My Cultural Diet

Not to be confused with David Fincher or John Woo’s films, Choi Jae-hoon’s The Killer follows a hitman who’s roped into looking after his wife’s friend’s seventeen-year-old daughter. What should be an easy babysitting job turns dark, however, when the young girl gets lured into a sex trafficking ring, and the hitman must use his deadly skills to save her. Oh, and the film is a comedy… sort of. I watched this on Amazon Prime because I wanted a slick-looking action film, and there are, indeed, some very impressive action sequences. With his wardrobe, impeccable hair, and droll demeanor (which occasionally recalls “Beat” Takeshi Kitano), Jang Hyuk looks cooler than cool mowing down thugs, pimps, and other ne’er-do-wells. I just wish he was in a better film. In one scene, one of The Killer’s characters references Lee Jeong-beom’s The Man from Nowhere, arguably the best “deadly man protecting a young girl” movie ever made. I’m unsure if Choi Jae-hoon intended The Killer to be a parody of The Man from Nowhere or an attempt to create a similarly hard-boiled film, and that ambiguity is frustrating. In the end, The Killer’s tonal shifts and various implausibilities prove to be just a bit too much.

Back in 2009, Michael Jai White wrote and starred in Black Dynamite, an homage/parody to blaxploitation flicks like Black Belt Jones. Though uneven in places, Black Dynamite worked because it leaned hard into nostalgic campiness. I wish Outlaw Johnny Black, White’s homage/parody to spaghetti westerns, had done the same. But Django Unchained and Blazing Saddles this most definitely ain’t. Sure, I laughed several times, and the titular protagonist’s Gospel awakening was an interesting angle, but Outlaw Johnny Black is mostly a squandered opportunity due to its meandering storyline (which isn’t helped by its 2+ hour runtime) and aforementioned dearth of camp. (The shoddy special effects don’t count.) And for all of its racial humor and commentary (e.g., poking fun at Hollywood’s legacy of using non-indigenous actors for Native American roles), the film’s surprisingly toothless. This was clearly a passion project for White, and I’m sure the cast and crew had fun making it, but in this case, none of that resulted in a very good film.

Although I watched a few episodes of the cartoon series back in the ’90s, I don’t have any real strong attachment to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I mainly watched Mutant Mayhem out of curiosity over its style of animation. There are bound to be comparisons to the Spider-Verse movies, but Mutant Mayhem’s style, though technically impressive in places, feels more unpolished and juvenile, as befitting the characters and subject matter. Between Mutant Mayhem, the Spider-Verse films, and Netflix’s Arcane, we’re entering a really cool new era that bridges the gap between traditional and CG animation, though I prefer those other two titles.

In keeping with the spirit of the spooky season, we watched this for a family movie night. It’s probably been 20+ years since I last watched The Sixth Sense, but it still held up quite well despite knowing the twist and all of the ways in which said twist is foreshadowed. (Indeed, a lot of the fun of watching the movie this time around was seeing my kids as the truth dawned on them. It was also fun exploring the film’s various clues in hindsight.) Much of that’s due to Haley Joel Osment’s central performance, which is just remarkable at times in both its honesty and emotion; the film simply would not work without it. Meanwhile, Bruce Willis turns in a wonderfully subdued performance. The Sixth Sense certainly lays on the melodrama and earnestness more thickly than the scares — which are still plenty effective — but thanks to the aforementioned performances, M. Night Shyamalan’s assured direction, and some excellent production design, it more than earns its emotional payoff.

After a man discovers that his iMac and the TV in his café are caught in a time loop, and thus display events from two minutes in the future and the past (respectively), his friends quickly figure out how to use that to their advantage. But as their temporal shenanigans grow increasingly convoluted, they risk running afoul of some local yakuza and possibly destabilizing the entire space-time continuum. I’m not sure how coherent its temporal logic is when compared to, say, Primer, but it’s hard not to admire Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes for its scrappy, low-budget spirit (the film was shot using smartphones and Tamagotchi-sized cameras) and intricate construction, as seen during the end credits. Clocking in at 70 minutes and presented as a single take, Junta Yamaguchi’s film doesn’t wear out its welcome. Indeed, you’ll probably spend much longer afterwards trying to figure out how Yamaguchi and his collaborators put it all together, and in just a week, no less.

It’s probably been fifteen years since I last watched Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg’s hilarious ode to zombie films — and romantic comedies. (Read my original review from 2004.) Wright’s “RomZomCom” stars Pegg as the titular Shaun, a hapless slacker who isn’t going anywhere in life or love. Until, that is, the zombie apocalypse forces him to step up and become a hero. Time has been quite kind to Shaun of the Dead. Although it’s filled with the sort of frenetic editing that typified ’00s cinema, Shaun of the Dead has enough wit and cleverness for a dozen films, horror or otherwise. What’s more, Pegg and co-star Nick Frost — who plays Shaun’s even slackier best friend Ed — have the sort of easy onscreen chemistry that’s only found in the very best comedic duos. (I was fortunate enough to see this on the big screen via The Ross Theater’s first annual Fright Fest.)

My son calls Mad Max: Fury Road the craziest, weirdest movie he’s ever seen. Granted, he’s only 15, but he’s not necessarily wrong. Mad Max: Fury Road is completely over-the-top in almost every way possible, from the extremely dystopian setting to the outrageous characters to the jaw-dropping and immaculately choreographed action sequences. (Once again, I have to ask: How did nobody die during the making of this movie?) Also, I can’t get over how beautiful it all looks. The deeply saturated desert setting (most of the film was shot in Namibia’s Dorob National Park) is virtually a character itself, but even the countless explosions and car crashes are next-level eye candy that director George Miller injects directly into your brain’s visual cortex. That said, the film’s real trick is that, all mind-blowing visuals aside, its story still hits hard on a primal level, be it Max’s slow return to humanity, Furiosa’s determination, or Nux’s redemption. All in all, just a modern marvel of a film.

On paper, mixing Batman and H.P. Lovecraft seems like a total no-brainer. And if you set it in the 1920s, and feature the Caped Crusader battling ancient cults and supernatural foes with era-appropriate Bat-gadgets, then so much the better. Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham — which is based on a comic miniseries from the early ’00s — has all of that. Unfortunately, however, it also tries to cram way too much into its 90 minutes, from the never-ending parade of Batman friends and foes (some of whom appear as alternate versions of themselves) to the convoluted retconning of Gotham City’s history to the overwrought dialog filled with old time-y phrases and oodles of Lovecraft references. And that’s to say nothing of the increasingly bizarre final act, which keeps throwing things at you (e.g., body horror, occult magick, more body horror) until it all just kind of falls apart. Note: If you want to watch a supernatural take on Batman, then you may be better served by 2017’s Justice League Dark.

When I first saw it in theaters back in 2007, I thought The Bourne Ultimatum was easily the best of the original Bourne trilogy. Sixteen(!) years later, it’s still a solid action thriller, with Jason Bourne dead set on destroying the government conspiracy that turned him into a cold-blooded killer even as he wrestles with his own complicity in the matter. But having just watched The Bourne Supremacy, Ultimatum doesn’t have quite the same energy and urgency as its predecessor. That, and Paul Greengrass’ trademark shaky cam footage doesn’t work quite so well here. Having said that, the film’s stuntwork — be it the climactic car chase through New York streets or Bourne racing across the Tangier rooftops and crashing through a window to battle a rival assassin — is never not thrilling.

My daughter recently told me that she finally wanted to watch her first scary movie, and specifically, a scary movie with ghosts in it. After offering her several possible titles, she decided on Coraline because, and I quote, “I want to work my way up to a really scary movie.” Of course, Coraline — based on Neil Gaiman’s beloved 2002 novella — is still plenty spooky in parts as it follows a young girl who ends up in a parallel world inhabited by her “other mother,” a button-eyed woman who seems like the perfect mom until her true nature is revealed. Coraline is a feast for the eyes thanks to Henry Selick’s direction and the brilliant and extremely detailed stop-motion animation, which brings the movie’s strange world — and even stranger characters — to life. As for my daughter, she loved it, which is probably the highest recommendation I can give it.

My son’s Christopher Nolan phase continues with this sci-fi/action/thriller from 2010 that gave us a famous Hans Zimmer sound effect, a couple of Leonardo DiCaprio memes, and the most famous spinning top in movie history. (OK, maybe that’s a little snarky.) My son loved Inception and found it pretty mind-blowing but I’m sad to say I found it a bit… underwhelming after all these years. There’s no denying its technical brilliance — it totally deserved that “Best Visual Effects” Oscar — but the storyline’s sense of ambition robs it of a lot of humanity. I appreciate and admire Inception for its technical brilliance — the hallway sequence with Joseph Gordon-Levitt is never not awesome — but as a narrative, it’s far more concerned with mind-bending ideas at the expense of everything else. Tenet does a much better job, I think, of managing ambitious high-concept storytelling with human emotion, due in large part to the relationship between John David Washington and Robert Pattinson.

Paul Greengrass took over from Doug Liman for the second Bourne movie and famously implemented his patented blend of hand-held shaky cam footage and hyper-kinetic editing. It’s become a point of criticism these days, even self-parody. That’s especially true during the fight scenes, which cut on every single hit or kick to become a barely intelligible blur of fists, feet, and faces. At the time, however, Greengrass’ style felt raw and dynamic, with a sense of immediacy lacking in a lot of action films. Watching it now, there were moments where it was a bit headache-inducing. But I was also struck by how legible it could be (Greengrass is no hack), and how the aesthetic — which basically bombards the audience with flashes of information (e.g., a random photo, a street sign, a glimpse of someone’s face) — would almost certainly be how someone as highly trained and skilled as Jason Bourne would see the world. What’s more, it’s nice to see a movie about a government assassin who not only expresses regret for his past actions, but actually apologizes to his victims. (Though it would’ve been nice if he’d also given them the number of a good therapist.)

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is worth watching for Antonio Banderas’ voice acting alone. The man deserves a “Lifetime Achievement” award or two just for how he says the titular character’s name every. Single. Time. So why not a higher rating? Well, to be honest, I didn’t find the film all that funny. I chuckled here and there, and as you can guess, I thoroughly enjoyed Banderas’ voice acting. (Actually, all of the voice actors, including Salma Hayek, Florence Pugh, and John Mulaney, did well.) But I think I went into this film expecting more belly laughs. As for the film’s deeper themes (e.g., the importance of family, the temptations of fame, confronting one’s mortality), I thought they were all handled decently; there was nothing I disagreed with. But it also felt so… obvious and anodyne. You might think I’m asking too much from a film set in the Shrek Cinematic Universe, but Puss in Boots: The Last Wish held little-to-no surprise. It’s a fine family film elevated solely by Banderas’ velvety tones.

My oldest is going through a Christopher Nolan phase, so naturally we watched Tenet, which might be my favorite Nolan film. There’s no doubt that Nolan’s films aim for the cerebral (which garners them all sorts of snark and criticism), and with its convoluted plot filled with “temporal pincer movements” and discussions of free will and temporal paradoxes, Tenet might be his most cerebrally oriented film to date. But it contains some surprisingly human moments as well, be it the burgeoning friendship between John David Washington’s Protagonist and Robert Pattinson’s charming Neil (which is explored in a thoughtful article by my friend Alisa), or the Protagonist’s concern for a beleaguered woman. Plus, its convoluted plot means that I notice new details with each new viewing, which helps to flesh out the movie even more. I’m still not sure how well Tenet holds together logically (even after reading super-nerdy timeline breakdowns), but the characters’ actions and reactions sell it for me, and its relentless pace means I’m never not engaged. (And call me a fanboy, but I trust in Nolan’s meticulous attention to detail.) In the end, I guess I’m just a sucker for espionage-y stories about people who suddenly find themselves in a “twilight world” fighting a secret war unseen by the rest of the world.

It’s hard to believe that The Bourne Identity came out more than twenty years ago; that was before my wife and I even knew each other. Matt Damon looks like a baby here, but more importantly, I was often fixated by the film’s wintry cinematography — particularly when Damon’s Bourne tracks down a rival assassin in an open, snow-covered field. I wouldn’t describe the film’s cinematography as anything special but it does possess a distinctive look that stands out against the look of today’s shot-on-digital material. It looks dated in a surprisingly pleasant way, is what I’m trying to say. The Bourne Identity has plenty of action, as befitting a film about an amnesiac government assassin, but I appreciate how it occasionally slows down and shows off Bourne’s patience and methodical nature or throws out little clues to his training and abilities (like being able to determine the best escape route just by glancing at a map). Of course, the subsequent Bourne movies directed by Paul Greengrass built on what’s shown here in remarkable fashion, and I’m excited to watch them again after so long.

I know this is the Barbie movie, but at the risk of sounding patriarchal, can I talk about Ken for a moment? Played by Ryan Gosling with a blend of petulance, naïveté, himbo energy, and even heartache, he’s the perfect foil for Margot Robbie’s Barbie. He’s an incel with rock-hard abs, a bro so desperate for love, attention, and identity that he ends up threatening everything he claims to love. And by making him more than just a paper-thin strawman — by making his desire for patriarchy (and horses) somewhat understandable — Barbie becomes more than just a movie about a beloved childhood toy. (After all, a good heroine needs a good villain.) I was constantly fascinated by the Barbie/Ken dynamic, and I loved how the movie resolved it all. Watching Barbie, I had an experience similar to that of watching Everything Everywhere All at Once, that is, the distinct feeling that I was not the movie’s primary audience, not even close. To be sure, I found Barbie funny and even moving at times, but I know that scenes like America Ferrera’s powerful monologue hit my wife and all of the other women in the audience on a much deeper level — which is as it should be. I was glad to be there along for the ride. And to be clear, I’m thankful that the prospects of a sequel aren’t that great right now even as I hate the idea of a Mattel Cinematic Universe. Barbie should be allowed to be its own, singular thing.

While DC’s live-action superhero titles have left me rather underwhelmed — sorry, Synder Cut fans — I’ve really enjoyed their animated titles over the years. (Justice League Unlimited is currently streaming on Netflix; go watch it!) Constantine: The House of Mystery takes place immediately after the events of 2020’s excellent Justice League Dark: Apokolips War, and finds everyone’s favorite cynical occultist trapped in the titular House as punishment for meddling with the universe. I appreciated the fact that, despite its short runtime, Constantine: The House of Mystery takes its time setting things up (with bloody and darkly humorous results). On the flip side, the short runtime means that the resolution, as well as Constantine’s final realization concerning his bastard self, feels rather perfunctory. Ultimately, Constantine: The House of Mystery is not required viewing, but it does feel like a nice little bonus for Hellblazer fans with its spin on Constantine’s conflict with the Lords of Hell.

My wife recently listened to a podcast episode of Dolly Parton talking about 9 to 5 and its memorable theme song — you’re probably singing the chorus to yourself right now, aren’t you? — and so we decided to give this 1980 screwball comedy a chance. Starring Parton, Jane Fonda, and Lily Tomlin as a trio of women who’ve finally had enough of their sexist boss (Dabney Coleman, who you love to hate in this movie) and decide to put him in his place, 9 to 5 may be dated in a few places. (It is over 40 years old, after all.) But it also feels surprisingly current and relevant in this, the Year of our Lord 2023 — which is kind of sad when you think about it. Of course, being a comedy that gets a bit absurd at times, 9 to 5 doesn’t delve too deeply into matters of sexism, feminism, workers’ rights, capitalism, etc. But the issues that it raises still face us today, and some of the changes the women make to their office while their boss is indisposed (e.g., equal pay, flexible hours, childcare) still feel revolutionary and progressive today — which is also kind of sad when you think about it. Also, I can’t help wondering what a modern version of 9 to 5 would look like, were it made now in a post-COVID, post-MeToo world. Chances are, it wouldn’t be nearly as charming, not without Parton’s whimsy, Fonda’s demureness (her line about M&M’s is comedy gold), and Tomlin’s snark.

As I left the theater, I wasn’t sure I liked Oppenheimer at all. It’s technically impressive, but what else would you expect from Christopher Nolan? It’s helpful, though, to realize that Oppenheimer is as much about J. Robert Oppenheimer’s public fall and political disgrace as it is about the atomic bomb, if not more so. Which might explain why the actual Trinity test, which the first two-thirds of the film inexorably builds up to, feels surprisingly anticlimactic, especially when compared to the surreal visions that often plague Oppenheimer. Nolan’s film walks a fine line between lionizing Oppenheimer’s brilliance and ambition and excoriating his pride and moral failings, and I’m not sure it does so successfully. Subtlety isn’t Nolan’s strong point, and so he reminds you — over and over — that Oppenheimer was complicated; he inspired scientists around the world and oversaw one of humanity’s most ambitious projects even as he failed his wife and children. It’s a bit of a mess, frankly, on this first viewing, and Nolan’s exposition-heavy dialog doesn’t help. That said, Nolan’s films are often growers (e.g., Tenet), so I wouldn’t surprised if I become more appreciative after repeated viewings. Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Matt Damon’s standout performance as Leslie Groves, the general in charge of the Manhattan Project. Damon stands out amidst the film’s packed cast, and his scenes with Cillian Murphy’s Oppenheimer crackle with an energy that’s sorely lacking elsewhere.

First, there was 2016’s Shin Godzilla, followed by 2022’s Shin Ultraman. And now with Shin Kamen Rider, Hideaki Anno completes his trilogy of rebooting his childhood favorites. Like Shin Ultraman, Shin Kamen Rider can feel like a tokusatsu parody, albeit by someone who clearly loves the genre. However, Shin Kamen Rider relies on the viewer being familiar with the original franchise to a much greater degree than the other Shin films — and I have very little knowledge of Kamen Rider. Thus, the film felt very abrupt, like it assumed I already knew what was going on and didn’t need to explain itself. (Which sort of makes sense, since it’s remaking the original 1971 Kamen Rider series.) Obviously, your mileage may vary, and if longtime Kamen Rider fans pick up on easter eggs or find themselves laughing knowingly at certain scenes, poses (oh man, are there so many poses), or lines of dialog, then more power to them. I did enjoy the movie’s action, which employed CGI, animation, and more gymnastics than a Summer Olympics. The campiness and over-the-top-ness alike were nice rejoinders to the superhero action we see via the MCU and DCEU (and a lot gorier than I was expecting). This being an Hideaki Anno property, it’s hard not to look for Evangelion-isms, and indeed, the conspiracy our masked hero must fight against had shades of Human Instrumentality, but Shin Kamen Rider isn’t nearly so grim and apocalyptic. And weirdly, the ending reminded me, of all things, of Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse.