There’s a lot to like about Gideon Falls, right up until the final page. Jeff Lemire’s storyline blends horror, philosophy, sci-fi, small town mystery, and family drama as the characters try to solve the mystery of the Black Barn, a bizarre structure that holds the secrets of the universe — and possibly all of its terrors, too. Andrea Sorrentino’s artwork is phenomenal, with a sense of scope and style that perfectly matches Lemire’s storyline even at its most bizarre and trippy. There were several spreads that almost took my breath away, and several visuals that were delightful in their meta-ness. It’s a shame, then, that Gideon Falls’ ends on a cliché that probably seemed clever, but it really just feels like a narrative copout compared to the sense of ambition on display in the preceding pages.
My Cultural Diet
Neil Gaiman brings the story of Morpheus, King of Dreams, to an end following the events of Volume 9. Functionally, it’s all about Gaiman tying up loose ends and various narrative threads that popped up throughout the series, from Morpheus’ immortal friend to his unique bond with a certain Elizabethan playwright to the fates of certain characters who have been in his bad graces. My favorite storyline, however, focuses an exiled Chinese sage and his brush with the world of dreams. Having finished all of the Sandman volumes, it’s easy to see why they’re held in such high regard; they’re a truly unique achievement, comic book or otherwise. That said, I admit to feeling somewhat underwhelmed. There were definitely parts that I found beautiful, thought-provoking, and moving. There were other parts, however, that dragged or were otherwise indulgent.
I seem to recall there being a bit of a kerfuffle over this movie, specifically concerning Robert Downey Jr.‘s casting as the world’s most famous detective and director Guy Ritchie’s visual flare. That honestly seems a little quaint these days. This is an unorthodox Sherlock Holmes movie, no doubt about that, but that makes it no less entertaining. Downey and Jude Law have great chemistry as Holmes and Dr. Watson, and of course, I’m a sucker for a storyline involving secret societies and the blending of magic and technology. One minor detail: I’ve become so used to watching movies with subtitles that I actually found myself struggling to make out the movie’s dialog at times. Or maybe that’s just another sign that I’m getting older.
I’m a sucker for aviation-themed anime (e.g., Last Exile, Macross Plus). Jun Shishido’s The Princess and the Pilot is a good enough example, but what’s frustrating is that it could’ve been a great one. The movie’s world-building is interesting and detailed (the setting is WW2-esque albeit with some more advanced technology) while the artwork and animation are solid, and even beautiful at times (as one would expect from a Madhouse title). Unfortunately, the movie’s storyline is too slight to leave much of an impact. There are interesting angles and aspects, but the movie barely explores any of them. As a result, it achieves neither the poignancy nor the bittersweet ending that it’s so clearly aiming for.
As I was reading A Game of You, I realized that this was the very first Sandman story that I ever read. I was probably a junior in high school, and my friend Leah — who was into all sorts of cool art and music — introduced me to The Sandman. One of the big angles of this book is that it prominently features both a transgender character (Wanda) and a lesbian couple in a very positive light, which I’m sure was plenty controversial/revolutionary back in the early ’90s. At the same time, I’m curious how the magical limitations placed on Wanda because she’s still biologically male would be perceived today. It’s an interesting bit of world-building to be sure, though it doesn’t affect Wanda’s heroism or how the characters actually view her in the storyline. Gaiman considers this his favorite storyline.
I didn’t really dislike anything about Netflix’s adaptation of the beloved comic series, though I do wish that Tom Sturridge looked a bit more Robert Smith-esque (but that’s just my inner high school goth talking). It’s obvious that the show was a passion project — Neil Gaiman’s writing tends to have that effect. But my somewhat muted reaction may be due to the fact that I was reading the volumes being adapted (Preludes & Nocturnes and The Doll’s House) at the same time, and no adaptation can truly capture the richness of Gaiman’s storytelling. (See also Stardust). I was glad to see, however, that Netflix toned down some of the comics’ nastiness (e.g., the diner episode, hard as it may be to believe, is much worse in the comics). All that said, I’m looking forward to season two because (A) the good stuff in Netflix’s Sandman is very good and (B) I’m excited to see Morpheus and Lucifer’s inevitable confrontation.
I’m pretty sure The Visitor has been lodged in my subconscious ever since I glimpsed its VHS cover on the video store racks back in grade school. This bizarre Italian film about an alien warrior tracking down a psychic-powered eight-year-old girl who might be the spawn of Satan isn’t exactly coherent. Still, I was never not fascinated by its weird juxtaposition of the ominous and mundane through a trippy score, some also-trippy visual effects, and an uncanny ability to create an otherworldly atmosphere in spite of the melodramatic acting and ham-fisted dialog. Part of me would love to see a modern remake — the film certainly has plenty of intriguing elements (e.g., otherworldly warriors, psychic children, Satanic secret societies) — but you’d lose something without the genuine ’70s aesthetic, most notably the architecture of Atlanta’s now-demolished Omni Coliseum.
The Havelock location is a bonafide Lincoln institution. I had the prime rib French Dip this time around, which was decent. My wife, however, had some blackened prime rib which was fantastic and made me wish I’d rethought my order.
A decent little pizza place and beer garden in Nebraska City. I didn’t try any of the beers, though they had a wide selection from what I saw. As for the pizza, it was OK. Not terrible, but nothing all that special. For my money, I’m glad that Lincoln has Yia Yia’s.
This volume focuses less on Ethan Reckless, and more on his closest friend and co-worker, Anna, as she investigates a potentially haunted mansion for a faded B-movie screen queen. Again, this feels like Brubaker working through yet another nostalgic interest (e.g., his obsession with murder house tales and old horror cinema). But as with other volumes, there’s deeper stuff in there, as Anna works through her complicated relationship with her mother. And it ends with what might be the most genuinely sweet moment in the series to date.
I didn’t realize this was the third Reckless volume when I picked it up at the library. That, however, did nothing to diminish my enjoyment of this hard-boiled noir set in L.A. during the ’80s, in which a cinephile P.I. investigates a shady real estate tycoon — with predictably seedy and violent results. I’ve already put holds on all of the other Reckless volumes that I can.
This Michigan-based pub restaurant chain arrived in Lincoln back in 2016, and after hearing about it, we finally checked it out. I would eat here again, but I’m not in any great rush to do so, especially when Lincoln has so many other great restaurants. The next time I want to eat this kind of food, I’ll probably just stick with Lazlo’s Brewery & Grill.
I’m still slowly making my way through Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series. My favorite story is that of Hob Gadling, a man who thinks death is dumb and as such, simply refuses to die — which makes him an interesting companion for Morpheus, and allow Gaiman to make various comments on human nature and civilization (e.g., the more things change, the more they stay the same). The serial killer convention is goofy and weird and totally comic book-y — and utterly chilling. As for the appearance of G.K. Chesterton, well, that’s just fun.
I have only a passing familiarity with Ultraman, so I don’t know how well Shin Ultraman works as a reboot of the classic tokusatsu series. The storyline was as ridiculous as you’d expect, filled with technobabble and over-the-top monsters, as was the filming, which constantly employed crazy edits and “Dutch angles” to make the proceedings feel ultra-dramatic (npi). Like its predecessor, 2016’s Shin Godzilla, Shin Ultraman often felt like a parody of the genre, albeit one made by people who obviously love the genre. I enjoyed film’s visuals — e.g., Ultraman’s “Spacium Beam” attack and his flying poses — all of which had a delightfully retro feel to them. But its episodic nature was a downside. It felt less like a coherent film and more like a miniseries that’d been chopped up and re-edited together, and thus missing key scenes that would’ve helped smooth things out.
I didn’t enjoy this as much as the first Lost Bullet, due mainly to some weird tonal shifts. The film couldn’t quite decide if it was a hard-boiled police thriller, a car stunt showcase, or an action comedy. It tries to do all three to varying degrees, and suffers a bit as a result. Still, a decent enough Friday night popcorn film with some truly ridiculous (read: enjoyable) stunts and action scenes. The end clearly sets up a third film, which I’ll definitely be watching when it (presumably) arrives on Netflix.
The problem facing Alice in Borderland’s second season is two-fold. First, after establishing its crazy premise (random strangers wake up in an abandoned Tokyo and must survive by winning ultra-twisted games — think Lost meets Battle Royale), it has to constantly up the ante. And second, any explanations concerning the series’ world, the purpose of the games, etc., are bound to be underwhelming. To its credit, I think Alice in Borderland understands that; the series finale constantly toys with your expectations. Still, the ending is, well, underwhelming considering everything that transpires, à la Lost. But it’s a fun ride getting there and I was engaged by the characters’ stories, also like Lost. A third season seems unlikely, but if it happens, I’ll watch it.
The first Knives Out was an instant classic here at Opus HQ. Glass Onion hits some of the same high points — Blanc solving the original murder mystery in seconds is a delight — but it just doesn’t have the same joie de vivre as its predecessor. Maybe it’s because a film featuring an infantile billionaire hits a little too close in light of Elon Musk’s Twitter activity, or the irony of an “eat the rich” film costing Netflix $469 million is a little to, um, rich for my blood, or because the destruction of priceless art feels different in light of Just Stop Oil’s protests. These things obviously aren’t the fault of Rian Johnson or his talented cast, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them while watching the film.
A collection of stories about each of Dream’s Endless siblings (e.g., Death, Desire). Each story is illustrated by a different artist, so they’re all wildly different in tone and atmosphere. Apparently the first comic to ever land on the New York Times Bestseller List. I thought it was OK.
I didn’t like season two as much as season one — I think it wasted too much time on the characters’ various global travels — but I still enjoy the film’s Wes Anderson-esque aesthetic and of course, Constance Contraire remains a delight.
There’s much to like about Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of the classic tale: the stop motion animation, the depiction of fascist Italy, the Blue Fairy’s angelic design, Gregory Mann’s performance as the titular character. So I’m still trying to figure out why I didn’t like it more than I did.