did that with Kitan already). Still, the different character traits made for different stories. Kitan is ambitious and doesn't want to let anyone down. LaMarr wants to fade into the background.

LaMarr's explanation of his background and behavior was quite interesting. The sort of person who doesn't want to speak up in a meeting, doesn't want to come across as pushy, doesn't want to rock the boat, is absolutely a person you see in the real world all the time. Rarely do you see that dramatized on a science-fiction show. And there's extra resonance in giving this story to a person of color, as too often the sort of person this describes is a minority or a woman, someone choosing not to make waves for very strategic (unfortunate) reasons, to safeguard themselves in a professional environment that doesn't recognize their talents. From that standpoint, LaMarr coming out of his shell and into his own fuller potential was a real wish fulfillment story line that felt good to see.

The B story had Mercer questioning his own potential after learning that Grayson pulled strings to get him the captain's chair on the ship. Mercer's whining self-doubt didn't play so great for me, though I did appreciate how this story line was really only possible on this show, with its more "normal" humans. (You'd never see something like it on a Star Trek, of any generation.)

As for the C story that went along with it all, The Next Generation also did a "two-dimensional creatures" episode. This installment of The Orville bore very little resemblance to it, though; besides, the episode made sure to have Mercer explain to us that another source (a 19th-century sci-fi story) was more of an inspiration here. The Tron-meets-Galaga visuals of two-dimensional space seemed perhaps a bit cheesy, but better I think to risk that and show something visually striking rather than have everyone ooing and aahing at something that wasn't that unusual.

Overall, I'd give the episode a B. It was a nice study of LaMarr's character, even if the other elements weren't quite as strong.

Darkness Falls

Though I wouldn't call myself a Stephen King fan as such, I've read a fair number of his books -- enough to know that he generally doesn't "stick the landing" with good endings to his stories. That's part of what makes The Dark Tower series stand out in my mind. I thought it had a strong, memorable ending (and lots of other good elements too), and thus I regard it as my favorite of King's works.

This is why I was disappointed to hear that the recent movie adaptation was no good. Critics dumped on it for being non-sensical, fans dumped on it for straying so far from the books. Yet something made me throw it in the Netflix disc queue anyway to check out if it was as bad as everyone was saying.

At first, I didn't think so. When the short 90 minute movie ended, I thought, "well, that wasn't good, but it wasn't really as bad as everyone was saying." But by an hour later, I was thinking maybe it was. By the next day, I was questioning whether it was actually worse than everyone was saying. This movie has a hell of a half life, and not working in its favor.

The fans are closer to the mark on this one. The Dark Tower (the movie) isn't especially complicated or confusing. It's actually distilled down to the stories most formulaic elements. (Not its most essential elements; many of those were actually excised!) An evil villainous villain wants to destroy the universe, and needs to find a special kid to do it. The special kid is dreaming of the hero who will save him, and soon discovers those dreams are real. Action beats ensue.

So much is cut from the book that it's not even worth detailing. Instead, I have to ask why even bother to adapt material if the adaptation is going to be so faithless to the source? Sure, a 7-book epic was never going to fit into one film, and doing a straight up adaptation of the dull book 1 as movie 1 would not have been the right approach. Still, the movie tampers with everything from removing vital characters to actually changing the motivations of the ones who do appear. Nearly all the things that distinguished the tale get sanded off, leaving a generic fantasy adventure different only in that in partially takes place on Earth.

It's really a shame, because the core cast is pretty good. (Let's not stray beyond the core; no one else gets anything of substance to do.) Idris Elba plays gunslinger hero Roland Deschain, and does a remarkable job of layering a performance in a script that isn't very deep. He buries a long-forgotten nobility beneath a battered and world-weary exterior. He's every inch the hero you want to watch rise to the occasion, and he's thrilling when he does.

Matthew McConaughey is great as the evil Man in Black, Walter. There's a meta level to the performance, as he's quite mannered and restrained much of the time here. Yet we know that's hiding both real-life craziness and craziness that has leaked out on the screen before (ahem, The Wolf of Wall Street). You really do get the sense of a mask obscuring something awful, and when it does crack in moments, the sparks and menace are among the few compelling things about the movie.

Newcomer Tom Taylor plays young Jake Chambers, the kid at the heart of the story. The movie chooses to shift the books' perspective entirely from Roland to Jake, and only the consistency of Taylor's performance keeps me from adding that to the long list of changes that seem like a bad idea. It's pretty boilerplate "kid discovers he has powers" stuff, but the performance isn't lax or bored, it's making the best of what's there.

Three good performances aren't enough to save an otherwise paint-by-numbers snoozefest. Nor are the superficial details like gunplay sometimes substituting for magic, world-hopping back and forth to New York City, and so forth. People who aren't fans of The Dark Tower will wonder what the big deal is. Fans will just be disappointed. I give The Dark Tower a D+. Steer clear.