Mini Film Review: Hail Caesar

Like many other complex systems, filmmaking is made of many parts: directors, camerapeople, PA's, catering, makeup, wardrobe, actors, writers, etc. Each and every component is needed in order to make a film a reality is explored in the Coen Brothers' HAIL CAESAR, the chronicle of a day-in-the-life of studio "fixer" Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin). Through his perspective we are taken on a guided tour of the annals of the Hollywood system, a la old Hollywood in the 40's. 

One complaint some have put upon the film is that the multitude of strong performances are often too brief, contributing to the sense that the film fades from memory once over. I'm inclined to respectfully disagree. It's that very brevity that lines up with the theme of filmmaking being many parts working in unison. Ultimately, both in structure and theme, the film is a mystery exploring the dynamics of the myriad relationships within filmmaking, as well as the way people navigate the more unsavory aspects. Ultimately, Mannix is the personification of "suffering for the art" as he navigates the peaks and valleys of the industry, as he does what he does for the sake of cinema.

Brolin's natural mixture of hardiness and warmth add weight to the moments Mannix struggles to make sure the titular film, HAIL CAESAR, gets made, while also balances his work life with his curiously wholesome home life (his remarkably empathetic wife is played by a fantastic Allison Pill). Added to this is a temptation via Boeing for a lucrative job that may ultimately prove unfulfilling for a man like Mannix, a man who takes time to stop in to see early cuts of the films in production at various points throughout the film. He loves movies. He loves filmmaking. For all it's good and bad, it's where his heart lies, and one could ass8ume this could ultimately be said of the Coens.

Mini Film Review: Nerve

Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost's Nerve is a morality play with much higher aspirations than most. Adapted by Jessica Sharzer from the novel of the same name, by Jeanne Ryan, Nerve takes some of the conventions of modern social media and frames them in a way that is both thoughtful but incredibly accessible. This thoughtfulness is spent following Vee (Emma Roberts), a high school senior who is deep in her shell. Thanks to some provocation and embarrassment by her friend, Sydney (Emily Meade), Vee finds herself impulsively signing up to play NERVE, a sort of digital truth-or-dare. In the course of playing this, she meets Ian (Dave Franco), a motorcycle-riding Casanova with a mysterious past. Together, the two embark on increasingly dangerous dares, all the while getting to the dark heart of the game. 

It would have been incredibly easy to make this movie a paint-by-numbers, lowest-common-denominator piece of cinema. To be fair, it comes a little close to that. Thankfully, it manages to hew just of bland into pure transcendent schlock. The city of New York is painted in neons and broad splotches of color, which pop out during the tightly cut action sequences. There are all the physical artifacts of internet and social media on the literal edges, many scenes being seen through a computer screen or a cell phone. The corners of the app for NERVE has displays for comments and how many viewers each player has. Each of these elements works to further ground this movie into our world. Even more, as the film progresses, we see how different people respond to the game, mirroring our own experiences online. 

Anonymity, and the distance of the internet, can make us far more monstrous online than we are in person. Nerve sets out to, through the guise of an of-the-moment thriller, explore that capacity for ugliness we have within us. The only slight I really have is that it pulls its punches at the end, where it expands out into a Hunger Games-esque kind of dystopian vision. A plan is set into motion, and while its end result is fulfilling, a large part of me wanted it to be a bit uglier and to go much further than it did. At the end of the day, this is a remarkably sharp, incredibly competent film that manages to be deeply of-the-now while not talking down to the, likely, young audience. 

A Few Thoughts on "Taking a Film for What It Is"

On the recently raised subject of "taking a film for what it is", I often wonder how those who say such a thing think about films. How do they examine them after the fact, thinking back on what they saw? In the process of exploring this, I usually have the following series of thoughts:

• What are [INSERT FILM]'s themes?
• How does it go about exploring those themes?
• Did they consider the fact that movies even have themes?
• What do they think "taking a film seriously" looks like?
• Do they think "taking a film seriously" resembles a bunch of stuffy, turtleneck-wearing intellectuals with notepads writing endlessly verbose screeds against some populist piece of media?
• Do they think it is a focus only on the technical aspects of a film and not on the emotional impact?
• Are they not aware of the fact that it's possible to focus on both aspects?
• Are they also not aware of the fact that, in the act of watching a film, they are doing that very thing?
• Are they unaware of the fact that those technical aspects actively affect the emotional impact the film has upon them?
• Are they able to even identify those technical elements?
• What do they think having "a good time" at the cinema looks like?
• Are they aware of the fact that the majority of critics become critics because they love movies so much and want to talk about them and champion them?

I am aware of the fact that this may have come off as a bit elitist, but these are important questions to ask or consider when you watch a movie. I don't want to seem as though I'm telling anyone the "right" way to watch movies, but when someone says that they "take the film for what it is" I'm inclined to wonder how they got to the conclusion of "what the film is."

Nathan Drake's Ludonarrative Nightmare

Here's a question I had after completing my trek through Naughty Dog's Uncharted 2: Who is Nathan Drake? I don't mean in general, as the "back-of-the-box" description would say he a roguish sort who explores ancient locales in order to recover rare artifacts or treasures for sale. What I mean is the deeper tissue aspects of who he is, particularly as to how that intersects with the actual gameplay. Having gone through a couple of the Uncharted games, I can say that this seems to feel like a reoccurring problem, one where the actual moments of player agency seem tonally at odds with the more traditional narrative moments (cutscenes, cinematics, etc.).

For example, there are many moments where two characters will exchange a series of quips and expository dialogue much more in line with something Indiana Jones would say, then engage in an armed conflict with a dozen or so enemies at a time. Nathan Drake doesn't just shoot back, he annihilates these people in a variety of ways: grenades, automatic gunfire, snapped necks, throwing them off of cliffs, and much more. Dialogue-wise, it hews much more to Indy, but it's more towards the film Commando with regards to gameplay.

All of that is really indicative of the fact that the Uncharted franchise wants you to feel as though they've dropped you in a summer blockbuster film, much like the Call of Duty franchise has done for the past few years. I don't see that motivation as a negative, yet I'm inclined to have an issue with the execution. Let it be known that I actually had a very good time with Uncharted 2, and thought that what character was there was charming, as well as finding some moments genuinely exciting. Even so, it's those tonal inconsistencies that cast a shadow over the whole of the game.

A name has been given to this specific fault: Ludonarrative Dissonance. It's when the moments of player agency (gameplay) fail to align to the tone of the more traditional narrative moments (cutscenes). Take, for example, the game Grand Theft Auto 5. If I was playing as the character Franklyn and I randomly mowed down a group of people walking down the street, that would be out of character with that we're given of who he is. Yet, I can do so and wait long enough for police to leave me be, then it's as though I never did anything. It seems that so much of the game is catered around empowering the player to do what they want in gameplay, that it shoots itself in the foot narratively and dramatically. If I'm to be more honest, most games have this problem.

What's a person to do? On the one hand, in the moment, it feels pretty good to be able to defeat hundreds of folks shooting at you and then to have your character spout some witty one-liner. On the other hand, when it doesn't fit that character's characterization it brings everything down a bit. It almost makes me wonder if the whole of game development has been mostly focused towards indulging the player's desires for empowerment. That would explain why so many games focus on making you feel as powerful as possible. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, but it happens so much that it's no wonder that there are still so many who see the medium as immature.

That being said, I think there are some good examples out there. One such game is actually made by the same developers of Uncharted 2: The Last of Us. It's a critical darling that takes place in a post-apocalyptic United States overrun by a plague of the undead. In this game, the player is brought into the desperate mindset of the protagonists, Joel and Ellie, via the cinematic affectations of the cutscenes as well as through the gameplay. That level of tonal and emotional unity is achieved by forcing the player to make a series of difficult choices. Say you want to make some sort of gun with the parts you've scrapped. Well, sorry, but to do that you have to use a resource that may be needed to make certain traps that are useful against particular enemies. Even more, the game goes on as you're in this menu, meaning that you can be ambushed whilst trying to craft a new tool. It forces one to think critically about what you need, while also being on the lookout for danger, much like what Joel and Ellie have to do. Even more, Joel isn't a killing machine. It takes time to make it past a group and often may require you to play it quietly with stealth. Through this, there is a strengthened backbone behind its themes of desperation and the limits of empathy.

Does that all mean that I think the Uncharted series would have been better with less gunplay and more of a focus on self-preservation? Maybe, especially considering the fact that Nathan Drake is essentially Indiana Jones. What if the best way to play was finding a way to not engage in combat with the various, elite, bloodthirsty mercenaries and to make it past them? What if Nathan could use his copious wits to figure out a way through this? Sure, he could still engage in some gunplay, but the player really would have to work for it. Maybe my tastes don't totally align with Uncharted's bigger audience, but popularity is not indicative of quality. Sure, the Uncharted franchise is fun, but that doesn't mean that the storytelling has to aspire to be merely good.

Mini Movie Review: RIDE ALONG 2

There's a moment at the end of Ride Along 2 where Oliva Munn's character, Detective Maya Cruz, is staring at Ice Cube and Kevin Hart (as James Payton and Ben Barber, respectively) as they argue over who's going to drive the brand new sports car they just acquired. She shows an interesting procession of emotions on her face as this transpires: humor, bewilderment, concern, and then a settled-upon sense of mediocrity. That pretty much sums up my take on this film, one of some minor entertainment that is largely devoid of value.

For what it's worth, Tim Story does direct some clear looking action sequences with a solid sense of geography. That has value. Unfortunately, the rest of the film is on on-par with a mid-level, 80's to 90's era, direct-to-tv cop drama. That's a shame, considering the fact that both Ice Cube and Kevin Hart are capable of more (I mean, Ice Cube was in 21/22 Jump Street, both of which are clever riffs off of those same direct-to-tv cop dramas).

That being said, I think there are interesting things within the film. Hart's character has the arc of the baffoon who seeks to prove himself, with Cube's James Payton slowly recognizing that Barber has some value, despite his foolishness. With this is an interesting juxtaposition of Hart's somewhat non-traditional masculinity and Cube's hyper-gruff version, almost as though it's saying there's room for both. Even more, part of me wanted to see this near-savant side explored a bit more, but it's too often disregarded for more overstated gags.

It comes down to a mismanagement of resources, or at the very least it feels that way. Hart does what he often does, which is to be far too much for what's needed of him. Jokes stretch on too long and continuously depreciate in value. Those interesting thematic elements are rarely explored. Everything is mostly painted in broad brushes. All of the more intriguing elements are buried under all of this. Mediocrity, thy name is Ride Along 2.  

Video Game Review: Guacamelee

One lesson that I wish more modern video game developers would learn (especially those who design "retro" styled games) is the value of efficiency of game design. By that, I mean containing only as much as you need to get your point across as well as you can. These games tend to look back and emulate the good of what came before, while also finding elements of the present to amplify those things. A few games that come to mind that fit this description include Shovel Knight, Undertale, Random Access Memories, Wolfenstein: The New Order, and Dark Souls. To that same list, we can now add Guacamelee, and what an entry it is.

Guacamelee puts us in the shoes of a burly farmer named Juan Aguacate who grows agave in his small, Mexican village. His humble life is torn asunder with both the return, and subsequent kidnapping, of the daughter of the president by the undead charro skeleton Carlos Calaca. To make things worse, Calaca then kills Juan, which sends him to the underworld. It's there that he meets an undead, female luchador, Tostada, that gifts him with a mask that changes him into a powerful luchador and sends him back to the land of the living. This places Juan in the position of being the only person powerful enough to take on Calaca before he sacrifices the president's daughter in an ancient ritual in order to ascend to godhood.

DrinkBox Studios was gracious enough to give Juan a wide array of abilities to achieve this task, and all of them arranged around dealing out as much pain as possible to the hordes of undead minions Calaca puts in his path. Combat is most similar to what one would find in beat-em-ups like God of War, or even Double Dragon. A series of combos can be done in succession, leading to a throw that sends enemies in whichever direction you choose. These throws, a few other moves, and a variety of upgrades to Juan's stats can be purchased from the myriad checkpoints (in the shape of ofrendas, no less) dotting the world. As far as navigation is concerned, Juan can leap with the best of them, lending to comparisons to the joyful jumps of the Mario Bros. franchise.

Let's talk about the luchador-loving world of Guacamelee for a moment, shall we? DrinkBox Studios crafted a world exploding with personality that is at once gorgeous, yet adorable. There are a number of opportunities for exploration of the various jungles, temples, fishing villages, and deserts. Even more, these opportunities often reward you, resulting in next to no moments of disappointment from going off the beaten path. A big part of this world are actually the people living in it, as speaking to them can yield new opportunities for exploration and upgrades, as well as subtle ways of fleshing out background bits of the narrative.

The majority of the game is based around the Dia de Muertos, or Day of the Dead. as everything Juan does is related to it in some way. His entire quest is to keep Carlos Calaca from causing disharmony between the lands of the living and dead, and requires him to pay heed to both groups. In essence, this game makes literal the symbolism of Dia de Muertos. The player, along with Juan, goes through the act of actively working with the living and dead, sometimes going in-between the two worlds in order to bring closure to people in both.

At its core, Guacamelee is a distillation of the various cultural influences present in Mexico, whether in the ancient, Aztec-like temples that lay in the jungles (many of which contain Super Metroid-like upgrades in "Choozo" statues shaped vaguely like ancient deities), or the villages with a variety of churches, restaurants, and gyms for luchador training. Even the monsters are seemingly inspired by the art of native Mexican peoples, and not once does it seem to be mindlessly appropriating any of the iconography. In essence, it's outstandingly competent on all accounts, and that just at the least.  

What's Appropriate?

As I learn more about cultural appropriation, the thing I realize is that if one is going to apply it, one should go all the way with their application. That's to say that if you are tangentially related to the people an act is being appropriated from, but aren't actually from that culture, you may be culturally appropriating their work if you do it. Here's a few thought experiments I've run on it.

So, let's take an easy scenario. Let's say there's a very specific Native American tribe that has a very specific kind of headdress for very specific purposes. Now, let's say some outside person sees this headdress, likes the aesthetics of it, then proceeds to imitate it and sell the imitations to a bunch of people. Is that cultural appropriation? I'd say so. Now, what if the person wasn't from the outside, but from that very tribe? What if this person took their very people's religious imagery and sold it to the masses? Is this cultural appropriation? Are they making many other people complicit in cultural appropriation?

This can get even more complicated. Imagine we have a person whose great-grandparents came from a very specific village from somewhere in the South Pacific. Now, this very specific village has very specific customs and dress. If this particular person, who has been 100% enveloped into the culture of the United States and had no desire to better learn about their great-grandparent's culture, were to wear around that particular culture's dress not as a nod to that culture, but just because they thought they looked good, would that be cultural appropriation? I'm thinking yes, but mainly due to the fact that the person has nothing to do with that culture, even though they are of the same ethnicity. It's that cultural specificity that makes the difference, it seems.

So, let's take this to a...controversial real-world example. Let's take twerking. It's origins as a dance are a bit uncertain. Some believe it may be derived from the Mapouka, a traditional dance from the Dabou area of the southeast region of Cote d'lvoire that originated with the Alladian, Aizi, and Avikam people. Some also call it the "dance of the behind." It's mostly performed by women who stand facing away from the audience while shaking their behinds, sometimes while bent over. It should be noted that in its origin the dance was not sexual in nature, but the newer version has drawn some controversy. It's this modern version that is most closely related to twerking, and was even rendered as lewd from some time by the Ivorian government from the 1980's up until the year 2000. Even so, this version spread throughout countries along coastal West Africa. Some other people attribute it to a dance called The Bump. This was mostly done in the 1970's, as possibly popularized by by a guy named Johnny Spruce. In this dance, the dancers would bump hips on every other beat of the music. The dance progressed over the years and people started bumping hips to butts, bumping and bending over, and so on. There's even some that suggest that the term was originated in New Orleans with the rise of bounce music. At any rate, since the 1990's, the dance found its way into hip hop, and then the world. It even entered the Oxford dictionary, which claims that the word has been around for nearly 20 years.

So, now that we have some background info out of the way, let's get to the thought experiment. We know that it's origins may most likely be African in nature, and from a very specific place there. So, if a person in the United States does this dance, having absolutely no relation to its African origins, is that cultural appropriation? Let's go a step further. If a black person who lives in the United States, who has never been to this part of Africa, does this dance is it cultural appropriation? In both cases, the cultures of the latest people dancing to it are completely removed from their original context. What if the person doing the dance is descended directly from people from that region, but never traveled there and grew up totally immersed in the culture of the United States? I'm gonna still go with yes. Again, cultural specificity matters.

What's really important to consider in all of this is the power of globalization. Ideas and customs spread so quickly thanks to the internet that it's difficult to keep practices and beliefs contained to where they originated. This ultimately creates an environment where a culture's religious clothing or traditions can be somewhat co-opted by another, more affluent, culture. The new iteration becomes completely devoid of the original's intent, thus serving as a bastardized version. The thing is, much of our culture is made of aspects and influences of other cultures. Just look at some of the words that we say, like gumbo (Bantu, Africa), bacon (Germanic), jungle (Hindi or Urdu), or julep (Arabic). Many of the words we consider as being English are from other countries and cultures. Are we all subject to appropriation? Can OUR culture be appropriated?

To be honest, I don't know the answer to that. This is, as you've seen, a pretty complicated subject. It's a discussion that's being had online more and more, so more are becoming aware of it. With that, I think it's important to consider what we do and how we do it. That being said, 50 years from now, whole cultures may be absorbed in to less homogenized societies. Given that the United States is a country of many different cultures, with states sometimes seeming like completely separate countries that interact with each other, I'd imagine that it'd be difficult to keep different cultures from mixing in. At that, I suppose the best we can do is attempt to be as respectful as we can to what people believe and practice. All the same, this is an issue that may not be leaving any time soon