Vadamn and the Obvious Musketeers S1 E2

VaDAMN and his musket throwing bombs instead of shades

Warning: Spoilers ahead.  Proceed with caution. 

Fellow Musketdears, is it me or are the four Parisian wranglers of the King’s guard really, terribly, UNBELIVEABLY conspicuous in their covert operations?  I mean, right from the start when Aramis declared the Musketeer motto as being “every man for himself” we had to have known a very distinct plan was a brewing.  I wonder – as Captain Treville was straining his anger at Athos, Aramis, and Porthos – if the other musketeers just thought, “oh my gawd, you guise are SO obvious about it.”  No?  Well, if their charade with the Red Guard (Ha, an unintended rhyme; totes amaaaaaaaazing) wasn’t enough when D’Artagnan is thrown in the chatelet with the villain of the episode, Vadim, it is made apparent he is a “musketeer” – a claim painfully and unconvincingly denied by the young chap – I mean, really dude?  You couldn’t have made it any more obvious you were a spy.  Vadim most certainly thought of you as the perfect trick the moment you opened your mouth, but hey a young blood gotta do what a young blood gotta do to prove himself; this episode is essentially D’Artagnan’s initiation to the seemingly elite club of the King’s cowboys.  But I digress from the theme; total anarchy and hatred for the establishment and monarchy.  A lot of this episode centers on the notion of poverty vs. affluence, and one man’s greed, which also exposes something about the construction of masculinity.  

Vadim – or more like VaDAMN with all his bombs and tricks – is an illusionist and a great orator, which makes him a great emotional manipulator.  Appearing to be a leader of a resistance hell bent on destroying the kingdom of France, Vadim’s plans for rebellion and war might seem to be part of an intrinsic meaning, but the truth is he is nothing more than an average Joe with too much pride.  Often with men like Vadim their followers crystallize them as heroes to a greater cause, but here lies human error; in believing heroes exist Vadim is presented as a wise man fighting for injustice.  It’s a romantic notion of a celestial meaning to man’s existence, but in reality Vadim doesn’t care for equity.  He doesn’t care for his people.  He is a greedy man that ventured beyond the curtains of his king and found a thirst for opulence.  In other words, he is a man that lusts for power and money in much of the same way all men do king or no king. 

                Men have always been defined by their wealth or their strength; greed and excess rules the notion that dominance is an important male trait.  If men cannot have what they desire by simply asking for it they will use brute force to conquer what stands in their way, and they will manipulate others to do their dirty work while their hands remain clean.  In this sense Vadim and King Louis – despite being on opposite ends of the spectrum – are the same. There are men fighting to reach the top and men who are fighting to remain at the top.  Neither exercise true logic to create a nation with nonpartisanship.  In one scene plans to send a decoy to Easter mass are discussed, and the king makes it clear that “common sense is for commoners” suggesting that enlightenment is simply a theoretical farce.  It is also very crucial to point out that King Louis says he would not want to be called a coward for breaking tradition in the face of danger.  He must show “courage and leadership,” but that too is a farce.  Men, since the dawn of patriarchal rule, have created impossible standards to follow, and the idea that there is honor in complete stoic bravery within the context of war or battle is daft and asinine. 

                In matters relating to the impoverished, and among the testosterone filled nonsense, the Queen pardons a few prisoners.  This act is a great indication of false hope of a nation embodied in the naiveté of the Queen.  What is important to note is the compelling conversation between Treville and the Queen; when Queen Anne suggests that all men need hope or be lost without it Treville is quick in his response.  The “gentle nature” of the Queen, he says is a “sign of weakness” and that “some men are just born bad.”  The juxtaposition of the two polar opposite notions is the difference imparted between war and peace.  On one hand is the Queen’s ideal faith in the goodness of people, and on the other hand – the hand of Treville – is the reality of exhausted conflict of mankind.

One can also view this particular scene telling of the distinct difference immediately placed on both gender roles.  The Queen – a woman – is considered weak for her generosity and compassion and even hope in men while the patriarchal society dehumanizes them and paints them as nothing more than brute, ferine beasts that want to watch the world burn.  As a feminist film and TV critic this is why deconstructing masculinity is crucial to my work as much as deconstructing femininity.    Our society is not different from the universe within our screens.  We use and reuse modern day ideologies to create entertainment.  It is a reflection of self, and to say this form of media is separate from daily life is a lie we like to tell ourselves.   

With society condoning this reflection of self without much thought it is necessary as fangirls and fanboys to be aware of what is acceptable norms and scripts of everyday life within our favorite and often times problematic fandoms.  I do want it to be clear that it is okay to like something problematic so long as you understand why it is problematic.  In the show Musketeers, combat is an honorable verb for men, and proving one’s worth in more aggressive ways is a “gentleman’s” rite of passage.  We have already established D’Artagnan as an inexperienced farm boy keen on demonstrating his place in the King’s guard, but his youthfulness is what separates him from the rest of the men.  In the opening scene D’Artagnan is preparing to duel a red guard and Aramis asks him “what is the vital thing to remember in a duel?  Honor is his response, but is swiftly reminded by Porthos that not getting killed is the key.  Poor D’Artagnan replies in the simplest of ways, “I was raised to fight like a gentleman.”  You could say this is what distinguishes the boys from the men or the brutes from the civilized; that at a certain age young men realize to be the victor you must utilize violence as a survival technique. Honor is a lie men tell themselves to comfort their troubled minds.

In other aspects of the show – apart from the theme – emerges the beginning of a love affair between Aramis and Queen Anne.  Upon saving her life during the prison escape scene she invites him along with Porthos to the castle to seemingly thank him.  I was irked by Queen Anne’s immediate dismissal of Porthos by asking him to give her and Aramis a bit of “privacy” before she thanked him Aramis.  I thought to myself, ‘why invite Porthos if you’re just going to ignore him, and not even thank him too?’ I’m certain Porthos, in this scene, was more of a plot device to remind the audience that the former romance between Adele and Aramis is truly over when Porthos calls out Aramis.  Like I said in the first review, Adele is barely a mention in the second episode, and sadly disappears from the sight of the show altogether.  And it irritated me that Aramis played his usual Don Juan game by acting his one small injury was still sore. The more I watch Aramis in action the more peeved I am of his character.  During the scene when Treville was yelling at them Aramis shows off his arrogance by stating “I’ve never been this unpopular before.”  And something about him being the romantic type.  The point is, Aramis is just starting to get on my nerves.

Thankfully, we have Constance because this woman is what Tyrion Lannister is to Joffery – a good left hook – Constance slapping Aramis not once but twice within this episode is simply the best vindication of his cocky attitude ever.  This woman should be the fifth member of this band of musketeers because she is braver than all four of them and because she has to put up with D’Artagnan’s unsuspecting kiss (yet again) to escape Felix’s grip. She is ever so clam and perceptive. My favorite scene is when Constance – defiant and audacious – stands in between her husband and D’Artagnan.  You can say her love for D’Artagnan is the reason for her brave move, but her brazen sense of self is more of an innate ability to do what’s right. Once again, she proves to be the voice of reason in a world of unreasonable male figures.   

Episode two was quite DA BOMB as VaDAMN would have said if he could.  Until the next review, my Musketdears

-All for one and one for all

The Musketeers: Where The Garrison Is Full Of Man Pain And The Bad-Asses Are The Women Episode 1

Disclaimer: There will be plenty of spoilers so if you haven’t seen the show yet either stop reading or proceed with caution. 

                The Musketeers – or as my friend and I like to affectionately call them, the Dumbsketeers – is a show stitched up entirely by copious amounts of head nods (seriously, how do you know what you’re saying to one another?), secret plans (that apparently only the four men and Treville know about.  Fuck the rest of the Musketeers, they don’t need to know), and brooding man pain (really Athos?  Really?).   But as entertainingly dumb these four leather bound chaps are my episode reviews will seep in beyond skin deep to deconstruct masculinity and gender as well as illuminate the badass women that we need more of.  Each Episode review will break down my thoughts on the subject or plot by character.  And like most first episodes of a new show that establish who these characters are, so too will I in this first review establish the characters through their ethos, pathos, and logos.  Generally, my Musketdears (the name I am giving us in this fandom because it needs to be a thing), it will be my own personal thoughts that you will either agree or disagree with, but in either case, bear with and enjoy my perspective on the rugged cowboys of Paris – The Dumbsketeers.

Athos:

                Completely driven by his man pain, Athos likes to wake up in the mornings to practice his man pain yoga.  Man pain punch a pail of water, man pain stretch into a lunge, even man pain dress your-self; quite dashingly sassy of him.  Sassy – that’s a good word, saaaaa-sssss-y.  It’s the best word to describe Athos beyond his man pain.  My favorite thing about him and essentially Tom Burke is the faces he makes throughout the series. He and Cardinal Richelieu (Peter Capaldi) should have a face off because their sassified glares are intensely wild, and what I live for. But I digress – back to Athos; the first scene we meet Athos is so full of choreographed man pain that there is not enough ways to say man pain without sounding terribly redundant.  Mmm, man pain.

But as there is a method to one’s madness so too is a reason of porous man pain sweating out of Athos.  There is guilt he feels for a woman that we presume he has “killed” – a woman he says he loves.   It doesn’t take a scientist to guess which woman he is speaking of (Milady de Winter), but more on her later.  For now, Athos is constructed as a man struggling to face his past.  Are we to feel sympathy for him in this first episode?  Hmm, I found myself just too curious as to why he was prompted to “kill” this woman he loved to find sympathy.  Personally, his self-deprecating broodiness, which teeters between upholding the law and breaking it – a cliché – is strict to the code of male honor, though not so much when fighting a red guard because Athos ain’t got no time for that, am I right or am I right? 

Aramis:

Painted as the “lover” of the group – a romantic optimist with a smug hint of violent disposition – Aramis is more of the self involved opportunist that loves to love without the commitment.  If you have seen the entire series as I have then you know exactly what I’m talking about.  But I will give you an example that has irked me from the start.  Aramis, in the words of Athos, “is that stupid” in having an affair with Cardinal Richelieu’s mistress, Adele.  The problem is not the affair itself, but the blasé way her character is developed – or hardly developed. 

The romance is empty and flat, and Adele is nothing more than a shallow plot.  In fact, by the end, she is killed off WITH Aramis’ gun, which is basically an empty plot device because her death is – spoiler – never resolved (though, I’ll hold out hope for the second season).  By the second episode Adele is nothing more than a cursory mention between Aramis and Porthos under the guise that she left Aramis for the Cardinal. 

Her whereabouts are never confirmed by Aramis, which is strange given he is in “love” with her.  Even worse is that at the time of her death, Adele professes her own love for Aramis, but it is meaningless for she is never vindicated.  And as much as I love Santiago Cabrera – because who doesn’t love a little Tiago in their lives? – His short storyline with Adele leaves Aramis constructed as a depthless lothario completely unconcerned for the women he loves (believe me, more on that in a later episode). 

Porthos:

                Porthos is a mystery to us in the first episode; we take him as the swindler type in his first scene, but he is much more than that.  Perhaps the most emotionally centered of the group, Porthos is sensitive and intuitive with his feelings.  His appearance can be intimidating – making him a great force in the musketeers – but despite being reserved and physically strong he is really just a big teddy bear.  Given that it is 1600 France and he is black we can discern that his ranking in the musketeers did not come without a harsh past.  What is great about Porthos’ character is his loyalty to the musketeers, but more on Porthos in my episode five review. 

Constance and D’Artagnan

                Because there is a crucial scene involving both Constance and D’Artagnan I have chosen to combine their introductions.  Constance is forward and confident in calling out all the characters.  We first meet her when D’Artagnan forces a kiss to avert capture to which she resolutely says “touch me again and I’ll gut you like a fish.”  She is immediately established as a woman unafraid to speak her mind.

Young and naïve, D’Artagnan is fearlessly bound to avenge his father’s death by killing the man he presumes to have murdered him, Athos.  Because of his simplicity he is blinded by 1630 Parisian social convention; his masculinity is driven by a form of violence – seemingly forgivable – in this case a duel.  Recognizing this look in his eyes Constance follows him to the musketeer’s garrison.  What follows affirms D’Artagnan’s flaw as well as give Constance her most astonishing moment. 

Entering the musketeer’s garrison ala Inigo Montoya from Princess Bride – anyone else thought that, or was that just me? – D’Artagnan prepares to fight to the death without further inquiry.  The scene, where two become four in the duel, is put to a halt when Constance shows up.  What’s interesting here is when D’Artagnan angrily tells Constance “I don’t need a woman to protect me.”  It not only speaks volumes about D’Artagnan’s mindset, but of the era from which they are all in. The expectation of brutish violence is a normal behavior for men, and one that goes unfazed by everyone – everyone except Constance.  She quickly hushes him and eloquently says, “if only men would think before they fight.” 

The above line suggests a flaw in patriarchy; powerful men, men who write the history books, have always made the argument that men are more logical and capable of reasoning.  In contrast it has been argued that women are too emotional to handle full participation of any given society, but here we see the enlightened state of mind resides not in the bodies of men, but a woman.  This is not to say men cannot be enlightened in the same way, or that women are all refined in the same manner, but as a social construction in a patriarchal world such assumptions of male dominance and female inferiority have plagued the world from being a progressive state.  While the men are busy attempting to prove their manhood, she remains a voice of reason within the show. This is why Constance is such an important character.

D’Artagnan is slightly problematic in two ways; one, he immediately places a massive distinction between Constance and Milady – while maintaining chivalry by offering to kill the man that tried killing Milady, he assumes Constance to be a prostitute without any evidence other than her appearance, and her best dress.  This seemingly miniscule aspect of D’Artagnan indicates his gullible nature and eagerness to trust the face value of situations.  Now, I do realize his perception of the two shifts later on, but for the time being and within the universe of the first episode, this is how D’Artangnan is constructed.  Two, by having him murder his father’s killer by the end of the episode we do not see him properly grieve for his father.  I believe this grieving process for him would have expanded his character beyond the young swashbuckling hottie.  As a plot it would have been more enjoyable to differentiate him from the violence in which seems to be the only coping mechanism.  But, perhaps that is simply my peevish taste.

Milady de Winter:

                Milady is a woman in a man’s world trying to establish her independent means via male privilege – a common theme that plagues all the women on this show.  Milady is forward and unapologetic, and her association with the Cardinal is out of necessity in surviving a harsh, patriarchal society.  A woman sullied by her circumstances, her rage is inspiring; a cold, hard assassin that has no shame in what she does.  Painted as the villain from the start her compelling past makes her fearless and strong, but sympathetic.  The way she orders a bath in the inn, the way she maintains eye contact with D’Artagnan, Milady proves she has the ability to take control.  And while she does use her sexuality to achieve her goals it is justifiable. 

In what I want to call the most poignant scene of the entire episode – nay – the entire series of the show, Milady enters a confessional to pose the most basic existential question.  “Why has god abandoned me?  Why hasn’t he answered my prayers?”  In 1600 France faith is everything, and to have endured trauma that questions it gives Milady a depth beyond villainous betrayal.  When the priest – a man considered holy and pious – reacts in horror at Milady’s confession it reveals fear in the institution of religion and another flaw in the patriarchal society.  He has heard hundreds of men confess to sins far worse, but he calls Milady an abomination. A woman’s body and independent use of it gives her the same freedom and agency that men carry in them, but it frightens the men much as it allures them.

Punching through the screen and grabbing hold of the crucifix, Milady exposes her pellucid, self-evident truth: She knows who she is and is not afraid of it.  And she delivers the most chilling line of the series, “you don’t understand, I’m not looking for absolution.  I want revenge.” This is a woman who has suffered in ways we cannot yet imagine, and this depth of dimension in her character is what makes her such a strong force.  In many ways she is the complete opposite of Constance, but both are struggling to survive in their respective circumstances. 

King Louis, the Cardinal and the Queen:

                An interesting dynamic develops between the three throughout the series; the interpretation of King Louis is less pompous and more sympathetic.  Cardinal Richelieu is menacing and Queen Anne optimistic and wisely vociferous.  King Louis is reduced to a child in front of the cardinal when he confesses the “mess” created by captain Treville and the musketeers – lost letters the king had written to his brother-in-law detailing strategies of France – which was really orchestrated by the cardinal. The “loss” of the letters symbolizes the weakness of France.  It is the notion of male strength that the empire is built on, and should the discussion of France’s foreign policy be discovered by the wrong people it could prove more than just “embarrassing.”

King Louis – in his attempt to follow his wife’s advice to be “his own man” – is like a scolded child in front of a parent.  He declares, “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”  Without realizing his own manipulation, the king hands his power and essentially his thrown to Cardinal Richelieu.  In this scene, both Ryan Cage and Peter Capaldi make excellent use of their chemistry to make it painfully clear who the real king of France is.   This scenario gives us a different kind of masculine view point.  While the king is hapless, and the Cardinal entirely devious, both commit second and third hand violence.  Meaning, most of the violence enacted by either the king or the cardinal is done by the hands of someone else.  The king has his musketeers while the cardinal employs Milady.  It appears to galvanize a matter of hierarchal difference in a very bourgeois sense.    The more power and money a man has the easier it is to be far removed from brutality of the real world.  It is also easier to play god – so to speak – with the lives of royal subjects. 

Queen Anne is quite compelling and deserves her own space, but her character is not as developed in the first episode, and so her strengths are not as apparent until later, but there are a few off hand comments made by King Louis that suggest her confidence.  As King Louis and Cardinal Richelieu discuss the fate of the letters it is mentioned that Anne is a woman of many opinions, and thus expresses them frequently with the king.  But like I said, her character is further developed in later episodes. 

            The Musketeers has its pros and cons like all shows do.  It’s fun to watch and dissect gender roles within the context of Alexander Dumas’ popular novel. By the end, its essence – in the show – solidifies a brotherhood/bromance. This is quite a common motif in film and television, and it can be tiring to watch over and over again.  But one does not need to give up favorite fandoms in protest.  Simply, like Constance calling out the four gauchos of Paris, exploring the hyper-masculine themes within the show is a perfect way to enjoy, yet remain aware of the social construct created in any given series.  This is my way of making sense of it all.

-All for one and one for all.  

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Of Simian Survival and Masculine Tropes

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes begins as it ends: a close up of Caesar.  It is a cinematic choice cautiously not coy, and deliberately in your face. It implies Caesar’s presence as significant to the plot, and a bridge between two worlds.  As one can remember what made the first of the reboot, Rise of the Planet of the Apes great was watching Caesar develop from an infant to adulthood.  He was like a fresh canvas that we got to watch move through the intricate and complex motions of the human condition.  Indeed, his relationship with the human Will Rodman (James Franco) gave us an emotional parent-child attachment from which a subsequent struggle with abandonment emerged; a very human theme.  Like many young adults that come into their own, Caesar had to become detached from a world he was raised in to accept the new – albeit a simian world.  In Dawn of the Planet of the Apes we get to see this world – this community built by the apes. 

Ten years since the initial outbreak of the virus from the first film we are in a post-apocalyptic existence.  There is peace among the apes, Caesar is the leader and a family man, and the primal community – a character of its own, is an architectural oasis that is – spoiler but not so spoiler – disrupted by humans.   As the inciting incident becomes a catalyst for springing the film into life, certain themes can be explored; the gratuitous violence that defines masculinity, and the fear of self. 

The movie is as you would expect from a sequel; it has action, heart, drama, and talking apes on horseback.  As a cinematic experience of American movies it is definitely a fun ride especially if you are a fan of the first film.  The only thing lacking is character development in the human society.  It felt, to me, as if I was watching humans encroach upon an innocent tribe.  I felt no connection to the humans who are trying to survive after a catastrophe.  While there was a human and simian kinship built in the Rise of the Planet of the Apes, in Dawn of the Planet of the Apes no such kinship exists. 

The heart and soul of the film is carried solely in the human characteristics of Caesar and his relationship with his family.   The film will surely tug at your heart strings as it did mine when Caesar and his son Blue Eyes fight and reconcile or when Caesar fears of his wife’s death, but having said that, I want to explore – with a feminist perspective – hyper-masculine tropes.  It is important to analyze what, in the absence of females, defines a world lead by male bodies. 

The gratuitous violence in Dawn of the Planet of the Apes exemplifies a one dimensional aspect of maleness that is emphasized in possessing authority.  Stoic, compassionless, violent activity is considered leadership quality and the only kind of masculinity acceptable in such a universe.  When Caesar takes a “passive” role with the humans it creates friction within the simian hierarchy.  Koba, one of the apes we know from the first film, questions Caesar’s ability to lead, and ultimately uses this “passivity” against his friend.  When males do express compassion as Caesar does with the humans they are punished for it. When males deviate from the expected social norm the punishment can range anywhere from being ostracized from social settings to extreme violent attacks.  It’s easy to ignore the hegemonic masculinity of human males when faced with talking apes, but exerting dominance in order to maintain power is an actual male experience.  Society conditions men into believing a violent manhood is appropriate behavior in becoming a “real” man, and expressing anything other than that is a cardinal sin against patriarchy.  The guns used by the apes symbolize a tangible sense of male dominance – a world based on coercion and fear.  In this way the apes suddenly transform from primates to humans.  It is in this transformation that the film unintentionally explores the notion of a primal link to violent behavior.  Is this kind of brutality an innate quality of nature?  Or is it entirely environmental?  I personally do not want to believe that we are driven by a biological impulse – a predisposition to carnal savagery, but I do believe enough people accept this impulse as innate in men that we build a whole code of honor around violence.  We reward male bodied people for their homicidal guise and call it bravery or we make excuses for them when the violence is difficult to ignore.    

Our society has constructed such unattainable and rigid definitions of both femininity and masculinity that it is problematic.  Individual men can and do reject cultural norms of masculinity, but society at large is still perpetuating two polar opposites of binary existence.  You are either one or the other, but not in between.  The definitions we give to things becomes signifies that become stereotypes filmmakers use and reuse to sell a product – the film.  Now, we can’t expect to completely ignore the media, especially with films, but we must learn to identify the images being repeated so that we may be able to navigate through the constant, perpetual steam of social construction of personhood.   

It is not easy attempting to fit somewhere within either stringent roles, but how does a horde of apes help uncover a human folly?  As it was depicted in the 1968 film, human anxiety over the loss of superiority to simian primates is a substitute for the fear of self; the destruction of self by the self, or in other words, the destruction of man by man.  I believe that the apes are more a reflection of man’s battle with “otherness.”  The “other” is a term to describe our society’s fear of people we consider “foreigners” who look and sound and are different to the culture we are most comfortable with.  In creating an on screen enemy with this “other” through primates we are creating an environment that accepts violence in men to solve world problems.  And in that same process we dehumanize people different from us, which condones a self-destructive behavior within ourselves to justify the violence acted out on others. 

While the film on its own is not the problem, it does allow us the chance to read between the existential lines of gender roles.  Because this film is post-apocalyptic, recreating a society in the absence of females is like repeating history.  It rationalizes male dominance with an irrational plot.  What I’m trying to say is that the strict and extreme characterization of maleness within the film is an example that counters the invisibility of female participation in society.  It is unsurprisingly toxic to both sides. But having said that, I still recommend the film.

Zero Dark Thirty Film Review: Out Of Time

The first ten minutes of a film sets the tone; its purpose is to grab your attention and keep you locked in interest so that the rest of the film can safely unravels before you. The beginning of Zero Dark Thirty had me shivering with goosebumps. It was simply a dark screen with background noise, but the background noise plays a crucial part in reminding the audience the reason why the characters of this film do what they do.

Jessica Chastain plays a CIA agent recruited right out of high school post nine eleven. Her mission throughout the film remains always clear despite the many set back and losses: finding Osama Bin Laden. A very strong lead, Jessica proves to be a tour de force as her character is neither passive nor undermined as a lead. What I really appreciated about this film is the use of her intelligence rather than her sexuality as a tool to find the most wanted and yet elusive man in history. Especially in a male dominated profession where it would be easy for a “female” character to get lost within the story, this character, Mya, always remains steady as a rock. The film never made a big deal about her gender, nor about her competence as a “female” CIA agent, but instead just simply showed the character doing her job.

Within the Bechdel test, which is a great tool to use when reviewing any film from a feminist perspective, Zero Dark thirty passes all three of the requirements. 1. There are at least two women, 2. Who talk to each other, 3. About something other than men. While the last point is slightly questionable since Maya and her co-worker Jessica do talk about Osama, who is indeed a man, it is done so within a serious and political context. Both of these characters are strong and independent yet they are written perfectly human. As in they have their strengths and they have their weaknesses just like anybody else. It’s not about proving their gender is “better” or capable by saturating them as either hyper-masculine or hyper-sexual. They are not secondary to their environment; they are present in the work that they do and they DO it well.

The torture scenes in the film were a little difficult for me to watch, but only because I normally don’t like that kind of realistic violence. There were moments at the beginning that I felt the scenes lingered on too long, but those scenes are very important at showing the reality of what lengths our government goes to within the context of war, as does any country that had just been attacked. I did not find that it glorified that particular act of violence that perhaps movies like Saving Private Ryan might glorify battle scenes with slow motion and lots of blood and guts etc. The violence in this movie is a character whose arc serves as an important role to the plot of the film. Having said that, it’s still difficult to watch, but that’s point. It is supposed to be difficult; it is supposed to be uncomfortable. This is what war is.

As you will find, if you choose to watch this film that even the Osama raid does not glorify violence to the extent that it could have, but instead it paints the ugly truth that is a mess called war; of what our service men and women endure to protect our country. And of what losses there are on both side of the battlefield. It reminds us how far removed many of us really are or have been from war time experiences, and how involved others have become. But above all that it reminds us that in war it’s not about winning or losing. It is, at its molecular, about survival.

August: Osage County Film Review

I read an article-several articles, in fact, about the call to end the trope of strong women and instead make films about complicated women.  Women who exhibit behaviors that are more expressive of the trials and tribulations of a three dimensional character.  As in, having less strong female characters who only express the traditionally masculine traits of their male counterparts, that somehow legitimize their behavior as “girl power” and more anti-hero women who display traits of weakness, selfishness, addiction-of a certain darkness that embodies a woman from a rough childhood, with parents as mean and vicious as any.  

Women’s lives are fraught with different color stains that mark their past and dictate a future in a world run almost exclusively by men.  We hardly see, on screen, the cruel coping mechanism of love, loss, and trauma that inflicts families, and keeps secret all those mistakes made.  Just recently I had the pleasure of seeing one of the greatest actress of all time, Meryl Streep, epitomize all that I have described and more in her role of matriarch Violet Weston in August: Osage County.  I had no expectations of the film going in.  I had no idea it was a stage play until after I saw the film, and so with basically a empty canvas, my mind began painting the artistic flow of genuinely realistic portrayal of complicated women.  

Now, of course I must mention, before I go any further, that I am aware that the cast is entirely white apart from Johnna the caregiver, who is Native American.  Also, I am aware that the setting of the film and play is set in Oklahoma, which is not a complete and accurate depiction of all women’s lives around the globe.  Having said that, what is refreshing about this film is that we get to see a film lead by females and whose stories are as different as they are complicated.  Their strength is not in how they perpetuate violent acts, but in how they learn to cope with it.  Each woman within the film has had some experience with violence, abuse, addiction beauty myth, stereotypes that which have come to define their multi-character arcs.  

As the prime example, Violet, played by Meryl Streep, is dying of cancer, and who is addicted to prescription drugs that cause her to act vile an more erratically.  She snaps at family members, making rude remarks etc.  Essentially, she is the character you love to hate, but despite her cruel and callous demeanor, you come to find out, in an amazing monologue, how she came to be the way she is.  In other words, her behavior is systemic and rooted in a dark past, her childhood.  We don’t get to see it, but we feel it through the powerful performances.  Similarly, with Julia Roberts, who plays Violet’s daughter, Barbra, we begin to see the parallels of her journey align with that of her mothers; so much so that she becomes her mother in the end.  

Ivy Weston and Karen Weston, the two other daughters of Violet are also very fascinating and complicated characters.  Both are women who, in search of love, come to sacrifice a part of themselves in ways I believe many women do when their backs are placed against the wall.  There is a great scene with Juliette Lewis, who plays Karen, that exemplifies the notion of blurred lines.  Ivy, herself, faces an existential truth that shatters her whole world just as she has found what she believes his her happily ever after.  However, no other woman demonstrates complicated more than Violet’s sister, Mattie Fae.  One mistake leads to a not so sly secret that plays a crucial part in the story.  

In the end, and what an end, nothing is resolved, just as it is in real life.  August: Osage Country not only proves that a female lead film can entertain, but that it can be strong even when its characters are weak and flawed.  The performances all were more than you can ask for; it pulled at my heart, it made me laugh, it made me feel the pain that on some level I could relate to, and a female moviegoer, it is nice to see women on screen with messy lives that are not hypersexualized, but more so complicated and tragically flawed like the rest of us.

I give this film a 2 out of 3 on the Bechdel test.  Even though there are more than two women in the film, and who talk to each other, some of what is discussed does center around men, and though most of the film explores the complicated relationships between a mother and her daughters and their lives, men do play a role (which does not necessarily mean it is a bad thing, but more just a fact) I still recommended this film and accept it as one of the very few films in which truly allows female characters on screen to have autonomy.  

Deliver Us From Evil Film Review: warning, there are spoilers.  

If you are a healthy connoisseur of horror films and looking to a theater nearest you to indulge your love of all things scary this summer, one place you will not find it is in Eric Bana’s new film, Deliver us from Evil. 

More of a comedy than horror, I found myself distracted by the numerous panic ridden facial expressions of Bana, but I digress.  The film is about a faithless cop who encounters demons and possession while investigating a series of seemingly human acts of violence; a man beating his wife, a woman murdering her child, and an enigmatic painter to connect them all.  Sounds exciting, but it is not.   Officer Sarchie (Eric Bana) struggles to understand the folly of the human condition as much as he struggles to understand his new companion the Jesuit priest, father Mendoza (Edgar Ramirez).  An alcohol drinking, chain smoking, and even sexually active father that knows how to rap in Latin, Mendoza does the bare minimum to convince Sarchie of his destiny to exorcise demons. 

Again, sounds exciting, but it is not, and here’s why….

The plot is complicated by unfulfilled and unsatisfactory back stories of both the principal characters and the origin of the possession. The film begins with a group of marines at Iraq in 2010.  Upon discovering a cave with Babylonian runes written on the wall the possession takes hold of one marine, Santino (Sean Harris).  Most of the film then caters to telling rather than showing the audience what happened.  We learn from Father Mendoza that the runes open a door.  To what exactly is made unclear because we never see a doorway being opened nor do we see what could potentially escape if or when it does. The film, however, makes a reference to a door – more specifically, THE doors – the band.  Their song “people are strange” – a potential theme song for the damned, is a motif that I suppose is to lead us to the actual doors of hell, but nope it does not.  But, thanks for letting us know that people are strange.  I couldn’t have possibly figured that on my own.   

The doors aside, the film consists of officer Sarchie searching for the marines with sporadic confrontations with demon possessed “recruits” and a sixth sense his partner calls the radar; another plot device not fully explained.  The radar Sarchie has can confuse an audience.  Is it a psychic ability?  Is he cursed?  Is it a gift?  Is it hereditary?  What is the origin of this radar because it is the most interesting thing about this character; yet not exploring this mysterious radar leaves him dull and aloof. 

If the point of the film was for officer Sarchie to regain his lost faith by taking part of an exorcism it was completely lost within the superfluous dialogue.  In one scene we learn of Sarchie’s harbored resentment and violent outburst against a child molester –the very thing that caused his crisis of faith- yet, while we are expected to feel sympathetic for him because of his man pain, the scene is cold and dry.  The reveal of his past should have been more dramatic.  This is a film about possession, and the best way to connect to an audience in such cases is have the protagonist taunted by the demon itself.  Sure, this film is based on “real” events in a real person’s life, but there is an art to filmmaking.  Straightforward, realistic plot is for indie films not exorcisms.  Further, when the demon does taunt a character the target is not Sarchie, but father Mendoza.  While it was impressively acted by Sean Harris – and I wish he had more dialogue than Sarchie or Mendoza - the taunting scene is confusing and out of place. This is simply because I did not feel a connection to his character.  Like Sarchie’s past, Mendoza reduces his back story to a dialectic car scene, which does not help to digest his man pain to feel any sympathy for him.  Also, is this film about Officer Sarchie coming to terms with his faith or Father Mendoza because for a moment you forget who the main character is. 

I will give credit to certain directorial decisions within the film.  There were a few scenes that were structured well to create a sense of suspense and anticipation.  Drawing out the darkness for longer than expected can cause anxiety and induce a visceral reaction, but these moments were rare.

Overall, this film does very little to excite the devil in me; it was not bone chilling or eerie, and the climax was empty.  Officer Sarchie is a character arc who does not grow or change by the end of the film, and his denouncement of all things evil sounds forced.  If you can see this film on a student discount then go for it, otherwise it is wise to wait for it as a DVD rental.    

Snowpiercer Film Review: An Existential Train Ride

Warning: potential spoilers.

First things first; Snowpiercer is gory.  Bloodshed is a common cinematic experience throughout this film.  If you are not a fan of or disdain massive amounts of violence then this film is not for you. 

Indeed, the superfluous violence is a major character trait of humanity - one can even say its legacy.  But before I get ahead of myself let’s begin with a short description of the film.  The year is 2031 and the world is frozen, the inhabitants of Earth all dead except a selected few that remain on a mammoth train called the Snowpiercer.  Designed to remain in perpetual motion by a super engine, the Snowpiercer is a dystopian existence of class warfare.  From tail end to front the Snowpiercer is a hierarchical metaphor that even John Green could not fathom.  And in this metaphor exists the tails poor, who for the last seventeen years, have been plotting and executing failed rebellions to free themselves from their plight.

It is in the dim, claustrophobic carriage we meet our anti-hero, Curtis and the band of misfits plotting their next revolt in the midst of receiving their daily protein bars, which is, we discover later, of aphidian taste, and a step up from their previous menu (trust me on that).  The arctic reality of the outside world is no match to the harsh and chilling truth to humankind’s brutality for survival.  Encased in a prison that is in constant stream of unrest, the inhabitants of the tails end reveal the depth of their flaws.  Not one character (except, perhaps the children) are without a bloody stain.  Left to fend on their own, humans in dire conditions resort to drastic measure for survival —animalistic and savage in nature. 

The copious extent of violence in Snowpiercer is gritty and raw.  Shot in such a way that in the wake of the carnage you are left feeling exhausted and frightened of its realism, but captivated by the artistry and grace by which a human quickly abandons civility.  Color is saturated in gray tones for most of the tail end, and it isn’t until the school scene does the iron rust of lighting give itself to a saturation of bold and vibrant hues.  This particular scene reminded me of a similar luminous room from the film Running Scared (the one with Paul Walker) in which the design of bright colors in an apartment intensified the horrors that took place within it.  In Snowpiercer most of the violence is shot in cold lighting, which give itself that grainy and rough feeling, but the backdrop of a childlike flush in the school carriage reminds the audience—just for a moment—the innocence of the human condition.  It is a breather scene that takes pause after a highly volatile stream of movement.  Its purpose is to stress that corruption and violence is a social construct taught to us from a young age.  And with the subsequent of bloodshed following it, the horror is the loss of moral virtue in the name of survival. 

The existential question of class disparity being necessary to humankind’s survival is tied heavily to the theory of functionalism.  The theory is covered under the guise of a messianic message, but essentially the sentiment is the same; all people serve a purpose, in their rightful place.  Functionalism depends on the consent and consensus of all people within a social order to maintain the status quo.  If, say, there is deviant behavior like a revolt it causes change to that social order, and this is the premise of Snowpiercer.  The tail end of society springs into a revolution to create a beneficial social change, yet as our anti-hero finds himself at the door of the founder he reveals his vile and horrific past.  To survive starvation cannibalism was endured.  Babies, he says, tasted the best.  He is not the good man we hoped he was as the leader to a revolution, but this too, reveals a dark truth.  Goodness is not an inherent virtue that remains intact.  In the tail end, survival is desperation, but in the front end survival means a fact more harrowing than expected. The twist is population control through deliberate and premeditated chaos, which is devised by coconspirators at both ends to maintain this balance.  Again, the question remains, is class disparity a vital aspect to humankind’s longevity?  A multitude of arguments can be made, but I would say go see the movie and come to your own conclusions. 

Snowpiercer is worth the time for it is one of the best films to come out this year if not THE best film. It will surely give you something to ponder long after the train ride is over.  If you have yet to see Chris Evans in anything other than Captain America you have deprived yourself of brilliant performances because the dude can act.  Along Evans, Tilda Swinton, Ed Harris, John Hurt, Octavia Spencer, Luca Pasqualino, Jamie Bell all shine bright as a beacon in the dark carriages of life’s unrelenting metaphor, and I love them all.  Make it happen, people.  Go see this movie.   

TAMMY Film Review: Tammy is Tammy

Walking into a film like Tammy that has been heavily marketed as a comedy, one is safe to presume the film would be the raunchy sort, but walking out of the theater I realized what heart the film had.

To start, I have to express my love for Melissa McCarthy. The way in which she does physical comedy is genius. She is bold with her choices and is fearless in her commitment to make the unfunny really funny.

My appreciation for Tammy is embodied in both Melissa’s performances and her chemistry with the other performers. Now, what I was expecting was a non stop ride of jokes, but while I surely did laugh, I also gleamed at the authenticity of which the film carried itself.

I say authentic as in the dimensions of the characters. Tammy is not the typical sort of person that takes lead in a film. She is flawed, but bold; she speaks her mind, and yet naive. She is downtrodden as she is beautiful. She is gritty and raw, and nontraditional. Indeed, in her adversity, in her low, middle class existence we connect to her as we would a friend. Her struggles are what makes her alluring, but her pain is not carried alone.

Her relationship with the women in her life is the crutch of the film. Her strained, but loving relationship with her mother is just as important as her estranged and troubled connection with her grandmother. While a romantic prospect is part of the plot, again we find ourselves in a film where, like obvious child, the romance is more of the backdrop to everything else.In this film, women are carrying the film, and why this is crucial for women-centric films is that the focus becomes more on the affinity and alliance between women, who, in their struggles, bond together and self-discover without being dependent on men to define themselves.

When you see Tammy appreciate these connections because we rarely see kindred relationships between women on screen, and at first it seems strange and foreign, but my hope is that more women like Melissa McCarthy, and Jenny Slate and the countless of women behind the camera continue making films whose soul and heart are intertwined with a deep and genuine relation to women.

And if anything else,a lesbian 4th of July with a Viking burial is imperative to experience at least once in your life. Go see Tammy.

Obvious Child Film Review: It's Obvious

In a society that spends more time debating the moral compass of abortion rights, and distrusting women of making their own decisions about their bodies, the film Obvious Child is an unapologetic and honest motion picture of a woman making that choice without a stance of preaching for or against either side.

Indeed, that very aspect of the film is what makes it refreshing. The film is not about whether the protagonist should or should not get an abortion, nor is it about shaming her choice, but that a of a single woman coming to terms with the path she decides to walk. Abortion is not a decision any woman wants to make in her life, but many women find themselves walking over that bridge in their lifetime. This is the most vulnerable a woman can be, and yet it is not about regretting the choice, but making peace with it.

The beauty of this film is beyond the genuine approach of the topic. It is in each relationship held by the main character; healthy and supportive. You might walk into the theater anticipating a film about a woman getting an abortion - and to many degrees it is - and you might want to see a debate play out or see a woman be disowned by her friends and family because in many ways a massive life choice like this is heartbreaking,and serious, but in her unwavering, challenging decision, the main character, Donna Stern finds a healthy dose of support, love and respect through comedy.

I appreciate the sense of normality that centers the film in an even pace. It is emotional, but far from draining. The comedic elements creates a straightforward reality of a version of womanhood in society today. Donna makes her choice and stands by it. Her joking demeanor is her way of making sense of an existential experience. the film carries itself with a warm affectionate compassion that is beautiful in its subtlety. A charming scene with Donna and her mother propels a dialogue out in the open about the frank and intimate generational experiences of mothers and daughters in a rigid patriarchal society. It is a connection hardly seen, and worth more than a hundred others; a bond between women solidified in complex choices.

I give Obvious Child a 2/3 on the Bechdel test. There are more than two named women in this film who discuss more than just a relationship, and though a romantic relationship is part of the story it is not the main focus. I recommend this film for all to see, and even make the plea for more films that are grounded in intricate options of women’s lives. I want more, I need more stories about women, and this is the way to go about it. Go see Obvious Child now.

Edge of Tomorrow Film Review: Where Tomorrow never come

Edge of Tomorrow has been described as a science fiction groundhog day, and while it’s no doubt hilarious to watch Tom Cruise struggle to repeat the same day over and over again I was hoping it would not repeat the same sexist mistakes.

While there were women visible in the film, only three had names and speaking parts. Neither of the women ever spoke to each other even when they were in the same room. It may seem trivial, but it is important to depict a cohesive relationship between women, especially in the military, and especially during a time of crisis in which the film takes place. What tends to happens in films is that a single token woman becomes the film’s universal representation of female kind. And while I enjoy Emily Blunt on screen, she is a British white woman who is not shown working to maintain the safety of Earth with other women. It would seem that even a world envisioned in the future, women still have no sisterhood or sister code.

Edge of Tomorrow may have the edge on a slightly creative story for its groundhog plot, but it fails in creating a tomorrow where women fully participate in saving the planet. While the film portrays Emily Blunt as the hero her legitimacy was only validated by the presence of Tom Cruise, which by the way, turns out - to no one’s surprise - to be the real hero of the film who saves the day.

The film is action packed and entertaining in the beginning, but half way through falls flat, and remains so until the end. I would give this a 0/3 on the Bechdel test, but I recommend, as always - if you are intrigued - to watch the film and have your own opinion.

Maleficent The Magnificent

My short review of Maleficent; it does not contain spoilers, though I do elude to certain things that take place in the film. This is your only warning. Proceed at your own caution. 

Maleficent is magnificent; a tale of lost wings gained by the strength of one’s own redemption. If ever there was a role Angelina Jolie was meant for this is it. To say I was lost in her acting is an understatement. I was mesmerized and awed by the way she spoke and moved. She, Maleficent, is graceful as she is statuesque, but her power comes from a great loss, a betrayal, and broken trust. Not unlike the stories many women share.

Maleficent, as you may have guessed, in the retelling, is a misunderstood fairy whose act of revenge is not as simple as lust for malevolence, but rather, at its core, a story of a wronged woman who gave her heart to the unworthy person, and was severely punished for it. And through this betrayal, she is transformed, as many women are transformed, into a settled darkness that masks the reality of a wounded soul.

From the moment her wings were clipped - a metaphor of abuse - she had to fight to find herself again (very much like anyone who has dealt with an abusive relationships). To reestablish the strength she once had, and let her darkened heart grieve - though, she grieves in a fantastical manner - then to forgive herself for the acts she committed, for the mistakes she cannot reverse.

The curtains - or in this case- the walls of thorns is pulled back to reveal, what I love the most, a side to the original story that explores the notion not all is what it is seemed. In a world where only the victors write the history, to tell the narrative from the other side is to paint colors into a human experience that often has been written in black and white. Not all is simple, and not all heroes are villains and not all villains are heroes. Sometimes, they can be both, and in the end, this is the most human tale of all.

The film does an amazing job at building a healthy relationship between two women that become, by all accounts, an unlikely alliance - an alliance that a cruel, patriarchal society cannot mar. A journey from innocence to an abusive betrayal over the lust of power, transforms this classic Disney tale of a classic villain to a feminist icon of which wounds are healed by the power of love - a love between two women that in their own ways right the wrongs and find their wings to fly again.

I give this a 2/3 on the bechdel test. There are more than two named women in this film that speak to each other, and though often not about a man, it is a Disney fairy-tale, which means talks of princes is almost certain. Entertaining as identifiable, Maleficent will have you wishing for a sequel. #yesplease