The best pork belly I’ve ever had, served on a wonderful bed of Mexican street corn. Their ribs and burnt ends were also excellent, but I’m pretty sure my wife and I will dream about that pork belly in the days to come.
My Cultural Diet
It’s a rare privilege to watch a TV series that’s made with so much confidence, style, and gravitas that you trust it implicitly. You just know it’ll do right by the source material, deliver a stirring and entertaining story, and look great doing so (since TV is, after all, a visual medium). Shōgun is one such series. Based on James Clavelle’s acclaimed 1975 novel, in which an ambitious English sailor shipwrecked in Japan seeks to establish an alliance with a powerful warlord, Shōgun is not light viewing by any means. Its storytelling is dense, delving into the shifting politics of 17th century Japan, the ideological and cultural conflicts between Catholics and Protestants, and the sometimes shocking requirements of placing loyalty to one’s lord and clan above all else. I’ll admit to getting a little lost amidst all of the political maneuvering and conspiracies, but I was never not intrigued, and the series was never less than gripping. Much of that was due to powerful performances from a stellar cast (e.g., Hiroyuki Sanada, Tadanobu Asano, Anna Sawai, Moeka Hoshi), not to mention impeccable production design, costuming, and cinematography that authentically imagines feudal Japan as a land of both great beauty and brutality. Come year’s end, I’m going to be hard-pressed to think of another series that achieves so much.
Seiji Yoshida’s Houses with a Story isn’t a graphic novel per se, but more like an architectural survey. Its pages are filled with floor plans and cutaway drawings of imaginary homes and buildings that are delightful, fantastical, and occasionally whimsical. The “World-Weary Astronomer’s Residence” (seen on the cover) is a monastic dwelling perched high atop a rock formation while the “Reserved Mechanic’s Cottage” makes for a pleasantly solitary life on a Montana lake. Located in the Tibetan mountains, the “Library of Lost Books” is a sprawling complex stuffed with tomes and possibly connected to another world while the humble “Clinic in the Woods” blends classic Japanese structures with Western influences. (And those are but four examples.) Yoshida draws inspiration from a variety of cultures and time periods for his designs, each of which is accompanied by lovely paintings, fun notes highlighting all manner of delightful and clever details, and a short intro to the dwellings’ inhabitants that sparks the imagination. Indeed, reading Houses with a Story left me in a constant state of “I want to go to there.”
Quite a few years have passed since my last viewing of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, so when my daughter suggested it for our movie date night, I naturally agreed. It’s still a classic in every way, thanks to the delightful songs, Charlie Bucket’s wide-eyed sense of wonder, and of course, Gene Wilder’s perfect performance as the titular Wonka. This time around, though, I was struck by the movie’s inherently tragic nature as it depicts a child’s final moments of innocence before he becomes the ward of the world’s greatest candy maker, yes, but also a madman. (In my headcanon, the tunnel boat ride is actually a journey through the dark side of Wonka’s mind, a manifestation of all of the repressed darkness that makes his confectionary genius possible.) The film’s most chilling line comes at the very end when Wonka reveals that he picked a child to take over his candy empire because “a grown up would want to do everything his own way, not mine.” So now, poor sweet, innocent Charlie is doomed to hear all of Wonka’s “most precious candy making secrets,” thus ensuring that the cycle of madness will continue. So yeah, a classic film in every way.
Here’s the best way I can describe Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus One, the 37th installation in the long-running movie monster franchise: it takes almost everything that’s beloved and celebrated about the Big G’s various incarnations, distills them down to their purest essence, and delivers a movie that’s filled with as much heart and conviction as it is kaijū spectacle. There’s none of the campiness that’s often associated with Godzilla movies, nor is there any cynicism or satire like 2016’s Shin Godzilla. Instead, it’s a deeply human and heartfelt story about guilt, sacrifice, and redemption that just so happens to also feature a giant lizard with atomic breath rampaging through post-WW2 Tokyo. Almost 70 years have passed since Godzilla roared onto the silver screen, and Godzilla Minus One is proof that he’s lost none of his potency as a cultural icon.
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.
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.
When is an alien invasion movie not an alien invasion movie? When that movie is Arrival. Sure it features aliens arriving on Earth, their plans and schemes a mystery. Are they a threat? What are their plans for humanity? But the movie is primarily about attempts to communicate with the aliens and understand their bizarre language, attempts that lead to some surprising results. I watched the first 15 minutes or so the other night, and was instantly entranced. Denis Villeneuve’s directing is masterful and assured, elements necessary for a movie that’s essentially about translating a (very) foreign language. The scene where our main characters first see the massive alien vessel in person, as they fly over a massive crowd, then an abandoned road, and then the fog-enshrouded plain where the vessel stands — all the while accompanied by Jóhann Jóhannsson’s (RIP) otherworldly score — is one of my favorites. I watched this with my kids, and it was fun asking my 15-year-old what he thought of the film’s overarching themes concerning death, existence, and free will. These are heady topics, but Arrival handles them with grace and poignancy.
All Hollywood blockbusters require the suspension of disbelief, but with their death-defying stunts, cool gagdets, and outlandish settings, the James Bond movies require an extra high level suspension. Which is where Kathryn Harkup’s book comes into play, as she examines the science behind Rosa Klebb’s poison-tipped shoe, Goldfinger’s laser, and what it would take to have your very own volcanic lair à la Blofeld. (Spoiler alert: It’s probably more trouble than it’s worth.) It’s a thoroughly nerdy read, but much like Dave Addey’s Typeset in the Future, it’s the kind of nerdery that I can wholeheartedly endorse — especially when Harkup indulges in some cheeky commentary in her footnotes. Or put another way, if you ever enjoyed MythBusters’ various James Bond specials, then you’ll probably enjoy this.
There’s not a lot to be said about Raiders of the Lost Ark that hasn’t been said before, and by people a lot smarter than me. The film is a timeless action-adventure classic, and for very good reason. One thing I did pay more attention to during this viewing was the film’s directing and cinematography, be it the use of extreme focus or shadows to heighten tension and make certain scenes even more intense and epic. Also, the editing and pacing is immaculate; the film’s almost two hours long and it doesn’t contain a single wasted moment.
This riveting documentary tells the inspiring story of a former monk who seeks to bring Shaolin kung fu into the modern era. To do so, he teams up with a disgraced soccer superstar and reunites with his former Shaolin brothers to blend kung fu and soccer. But will their skills be enough to defeat the Evil Team and the corrupt soccer officials? It’s probably been 15 years since my last viewing of Shaolin Soccer, but its story of underdogs, martial arts, mystical Shaolin powers, and soccer remains as entertaining and inspirational as ever.
Some thoughts after watching Yuen Woo-Ping’s 1993 kung fu classic for the umpteenth time. First, why isn’t Yu Rongguang more well-known? He’s so good as the titular bandit, even outshining Donnie Yen. Second, it’s safe to say that The Matrix, as we know it, wouldn’t exist without Iron Monkey if only because Yuen lifted some of this movie’s choreography for Neo et al. Third, few things are as consistently entertaining as early-to-mid ’90s Hong Kong movies. It’s a testament to that era’s filmmaking that Iron Monkey is so frenetic, visually speaking, but also so legible and easy to follow.
The best thing to happen to Star Wars in years. The Mandalorian has Baby Yoda, The Bad Batch is enjoyable, and it was nice to see Ewan McGregor take up Obi-Wan again, but Andor expands and deepens the Star Wars universe without relying on nostalgia or any of the usual tropes. And in doing so, it gives us some awesome new characters (e.g., Luthen, B2EMO) and a thrilling, even thought-provoking storyline. I can’t wait for season two.
Parallel Love worked on multiple levels for me: as a nostalgia-filled document of an important era in Christian music; as a heartfelt look at a rock band and the twists, turns, and tragedies of their career; and as a thought-provoking rumination on faith, spirituality, and art. Luxury was a band like no other in Christian circles, and I’m glad to see them getting some long overdue attention as a result of this film. Also cool: Some of my Cornerstone photos appear in the film’s archival footage.
One of my top 3 favorite Pixar movies alongside Toy Story 2 and Inside Out. Everything about The Incredibles — the mid-century modern aesthetic, the story’s perfect balance of comedy and family melodrama, the voice acting, Michael Giacchino’s score, the action sequences, etc. — is so well-crafted and well-executed. My appreciation for what Brad Bird et al. accomplished here has only grown in the last two decades.
I love this utterly bizarre and super-metaphysical Star Trek novel in which the Enterprise uses an experimental engine built by a singing glass spider to travel to another universe where there’s no entropy, the crew’s thoughts all start to run together, and a proto-god threatens both universes. Written way back in 1983, it feels unique and blissfully free of any franchise “baggage.”
The thirty-year time jump took a little getting used to, but the updated character relationships and revelations of the Laconian Empire made up for it. Given that I watched The Expanse before reading the novels, it was nice to finally start reading a story that I hadn’t already seen in some way, shape, or form.
I’ve never played League of Legends so I don’t know how faithful Arcane is to the source material. But I do know that I thoroughly enjoyed Arcane’s steampunk aesthetic, rich world-building, thrilling action, and superb (and dare I say) groundbreaking animation. A second season has been greenlit, and it can’t come soon enough.