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By: Joe Jodoin
It has been eight years since the original Kung-Fu Panda was released, but now we finally have the complete trilogy. Kung-Fu Panda 3 works really well as a closing chapter to the character arc of Po the panda, but it underwhelms in terms of bringing any new ideas to the franchise. This is an easy movie to review, because it is exactly on par with its predecessor. If you liked Kung-Fu Panda 2, you will like this one just as much, but if you find these movies a little too childish for your taste, then the third iteration will not sway your opinion.
Story wise, Kung-Fu Panda 3 does not break any new ground and it is significantly similar to the first two movies. The villain this time around is voiced perfectly by J.K. Simmons, and is motivated to collect the “Chi” of all the kung-fu masters. For some reason (which is not fully explained), Po can only defeat him by learning how to use his own “Chi.” A new side plot involving Po’s biological father (voiced by Bryan Cranston) and Po training a panda army of his own provides much needed relief from the weak villain arc, but it still feels like a very conventional and familiar story. It’s also a little odd how the theme of Po’s coming of age is still the driving force behind his character arc, since this theme was the same for the past two films.
Where this movie really shines is in the visuals. The animation is gorgeous and colorful, in a way that is not only super absorbing for children, but also impressive to adults as well. The action scenes in particular looked amazing, and the fluidity of the character movements and choreography of the battles add up to some outstanding set pieces. There definitely could have been much more action, as every fight scene felt cut short or slightly underwhelming when it finished. I respect that the filmmakers were trying to focus more on story and character development, but for a movie called Kung-Fu Panda, there was not nearly enough kung-fu.
The fast pace of the movie works as both a strength and a weakness. First of all, it keeps viewers interested and constantly entertained. There are no scenes that felt like they didn’t need to be there, and no jokes that should have been cut out. This makes the movie feel lean and to-the-point, which was quite welcome. However, it is hard to become emotionally invested in what is happening, and it also makes some characters, like the villain, feel one-dimensional and forgettable. There is a sub-plot involving Po’s adopted father coming to terms with his son reconnecting with his biological father, but while this could have been deep and emotional, it was quickly glossed over. The short length of the movie — the whole movie is less than an hour and a half long — hurts its potential for more complex storytelling.
Overall, Kung-Fu Panda 3 is an entertaining and fun diversion, but it lacks the depth and originality that the best animated films possess.
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A few weeks ago, I woke up to the deaths of two people who were dear to my heart. In the span of four days, actor Alan Rickman and rock icon David Bowie both passed away from their battles with cancer.
I was inexplicably upset. For several days, I found myself unable to shake off this feeling of unease. I watched any video that showed up on my newsfeed involving Professor Snape, the beloved and painfully misunderstood character played by Alan Rickman in the Harry Potter series. I put on all of the David Bowie records I had in my library on repeat, remembering the times my father and I would spend afternoons listening together on my bedroom floor. Grieving for these icons was a harrowing ordeal. At the same time, my distress was very confusing to me; why was I grieving for people I’d never even met?
In my father’s youth, his favourite artist was David Bowie. Considered one of the most influential musicians of our time, Bowie produced hits and entertained fans for over six decades. He transcended what it meant to be a star; not only did he influence music, but his gender-bending alter-egos also impacted art, fashion and the global LGBTQ+ community. When my father immigrated to Canada in his teens, he barely knew any English. Yet, it did not take him long to fall for Bowie’s infectious and innovative tunes. In fact, he told me he initially learned much of his English through singing along to many of Bowie’s songs. Through his years as a fan, he accumulated dozens of vinyl records that I now have the pleasure of inheriting. I remember few weekends in my childhood where we wouldn’t spend an hour or two listening to David Bowie, in silence and in each other’s company.
When I became a little older, some of the first novels I read were from the Harry Potter series. Like millions around the world, I became captivated. I was entranced by the complexity of the plot and the depth of all the characters. Although I dressed up as Hermoine for many Halloweens, my favourite character had always been Professor Snape. Unlike other “bad guys” I was accustomed to at the time, Snape taught me that things in life are never as black and white as they may seem. There is a vast grey area where tortured souls and tough decisions reside, a place where the line between villain and hero is hazy and unclear. Oftentimes, we fall so in love with characters in novels that the actor who portrays them in film inevitably falls short. Alan Rickman was an exception. He embodied everything that Snape was and, through his unassailable talent, made the character his own.
With the death of a popular public figure, such as the deaths of Alan Rickman and David Bowie, comes a strange and perplexing sense of grief. It’s an unusual feeling that accompanies the news that someone you sort of knew yet never really met is gone. It may seem petty to grieve the death of a celebrity. With everything else going on in your life and in the world around you, it seems unreasonable for such an inconsequential event to trigger even an ounce of feeling. But, whether it is a celebrity or the barista who served you at Starbucks every morning, there is no accurate way to react to death, especially the death of someone you never really knew. It will be confusing and elusive, but that does not make your sadness any less valid.
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By: Joe Joboin
Michael Bay is a filmmaker that casual action fans love and critics love to hate. In his past films, he has ignored character development to objectify women, and ignored plot to film an endless number of explosions.
His directing style is fun and cool to look at, but the problem is that he thinks that all his films deserve to be two and half hours long, even though the action and violence quickly become mind-numbingly repetitive. He also has a terrible sense of humor that appeals exclusively to 12 year old boys, and ranges from being mildly annoying to incredibly offensive. Luckily, since 13 Hours is based on such a tragic and heroic true story, Bay actually decided to treat the material with some respect. Unfortunately, the film still ends up falling flat.
Watching this movie is like watching your friend play Call of Duty for over two hours. It’s no fun and you can probably find something better to do with your time.
The movie tells the story of a small group of soldiers trying to protect themselves during an attack on an American diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya. The story takes places during some of Libya’s most dangerous years, following the ousting of Gaddafi during the Libyan Civil War that saw the rise of numerous militia groups. On Sept. 11, 2012, a group of Libyan militia attacked the American compound and attempted to murder an American ambassador. Six American soldiers disobeyed orders and attempted a rescue mission, but got caught up in a brutal struggle for survival. This is serious and mature subject matter, which has not only attracted criticism from the CIA, but requires a great deal of respect to the people who died during this tragic event.
The film’s biggest strength lies in its technical aspects. The cinematography was well done, and the sound and visuals of the action scenes were surprisingly realistic and impactful. Some of the effects were obviously fake, like the explosions that tend to resemble fireworks, and the prosthetics of people’s wounded limbs. Even so, the experience of watching the fights had a very intense and real element to it.
However, 13 Hours had so many needless fights that it became impossible for me to actually enjoy it. Firstly, the character development was almost non-existent, and when it was present, it was very cliché and impossible to take seriously. Secondly, the action at certain times was impossible to follow, and there were long periods where all you could see were random soldiers shooting at people, and random people getting shot. There weren’t many opportunities for the viewer to be emotionally invested in the events. Just like Bay’s other films, the action scenes became uninteresting and boring and the dialogue failed to contribute substantially to the movie’s narrative.
Overall, watching this movie is like watching your friend play Call of Duty for over two hours. It’s no fun and you can probably find something better to do with your time.
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#10 — Inside Out (review by: Joe Jodoin)
This Pixar masterpiece is not just the best kid’s film of the past few years, but it managed to draw a large adult audience as well.
What’s shocking about this film is that it has a really clever and high-concept story that is still engaging for children. Arguably, making great films that are equally loved by children and adults is one of the hardest things for a filmmaker to achieve. Michael Giacchino’s score is also beautiful and unique, and works perfectly to make every important moment of the film more powerful and memorable.
More than anything, Inside Out deserves recognition because it represents the height of what modern filmmaking can achieve: it’s funny, emotional, powerful, re-watchable, and original, with great animation and a deep message.
#9 — Straight Outta Compton (review by: Hess Sahlollbey)
A biopic recounting the career of the N.W.A. on the rap music charts of the early 90s, Straight Outta Compton was the sleeper hit of the summer. Directed by F. Gary Gray with Dr. Dre and Ice Cube as producers, the film recounts the rise and fall of five friends from the eponymous neighborhood in California that popularized gangster rap. The artists in the film base their music on their emotions towards the injustices and discriminations that black Americans suffered in the 80s. Yet the film still functions as an effective commentary on not just black history and American history, but on contemporary race relations, issues and social change that is still relevant today. The film stars O’Shea Jackson, Jr. as his father Ice Cube, Corey Hawkins as Dr. Dre, Jason Mitchell as the late Eazy-E, and Paul Giamatti as their manipulative manager. The film can best be summed with that famous line from their debut album: “You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge.”
#8 — Star Wars: The Force Awakens (review by: Trisha Gregorio)
Considering the significance of its release late in 2015, it feels wrong not to include Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Taking over George Lucas’ brainchild in this seventh installment, J.J. Abrams recaptures the action and charm that has long defined the Star Wars film franchise, and makes it into something exclusively his.
The Force Awakens achieves a careful balance between old and new, whether that be in its storyline or the interweaving of both familiar and fresh new faces. Most notable, however, is its accessibility to a generation that grew up on everything space and sci-fi, as well as a generation that has only passively heard of it, heralding an era of much promise for the future of the Star Wars series.
#7 — Sicario (review by: Joe Jodoin)
Sicario is an incredibly tense morality tale about a young up-and-coming FBI agent thrust into a world of hitmen, assassins, drugs, and lies, where she is forced to confront serious ethical questions about the lengths one should go to protect their nation’s security.
Not only is the plot of this movie incredibly interesting, but the cast including Emily Blunt, Benicio del Toro, and Josh Brolin makes up one of the best ensembles of the year.
What Sicario excels at most, however, is building up incredible tension that keeps the viewers on the edge of their seats, clenching their fists for minutes on end, with each scene progressively becoming tenser than the next. This is action-packed and thought-provoking filmmaking at its finest.
#6 — The Hateful Eight (review by: Joe Jodoin)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnRbXn4-Yis
Those who are familiar with Quentin Tarantino are also familiar with the writer/director’s signature style: brilliantly crafted characters, hilariously memorable dialogue, non-linear narrative and a sprinkling of over-the-top violence that’s not for the faint of heart. The Hateful Eight delivers all of this and more, in a nearly three-hour long thriller that keeps viewers on the edge of their seat. The interesting aspects of this movie’s plot are that it takes place mainly in one setting, and that no character can really be described as “the good guy.”
Although this could have easily been a play, Tarantino brings such a wonderfully cinematic style, making the movie feel like a classic western from the 60s era. The film never gets boring either, as the violence and verbal sparring between all the despicable characters means there is never a dull moment.
#5 — Mad Max: Fury Road (review by: Vannessa Barnier)
This is perhaps the most talked about film of the year and I somewhat agree with the hype. I would recommend this movie to people who enjoy going to monster-truck events and punching. It’s incredible how nothing actually happens in the span of two hours. Mad Max, the namesake of the film, goes from prisoner to liberator, and drives a large rig back and forth across a great span of wasteland. He doesn’t do this alone, of course. One of Mad Max’s major assets is the strong female lead of Furiosa, played by Charlize Theron. I commend them on the cast, but they left out any people of colour – even if one of Immortan Joe’s wives were a woman of colour, that would have been nice. If you want to watch people drive around barren land for two hours while yelling, watch Mad Max.
#4 — Spotlight (review by: Tomi Milos)
Spotlight was the most self-righteously idealistic movie of the year, and such unapologetic belief in its own morals made it one of the most enjoyable watches of the year.
The film centers around the Boston Globe’s “Spotlight” team of journalists who unearthed a systemic pattern of child sex abuse by Catholic priests in the Boston Archdiocese.
Marty Baron’s (Liev Schrieber) first instructions to Spotlight as the newly-inducted editor of the newspaper is to speed up its research on locally-sourced stories.
Baron’s encouragement goads the quartet headed by Robby (Michael Keaton) into a fierce investigation. The ensuing probe into one of the Church’s closely guarded-secrets is thrilling despite the obvious ending and leaves one with the sort of heavy-handed inspiration that probably incited you to crack open a book after watching Dead Poets Society.
Props if you can recognize an unlikely McMaster landmark in a scene that was shot in Hamilton in 2014.
#3 — The Revenant (review by: Joe Jodoin)
Not many filmmakers have as much passion for the art of filmmaking as Alejandro G. Inarritu, and The Revenant is a clear example of film as a work of art. Every single shot looks like a painting thanks to award-winning cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, and every scene is choreographed perfectly to juxtapose the beauty and grit of nature. Inarritu was able to make the film simultaneously beautiful and brutal for the entire two and a half hour run time, and has truly created a visual masterpiece. The film is incredibly made in every other way too, and the acting of Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hardy especially elevate this film even higher. While not an easy film to watch due to its graphic and realistic violence, even those who don’t enjoy the film will admit to being blown away by the spectacle. This film is truly the definition of epic entertainment, and seeing it in theatres is highly recommended.
#2 — Carol (review by: Bahar Orang)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4z7Px68ywk
Carol — Carol — icy blue eyes, red-hot-livid-lips, porcelain skin, predatorial in that oversized mink coat and then small and timid as precocious prey with that terrified exhale of ‘I-love-you’. She is motherly, goddess-like, fierce and afraid, graceful and stumbling, large and lean, deep voice and heavy gaze, in awe, in despair, in heaven and in hell. And Carol’s sweet, solemn lover: Therese Belevit — ‘flung-out-of-space’ — is equally rife with complexity, contradiction, silence and stammer. She is child-like and vulnerable, but strong and complete and falling, unfaltering, forth into that woman, that person, that courageous, calm, clear-eyed, uncloaked, uncraven Carol. And between them: car windows, glass panes, December fog, large mirrors, a camera lens. But through it all their gazes remain on each other, vital and potent and precious and powerful.
The film centers desire: to respect your desires, to listen and tend to your desires is dignified, unshameful, crucial and brave. The film centres women: sometimes, men are dispensable, blundering, tepid and cruel. And finally, the film is a gorgeous relief from that history of fictional gay couples who suffer many a calamity in their pursuit of each other. For two women can indeed fall in love and stay together, dodge tragedy, and imagine a way of being where neither marriage nor age nor dread nor social disdain can define the limits or the levity of love.
Carol will leave you breathless and breathing, fulfilled and voracious; it is cold winter and hot touch; it is stunning, essential cinematographic poetry.
Directed by the masterful Paulo Sorrentino, Youth tells a deeply-affecting story about self-reflection and the yearning for more out of life as it steadily ebbs away.
#1 — Youth (review by: Michelle Yeung)
The film circles around Fred Bellinger (Michael Caine) and Mick Boyle (Harvey Keitel), two best friends who find themselves among the visitors of a lavish spa nestled in the Swiss Alps. Fred, a renowned and now retired composer, has vacationed here for over 20 years. Mick, on the other hand, steadfastedly works away with a group of young screenwriters to contrive his “final testament.” While Fred is alarmingly apathetic, Mick – not yet ready to let go of his past – continues to blaze towards a perilous dream. The other guests at the resort also seem to be cocooned in their own worlds. Everybody is doing their own thing, but nobody is really doing anything.
The exquisite marriage between the talents of Italian cinematographer Luca Bigazzi and contemporary composer David Lang catapults Youth to another stratosphere of cinematic brilliance. Bigazzi’s lensing is evocative, poignant and a marvel to behold. His compositions are impossibly striking; each shot could be framed and exhibited at a world-class art gallery.
In Youth, the sense of idleness and alienation is eerily compelling. Caine appears in one of the most tender and moving performances of his career, embodying a weathered and guarded man with reservoirs of harbored sentiment he was never able to express.
In the way he crafts his films, Sorrentino is similar to Fred in that he is also a composer himself. There is an eloquent, musical quality to his directing that, when combined with outstanding actors, makes watching his works both an immersive pleasure and a transcendent experience. Youth is cinema at its apex. It is poignant, ravishing and will engulf you like a dream.
Photo Credit: Diane Arbus
By: Hayley Regis
So the Oscar nominations are out, in case you haven’t heard. Despite this being a landmark year for women of colour achieving amazing things — Viola Davis’ Emmy, Serena Williams as Sportsperson of the Year — we are once again reminded that white people are just better at this ‘acting thing’ than we are. I don’t believe that is the case. Lest someone decry me as a reverse racist, let us delve further into this land of celebrating white mediocrity and the black actors who are typecast and fall by the wayside.
Hattie McDaniel was the first black person to win an award for supporting actress. In 1939 she played a character named ‘Mammy’ in Gone with the Wind, a character so laden with racist stereotypes that “problematic” doesn’t begin to cover it. The first time a woman of colour won an award for best actress was Halle Berry, in 2001. The movie Monster’s Ball was about a poor southern woman who falls in love with the prison guard who executed her husband. The movie is described as an “erotic romantic drama,” despite the first sex scene being drunken (i.e. without proper consent) “grief sex.” Despite Berry being fetishized and portrayed as a sex object, her performance was still the only time a woman of colour has ever won best actress.
We are no stranger to all-white nominees, especially women, but this year with movies like Straight Outta Compton and Creed, you’d think we would see some recognition for the acting of people of colour, especially considering the success of the films. Creed’s black writer-director Ryan Coogler, and black star Michael B. Jordan, were passed over, while Sylvester Stallone managed to get a nomination for best supporting. Compton didn’t get a nod from the academy, but the Screen Actors and Producers guilds nominated it for best picture. Needless to say this is a problem. We have actors like Idris Elba, Samuel L. Jackson and Will Smith, doing amazing work and someone drags the proverbial white carpet over them.
This year with movies like Straight Outta Compton and Creed, you’d think we would see some recognition for the acting of people of colour.
As Viola Davis said in her Emmy acceptance speech, “you can’t win an award for roles that are simply not there.” How are we supposed to fix the problems with representation, recognition, and general celebrations of people that may or may not be natural blondes? I grew up idolizing Michael Clarke Duncan, and Samuel L. Jackson because they were the only black people I saw in movies growing up. I’ve seen Snakes on a Plane more times than I care to admit, just because he’s in it. He doesn’t look like me, but he reminds me of my dad and his family. That’s the take-what-representation-you-can get mentality I grew up with. I am overwhelmingly saddened by the lack of diversity in this year’s nominations; it seems as if those wishing for a white Christmas had their wishes granted a little bit later this year.
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By: Hess Sahlollbey
What’s old is new again, especially when it’s been 15 years since we last saw the DigiDestined. Digimon Adventure tri. is a six-part film series serving as a direct sequel to the first two television seasons of Digimon. The first of these films, Reunion, has been released in Japanese theatres. Outside of Japan though, the films have already been licensed and are being streamed online in episodic format by Crunchyroll.
Picking up five years after the first season, the DigiDestined are now seniors in high school. With graduation approaching, Tai struggles to grow up and come to terms that his group of friends is growing apart. Mimi lives in America, Joe is studying for college entrance exams and Matt has a band. Tai, however, has no plans aside from trying to see his friends as much as possible, both human and digimon. Tai’s guidance counsellor tells him that he needs to start thinking about his future but Tai yearns for the adventures and happiness he had in the past.
That’s when strange occurrences happen in Tokyo. Electronics malfunction, telecommunications systems stop working and wide-spread blackouts plague the city. This turmoil culminates with an evil digimon suddenly appearing and destroying the city. Tai’s partner digimon, Agumon, appears and the ensuing battle causes even more destruction. Having defeated the evil digimon, Tai realizes that giant monsters waging war in heavily populated cities are extremely dangerous and can result in casualties and collateral damage.
This time around it’s evident that the franchise is targeted at adults. The films explore the central theme of growing up and attempt to inject more realism into the franchise. Our protagonists are now on their way to adulthood, facing the same kind of existential crises everyone does at that age, while also trying to protect the world. The DigiDestined have to take more adult approaches to their problems than they could when they were kids. The collateral damage incurred by fighting digimon is so large that it leaves Tai seriously reconsidering whether he wants to be a hero. This, in turn, causes even more problems within his friend group. His friends and their digimon all look to him as their leader, yet Tai is unable to handle the gravity of their problems. His digimon, Agumon, attempts to comfort him, but Agumon only has the intelligence of a child and lacks direction. Much to his dismay, Tai is obligated to lead others.
Adding to the theme of growing up, the rest of the DigiDestined are facing the other coming of age issues that pertain to young adults. One of the predominant issues is the romantic attraction between certain members of the group. While it was hinted at in the first two seasons of Digimon, it’s now clear that Tai and Sora have feelings for one another. Add in Matt and there is a love triangle between the three with Sora conflicted and undecided. Izzy also has to come to terms with his crush on Mimi while T.K. and Kari continue to have unresolved feelings towards one another.
Building on another theme that started in the Digimon film, the eldest of the group, Joe, is starting to realize that the more effort he puts into his academics, the more he is distancing himself from his friends. No matter how much he studies, he can never score high enough to get accepted into a prestigious university and his digimon partner is sidelined. The repercussions of Joe’s constant absences and the conflict between helping his friends or studying is a captivating storyline.
In the end, everything comes full circle. If you grew up watching Digimon after school like I did, then you’ll definitely enjoy the chance to be reintroduced to some old friends as they now grow up and face real, relatable problems while also taking part in giant monster battles.
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When I first heard that a movie called The End of The Tour was in the works about American author, David Foster Wallace, I was very cynical. When I found out that Jason Segel was being cast as the recently deceased literary genius, my worries were not alleviated. With Segel being paired with Jesse Eisenberg as David Lipsky, I was bracing myself for disaster considering the dissonance of their personalities.
The tour referenced in the title refers to how the film tells the story of the five-day interview Lipsky did with Wallace for Rolling Stone at the peak of Wallace’s career, following the publication of his novel, Infinite Jest. The interview between the two strangers morphs into a sort of lengthy first date, where the two discuss the ups and downs of life, and attempt to find truth in each other and themselves. Lipsky turned this interview into a memoir in 2010, after it wasn’t featured in Rolling Stone in 2006 as intended. The memoir in turn inspired the making of The End of the Tour.
After avoiding it for some time, I finally gave into my curiosity and watched the movie. Running one hour and 46 minutes, the movie was long, but it rewarded those who stuck with it until the end with a hefty dose of inspiration and much to ponder. The movie echoes what Lipsky did in his own book, Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself, in its heavy reliance on using Wallace’s own quotes, rather than trying to speak for him. There is, of course, the other aspect of speaking on his behalf, with the film crew being left to devise their own interpretation of Wallace’s actions, behaviours, speech patterns, but they do so with care. There was nothing outlandish about Segel’s portrayal of Wallace, and that has to be respected.
There was one part, however, that was a little off-putting. About three-fourths of the way through, conversation between the two men felt rushed — it seemed as though they were trying to jam in as many quotes as they could before their time ran out. The shift starts just after a tense moment of jealousy between the two men over a woman. This inspires a heated conversation in Wallace’s living room, and continues into the night, when Wallace enters Lipsky’s bedroom to ask if he’s awake. Given that Lipsky is, and he says so, Wallace stands in the doorway and spouts lines about depression and an over-analysis of the self. It seemed like they needed to invent more ways and places for the two to converse, and this is just an attempt at a new, creative setting. The slate is wiped clean between the two in the morning after Lipsky tearfully writes down notes from what Wallace had said that night.
The movie largely focuses on the secondary character, Lipsky, almost making him the main character. Eisenberg is essentially used as a vehicle to express Wallace’s ideas, to be a prompt. The focus on Lipsky is also an attempt to talk about what it’s like to meet and talk with someone you admire, a mentor of sorts. Lipsky expresses his own feelings of inadequacy and adoration for Wallace, through both saying it and directing a prolonged, mesmerized look at him. This tactic makes the movie more palpable and accessible to an audience, where you can find some of yourself in the Lipsky character. The sentiments quoted in this film are universal. It’s a truly pleasurable experience consuming something that resonates with you, and this film fits easily into that category.
I could not rave about this film enough. Both Segel and Eisenberg deliver performances that echo two great men in a way that is poignant and memorable — I was wrong about my initial objection about their casting. I would easily recommend this movie to both fans of David Foster Wallace and strangers to his incredible written works. At the very least, The End of The Tour brings viewers into the world of a brilliant writer where they can find the little sparks of life that still keep Wallace alive in his interviews, short stories, and critically acclaimed novels.
Photo Credit: Rolling Stone
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By: Trisha Gregorio/ANDY Writer
This year’s scary movie season oversees the release of two very distinctive horror films with the influences of H.P Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe and Stanley Kubrick all clashing together in the newly released Crimson Peak (directed by Guillermo del Toro), and the upcoming Victor Frankenstein (directed by Paul McGuigan).
Standard horror movie storylines of the past few years have transversed the spectrum of horror movie tropes. Both Del Toro and McGuigan take their films away from these archetypal horror elements to explore a category that has been distant from the spotlight in recent years: Gothic horror.
While many contemporary directors have interwoven Gothic elements into more modern storylines (a shining example of which is Kubrick’s The Shining,) the true core of the genre lies in its Romantic origins: damsels in distress, mysterious Victorian mansions, vampires and the mist-covered countryside. Romanticism was about stimulating its audience with something different, something wildly bizarre in comparison to the rigid Classical norms of the time. Rather than idealize fear, as is the common misconception, the Romantic and Gothic genres instead redesigned it in such a way that it could be embraced.
Crimson Peak perfectly encapsulates this aformentioned “nitty gritty” feel. Del Toro’s film, starring Tom Hiddleston and Mia Wasikowska in the lead roles, combines all of those aforementioned elements and is rounded off with dark colour schemes and elaborate costumes to take the genre back to its roots. The same goes for the highly anticipated Victor Frankenstein, set for release late this November. Despite the fact that it’s yet another contemporary interpretations of Mary Shelley’s classic story, it’s looking like it will stay faithful to its stylistic roots and impress viewers with its visual elements.
Though Crimson Peak has come under fire for becoming more style than substance in its determination to stay loyal to its Gothic sensibilities, one thing no one can deny Del Toro does exceptionally well is put elements of traditional Gothic films back into the spotlight, and challenge the norms of today’s horror movie scene. The movie boldly asks what made the Gothic horror film genre so distinct from the horror movies we know today, all while simultaneously responding with its own undermining twist on the classic factors distinctive of the genre.
And the answer? Sure, the Gothic genre doesn’t quite employ the same techniques we are now used to in horror. There are not quite so many jump-worthy scares or possessions. Exorcisms aren’t as likely to happen and scenes of violence and gore are few and far between. But the true horror of the genre, Del Toro reminds us, lies in a much more realistic source.
Instead of restless poltergeists and summoned demons, the Gothic genre entertains the notion of less palpable fears: death, guilt, and for most, the dangers that come with the unknown. Gothic elements stand out in a category of their own, and though Gothic horror doesn’t offer the same rush of adrenaline that movies like The Conjuring do, Del Toro and McGuigan seem keen to prove that the core of the genre is in itself a visual kind of poetry that still somehow manages to highlight fear as the most ancient and most human of emotions.
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By: Sunanna Bhasin/Opinions Columnist
Still Alice is a critically acclaimed 2014 film about a middle-aged linguistics professor, Alice (Julianne Moore), who is diagnosed with a rare form of early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. Her life had always been about words and communication, and for it to become about remembering how to articulate basic sentences to a classroom full of students is a frightening new reality. One can only imagine how devastating it is to lose one’s language. While the symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease are widely known — extreme memory loss, disorientation, and loss of speech — Still Alice provides the perspectives of the afflicted individual as well as her family and friends and the difficult decisions both parties have to make after the diagnosis.
The movie goes a step further and recognizes the stigma that still exists in regards to neurodegenerative disorders by using brutally honest dialogue. After getting her official diagnosis, Alice says that she wishes she had cancer. At first, this may seem a shock to the audience considering the severe nature of the sickness, but when Alice explains that cancer victims are not looked on as social outcasts and that they receive support in multitudes, the viewer can sympathize and realize the indescribable isolation Alzheimer’s patients feel.
Having a family member with dementia myself, this film really opened my eyes as to how quick the progression of the disease is and how people beyond the patient are affected to a degree that truly tests their love in immeasurable ways.
In the film, Alice’s husband (Alec Baldwin) has to make the heart wrenching decision to leave his wife for an incredible work opportunity in a different city. On the surface, this seems like a selfish thing to do — to choose work over family is hard to understand as a viewer. Yet, the movie succeeds in keeping the audience from picking sides. Rather than see it as a one-dimensional, straightforward situation in which the husband should obviously stay, take care of his wife, and sacrifice everything else in the process, Still Alice challenges viewers to appreciate the complexities presented by Alzheimer’s. While watching the film, one begins to wonder if it matters who the caretaker is if the one being cared for cannot recognize his or her surroundings or family anymore. If the breadwinner in the family must leave to provide financial support, is he or she being selfish or simply doing his or her best to keep the sufferers comfortable? Being in our own bubble and having no experience taking care of someone with Alzheimer’s, it is very easy to judge families that fall apart when a member is afflicted. Still Alice dares viewers to take on the role of a significant other or a child of an Alzheimer’s patient to truly see what the everyday reality is for a family dealing with it.
Despite the depressing, tear-jerking nature of the film, it ends on a hopeful and positive note. Yes, memories do comprise a large part of our lives. Think about how many times we reminisce with our loved ones. However, there’s one thing that comes out ahead — memories or not, recognition or not. At the end of the film, Alice’s daughter (Kristen Stewart) reads her a story and asks her ailing mother what it was about. At this stage of the disease, Alice is hardly able to speak, but she is able to get one word out even as she struggles: love.
Still Alice teaches us that while not everyone is dealt the greatest cards, love is enough to make life worth living even when it becomes hellish. Even throughout the movie, Alice would say how she’s had a great life, full of language and teaching, which she would never trade. Being diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s may have been a horrific shock, but it didn’t change the amazing life that she was able to live in the years leading up to it. In this way, Still Alice does not sugarcoat or romanticize the devastating reality of Alzheimer’s; rather, it reminds us all to live in the moment and love deeply because we never know when we could lose everything that matters most.
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Aaron Sorkin must have salivated when he was asked to write the Steve Jobs biopic, but the result will leave those who pay to see it with a dry taste in their mouths.
Following the heels of The Social Network, Sorkin was on top of the world and he tries to replicate the same magic with Danny Boyle (127 Hours, Trainspotting) directing instead of David Fincher. Much of the equation remains the same in Steve Jobs: the focus is still an ornery male “genius” who manages to alienate those around him, but the great man-history building feels stale this time around.
Renowned as the prodigal son that returned to helm Apple during the glory years when the company churned out the iMac, iPod, Macbook, iPhone and iPad, Jobs’ penchant for success seems unrivalled, but so was his capacity for hurting people to get what he wanted.
All this and more was already known to those who read Walter Issacson’s biography of the late Jobs, but here we find it overwrought in typical Sorkin manner. If it weren’t for Michael Fassbender’s intense display as the titular character and Kate Winslet’s captivating transformation into Joanna Hoffman, the film would have little to be proud of.
Famed for his work on shows like The West Wing and The Newsroom, Sorkin has a penchant for tightly wound characters and dialogue that leave actors and audience alike very little time to breathe. Such verbal acrobatics are seen here, but they are incredibly dizzying within the confines of a two-hour movie. Whether it was Sorkin’s intent for such quick-fire interactions to emulate what it was to work with Jobs, I don’t know, but something tells me it’s just Sorkin deriving pleasure from cringe-worthy one-liners from the film, like: “Musicians play their instruments. I play the orchestra,” and “If a fire causes a stampede to the unmarked exits, it’ll have been well worth it for those who survive.”
The claustrophobic effect is emphasized by how the movie is divided into three acts, all taking place in the forty minute-span before Jobs is to introduce a new product, and all involving the same rotating cast of characters: his daughter Lisa, her mother Chrisann, Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak, right-hand woman Joanna Hoffman, Apple developer Andy Hertzfeld and former Apple CEO John Sculley. The focus on the film is not so much on the products — Boyle and Sorkin are content to cut immediately and flash ahead whenever Jobs actually sets foot on stage. Instead of the products, the focus remains on Jobs and the conflicts that exist between him and his close acquaintances, and this tension is manipulated to the fullest. Too often, like when the camera flashes back and forth from Jobs to John Sculley (played by Sorkin favourite, Jeff Daniels) prior to the launch of the NeXT computer, this manipulation can prove to be too heavy-handed and leaves the viewer feeling as if they’re having their arm twisted.
The attitude that films like Steve Jobs and The Social Network propagate is that “changing the world” is more important than having the basic decency to value the lives of those around you. While the events in the film are heavily fictionalized, events like Jobs purporting that 28 percent of the American male population could have fathered his daughter Lisa with his girlfriend at the time, Chrisann Brennan, are true and pretty damning on their own. The fact that events like Jobs denying paternity and refusing to offer any monetary support are tempered by Sorkin one-liners rub further salt to the already gaping wound.
The only positive I can point to in Sorkin’s treatment of women is the fact that they are actually given screen time for once. Jobs’ head of marketing Joanna Hoffman (Winslet), mockingly referred to as his “work-wife,” is always on hand to berate Jobs to “make things right with Lisa,” but that just renders Jobs’ eventual attempt at reconciliation all the more laughable. That a man so endowed with the drive to succeed couldn’t bring himself to repair the bridges he had personally razed to the ground speaks to his character. While Hoffman admirably stands up to him throughout the film, she is only condescendingly asked to use a vague Eastern European wisdom to help fix Jobs’ relationship with Lisa.
The only moment where Boyle gets a chance to capture a genuine moment is in the final scene between Jobs and Lisa. But even then, the script falls flat in an attempt to wrap things together too neatly. Instead of letting the rawness of the scene carry it, Sorkin sneaks in a premature reference to the iPod that brings everything crashing back down to Earth. Then comes an embrace scored by The Maccabees’ “Grew Up At Midnight,” the type of indie-rock song that weaker films drift to when they want to evoke the sort of emotion that their own work lacks. In the end, the catharthis that the film peddles is shallow.
Save your money and try to “think different”-ly than Jobs. Don’t be an asshole.
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