I like a good espionage thriller. You know the kind I’m talking about, filled with secret agents, black ops, innocent people on the run, and conspiracies that reach all the way to the highest levels of government. Netflix’s The Night Agent, adapted from Matthew Quirk’s 2019 novel, has all of these elements, as an FBI agent races to uncover a traitor in the US government while also protecting a woman targeted for assassination. But for all of these plot elements, The Night Agent lacked some necessary urgency or intensity. While I was never not entertained, I was never really on the edge of the my seat, either. Not helping was Hong Chau’s performance, which was — I think — supposed to be guarded and secretive, but just felt strained. Don’t get me started on the side-plot involving a pair of lovestruck assassins that felt like it was from a different title altogether. And the fact that the characters cussed like they’re in a Tarantino film only added to the series’ incongruity.
My Cultural Diet
The mine cart chase sequence is an action movie classic and Ke Huy Quan is a delight as the plucky, resourceful Short Round. Unfortunately, watching Temple of Doom so soon after the near-perfect Raiders of the Lost Ark mainly reveals its weaknesses. Namely, Temple feels slapped together, with Indy and his companions finding themselves in remote India (after an assassination attempt goes awry) and tasked with retrieving a sacred stone from an evil cult. Raiders certainly had its fair share of ickiness but Temple feels unnecessarily grim and its Orientalism (e.g., the monkey brains scene) is rather off-putting nowadays. That, and Willie Scott is no Marion Ravenwood. Kate Capshaw and Harrison Ford have very little chemistry, which makes their interactions consistently annoying.
I liked this one better than the original Zeiram. It still has all of the original’s flaws — namely, annoying hijinks from the heroine’s bumbling companions. And even worse, she has a third bumbling companion this time around. But there were several moments that had me cackling with glee (such as when our heroine, an alien bounty hunter named Iria, roundhouse kicks a laser blast into a building behind her, which promptly explodes). As with the original movie, I’d love to see a more serious take on Zeiram minus the goofy humor that, instead, focuses on the body horror, monster designs, and cool alien gadgets.
I started watching this thinking it was 1986’s Royal Warriors, a “modern” police action film that also stars Michelle Yeoh and was also directed by David Chung. But here, Yeoh plays a pilot and smuggler in 1930s-era China who gets caught up in the anti-Japanese resistance. Action-wise, this has some pretty impressive sequences that really allow Yeoh to show off, especially with the rope dart. However, the film’s hampered by an uneven tone. One minute, it seems to want to be a serious, patriotic, even epic war film. The next, it’s an Indiana Jones-esque adventure film or a broad slapstick comedy involving mistaken identities and corny Richard Ng hijinks. As a result, it ends up being something of a mess.
My wife and I have both been on a bit of noir kick lately, and I picked this up after reading her review. I did enjoy the hard-boiled dialog, which is often funny and frequently ventures on cliché — until you remember that this is probably the original source for this sort of thing, that is. As for the actual storyline, I confess that I got lost amidst all of the twists and turns. I’m sure it all holds together, but by the end, I didn’t really care. Which is frustrating because I do like Chandler’s language, which was — as I said — humorously hard-boiled. But it could also be surprisingly beautiful and even poignant at times, whether capturing Philip Marlowe’s lonely life or the mundane details of Little Fawn Lake.
I’ve been intrigued by this little diner for years, having driven past it many times. So we finally checked it out this morning. I think we were hoping to find a hidden little gem in Lincoln, but it was just OK. There was nothing terrible about the food, but neither was there anything remarkable about it, either.
I don’t envy Ryan Coogler et al. the task of producing a new Black Panther movie following Chadwick Boseman’s death. To their credit, Wakanda Forever contains some legitimately beautiful and moving moments. However, the actual superhero part — which sees Wakanda facing off against the undersea kingdom of Talokan and their leader, Namor — feels muddled, overproduced, and over-long, almost like it’s from a different movie entirely. Similar to the original Black Panther’s Killmonger, Namor’s “villainy” is driven by a righteous anger at his people’s oppression, but perhaps it’s a little too similar. It’ll be interesting to see if/how Namor and the rest of Wakanda Forever fit into the MCU’s impending fifth and sixth phases.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Knockabout was initially overlooked given that it was released in the wake of Jackie Chan’s Drunken Master and Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow. But Knockabout stars two of Chan’s Peking Opera peers — Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao — who are no slouches themselves. The film is total silliness, with Biao and Leung Kar-yan hamming it up as a couple of ne’er-do-wells who fall in with a sketchy master. The hijinks get a little old, but Knockabout’s worth watching if only to see Biao’s impressive acrobatics and athleticism, whether he’s doing “monkey” style or battling foes with his jump rope skills.
Yuen Woo-ping’s Iron Monkey is one of my favorite kung fu films of all time, and in some ways, Wing Chun feels like its spiritual successor. It’s a good deal sillier, though, what with the gender-bending, mistaken identities, and sophomoric sexual comedy. That, and the fight choreography is more frenetic and wire-filled. The film’s sexual politics might be a bit uncouth by today’s standards, but Michelle Yeoh is an absolute queen even when she’s mistaken for a man by her childhood sweetheart (Donnie Yen, in a welcome comedic turn). And I do enjoy watching Norman Chu eat up the scenery like nobody’s business as the big bad.
This collection of disconnected stories isn’t the greatest Sandman volume that I’ve read, but it does feature what is often considered one of the best Sandman stories: Neil Gaiman’s spin on Shakespeare’ A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I also enjoyed “Façade,” in which an immortal superhero (Element Girl) longs for the release of death due to her isolated existence. I don’t know if this was Gaiman’s intent, but it’s a nice deconstruction of superpowers; we think it’d be cool to have them, but we never consider the cost they might have on our soul and sanity.
The focus here is mainly on Drax and Mantis’ exploits as they try to kidnap Kevin Bacon. The other Guardians basically make glorified cameos. (Chris Pratt looks like he’s sleepwalking through much of his screen time.) That said, I was inordinately pleased to hear Cosmo the Dog speak and the very final scene got me surprisingly teary-eyed, due largely to Pom Klementieff’s performance. Sidenote: I hope Low got a nice royalty check for the inclusion of “Just Like Christmas.”
Zindell continues to fascinate and frustrate. His prose can be compelling and even strikingly beautiful in its description of a far-distant spacefaring future. But it’s also ponderous and long-winded, with segues and side quests that are a slog (and could’ve used an editor’s red pen). I’m glad to be reading this trilogy, but I’ll be glad to be done with it.
I’m not sure I enjoyed this as much as the first Enola Holmes movie. The constant breaking of the 4th wall — which happens in the first movie, too — grated on me, and felt like the movie was trying too hard to be clever. Still, I enjoy the rapport between Millie Bobby Brown and Henry Cavill. The “fight the power” message is a bit on-the-nose for a production by a multi-billion dollar company, but it’s not an unwelcome sentiment in this day when the ultra-rich keep getting richer.
I still enjoy Lower Decks’ poking fun of Star Trek tropes, but this season didn’t click for me as much the previous one did. Perhaps the constant references and throwbacks are wearing a bit thin now. Hopefully, they can inject some fresh life into the series for the already-announced fourth season.
Cyberpunk: Edgerunners is ultra-stylish and ultra-graphic — much like Love, Death & Robots, it’s definitely not safe for kids — with some truly stunning animated action. (Kudos to Studio Trigger.) It occasionally wrestles with some deeper themes re. technology’s impact on humanity, but Ghost in the Shell it most certainly is not. Sometimes it feels like an edgy tragedy thanks to its melancholy tone, while other times, it’s all about the nihilistic excess. Your mileage will most definitely vary.
I wanted to like this more than I actually did. The story — based on Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang’s comic — was interesting and the young cast was game enough, but this is one of those cases where the various pieces just didn’t click. Also, don’t believe any Stranger Things comparisons; aside from being (partially) set in ’80s, Paper Girls has little-to-nothing in common with the Netflix series. There was a lot of potential here that will sadly be unrealized since Amazon canceled the series.
I didn’t like this as much as the first season. I like fantastical world building, but it felt like they crammed in way too much into this season. As a result, everything felt rushed and half-baked. But there’s still enough that I like that I’m looking forward to season three.
Like Andy Weir (Project Hail Mary, The Martian), Blake Crouch writes sci-fi that’s intellectually stimulating thanks to the science involved, but at the same time, real page-turners. (I think I read Upgrade in two days, total.) That said, Upgrade may have been too much of a page-turner; it felt perfunctory given the heady topic involved (genetic engineering). As for the ending, I get why Crouch wanted to end the novel on an optimistic note, but it rang a bit false and left a bad taste in my mouth.
The interviews with Woodstock ‘99’s staff, promoters, artists, and attendees as they reflect on the festival’s disastrous end are equal parts fascinating and infuriating, and a showcase of naïveté, incompetence, and greed. It’s all further proof that when art and capitalism meet, it’s often to art’s detriment. Unfortunately, Trainwreck stumbles in its coverage of the sexual assaults that occurred at the festival; the clips of half-naked women getting groped and mobbed by men were no doubt included to highlight the reality of the problem, but they end up feeling gratuitous and exploitative.
Blackout is billed as a “gripping WW2 thriller,” but while I enjoyed it well enough and found its Nazi Germany setting interesting, I wouldn’t exactly call it “gripping.” It moves at a brisk pace but I was never on the edge of my seat. What’s more, the protagonist’s angst — to be fair, he’s in a pretty unenviable position — and stricken conscience both become rather on-the-nose by the novel’s final act.