Noboru Ishiguro’s Megazone 23 is one of those anime titles that I’ve always heard about but had never actually seen, a long-time classic that was used to create aspects of the American Robotech franchise. A massive hit upon its release in 1985, Megazone 23 is certainly dated. Nevertheless, I found its storyline pretty ambitious. After young Shogo Yahagi chances upon an advanced motorcycle, he lands squarely in the military’s crosshairs and inadvertently makes an earth-shattering discovery that completely changes his understanding of the world around him. Megazone 23 suffers from some wild tonal shifts, shifting between goofy fan service and shocking violence with nary a pause, and it occasionally glosses over the ramifications of Yahagi’s discovery for goofy shenanigans. But it also possesses an anti-authoritarian, cyberpunk-influenced spirit that feels rather refreshing compared to a lot of modern anime, as does the hand-drawn animation, flaws and inconsistencies notwithstanding.
My Cultural Diet
On the one hand, Reservation Dogs’ third and final season felt more directionless and less cohesive than its first two, with episodes meandering around the reservation and focusing on a wider array of characters, both in the present and the past. Which sometimes made for a frustrating experience, particularly when compared to the previous seasons’ more defined arcs. On the other hand, I just love spending time with every single one of these characters: the titular foursome, their aunties, uncles, and grandparents, and even the various spirits who interact with them all and offer (occasionally) helpful advice. Furthermore, Reservation Dogs’ focus on the necessity of maintaining and respecting one’s community, exploration of life’s cyclical nature, and depiction of the “thinness” between the physical and spiritual worlds have given me much to think — and laugh — about. A truly special and unique series.
On paper, watching a nameless hitman methodically clean up all of the loose ends after a hit goes sideways sounds like a pretty boring way to spend two hours. And it is… until it’s not. Those expecting the sort of stylized wall-to-wall action that’s usually associated with “hitman” movies will likely be disappointed here. But kudos to director David Fincher and star Michael Fassbender for creating a film that becomes increasingly engrossing as the titular assassin goes about his bloody business with cool detachment, determination, and inspirational aphorisms like “Anticipate, don’t improvise” and “Fight only the battle you’re paid to fight.” (All delivered via internal monologue, natch.) At times, it almost feels like a heist film as you try and figure out how he’s going to overcome each new dilemma. It doesn’t hurt that The Killer has some occasional flashes of dark humor, such as the hitman’s reliance on Amazon and the gig economy to do his job. A lesser director might try and beat audiences over the head with that as social commentary — as in: modern society requires us to live like an amoral, yoga-practicing, Smiths-loving hitman in order to survive — but thankfully, Fincher avoids that pitfall.
Along with Chuck Norris’ The Octagon, Enter the Ninja kicked off the “ninja craze” that swept through American pop culture in the early-to-mid ’80s. Franco Nero (of Django fame, and dubbed here because of his thick Italian accent) plays a former mercenary-turned-ninja who travels to the Philippines to visit an old war buddy — and soon finds himself squaring off against thugs, greedy tycoons, and even a former fellow ninjutsu trainee. Make no mistake, Enter the Ninja is not a good film if evaluated objectively. (For starters, I’m pretty sure I could be way more stealthy just sitting on my couch than the assassins depicted here.) But when watched through the goggles of nostalgia — and specifically, the nostalgia of what it was like to be a ninja-obsessed grade schooler — it’s still not a good film. But it is fun to watch, if only because it offers you the opportunity to visit the exotic and strange alternate reality that exists only in ’80s ninja flicks.
Shamelessly aping (npi) Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now for a monster movie might be a little on the nose, but in the case of Jordan Vogt-Roberts’ Kong: Skull Island, it turns to be a pretty decent idea. And when you throw in some impressive-looking visuals, lots of intense (read: gory) monster brawls, and best of all, some delightful John C. Reilly kookiness, then you have a movie that’s way more than the sum of its parts. In other words, Kong: Skull Island possesses a sense of fun and zaniness — be it Reilly’s unhinged performance, Samuel L. Jackson’s scenery-chewing, or the elaborate monster designs — that’s sorely lacking from the rest of Legendary Pictures’ MonsterVerse titles.
I’m not exactly sure how I learned about This Was Our Pact, but I’m glad I did. Written and illustrated by Ryan Andrews, it’s a delightful tale of friendship and fantasy as a group of kids go on a night-time bike ride through an increasingly strange countryside — a ride that will change some of them forever. There are some moments in This Was Our Pact — specifically, the friends’ encounters with a talking bear in search of his family’s fishing hole and a kooky witch named Madam Majestic — that feel like something out of a Miyazaki film. Which is just about the highest praise I can give. Andrews’ artwork, which is predominantly cast in shades of blue, as befitting his nocturnally set tale, are beautiful and evocative, and lead up to a final scene that perfectly encapsulates the sense of fun, wonder, and adventure that ought to define childhood friendships.
It threw me for a loop back in 2015 when Hou Hsiao-hsien, who is now retired, announced that he was making a wuxia film, and I doubt I was alone in that. But this is Hou Hsiao-hsien we’re talking about, so The Assassin isn’t exactly Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Hero, or House of Flying Daggers — for better or worse. Like those films, The Assassin is absolutely gorgeous, from the rich costumes and production design to the unbelievable Chinese landscapes and scenery. But the storyline — a skilled assassin must prove her loyalty by killing the man to whom she’d one been betrothed — is more of a mixed bag. Hou is extremely fond of “pillow moments” (to use Roger Ebert’s term) and pregnant silences. Which means that The Assassin’s story is often as obtuse as it is engaging, if not more so. Sometimes this stylistic choice works and draws you into the film and the characters’ inner lives and sometimes, it’s just frustrating, particularly when political conspiracies emerge and immediately feel anticlimactic.
I should’ve known we were in for a rough time when Jason Statham’s bad-ass one-liner to a villain was about estate planning, but at that moment, I still thought The Beekeeper would be one of those “so bad it’s good” films. But no, it’s just bad. Like mind-numbingly, eye-rollingly bad. Like “How many people starred in this because they needed to pay their mortgage?” bad. There is, of course, the awful dialog, which requires the likes of Jeremy Irons and Minnie Driver to slum it. But there’s also the grim tone that’s not really grim but rather, desperately wants you to think it’s grim and a storyline that requires characters to suddenly know things they couldn’t possibly know in order to keep things moving towards a hollow conclusion. I have a pretty low bar for Jason Statham movies: I just want to see him punch cartoonishly bad guys in the faces and look cool while doing so. I gave The Beekeeper an extra half-star because the bad guys being punched are slimy tech bros but still, it makes you long for the cinematic brilliance of the second Transporter movie.
The first Equalizer movie only worked as well as it did because of Denzel Washington. In the case of The Equalizer 2, though, not even he’s enough to save it. Washington is still the same ol’ former government agent/assassin who now helps people in need, mainly by inflicting grievous bodily harm on thugs and abusers. But this time, after a close friend is killed in an apparent robbery, it’s personal. But there are also storylines about a Holocaust survivor and a young kid who needs saving from gangs, so it gets a bit muddled and directionless before culminating in an over-long showdown in the middle of a hurricane. But because you know that Washington’s character isn’t really in any danger of getting killed or even seriously injured — which, by the way, was actually a plus in the previous film — and the bad guys will make stupid mistakes despite supposedly being highly trained government operatives, it just grows increasingly tedious by the minute as you wait for the foregone conclusion of an ending.
If I were to describe Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace as a Hammer horror parody set in a cursed hospital where Dr. Rick Dagless, M.D. must battle occult forces, I’d only be telling you half the story. Because it’s also a show-within-a-show about noted horror author (or “dreamweaver,” as he prefers) Garth Marenghi (played by Matthew Holness), who finally has a chance to unleash his show — aka, the most significant televisual event since Quantum Leap — on the unsuspecting public. Filled with hammy acting, stilted dialog, gloriously ’80s hairstyles, and special effects that make classic Doctor Who episodes look positively cutting edge, Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace is the Platonic ideal of a cult classic, the kind of show you either get completely or hate absolutely. I fall into the first category. Be it Marenghi’s arrogant assessment of his writing skills, Richard Ayoade and Matt Berry’s performances, or the outlandish storylines involving psychic doctors, eyeball children, and alien broccoli, all six episodes had me consistently cracking up.
I really enjoyed Siddharth Anand’s War, starring Hrithik Roshan; with its crazy action sequences and wild twists, it felt like a Bollywood version of a Mission: Impossible movie. So I was excited to see the two reunite for Fighter, which looked like it’d be the Bollywood Top Gun. Alas, Fighter is nowhere near as enjoyable as War. Or Top Gun, for that matter. Given that it’s an Indian film, wild tonal shifts are to be expected. Even so, Fighter puts you in a tailspin as it veers between war carnage and brutal terrorism, goofy “buddy film” hijinks, overwrought melodrama, and smoldering romance, with the requisite dance numbers thrown in. (For the record, nobody, and I mean nobody, smolders like Hrithik Roshan, especially when he’s walking in slow motion, which constitutes approximately a fourth of the nearly three-hour film.) What makes Fighter especially eyeroll-inducing, though, is that nearly all of its scenes are slathered in jingoism and over-the-top nationalism that just suck the fun right out of the film. Meanwhile, the surprisingly shoddy CGI and visual effects render the many dogfighting scenes more silly than thrilling.
The arrival of this one took me by surprise, simply because the previous Orphan X novel — The Last Orphan — seemed to end things on a rather definite note. (That, and it was literally titled The Last Orphan.) Would that it had been the final Orphan X novel. Lone Wolf suffers from the same flaws as its predecessor, namely that it spends so many pages diving into the protagonist’s trauma, existential angst, psychological baggage, and (worst of all) experiences with HOA politics, that it becomes surprisingly and frustratingly inert. After all, this is a series of novels about a super-deadly assassin who now loans out his skills to desperate people in desperate situations while trying to stay one step ahead of the people who trained him. Ironically, the more humanity that it protagonist seems to reclaim, the less interesting he becomes as a character.
I can’t remember where I first hear about Beef Wellington, but the idea’s fascinated me ever since. A delicious fillet wrapped in prosciutto and a paste of mushrooms, shallots, and various seasonings, and baked inside a delicate pastry crust? What’s not to like about that. I finally got to enjoy one courtesy of my lovely wife, and it did not disappoint. It’s a wonderful dish that just feels fancy, the perfect sort of thing for special occasions, like family holiday meals.
The only reason this film works as well as it does is because of Denzel Washington. He brings the requisite amounts of gravitas and screen presence to make you believe in his haunted ex-super-deadly-guy who now seeks redemption by taking out a bunch of Russian gangsters in violent, blood-soaked fashion. Of course, being an Antoine Fuqua film, The Equalizer occasionally dips into hyper-stylized, CGI-enhanced silliness — which is a shame, because I much preferred the slow, seemingly mundane burn of the film’s first act — but even then, it remains eminently watchable because of Denzel. No one else could’ve pulled it off, of that I’m convinced.
It was still satisfying to watch Reacher dispatch a bunch of really slimy bad guys — in this case, some corrupt cops hoping to make millions by selling advanced weapons to terrorists — in all kinds of inventive and violent ways, but I didn’t enjoy this as much as Reacher’s first season. I missed that season’s dark sense of humor (e.g., Reacher beating some morals into a dog’s negligent owner, Reacher dropping one-liners while dispatching bad guys). Without that to add some levity and self-awareness, season two often felt rather sullen and morose as it dove more into Reacher’s military past and the fates of some of his comrades. Also, the result was a less likable Reacher. Granted, he’s a big, beefy dude who prefers to ignore the law and let his fists and guns do the talking, but in season one, such lone wolf activities came with a wink at the audience. Not so much with season two, to its detriment.
Author Sourya may be French-Laotian, but Talli, Daughter of the Moon is heavily influenced by Japanese manga, from the character designs to the tonal shifts. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, not in this case. The fantasy tale of a young noblewoman on the run and trying to better understand her mysterious powers — powers that could spell ruin for the entire kingdom — hits plenty of tropes, but Sourya’s storytelling and artwork keeps things fresh and inviting.
I feel like the title alone — The Fellspyre Chronicles — tells you everything you can expect here. That is, epic high fantasy replete with wizards, elves, and barbarians. (It should come as no surprise that the back of this volume contains a bunch of 5E-compatible resources inspired by the comic’s massive world, including monsters, races, maps, and character classes.) Phillip K. Johnson’s world-building is truly impressive, and Riccardo Federici’s artwork is consistently rich and stunning. So why not a higher score? The story itself — a group of adventurers trying save their world from an otherworldly evil while also atoning for the sins of their past — is often unremittingly grim and unpleasant, and with few exceptions, the characters are hardly a likable or sympathetic bunch. As impressed as I was by Johnson’s sense of scope, I often found it hard to actually care about the “heroes” venturing forth into his elaborate fantasy world.
A detective’s latest case becomes something much more than a simple murder mystery when the victim turns out to be a god. Good thing he’s a… wait for it… cosmic detective. Even so, he may still be ill-prepared for the revelations that his investigation uncovers, revelations that could challenge everything he knows about existence. Given that Cosmic Detective was co-written by Jeff Lemire (Black Hammer, Gideon Falls), you can expect a fairly downbeat story. Although it doesn’t feature any eldritch entities, the cosmicism on display in Cosmic Detective’s pages — as rendered by David Rubin’s mind-bending artwork (which pays tribute to Jack Kirby) — is definitely Lovecraftian in spirit, and reminiscent of Caitlín R. Kiernan’s Agents of Dreamland. Interestingly enough, my church is currently studying the Book of Ecclesiastes, and Qoheleth’s existentialism actually jibes quite nicely with Lemire and Matt Kindt’s (Dept. H, MIND MGMT) story and helped me consider its themes in a new light. Even so, best to avoid Cosmic Detective unless you’re up for pondering the potential meaninglessness of existence.
An astronaut stranded on an apparently deserted planet with her robot companion makes a fascinating discovery even as she must battle alien marauders and the planet’s bizarre phenomena in this first graphic novel from Dan McDaid (Doctor Who, Firefly, Judge Dredd). At the risk of damning it with faint praise, I liked Dega more than I didn’t, but it’s very short and slight. If you enjoy survival tales and want something to help pass the afternoon, then Dega will be right up your alley.
Mamoru Oshii is best known for directing classic anime films like Urusei Yatsura 2: Beautiful Dreamer, Ghost in the Shell, and the Patlabor movies, but he’s also taken his hand at live-action over the years. I loved the Matrix-y Avalon years ago, and with its baroque, CGI-heavy visuals, Garm Wars: The Last Druid is cut from the same stylistic cloth. Which means that it has some occasionally stunning visuals even as it suffers from a bleary, washed out look that makes it look like one long Final Fantasy cutscene. The story’s an interesting-if-convoluted blend of Celtic mythology, sci-fi, and post-apocalyptic cyberpunk, but nobody — not even Lance Henriksen — is going to win any awards for their performances. (Kenji Kawai’s score, on the other hand, is lovely.) And after about 90 minutes, the film just sort of peters out, which is ironic given the epic final imagery. In the end, this one’s really just for Oshii diehards.