Thor: Ragnarok (2017), or Thor and the Amazing Technicolor Marvelverse
Earlier today, I had the pleasure of seeing the third installment in Marvel’s Thor series. Directed by Taika Waititi of What We Do in the Shadows fame, Thor: Ragnarok has almost everyone head over heels with delight. And they’ve got good reason to be. Ragnarok is hilarious. From its absurd settings, colorful cast of characters, and heart-wrenching ending, this film is sure to please fans of the MCU and nab a few naysayers along the way.
Movie Review Rant : Catching Fire (2013)
As I write this sentence, Catching Fire (2013), the sequel to The Hunger Games (2012), is encroaching upon the $700mil box office mark. It’s a huge film, and there are a lot of things to love about it. Before I get to my rant/review, here are a couple quick notes: I hadn’t read the book when I saw the movie, so the reactions below will jump back and forth between placing the film in relation to the book and treating the film on its own terms. There are spoilers. Nothing is in any sort of order here. Like my post on Riddick (2013), I’ll cover everything I feel like talking about as they come to me. I’ve discussed some of these things in the Shoot the WISB episode on Catching Fire over at The Skiffy and Fanty Show. The World and POV Shifts In the first film, there were a handful of cuts away from the central action to the characters involved behind the scenes: the gamekeepers, the president, Haymitch, the folks at home, etc. These served to give us a sense of the world in which these games are a centerpiece. The problem with The Hunger Games was its inability to rationalize the system of oppression that made the games possible. There were certainly attempts, but in the end you either had to accept the status quo or give up any possibility of immersion. Catching Fire does a decent job rectifying this problem. For one, it centralizes President Snow as the actual and real villain. In the first film, the Capitol and the other players in the game were all potential villains, but here, Snow is never anything but. From his first interactions with Katniss to the cut scenes showing him planning her torture and eventual defeat, Snow is the adversary the film has always needed: he’s the face of all that is wrong with the Capitol. For me, Snow provided the rationalization for the world that I needed. His interest in oppression is partly about power, but it is also about his own myths about what revolution entails, such that preserving those myths and power structures becomes more important than considering the implications of one’s actions. Snow, as such, continues to exert his authority — a largely dictatorial and malignant one — to preserve the system and to make sure nobody has the means or the will to challenge it. The Hunger Games are simply a means to an end: they’re a reminder of the past and a reminder of the power Snow/the Capitol wields. A lot of the scenes that best express Snow’s justifications for his brutality are in his interactions with his granddaughter, who appears to become entranced by the symbolic rebellion of Katniss. Presumably, she doesn’t understand what is happening in Panem, but the threat is there for Snow nonetheless: if his own family can be turned against him, his ability to maintain order will be permanently compromised. It’s a nice touch, as it would be too easy just to make Snow a vile, disgusting bag of skin, as he appears to be in the books. Here, there are little hints of humanity in play, and so he becomes even more horrifying as a villain the more we realize how human he really is. Likewise, the POV shifts are generally a good thing. They give us an impression of the world, its logic, etc. They also show us things we otherwise don’t get to see in the book, which helps the film avoid the problem of having no viable method to display Katniss’ internal struggles. The problem with these shifts, however, is in their unnecessary ability to trick us as viewers, which I’ll get into in the next section. WANTED: Clues That Logically Lead to X There are two main issues with the structure of the film. The second of these I’ll discuss in the section below on endings; the first I’ll cover here. One of the new central characters is gamekeeper Plutarch Heavensbee (Philip Seymour Hoffman). At the end of Catching Fire, it is revealed to us that he, Haymitch, and several of the tributes have been conspiring to extricate Katniss from the games so she can remain the symbol for the upcoming revolution. But unlike the book, which leaves a great number of clues as to Plutarch’s true allegiances, the film simply discards most of those clues for a shocking reveal. This works in the book for one reason: we’re in Katniss’ head the whole time. But the book gives us plenty of clues. It makes it clear that there’s something fishy going on, even if Katniss hasn’t quite figured it out yet. The shock in the book, as such, is measured by revelation: so that’s what all those clues are about. In the film, most of those clues are gone. For all intents and purposes, we’re supposed to believe Plutarch is just like everyone else in the Capitol, albeit perhaps more macabre than the average flashy Capitol-ite. But almost every scene involving Plutarch doesn’t give us the impression that he’s actually one of the good guys, as he spends most of his time trying to convince President Snow that X method is the best way to destroy Katniss as person and revolutionary image. His ideas are, in retrospect, not terribly good, but they are, in the moment, convincing in their brutality. The shocking reveal, however, doesn’t have the benefit of proper foreshadowing or retrospective revelation, despite a good chunk of the film taking place outside of Katniss’ perspective. And without that benefit, Plutarch’s apparent heroism is incomprehensible as a consequence of the plot, and, thus, neutered. Were we supposed to hate Plutarch in the end as Katniss does, or find something redeemable in him? Thankfully, this issue doesn’t affect the allied tributes. There are enough moments where Finnick and Johanna hint that something else is going on, giving Katniss and the audience a moment to consider what that something might be. If only the
Semi Movie Review: Ironclad (Historical Revisionism of the Worst Sort)
Have you seen Ironclad? It stars Paul Giamatti as King John of England and James Purefoy as Thomas Marshall, a Templar Knight (Purefoy, by the way, seems to have had a role in at least 3/4ths of the medieval-era-ish film productions released in the last 6 or so years, which is impressive). If you haven’t, you’re probably not missing anything you didn’t see in Braveheart. It’s not a bad movie by itself, mind you. A little on the long side at two hours, sure. But as a film, it has a lot going for it. Decent acting, a plot that makes internal sense, and a narrative that balances between all out war (there will be blood!) and the rigors of attrition. If this were set in the mythical kingdom of Genland, with the plot centered on King Hojn’s use of Adnish mercenaries to reclaim his throne from the wicked barons who forced him to sign the Namga Artac, then it would be an interesting movie with lots of parallels to England’s medieval history. But that’s not what this film is about. You see, in this version of history, King John doesn’t successfully take Rochester Castle from an entrenched baronial force. Rather, the French magically show up and he’s forced to trudge out into the marshes of England trailing his treasure (which is mysteriously lost), after which he dies of dysentery. Thus the heroes are saved! Oh merciful heavens our surviving heroes can go on to live their lives in sin! Yes, sin. You know why? Because Thomas Marshall violates his religious codes of conduct as a Knight Templar by not only sleeping with a woman (abstinence!), but with a woman married to another man. This results in said woman explaining how important it is for Thomas to live life. Oh! He must live it by committing a cardinal sin! Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying sex out of wedlock or adultery is evil or even sinful in my mind. But we’re not talking about the world I live in. We’re talking about 13th century England. Now, I don’t want to suggest here that nobody was breaking religious law back then. I’m sure the Knights Templar were quite good and putting their willies where they shouldn’t (according to their religious rules). But we’re told in this story that these vows are supremely important to Thomas. Not just important, but so damned important that he spends the entire movie resisting temptation of one form or another, claiming the moral high ground alongside others with less strict religious rules. And all this is destroyed by a single woman. If any story could make it more clear to us that the serpent of the Bible lives in the loins of the female human, this is the one. But I suppose that’s me reading a lot into a movie within a film tradition in which religious “rules” really only mean a lot when it comes to who you marry and who you behead. The real problem with this movie is that it gets its history so terribly wrong as to be dangerous. Let’s toss aside the fact that somehow our hero has resisted wicked temptation his whole life, the criminal use of modern phrases, and the strange logical gap between the importance of Rochester Castle (it controls everything in London and is ever so crucial to King John’s campaign — this is actually true) and the suspicious absence of anything resembling a defensive force in the castle itself (you can count the number of soldiers/archers/defenders on your hands and feet and still have digits left over). Let’s just talk about the utter failure on the part of Jonathan English (ha!), Erick Kastel, and Stephen McDool to write a story that resembles the actual event. Let’s take, for a moment, the glorious inadequacy of these writers, shall we? The BBC website says the following of the battle Ironclad attempts to depict: King John lay siege to the castle in 1215 and took it after two long months. He finally undermined the south east tower and burned the props with the “fat of forty pigs” causing the tower to collapse. The city was well placed for raids on London and it also enabled them to devastate the lands of Kent, particularly those belonging to Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, who had crowned Rufus and was therefore Odo’s and the rebels’ enemy. Short, but sweet. The English Heritage website adds a few more details: In 1215, garrisoned by rebel barons, the castle endured an epic siege by King John. Having first undermined the outer wall, John used the fat of 40 pigs to fire a mine under the keep, bringing its southern corner crashing down. Even then the defenders held on, until they were eventually starved out after resisting for two months. What’s that? The French didn’t show up and send King John packing at Rochester Castle? Really? You mean our heroes lost by starvation, thus surrendering after an understandably brave months-long fight? The only thing Ironclad gets correct in the above description is that King John used the fat of forty pigs (sappers!) to cause the tower to collapse. But most everything else — the order of events, the players, etc. — falls apart when under simple scrutiny. There’s no city. No cathedral. No indication that anyone actually lives near Rochester Castle, which is unusual when you think about the film’s logic: this is such a strategic point for taking the country, and yet nobody seems to live in the bizarre wasteland around the castle (there’s no farmland either). Not for miles! And we’re given some beautiful shots of England countryside to prove this! Even Wiki-frakking-pedia points out where Ironclad fails miserably: William d’Aubigny commanded the garrison but contemporary chroniclers do not agree on how many men that was. Estimates range from 95 to 140 knights supported by crossbowmen, sergeants, and others.[9] John did take the castle, most of the higher nobles being imprisoned or banished; and the French