My Cultural Diet

It seems only fitting to watch a movie that culminates in an epic ski ninja battle on the eve of the Winter Olympics. Yes, you read that correctly: ski ninjas. As with the previous Lone Wolf and Cub movies, Ogami Itto once again crosses katanas with the Yagyu clan, who are increasingly desperate to save face before the Shogun and kill the former executioner-turned-assassin once and for all. They’re so desperate, in fact, that they reach out to a disgraced Yagyu bastard who now belongs to a secret clan that practices bizarre black magic rites. White Heaven in Hell gets pretty bonkers at times, featuring supernaturally powered ninjas who burrow underground and utter ominous prophecies, but that’s precisely why I liked it so much. The sixth and final Lone Wolf and Cub movie possesses a certain verve that’s missing from, or never fully realized in, the previous installments. (A verve that’s further enhanced by Kunihiko Murai’s funky soundtrack.) Unfortunately, the film offers no conclusion to Ogami’s story of revenge. Nevertheless, I definitely enjoyed it more than most of the other Lone Wolf and Cub movies.

It’s pretty safe to say that Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner is my favorite movie of all time. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen it over the years, but it never fails to draw me into its detailed and highly stylized world. I’m hard-pressed to think of another movie with a visual style that’s so captivating. As it turns out, though, the only thing that’s as captivating as Blade Runner’s visuals is its atmospheric and eclectic score, courtesy of Vangelis. Thus, it was a truly special treat to watch Blade Runner with live musical accompaniment courtesy of The Avex Ensemble, who pull off Vangelis’s score perfectly with an 11-piece band. I’ve never actually seen a live accompaniment quite like this before, but as soon as I heard that first booming percussion during the opening sequence, I knew I was in for something special. There were one or two moments when the live music threatened to overwhelm the movie, but I attribute that more to a mixing issue than the performance. More often than not, I simply forgot that I was watching a movie with live accompaniment. That’s how good the Ensemble’s performance was, from the opening sequence to an exhilarating rendition of the end titles theme. Finally, special kudos to the vocalist — sadly, I can’t seem to find her name anywhere — who nailed the Middle Eastern chants heard on “Tales of the Future.”

The fifth Lone Wolf and Cub movie begins in a really promising manner that suggests it might just be the franchise’s best title. Ogami Itto is contacted and tested by five retainers of the Kuroda clan, and as he defeats each one, they reveal the next piece of his mission. This is actually a really cool narrative device and makes for some delightfully insane moments, like the retainer who delivers his message to Ogami even as his body is consumed by flames. And when Ogami tries to complete his assassination, it leads to a bizarre supernatural moment that’s unlike anything else the franchise has offered to date. But then Baby Cart in the Land of Demons gets bogged down in a side story about Daigoro and an infamous pickpocket that I suppose is intended to prove just how brave and honorable Ogami’s young son has become. In truth, however, it’s a pointless rabbit trail that contributes nothing to the movie. By the time we get back to the original storyline about Ogami’s mission, the movie’s lost its momentum. Of course, the Yagyu clan are back, and there’s yet another grand finale involving Ogami slicing and dicing his way through countless samurai and ninja. It’s all pretty underwhelming, though, and I can’t stop thinking about the first act, and how it promised a far more interesting movie than the one we actually got.

Kenji Misumi, who directed the previous Lone Wolf and Cub movies, was replaced this time around by Buichi Saitō, who previously worked as an assistant to Yasujirō Ozu on Tokyo Story and Early Spring. But if you think that means Baby Cart in Peril is going to be more contemplative than its predecessors, think again. Under Saitō’s direction, the film veers fully into exploitation territory, featuring a female assassin named Oyuki who defeats her opponents by disrobing and revealing her tattooed flesh. (While accompanied by a very ahistorical psychedelic jazz soundtrack, to boot.) Ogami is hired to kill Oyuki for betraying her former lord and disgracing his retainers, but not surprisingly, things get complicated. Oyuki is seeking revenge against her rapist, a cause that Ogami can’t help but respect. Meanwhile, the Yagyu clan’s machinations continue apace, and the film reveals more of their vendetta against Ogami and the extreme lengths to which they’ll go to beat him. I’m really torn on this film. It dives headlong into the gratuitiousness that the previous films merely flirted with, which gives it a certain ickiness. As David Vining writes in his review, “the semblance of serious consideration of the samurai code that had been intermittently addressed gets tossed aside fully for empty action and titillation.” Also, the film’s insistence on moral ambiguity gets a bit tiresome. Exploitative aspects aside, though, Ogami and Oyuki’s parallels are interesting. Both are kindred spirits of a sort, sacrificing their own honor and humanity in order to get revenge on those who’ve wronged and disgraced them. I just wish the film had done a better job with their story, and actually earned the poignancy that it tries so hard to communicate.

The third Lone Wolf and Cub movie veers back towards arthouse territory thanks to its slower pace, complex plot, and less reliance on gratuitous content. Make no mistake, though, this is still a Lone Wolf and Cub movie, as evidenced by the abundance of arterial spray. This time around, the ever-stoic Ogami Itto — who has yet to crack even the slightest hint of a smile — sacrifices his honor to save a young woman sold into prostitution even as he’s still being pursued by his rivals in the evil Yagyu clan. Along the way, he encounters a former samurai who’s desperate to die with honor and a corrupt ruler. The film’s final battle is a doozy, with the titular baby cart revealing a veritable arsenal of machine guns and cannons. (Historical accuracy be damned here.) At times, director Misumi and writer Kazuo Koike seem to be questioning deconstructing the samurai code of bushido, which holds that a samurai can still be considered honorable even after he tried to cover up rape and murder, as much as uphold and idealize it. The film is far too concerned with spectacle to offer a really thoughtful deconstruction — Harakiri, this most certainly is not — but the moral ambiguity is interesting to consider.

The wealthy Davenport family is thrilled when their daughter Poppy agrees to marry her first cousin Archibald, since that means they’ll get to keep their fabulous estate. But when Poppy leaves Archibald at the altar, it falls to their other daughter Rose to save the family’s wealth. Unfortunately, Rose has all sorts of crazy notions about being an independent woman, and she also happens to be in love with one of the family’s servants, a lovable rogue with an entirely predictable secret. All bets are off, however, when the Davenport patriarch turns up dead one morning. On paper, mashing up Downton Abbey-style historical drama with ZAZ-style slapstick comedy (e.g., Airplane!, The Naked Gun) seems like a winning proposition. And perhaps it will be someday, but Fackham Hall isn’t it. This might’ve been a hilarious 10-minute YouTube sketch, but when stretched out to 90+ minutes, it quickly overstays its welcome with running gags that soon run themselves into the ground and a surprising number of jokes that just don’t land. I certainly chuckled on several occasions, but honestly, I expected more bite from comedian Jimmy Carr, who co-wrote the script. Even with all of the jokes about incest and bestiality, Fackham Hall is quite tame, and I’m surprised that Carr didn’t opt for a more ruthless skewering of his movie’s blue bloods. To their credit, the cast is clearly game for whatever the script asks of them — Thomasin McKenzie, in particular, manages to look radiant even as she delivers pratfalls and stupid jokes — but it’s just too bad that they weren’t in a funnier movie.

Whereas Sword of Vengeance is a relatively straightforward samurai film, bloody arterial sprays and quasi-exploitation notwithstanding, Baby Cart at the River Styx gets surprisingly abstract and even existential — for better and worse. This time around, Ogami Ittō is hired to assassinate an expert at making indigo dye. Unfortunately, the expert is guarded by three brothers who are infamous martial arts masters. Further complicating things, the Yagyu clan is hot on Ittō’s trail, this time sending a clan of female assassins after the former executioner and his young son. At times, the abstractions make the film more intriguing, such as when Ittō and his son heighten their senses to keep safe; the soundtrack and Kenji Misumi’s direction really sell the idea that Ittō’s quest for vengeance has made him something inhuman. And then there are the fights where the combatants’ colorful outfits are as much a weapon as their blades, or a dying man comments on the sound of the blood spraying from his neck. (Which is ridiculous but still quite apropos for Lone Wolf and Cub’s blood-soaked world.) The psychedelic editing employed to make the martial arts look superhuman has a charm that CGI just can’t match. But there are also moments when the film slows to a crawl, and scenes are dragged out to make them feel more significant and portentous. As with the first film, it still looks gorgeous thanks to Chishi Makiura’s cinematography. But perhaps in trying to make a heavier, more serious film, the filmmakers robbed Baby Cart at the River Styx of some of the edge possessed by its predecessor.

Years ago, Ogami Ittō was the shōgun’s official executioner, a task he carried out with diligence and honor. But when the rival Yagyu clan murdered his wife and framed him for treason, Ittō was forced to go on the run with his young son Daigoro. Now working as a lowly assassin, Ittō travels the country while carefully plotting his revenge against the Yagyu clan. Based on Kazuo Koike and Goseki Kojima’s influential Lone Wolf and Cub manga series — Koike wrote the movie’s screenplay — Sword of Vengeance is filled with all of the arterial sprays that you could possibly want, as Ittō slices and dices his way through rival samurai and ninja with his dōtanuki blade. (I actually paused and rewound several action scenes just to try and better understand the action choreography and Tomisaburo Wakayama’s impressive movements.) Sword of Vengeance does get lurid in places and verges on exploitation territory, but director Kenji Misumi still keeps things artful. You’d never mistake it for an Akira Kurosawa or Yôji Yamada film, but there are moments when Lone Wolf and Cub looks and feels like my platonic ideal of a samurai movie.

2016’s Zootopia was one of those rare movies that was far better than it had any right to be, delivering a message about diversity and tolerance that was entertaining and thoughtful rather than heavy-handed and preachy. It took almost a decade for Disney to return to the animal city, where all kinds of mammals live in harmony thanks to a complex system of environments. Zootopia 2 also tries to deliver a thoughtful message, but gets a bit muddled along the way because it can’t quite decide which thoughtful message to deliver. One moment, it seems to be indicting those members of the 1% who feel entitled and emboldened to take from those they fear and hate. (One sequence in particular seemed clearly inspired by the 1921 Tulsa race massacre, an episode in American history that still too few people know about.) The next, it’s about Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) and Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman) dealing (or not dealing) with their obvious differences and personality clashes. Either one of those stories would’ve made for a good movie, but by trying to do both, Zootopia 2 sells both of them short. The constant stream of animal puns and movie references (e.g., Babe, The Shining) don’t help either. If it sounds like I’m being too harsh on Zootopia 2, don’t worry: I still had plenty of fun watching it, but the first movie was so delightful that it set a pretty high bar for its sequel.

For his final Hong Kong action film, John Woo decided to pull out all of the stops and go for broke. But whereas previous Woo films like A Better Tomorrow and The Killer had glamorized criminals and assassins, Hard Boiled instead glamorized the city’s cops (a decision Woo made in the wake of a real-life psychopath poisoning baby food). Of course, in Woo’s action cinema universe, the cops — led by Chow Yun-fat’s Tequila — don’t care one whit about due process. But more importantly, they never, ever have to reload their guns, which comes in handy when Tequila has to take on wave after wave after wave of nameless goons, each one of which is loaded with squibs for extra bloody effect. Meanwhile, Tony Leung’s undercover cop finds his morals increasingly challenged as he infiltrates the gang of a violent gun smuggler (played with vile glee by Anthony Wong). Will Chow and Leung be forced to work from opposite sides of the law to bring down Wong’s triad boss? C’mon now, what do you think? There’s nothing but excess in Hard Boiled, be it the many gun fights — which, despite influencing countless Hollywood films like the John Wick franchise, have never been equalled — or the intense bro drama between Chow and Leung’s characters. Hard Boiled is definitely silly at times (and this time around, I was struck by just how funny it can be). But when it’s on (e.g., the warehouse shootout), few movies are this deliriously stylish and enjoyable.

I think it’s safe to say that most of us have never given a single thought to the carpet that we walk on in hotels, restaurants, airports, and other public spaces. But it’s a massive industry that affects the entire world, and a good deal of it is based in the town of Dalton, Georgia, aka the “Carpet Capital of the World.” Carpet Cowboys travels to this small city to meet with the colorful characters that drive the carpet industry. Chief among them is Roderick James, a Scottish expat, perpetual entrepreneur, and fan of all things country and western who’s always angling and hustling for his next big break, even if that means leaving his life in Dalton altogether. Unfortunately, Carpet Cowboys is hindered by a fragmented and inconsistent narrative that occasionally verges on the absurd; at times, my wife and I thought we might actually be watching a Christopher Guest-style mockumentary, which isn’t the best sign for a documentary. Carpet Cowboys is less an insightful look at the inner workings of an overlooked industry, and more akin to a tone poem that certainly awakens your curiosity but leaves it unsatisfied.

Thanks to the “Magical Minority Initiative,” Tom Token is the very first Black student to attend the hallowed halls of St. Ivory Academy of Spellcraft and Sorcery. But upon arriving, Token is immediately confronted by his fellow student’s ignorance and racism as well as the shocking possibility that he is not, in fact, the school’s first minority student. But what happened to his predecessors, and why does this mystery involve the ghosts of Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass? Harry Potter is a clear inspiration, if Voldemort and his Death Eaters were replaced by the KKK, that is. Though a fun read thanks to D.J. Kirkland’s bright, anime-inspired artwork, there are no real surprises or twists in Tom Token’s struggle against the magical academy’s systemic racism. Daniel Barnes’s story unfolds precisely as you’d expect it to, though if it encourages younger readers to learn more about Tubman, Douglass, and the Underground Railroad, then so much the better.

At first glance, George and Kathryn look like a stylish and devoted couple living a perfect life in their upscale flat. But given that both of them work in British intelligence — he’s an interrogation expert, she’s an operative — their marriage is fraught with things they simply can’t talk about or share with each other. Which would seem like a threat to a healthy marriage, but George and Kathryn make it work. That is, until some top-secret software gets leaked to the Russians and Kathryn becomes one of the prime suspects. Black Bag looks like the sort of slick, stylish thriller for mature audiences that Steven Soderbergh can direct in his sleep. But the film’s chilly tone, implausible scenarios (including a dinnertime party turned interrogation that gets increasingly preposterous as it unfolds), and icily aloof performances constantly kept me at arm’s length. Scenes obviously intended to be taut and suspenseful never once caused the needle to move on my blood pressure, and had I watched the film any later in the evening, they might have even put me to sleep. That said, I did enjoy Michael Fassbender’s performance as George, a tightly wound and always-suspicious man who’s deeply in love with a woman who could very well be a traitor.

When I was in high school and filled with Cold War anxiety, I became a fan of technothrillers like Tom Clancy’s The Hunt for Red October and Payne Harrison’s Storming Intrepid. So when I saw a copy of Dale Brown’s Day of the Cheetah sitting in a bookstore’s “Free” box, I figured it might be a nice little nostalgia trip. As a former Air Force officer, Brown’s verisimilitude is unassailable; the very first thing you see upon opening Day of the Cheetah is an extensive glossary of military terms and vehicles, and Brown lays on the jargon nice and thick right up until the last page. The plot — a deep cover KGB agent steals a top secret Air Force fighter jet that’s enhanced with artificial intelligence and the Air Force must scramble to prevent him from delivering it to the Soviet Union — borders on sci-fi at times, and even promises to get really weird in places when Brown explores the effects of AI on his character’s psyche. However, Day of the Cheetah remains pretty fly-by-numbers, and definitely brought back some Cold War-era nostalgia, which is all I was really looking for. Unfortunately, the novel also feels like it’s about a hundred pages too long and its ending — climactic dogfight included — is surprisingly anticlimactic. Furthermore, the novel’s epilogue seems intended to lay the foundation for future novels, but at the same time, feels like Brown ran out of ideas and wanted to wrap everything up as quickly and cleanly as possible.

I’m sure that a few otaku were upset that KPop Demon Hunters beat Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Infinity Castle for “Best Animated Motion Picture” at this year’s Golden Globes. But having seen both films, I have to say that KPop Demon Hunters is the more satisfying of the two, and not just because of its bangin’ soundtrack. Make no mistake, the new Demon Slayer feature — which is actually the first in a trilogy of films that will conclude the series — is visually stunning, thanks to a nigh-seamless blend of cel and computer animation that makes the film’s many action sequences pop and brings the titular lair to life. Based on its visuals alone, it’s no surprise that Infinity Castle smashed box office records both in Japan and abroad. But its pacing is all over the place, and the film feels less like a single, cohesive work and more like a collection of loose threads. (Note: The film takes place immediately after the events of Demon Slayer’s fourth season.) Of course, like any good shōnen title, it’s packed with battles that, if this were a normal TV season, would span several episodes as opponents call out their special attacks — Blue Silver Chaotic Afterglow! Setting Sun Transformation! — with gusto and conviction. But the film’s final act, which is supposed to be its emotional climax, slows to a crawl as the characters’ epic duel is broken up by existential crises and melodramatic breakdowns that get increasingly tedious and drawn out.

Plot-wise, Sword of Silence is close to inscrutable at times, as a black-clad figure wanders silently across a bizarre, sun-less landscape, encountering various odd and unsavory characters whilst experiencing strange, ominous visions that are somehow related to the sword he carries. Nevertheless, I remained hooked from the opening scene. Some of that was from a curious nostalgia, as Reese Cleveland’s film ably summons the ghosts of low-budget fantasy fare from the ’80s. Much of that, however, was due to the film’s unique look: Cleveland and his small group of collaborators shot Sword of Silence at night and only by the light of the full moon. (As such, it took five years and 27 full moon cycles to complete the film.) The lunar lighting, combined with the Australian landscape and some clever visual effects, imbues Sword of Silence with an otherworldly tone that’s further enhanced by the obtuse storytelling and an atmospheric dungeon synth soundtrack. I can certainly see how some might find Sword of Silence interminable, especially whenever the digital cinematography and YouTube compression conspire to render the film nigh-unwatchable. But I found it compelling and consistently fascinating, a prime example of the sort of inventive indie filmmaking that we need more of these days.

Given everything that’s going on with the U.S. right now — masked thugs disappearing and killing people in broad daylight, brazen foreign attacks, increased economic hardship for all but the most elite among us — I expected to be a bit more shaken up by North Bend’s story of a secret government project to cow the populace into submission. When DEA agent Brendan Kruge is recruited by the CIA to test a new mind control drug, he’s torn between the ethics of his mission and his patriotic duty. But Kruge’s story gets sidetracked by other stories and details that don’t dovetail very well. Furthermore, the comic’s attempts to stay grounded as opposed to embracing Department of Truth-style surrealism results in a surprisingly milquetoast story that never achieves the darkness or urgency that it’s so obviously striving towards.

Hudson Tremaine may possess seemingly supernatural luck at the casino tables in Vegas, but she’s never played a game like the Arcanos Mysterinos. There, sorcerers and demons gamble to literally reshape the world and challenge the whims of Fate itself — until Fate pushes back, that is. Hudson will need every single ounce of guile and pluck she can muster to win, or even just survive at this table. Arcana Royale has a really intriguing premise, but its hundred pages or so just barely scratch the surface of the story’s potential for magickal weirdness, especially as Hudson enters the game’s final round. Thus, the book as a whole feels rather anticlimactic. Bunn and Zamudio’s work isn’t bad, but one can’t help wondering what might’ve been had Arcana Royale been written by the likes of, say, Grant Morrison.

2022’s Prey expanded the Predator franchise into an 18th-century Native American setting, which gave the venerable sci-fi franchise some historical heft. I was a big fan of that film and thus, pretty excited for Predator: Badlands. Alas, the latest Predator film doesn’t really measure up to its predecessor; the return to a more traditional sci-fi setting has decidedly mixed results. The setup’s promising, with a young Predator (or Yautja, as they’re called in-universe) traveling to the galaxy’s most hostile planet in search of quarry that will prove his mettle to his tribe. Unfortunately, he soon crosses paths with a Weyland-Yutani android (played to bubbly extremes by Elle Fanning) who really, really loves meeting non-human lifeforms. From that point on, things just get goofy, especially when compared to Prey’s grounded intensity. If you ever wanted to see a movie in which a Predator and an android have a meet-cute, well, here you go. There’s even a cute alien critter thrown in for good measure. Things improve slightly in the film’s second half, but by then, it’s too little, too late.

I’ll be honest, I had always disregarded The Scarlet Pimpernel based on its title alone. But then I heard my wife — who, for the record, has excellent taste in books — recommend it to a friend who was looking for something enjoyable to read, and decided to finally give it a shot. Baroness Orczy’s prose is just about as florid as it gets, especially when describing Lady Blakeney’s intense emotional states, and her equally florid descriptions of the French Revolution’s cruelties make plainly evident her own pro-aristocracy sentiments. Modern readers steeped in superhero stories, which are all but unavoidable these days, will probably see every twist and reveal coming from a mile away. Indeed, Stan Lee himself claimed that The Scarlet Pimpernel, with its costumes and secret identities, was the very first superhero story. All that said, I was never not entertained by the novel’s proceedings, and it does possess a certain dashing quality that I’m sure blew readers’ minds back in 1905.