Ahoska’s first season was far better than The Book of Boba Fett and The Mandalorian’s superfluous third season, and maybe even Obi-Wan Kenobi. Some note that it’s “basically” season five of Star Wars Rebels, with Ahsoka, Sabine Wren, et al. trying to find Ezra Bridger and prevent Thrawn’s return. (I’ve only seen bits and pieces of Rebels, but I never felt lost watching Ahsoka.) I really dug the extra-galactic travel and the more fantasy-like elements (e.g., the Dathomirian witches and their magick), as well as the samurai angle. The Star Wars franchise owes a huge debt to samurai movies but Ahsoka really plays up that influence, from her garb and the costumes of the Peridea bandits to the music and the lightsaber stances. Finally, I’d be sorely remiss if I didn’t mention Ray Stevenson’s Baylan Skoll. What could’ve been a token villain turned out to be something far more nuanced and interesting thanks to Stevenson’s understated performance. When Skoll talks about missing the idea of the Jedi Order, I felt it in my bones. Sadly, Stevenson died earlier this year, so we’ll never get to see where he would’ve taken his character in subsequent seasons.
My Cultural Diet
Lloyd Alexander is best known for his Welsh-inspired high fantasy series, The Chronicles of Prydain (which I finally read last year and enjoyed). However, he wrote others novels set in historically influenced settings, including ancient India (The Iron Ring), ancient China (The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen), and in the case of Westmark, the French Revolution. Its setting aside, Westmark includes themes that are common to Alexander’s stories, i.e., the protagonist is an idealistic young man who discovers that the world is a lot more complicated than he thought, and with the help of a cast of colorful characters, must fight evil while grappling with moral and ethical quandaries. This is far from weighty, preachy stuff, though. I read Westmark in just a few hours thanks to Alexander’s economical (though no less imaginative) writing and worldbuilding.
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.
I checked out Malcolm Kid and the Perfect Song from the library on a whim, and I’m glad I did. Austin Paramore’s debut graphic novel is the charming story of Malcolm Kid, an aspiring young musician who suddenly finds himself in possession of a keyboard that’s haunted by the spirit of an old jazz pianist. The only way to set the spirit free is to find and play… wait for it… the perfect song. However, that will require Malcolm to reconnect with an old friend, explore his town’s history, stand up to his demanding father, and confront some family tragedies. Oh, and deal with a Mephistopheles-like character who takes a great interest in Malcolm’s burgeoning talent. Paramore packs a lot into his story and does a fine job of balancing it all. Meanwhile, Sarah Bollinger’s delightful artwork keeps things light with some manga-like flourishes, but never at the expense of the story’s drama and emotion.
If you were to ask me why I started watching this Netflix anime about a young woman who suddenly finds herself betrothed to a seemingly ruthless man she’s never met, I’m not sure I could give you an answer. (The algorithm works in mysterious ways, I guess.) Given the premise, there’s loads of melodrama as our young heroine — who arguably possesses one of the breathiest and most forlorn voices in all of anime — moves from an abusive household to one that holds the promise of something more. Naturally, romantic triangles and dramatic misunderstandings ensue. The series’ exploration of abuse and trauma adds an interesting wrinkle as does the incorporation of supernatural elements and alternate Japanese history. In the end, however, My Happy Marriage can’t quite integrate all of these elements; it can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to be. A second season was recently greenlit, which I might check out to see if the storytelling gets any stronger.
There’s no point in denying Akira’s status as an iconic and seminal work of both animation and sci-fi. Even now, 35 years after its release, there are segments that far surpass anything that’s been filmed or animated since, especially when it comes to sheer apocalyptic spectacle. The term “mind-blowing” gets tossed around so casually these days, but the last 30 minutes or so, as Tetsuo’s powers run amok and everyone resorts to increasingly desperate measures to stop him, are exactly that. (And I shouldn’t have to say this, but attempting to capture any of that in live action would be a fool’s errand.) That said, my response to the film was a bit cooler this time around than in the past, and I think that’s because I’ve finally read Katsuhiro Otomo’s original manga. Not to take anything away from Otomo’s adaptation of his own work, but the manga’s storyline is so much deeper and richer. The anime hits all of the important notes, and of course, is a visual triumph, but there’s so much more in the manga.
Considerably more sedate and somber than its predecessor, Patlabor 2: The Movie has everything you could possibly want from a Mamoru Oshii film. It’s got a heady, convoluted plot involving political and military conspiracies, glacial pacing punctuated by intense action, philosophical discussions about the nature of war and peace, highly detailed military activity, contemplative scenes enhanced by Production I.G’s gorgeous cel animation and Kenji Kawai’s moody ambient score, and there’s even a basset hound for good measure. 1995’s Ghost in the Shell is usually lauded as Oshii’s signature work, and understandably so. But you could make a strong argument for Patlabor 2: The Movie being a very close second. In fact, I’d daresay that Patlabor 2: The Movie, which was released in 1993, laid the foundation for Ghost in the Shell’s contemplative cyberpunk.
Based on the Patlabor TV series, which itself was based on the long-running Mobile Police Patlabor manga, Patlabor: The Movie suffers from a rather slight storyline involving a hacker’s plan to infect all of Tokyo’s Labors (i.e., giant mecha used by construction, police, and the military) with a virus. But honestly, I wasn’t watching Patlabor: The Movie for the storyline. I was watching it for the directing (because I tend to like Mamoru Oshii’s aesthetic), the hand-drawn cel animation (which was refreshing after watching so much modern CG-enhanced animation), and the mechanical designs (because giant mechs are always cool). Consider a short scene from the film’s opening, in which a military Labor is aerially deployed and a tiny drag chute is used to pull it out of the aircraft. The attention to detail in just that short sequence alone (e.g., the uncoiling of the chute’s rope, the sense of mass in the mech’s movement) was rewarding enough to justify watching the entire movie.
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.
In Earth’s final days, a group of billionaires and celebrities hatch a plan: they’ll leave Earth on a giant spaceship to make a new home for themselves on a nearby planet. In the meantime, they’ll continue to live in luxury, their every need met by children who live like slaves until their faithful service is rewarded with proper citizenship. Arca’s “eat the rich” storyline is bit on the nose; given its premise, there are really only a handful of ways it can go. Still, it’s engaging enough, and I appreciate the fact that the protagonist’s ability to read, which is outlawed, proves so important to her survival. That said, only a monster would refuse to cheer on a plucky teenager as she seeks to lead her fellow youth in rebelling against their entitled billionaire overlords.
I’m not a big fan of DC’s live-action movies. (Sorry, Snyder Cut fans.) I do, however, enjoy their animated titles, be it series like Justice League Unlimited and Batman: The Brave and the Bold or movies like Justice League: War, Justice League: The New Frontier, and Justice League Dark: Apokolips War. Which is to say, I’d really like to see an animated adaptation of House of El, a YA-focused retelling of the planet Krypton’s final days. As its title implies, Superman’s family is present but the series focuses on two young lovers from different social castes who are troubled by Krypton’s increasingly corrupt and hedonistic society — as well as the earthquakes that threaten to tear the planet apart. It might be tempting to dismiss House of El given its YA roots. However, I was never not engaged by the storyline and the series ends on a beautifully bittersweet note — as befitting any story about Superman’s doomed homeworld.
Do you enjoy watching epic, multi-episode-spanning space battles featuring tens of thousands of ships and maybe even some Death Star-like moon bases for good measure? That’s obviously a trick question, because who doesn’t like watching that sort of thing? But do you also enjoy watching episodes in which characters do nothing but discuss military strategies, debate political theories, and philosophize about democracy, freedom, and human history? If so, then Legend of the Galactic Heroes: Die Neue These may be your next favorite anime. A modern remake of Legend of the Galactic Heroes, which ran for 110 episodes in the ’80s and ’90s, and was itself based on Yoshiki Tanaka’s sci-fi novels, Die Neue These really scratched my personal itch for sprawling, galaxy-spanning space opera, though it gets pretty convoluted with dozens of major characters and storylines within storylines. It’s also an interesting world-building exercise, juxtaposing 19th century Prussia, Norse mythology, and more “modern” cultures in its various futuristic nations. With just four seasons to date, I surmise that Die Neue These isn’t even halfway through its storyline, and I’m looking forward to season five and beyond.
The horror genre is often used to tackle heavy issues, including religious fanaticism, mental illness, and the dangers of technology. In Infidel’s case, the issue is racism as a young Muslim woman struggles to maintain her sanity in the midst of various threats, be it the unwitting racism of her white neighbors or the supernatural threats residing in the dark corners of her apartment building. But as Infidel progresses, the line between the former and the latter grow increasingly thin. To Infidel’s credit, nothing and no one’s simple; well-meaning friends can make terrible mistakes while potential antagonists might become a surprising source of help. Pornsak Pichetshote’s storyline ventures into some pretty esoteric territory at times, but Aaron Campbell’s artwork and José Villarubia’s colors keep the terror nice and grounded.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Earth faces an extraterrestrial threat and so humanity, desperate for soldiers, begins putting children through brutal training in order to turn them into deadly warriors. (Halo, anyone?) Orphans’ first volume isn’t bad per se, and there’s an interesting mystery or two that I assume get fleshed out in later volumes. But overall, I feel like I’ve read this storyline many times before.
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.
Having recently finished and enjoyed his Final Architecture trilogy, I wanted to read some more of Adrian Tchaikovsky’s work. On a whim, I picked up this novella, and saw that it was dedicated to the memory of Gene Wolfe — which struck me as a good sign. Ostensibly a fantasy story about a young, headstrong princess determined to banish the demon that’s plaguing her kingdom, Elder Race takes a sci-fi turn when the mighty wizard she turns to for help turns out to be something else entirely: an anthropologist sent to study her planet. Of course, the blending of sci-fi and fantasy isn’t new, but Tchaikovsky throws in some interesting twists, be it the trauma and loneliness of a “wizard” who fears he is the last of his kind or some particularly beautiful ruminations on the power of myths and stories to inspire, comfort, and heal us. This took me a little longer to read than I expected because I kept getting distracted with other things, but Elder Race could be a nice weekend read — if you’re looking for such a thing.
From my full review on Christ and Pop Culture: [W]hat is the goal of The Ballot and the Bible? I believe it can be summed up in a single word: humility. Schiess’s book is filled with examples of people — from all points along the political spectrum — who were absolutely convinced that they were applying Scripture to their politics in an objective manner, that their exegesis and interpretation weren’t merely correct but obviously so. And conversely, their political opponents were obviously wrong. Schiess… does explore how some interpretations were, in fact, incorrect (e.g., the South’s “biblical” defense of chattel slavery) or overly simplistic (e.g., certain conservatives’ use of Jesus’s “render unto Caesar” speech). But she also considers how there’s plenty of room for nuance, and how nuance is absolutely necessary due in part to our own limited and sinful nature, which will always “warp our moral intuition and biblical interpretation.”
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.)