Tag: reviews

Zach Creggar’s Resident Evil: A Rant

On By E. A. SolinasIn random, ruminationsLeave a comment

Out of every franchise in the world, the Resident Evil franchise might have the worst track record when it comes to films. There have been seven films made about this bestselling series, six Milla Jovovich fanfics by Paul W. S. Anderson, and one crappy “adaptation” of the first two games that got every character wrong. Capcom needs to really start having a Nintendo-like grip on their IPs so they can get a decent movie made.

And right now we’re facing down the barrel of an eighth movie, by acclaimed horror filmmaker Zach Creggar. Good, right? Good news?

No.

First, he made it pretty clear from the beginning that he’s not going to bother with actual game lore or canon, that this “adaptation” is HIS story that HE wants to tell. He also apparently said that it wouldn’t have many zombies. Resident Evil, without zombies. Even the one with werewolves and vampires still had zombies.

And then a script, allegedly by Creggar, leaked to the Internet. Now, you might be saying, “But there’s no proof the script is real. It could be some random crap generated by a rando online… or worse, by A.I.” And folks, I would normally entertain that argument gladly, if nothing else for the sake of optimism that this movie might still turn out decent. The Internet is full of fake stuff, and fake scripts and spoilers have come up before.

But here’s the problem: a few weeks later, a trailer was released for the movie… and it contained scenes and images straight out of the script. Very striking scenes and images. So it looks like the script was NOT written in response to the trailer… which means that unfortunately, it seems to be the real article.

I say “unfortunately” because this script is bad. Really bad. This movie makes Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City look like Lord of the Rings. This movie makes the Netflix series look like a legitimate Resident Evil story. This movie makes Alice look like the best protagonist ever written, just by virtue of her not being a bumbling selfish idiot. This is what every single person does NOT want to see in a film adaptation.

And I’m not just talking about “this movie doesn’t have Leon/Chris/Claire/Jill” or “this isn’t a direct adaptation of any of the games.” The concept of it – a delivery man trying to get through an infected Raccoon City and survive – COULD have worked. It wouldn’t have been a proper adaptation, since it would only be adapting minimal material, but it could have been a good MOVIE. But it isn’t.

Before I go forward with the stuff I hated in it, a warning: this will contain spoilers for the script. I am still very lightly entertaining the possibility that this script isn’t real, but I’ve pretty much concluded that it is. So if it is, and it was used for the final movie, it will contain spoilers for Zach Cregger’s Resident Evil.

  1. First, the plot. There really isn’t one. The entire movie is basically this loser Bryan bumbling into Raccoon City and having multiple encounters with infected people and animals. Not the kind in the games where you make actual progression and new things happen because of the people/things you encounter – the characters he encounters don’t really contribute to the story, and the “progression” is entirely him shambling around seeing new monsters.
  2. Bryan is an idiot. It says a lot about what Hollywood thinks of you and me that the relatable “normal” person they write is a bumbling loser with more thumbs than brain cells. We’re also expected to like and relate to this guy… when he is actually the person in all those other zombie movies who HIDES THAT HE IS INFECTED and thus dooms other people out of his own selfishness.
  3. Marvel humor. Marvel humor does not belong in a Resident Evil movie. There are funny moments in some of the games (I’m thinking of Resident Evil: Village’s “boulder-punching asshole” line) but not Marvel humor. This completely undercuts the horror and tension by turning to the audience constantly and saying, “LOL, this is so weird, right? Woo, look, he’s turning into a zombie but someone’s throwing beakers at him! Funny! Laugh at this horrifying moment!”
  4. “Fuck” and “yo” are approximately 50% of the dialogue. Bryan even says “yo” to himself.
  5. There is also a subplot about abortion and babies. This subplot has literally no reason to exist except to give Bryan a thematic reason to massacre infected babies and small children. It doesn’t lead to anything else, the girlfriend character doesn’t appear for the rest of the movie, and the character development Bryan is supposedly given because of the dilemma ends up… well, I’ll explain more later.
  6. There are no zombies here. Not one. What do they have instead? Well, have you seen The Thing? Because the infection essentially turns them into The Thing, only less intelligent and thus less scary – lots of tentacles and infected corpses merging into larger monster masses.
  7. There’s also no T-virus. Instead we’re told this all stems from some weird attempt to accelerate evolution… because evolving apparently means we’re going to become mindless masses of teeth and tentacles that absorb corpses.
  8. Characters other than Bryan barely have a reason to be in the movie. One character named Pauline seems like she might be important (and give us somebody for Bryan to talk to other than himself), but she’s killed off a few scenes later. The movie also introduces a badass action character named Max… and then he just sort of walks out of the movie and we never even find out what happened to him. I almost wonder if Max was some kind of “take-that” to the characters of Leon Kennedy and Chris Redfield, both of whom are very competent, buttkicking action characters who can get through a game intact and alive. It’s almost like Creggar is saying, “Hey, you want Leon or Chris? You want someone who can kill all the monsters and save the day? Well tough! You get the blithering loser delivery man instead!”
  9. The Resident Evil-ness of the movie is surface-level. Even more surface-level than the Netflix series. Essentially, the only things that it has in common with any Resident Evil story is because the setting is called Raccoon City, and the evil corporation responsible is called Umbrella. Change those names, and there’s nothing Resident Evil about it at all.
  10. The ending. To put it simply, the movie ends with Bryan, who is infected, finally turning into a monster and killing the people who had just formulated a cure. The cure is destroyed, and the human race is doomed, because Bryan is a selfish moron who couldn’t tell them, “I’m infected. I’ll wait outside while you make a cure. Please come out and save me when you’re done.”
  11. Because of that ending… the entire movie, which is about delivering the MacGuffin for the cure, is pointless. Nothing that we saw actually led to anything, and nothing the character of Bryan went through resulted in any kind of character development. It essentially ends with Zach Creggar saying, “I just wasted a few hours of your life. Thanks for the money, suckers.”

I can only assume that Zach Creggar wanted to make a not-zombie movie himself, but probably couldn’t get the funding for it (especially before Weapons came out). So the studio just slapped a few Resident Evil names on Creggar’s script and figured that a recognizable IP will make it profitable.

I don’t know why it is so, so hard to get a decent Resident Evil movie. Each game has a plot and well-developed characters already plotted out for you, so all you need to do is strip out the backtracking, streamline the story a little into a three-act structure, and cast people who kinda look like the characters. That’s it. It’s not difficult. But it’s apparently something that no movie studio can manage today, because even the Resident Evil movie that was closest to the games did it all wrong by cramming two games into one film and getting the characters and casting dramatically wrong. “Soft boi uwu Wesker” is a particular thorn in my side.

On a related note, I recently watched the Japanese movie Exit 8 which is based on a hit indie game that has no plot and no characters. You just walk through the same hallway repeatedly, looking out for “anomalies” and trying to get eight levels right in a row, so you can win and escape the liminal space. Simple, but not easy.

This movie even has the main character facing the same dilemma as Bryan – his recent ex-girlfriend has just told him that she’s pregnant, and neither one of them knows what to do. But rather than just using that as filler that never goes anywhere or leads to anything, it becomes the backbone of the story – the Lost Man’s wanderings become an opportunity for the liminal maze to teach him that he can be a good dad, and to help him grow in courage and self-assurance. His escape becomes wrapped up in his ability to put his good qualities into actions, and his willingness to care for and prioritize a little boy who’s also in the maze.

But it’s obvious that Exit 8 started with the game and cultivated a story to grow around it, while Zach Creggar just had a bunch of gross monster moments he wanted to string together into a movie and then slapped a Resident Evil sticker on it.

So the lesson learned is: Don’t watch Zach Creggar’s movie. Watch Exit 8. Really good movie with simple concept, good characters, good effects, and it makes you feel like something was actually accomplished.

The Crow 2024: Where Are The Good People?

On By E. A. SolinasIn random, ruminationsLeave a comment

So, I just watched The Crow. Not the original Brandon Lee movie, a searingly raw, beautiful tragedy of love, revenge and sorrow that sadly led to the death of its lead actor. I watched the 2024 remake… if you can call it a remake when it has very little connective tissue to the previous movie or its graphic novel origin.

And it is bad.

Now, there are many, many reasons that it’s bad. I could go on for hours about the sucky aspects of it. The acting (FKA Twigs is excruciatingly bad). The writing… so much cringe Tumblr dialogue. The entire romance takes place over the course of a week or so, so it has no feeling of real weight, as opposed to the impending wedding of the original Eric and Shelly. And of course, the change from a purely mortal psychopath and his minions to a… soul-peddling Satanic billionaire in a suit.

But I think the change/development that bothers me the most is that there are no good people in the story.

See, in the original movie, a large part of the tragedy of Eric and Shelly’s deaths was that they were, in fact, good people. Not stereotypical ones – they were both pretty alternative, and they were a little edgy – but good people who tried to help others and protect innocents. Their deaths hurt us because they were senseless horrors that happened to people who didn’t deserve it, people whose hearts were pure. And even though we only see little snippets of their lives in flashback, we believe that their love was real because they were good people.

And they were not the only people. There’s also the little girl they helped care for, with the drug-addicted mother. And there is Ernie Hudson’s cop character, who helps Eric take down the bad guys and process his grief and loss and pain. This is a world that is cruel and sad and brutal, but it has little glimmers of light and love that make it all worth it.

The remake… does not have those things. There is not a single character in it who is a good person. Nobody to admire. Nobody to like. Nobody who isn’t at the very least a selfish a-hole.

This is especially egregious when it comes to Eric and Shelly, because… as I said, the tragedy of their deaths was that they died senselessly, and that it was a bad thing that happened to good people who didn’t deserve it. That was the entire impetus behind the story of the Crow. The story was inspired by the senseless death of the author’s fiancee, and his struggle to deal with the eternal fact that bad things happen to good people, and a lot of the time, it isn’t for any greater reason or consequence.

2024 Eric and Shelly? Well, their deaths are a direct consequence of Shelly being an edgy rebel and hanging out with the aforementioned billionaire, and even doing bad stuff on his behalf. She’s no longer an innocent party, and their deaths somehow feel less tragic because of it.

And even if she hadn’t, both Eric and Shelly have lost the innocent passion that you felt in the original. In this iteration, they’re a pair of self-indulgent drug addicts who make the entire movie feel strangely sleazy and shallow. Their “love” is not a deep passionate romance that is about to culminate in marriage – it’s a post-rehab weekend fling between two junkies who are calling whatever they feel “true love.” And the movie expects us to agree with them, even though there’s nothing to indicate anything deeper than lust or bonding over pills.

I think part of the problem is that the people making the movie do not know the difference between a protagonist and a good person. A lot of bad writers have this problem. We’re expected to like, admire and relate to the main character because they ARE the main character, not because they’re a person who deserves those things. Sadly, this works with some people, as evidenced by the many people who think of Rick Deckard as a good guy instead of, you know, an assassin.

(Note: I am not saying Blade Runner is an example of bad writing. It’s not. I am simply pointing out that many people do not think critically about the protagonists of the media they consume and assume that the main character is a good person who’s in the right, and Rick Deckard is a good example)

Another part of it is… I think the people making this either don’t believe that good people exist, or they literally do not know what a good person is. The former seems supported by the fact that there is nobody in this movie that is actually good; there’s no little girl or Ernie Hudson cop to serve as a counterpoint to the corruption. Even Shelly’s mom is in league with the villains and doesn’t care about her daughter. The latter is supported by the fact that they apparently think that we’re going to be inspired by the “love” of two oppressively cringe, immature addicts who say stuff like, “If I’m ever hard to love, try to love me harder” and actively contribute to their own deaths.

Anyway, I may rant and rave more about the many, many, many ways this movie sucks and how inferior it is to the original, but that is one of my major pet peeves.

Elio Vs. KPop Demon Hunters – What’s In A Name?

On By E. A. SolinasIn ruminationsLeave a comment

So right now, two animated original stories have recently been released. One is Elio, a Pixar movie about a kid who gets abducted by aliens and… well, the plot doesn’t seem to have much more than that. The other is K-Pop Demon Hunters, which… is about K-pop stars who are also secretly demon hunters.

Now, I cannot speak to the quality of these two movies, since I haven’t seen either in full, except to say that the reception I’ve seen to Elio has been very mixed. Some people think it’s great, some people think it sucks. K-Pop Demon Hunters seems to have gotten overall a much more positive reaction despite a very silly premise, and as far as I can tell, that’s due to two things. One, it’s a well-written movie, from the clips I’ve seen. Two, it’s a genuine movie made out of someone’s culture and passions, not a soulless corporate product.

But I think one big contributor to the downfall of Elio and the rise of K-Pop Demon Hunters is the titles.

KPDH has a title that tells you, upfront and openly, what it’s about. It’s a movie about K-pop and demon-hunting. The premise is silly, like I said, but it doesn’t care how silly it sounds. You will probably know right out of the gate if this is a movie you are interested in. Furthermore, the title is eye-catching. It’s bold, it’s brash, it’s unapologetically different from every other title out there – and that makes it both memorable and attractive. It makes you want to know more.

On the other hand… what does “Elio” tell you?

Honestly, to me it sounds like the name of an indie dramedy about an older man (I keep imagining Tom Hanks) whose wife died and he’s been depressed ever since, but then he adopts a stray dog and it teaches him how to live again or something sappy like that. That dramedy would ultimately be trying to get an Oscar, but everybody would have forgotten about it by the time Oscar season rolls around.

That is what the title Elio says to me. It doesn’t say “wacky children’s space adventures with slug aliens.” It doesn’t say ANYTHING about the movie it’s attached to, or what to expect, or WHY you should see the movie. It’s just… a name. The movie could just as easily be called “Wally” or “Sean” or “Jake” or “Mike.” It tells you nothing except that it has a character named “Elio” in it, and that’s… not enough to really attract attention and interest.

And yes, I know that there are some very successful movies that are just the characters’ names – John Wick comes to mind. But there are also ones that definitely weren’t done any favors by their titles, like Salt.

I’m not saying that Pixar has to go full out K-pop Demon Hunters in their titles. But they really need to stop with the really bland, nondescript titles that are either names (like this and Luca), or they show a minimum of effort (like Soul). Their movies have been struggling for the past few years, for varying reasons, but the titles certainly don’t help.

Oh, and ditch the current art style too. The bean-mouth thing is tired.

Recommendation: Godzilla Singular Point

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I didn’t really expect a series about Godzilla to go into detail about the nature of time.

In fact, the series has a distinct lack of Godzilla about 90% of the time, which my brother found to be its biggest flaw – if you’re going into it to watch kaiju punching each other in the face, you will be sorely disappointed. There are kaiju, sure – there are a bunch of pterodactyl-like Rodans, there’s an Anguillas, there are some sea monsters and giant monster-spiders and so on. But they are more like unstoppable forces of nature whose origins and nature are a mystery, and who scare the pants off us feeble humans.

About 90% of the time, the story is divided between dealing with various non-Godzilla kaiju, and examining nonlinear timestreams, such as receiving information from the future, and particles that can’t be detected, and artificial intelligence. It’s a very intellectual series with Godzilla as the primal draw and the ultimate culmination of everything it’s building towards, so if you just want Godzilla in particular punching monsters you are not going to enjoy it. There’s a lot of talking.

Also red dust. Sooooooo much red dust. It makes sense in context.

The rest of the 90% is divided pretty evenly between trying to unravel the mysteries of time and trying to stop kaiju in creative ways. Especially since there are different people with different motives, and different knowledge, sometimes working together and sometimes kind of undermining one another. The story mostly revolves around a small group of oddballs – a nerdy girl majoring in imaginary creatures (now THERE’S a complete sink for your student loans), a crazy old man building a giant robot to save the world (because Japan), and a young man who seems to have a real knack for figuring out the kaiju and programming artificial intelligence.

It also takes notes from Shin Godzilla by having Godzilla evolve through different forms over the course of the series. In fact, sometimes you can only tell it’s him because of that classic Godzilla musical sting. His final form has a mouth that could eat an entire meatball sub in one bite.

Also: my brother noted that the female lead reminded him of Velma from Scooby-Doo… and I kinda see it. Nerdy, clumsy, chin-length hair and glasses, into weird esoteric stuff… she’s like Velma turned into a cute anime girl, only her interest is insects who are their own grandpa instead of the occult.

I’d say that its biggest flaw, aside from a lack of Godzilla, is that it probably takes a few viewings to understand the theories behind it. The concepts and theories are a bit dense at times, and it sometimes treats viewers as if they are already aware of the science, or the explanations sort of dart by so fast that you might not notice.

If you like thinking-style anime like Steins;Gate and a hefty dose of kaiju chaos, then Godzilla Singular Point is something you might enjoy. Even if you don’t know if you might like those things, it’s worth checking out simply because it is such an unusual beast.

Review: Godzilla Minus One (2023)

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Sometimes, a classic franchise needs to get back to its roots.

And after a highly unconventional outing in “Shin Godzilla,” Toho and director/writer Takashi Yamazaki, decided to do just that in “Godzilla Minus One.” This may be the best Godzilla movie ever made – an emotionally deep, historically-rich tale of disaster, loss, grief and guilt, which just happens to center around a giant nuclear reptile.

Kōichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki), a young kamikaze pilot, stops at remote Odo Island with the claim that his engine is malfunctioning… but the truth is, he just doesn’t want to die. That night, a large hostile reptile nicknamed Godzilla comes ashore and kills all the engineers, and Shikishima believes it’s because he froze up instead of shooting the creature. More guilt, on top of his belief that he failed his country instead of dying for it.

After returning to Tokyo to find his parents dead, Shikishima finds himself living with a young homeless woman named Noriko (Minami Hamabe) and an orphaned baby, Akiko (Sae Nagatani). He gets a job as a minesweeper to support the three of them, though his guilt and feelings of worthlessness keep him from explicitly forming a family unit. And he’s still haunted by what happened on Odo Island, and vivid dreams of the men he didn’t save.

Then a vast, mutated creature ravages U.S. ships on its way to Japan – and Shikishima realizes that it’s none other than Godzilla. Not only is he vast and strong, but he regenerates from almost any injury, and he’s able to shoot a nuclear blast from his mouth that can vaporize a heavy cruiser. With only the slimmest chance of success and very few resources, the chances of destroying Godzilla are virtually nonexistent – but if Shikishima can overcome his demons, Japan’s people might have a chance.

It may be a controversial opinion, but I feel that “Godzilla Minus One” actually tops the original 1954 classic, which spawned the entire Japanese kaiju genre. That’s because it’s not merely an outstanding kaiju movie with a slow-simmering allegorical message about the horrors of nuclear war, much as the original was, but a deeply personal story about survivor’s guilt, PTSD, love for one’s people, and what a government owes to the people who serve it.

Director/writer Takashi Yamazaki weaves together all these threads without being heavy-handed or slowing down the story. The slower-paced, more personal parts are never boring because they’re so richly characterized (including the parts with real-life Japanese military ships and aircraft). And the parts with Godzilla are electrifying, like when he monches on a train or chases the minesweeper ship with a look of pure hate on his face. This is a Godzilla who wants the human race dead, not the lovable world-saver of many other Godzilla films.

Much of the movie rests on Kamiki’s shoulders, and he gives an absolutely stellar performance here – he embodies the painful guilt, the fear, the terror, the trauma, the longing for love and fatherhood that he can’t bring himself to embrace because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of happiness. The other characters are drawn with equally loving complexity, such as the sweet-natured Noriko played by Minabe, tormented engineer Tachibana, Shikishima’s lovable fellow minesweepers, and Sumiko, a neighbor who initially blames Shikishima for the deaths of her children but helps care for Akiko despite that.

And since “Godzilla Minus One” won an Oscar for best visual effects, it would be unfair not to praise them. The effects on a movie that cost a mere $10-12 million are absolutely superb – Godzilla has rarely looked this good, and the widespread destruction looks painfully realistic. Even without being compared to the kind of half-baked VFX that currently comes out of companies like Disney, this is a masterpiece.

“Godzilla Minus One” is a movie that is deeply, richly satisfying, both as a kaiju movie and as a human drama – a triumph for Toho and the Godzilla series, and an outstanding film overall.

Review: “Dragon Rider” by Taran Matharu

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Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

If I could succinctly describe Taran Matharu’s new book, it would simply be: “Eragon” if it were written for adults, by an adult.

Which is to say, “Dragon Rider” is a high fantasy with a lot of cultural richness and depth rather than Star Wars/Lord of the Rings tropes. It’s set in a world reminiscent of our own, but with soul-bindings to fantastical creatures like gryphons, dragons, chamroshes and various prehistoric beasts, and gives us a suitably underdog hero with the odds against him – and a baby dragon to help him bounce back.

As the third, least important son to the dead king of the Steppefolk, Jai is kept as a hostage in the Sabine Empire’s court. Specifically, as the personal attendant to the elderly, neglected ex-emperor Leonid. It gives him a front row seat to the dynamics of the new emperor’s court, but no respect – and a lot of hostility from the crown prince Titus and his friends, who see the Steppefolk as their barbarian inferiors. When Jai catches wind of a conspiracy against the visiting Dansk king, whose daughter is to marry Titus, he does his best to stop anyone from dying… only to lose everyone important to him.

And soon he finds himself lost in a freezing wilderness, surrounded by corpses… and most unexpectedly with a dragon egg. Without meaning to, he ends up soulbinding to the white infant dragon – and also ends up running into a prickly Dansk handmaiden named Frida, who knows something about being bound to a dragon. To save himself and his hatchling, Jai needs to get back to the Steppefolk, but staying alive in Sabine territory is the bigger immediate problem.

Taran Matharu’s fantasy world is reminiscent of our own in a lot of ways, mostly culturally: the Dansk (Northern European), the Steppefolk (Central Asians), the Sabines (Southern Europeans) and hints of other cultures like the Phoenix Empire (East Asia). It lends a lot of richness and depth to a fantasy story that is basically about becoming the spiritually-bonded partner of a mythical creature, and Matharu manages to evoke the feeling of a lot of history and complexity behind his tale.

It’s also distinctive because it takes some cues from Chinese cultivation fiction; it’s not a precise copying of its tropes, but the general ideas are there and integrated into the idea of soulbinding. The person in question learns how to acquire and store magical energy in a physical core, becoming stronger, physically purer and in possession of magical abilities. But it doesn’t make them all-powerful, and having a dragon doesn’t really keep Jai from being in constant danger (especially since she’s so small). So there’s plenty of suspense, action, grit, gore and dramatic confrontations.

Jai himself is a good underdog hero – not particularly exceptional, but he starts off as an ordinary kid that nobody expects anything from, relegated to a role nobody wants (which involves wiping an old man’s butt). He first starts to flower when he deduces that a conspiracy might be afoot, and tries to do the right thing – only for everything to implode in front of him. His relationships with other characters are pretty well-developed and enjoyable – his potentially romantic, slightly prickly connection with Frida, his immediate loving bond with Winter, and the quasi-father/son relationship he has with Leonid (who, to complicate things, personally executed Jai’s actual father). And then there’s Rufus, the mysterious old warrior with his own motives and complex history.

“Dragon Rider” takes a little time to get to any serious draconic action, but the destination is well-worth the journey. Well-rounded, vibrant and gritty, with plenty of room to flower in the future.

Review: The Boy And The Heron

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Hayao Miyazaki is one of those artists that needs no introduction, a brilliant storyteller whose characters and richly-developed stories include tales of flying pigs and walking castles, forest gods and floating cities, preschooler mermaids and fantastical bathhouses. So even when nobody really knew what the plot was, “The Boy And The Heron” was already an alluring prospect.

And while perhaps not his most accessible film, it’s nevertheless a gripping piece of work – half semi-autobiographical tale of a young Japanese boy during World War II, half fantasy story about a strange fantastical world of long-forgotten family secrets. It often feels like Miyazaki is musing on the exquisite yet flawed process of creating a fantasy world, the unique minds that nurture them, and the creativity that future generations should have.

During World War II, a young boy named Mahito Maki (Luca Padovan) loses his beloved mother in a terrible hospital fire. A year or so later, his father Shoichi (Christian Bale) marries his late wife’s sister Natsuko (Gemma Chan). Mahito isn’t pleased by this – including the fact that his aunt/stepmother is pregnant – and he definitely isn’t happy to be moving to her remote country estate. His schoolmates are hostile, and the only company in the house is the bickering elderly servants.

But he soon finds himself fascinated by a strange grey heron living in a pond nearby, and a strange stone tower that everyone warns him away from. When Natsuko wanders off and disappears, Mahito is drawn into the tower by the heron (actually a little man in a magic suit), who lures him with the promise of finding his mother again.

Instead, he finds himself in a strange fantasy world dominated by oceans and stone monuments, of blobby little spirits and a pyrokinetic girl named Lady Himi, who fends off hordes of talking pelicans. With the heron-man as his companion, he finds that his stepmother has fallen into the clutches of a civilization of talking, meat-eating parakeets – and to help her, he may have to take on responsibility for the entire world.

“The Boy And The Heron” is not Hayao Miyazaki’s most accessible film in many ways. It’s one of those films that may be a little confusing on your first viewing, but which increases in richness with subsequent watchings. It’s also one of those stories that lends itself to multiple symbolic interpretations, the most obvious – in my view, anyway – being that the existence of the other world is symbolic of a creative mind constructing its own universe in the process of storytelling, its flaws, and the need for younger creatives to take up the mantle.

And those mysteries and schemes are coiled around a hauntingly melancholy fantasy story – the world Mahito encounters is oddly empty despite its beauty and strangeness, like a vast cathedral with no people in it. It has an edge of wrongness and danger that always makes you feel like the hero is balancing on a knife’s edge, even from things that seem like they should be ridiculous (the man-eating parakeets are surprisingly unnerving). But even in that, Miyazaki works in some fun moments as well, such as Shoichi thinking Mahito has turned into a parakeet, or when Mahito has to deal with the heron-man.

And because this is Hayao Miyazaki, the entire story is lusciously animated – this is 2-D animation at its peak, distinctively Studio Ghibli in style, and detailed to the point where you can practically feel the frogs, the mossy stones, the feathers, the creaking wood. Miyazaki crafts visuals that are hauntingly beautiful and dreamlike, allowing Mahito to drift through strange, sometimes ethereal landscapes populated by strange creatures.

Mahito is a slightly weak spot in an otherwise lovely movie, simply because he’s much less expressive than many of Miyazaki’s other heroes. We know that he desperately misses his mother and isn’t happy about his father’s marriage, but it’s hard to tell what his exact emotions are much of the time, or how they will naturally lead to actions like constructing a bow-and-arrow. Fortunately he opens up more once he travels into the other world, especially when interacting with the exuberant Lady Himi (whose true identity is pretty easy to guess), the tomboyish Kiriko, or the heron-man (whose weird, slightly sinister and sometimes pathetic personality is a good contrast to Mahito’s more restrained one).

The English voice acting is uniformly good in this film, with actors such as Christian Bale, Dave Bautista, Gemma Chan, Mark Hamill and Willem Dafoe all giving excellent performances. Special shout-out to Robert Pattinson, who immediately earns his voice-acting cred by giving an excellent performance in a creaky, slightly sinister voice that sounds completely unlike his usual voice – watching the movie, you completely forget who’s performing the role, and just lose yourself in the voice-acting.

“The Boy And The Heron” has a few rough spots, but it’s still a strikingly lovely, symbolically-rich fantasy adventure that leaves you feeling melancholy yet hopeful. May Miyazaki give us more worlds to explore.

Review: A Quantum Love Story by Mike Chen

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Disclaimer: I received this book in exchange for a review from Netgalley. All opinions are my own.

Ah, time loops. An old sci-fi trope, but a good one – you relive the same short period of time, over and over, until you can find some way out of it. Such a loop forms the backdrop of “A Quantum Love Story” by Mike Chen, a clever and warmhearted little sci-fi tale with an oddball romance blooming at its heart, and a message about the importance of really living life instead of just existing.

Tennis-player-turned-scientist Mariana Pineda is grieving over the loss of her best friend/stepsister, and decides to quit her job at a facility with a revolutionary particle accelerator. But on that fateful day, she has a weird encounter with a technician named Carter Cho, gets hit with a beam of green energy… and awakens on the previous Monday morning. She’s now in a four-day time loop alongside Carter, who has already relived the same few days several times.

The two of them put their heads together to try to figure out a way to break the loop and return to regular life… even though Mariana discovers that there’s a kind of freedom and joy to spending time with Carter, free from worries about money, personal problems or cholesterol. The two of them begin to fall in love as Carter teaches Mariana about how to really live her life… but when his memory starts to disappear, their only chance for happiness is to break free once and for all.

There’s a kind of warm, quirky, friendly, comfortable quality to “Quantum Love Story,” despite the well-worn sci-fi premise. Mike Chen takes his time not only handling the scientific aspects of the story (Mariana provides a lot of the technobabble and theoretical substance) and the mystery of how the time loop occurred, but the slowly blooming relationship between the two lead characters as they get to know each other.

And the titular quantum love story is pretty charming, although not overwhelming or mushy – honestly, the story would work just as well if the characters were just friends. Chen depicts the relationship between Carter and Mariana as one that enriches both their lives, especially since Mariana has lived a rather sterile, staid, lonely life. Her blossoming connection with Carter is about teaching her how to live – mostly through his lusciously sensual love of food, which he has a natural gift for.

Since the story revolves around the lead characters almost exclusively, Chen has to make them very likable, or the titular love story would be torture. And fortunately, they ARE likable. Mariana starts as a tightly-closed bud of a person who has encountered happy free-spirited people, but never been one herself; it’s only with Carter’s influence and the freedom afforded by the loop that she starts to unfold. Carter is her opposite – a man who, despite the disappointment of his parents, seizes every opportunity to be happy and enjoy life. And food. So much food. Food food food.

“A Quantum Love Story” is a charming intersection between a light romance and a sci-fi mystery – a story about not only breaking out of time loops, but out of the ruts where people live their lives. Thoroughly enjoyable in every dimension.

Review: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll

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Wonderland. The Cheshire Cat. Down the rabbit hole. Mad as a hatter. Curiouser and curiouser. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

Even if you have never read “Alice in Wonderland” or its equally oddball sequel “Through the Looking Glass,” some part of its charmingly nonsensical stories has probably slipped into your head over the years. Lewis Carroll’s classic fantasy stories are dreamlike adventures that breezily eschews plot, character development and any kind of logic… and between his cleverly nonsensical writing (“I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror”) and surrealist adventures, it is absolutely perfect that way. How many books can say that?

A bored young girl named Alice is by a riverbank when a White Rabbit runs by, fretting, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!” and checking the watch from his waistcoat. Unsurprisingly, Alice pursues the rabbit down a rabbit-hole… and ends up floating down a deep tunnel to a strange place full of locked doors. There’s also a cake and a little bottle with labels instructing you to eat or drink them, which cause Alice to either shrink or grow exponentially.

As she continues pursuing the rabbit (who seems to think she’s someone named Mary Ann), Alice quickly discovers that Wonderland is a place where logic and reason have very, very little influence — talking animals in a Caucus-race, a hookah-smoking Caterpillar, even more bizarre growth potions, a grinning cat, the Duchess and her indestructible pig-baby, eternal tea-time with the March Hare and the Mad Hatter (plus the Dormouse), and finally the court of the Queen and King of Hearts.

And in the sequel, Alice steps through a mirror over the fireplace into a strange other world, where she encounters living chess pieces — including the Red Queen, who offers to make Alice a queen if she can make her way across the board in a chess match. As she makes her way across the chessboard, Alice encounters yet more strange people — the annoying yet philosophical twins Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the flaky White Queen, Humpty-Dumpty, and the clumsy White Knight.

“Alice in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass” are two of those rare books that actually are more enjoyable and readable because they are pure nonsense, without more than a shred of plot or even proper narrative structure. The entire story is essentially Alice wandering from one wacky scenario to another, meeting more violently weird people with every stop and finding herself entangled in all sorts of surreal situations. It doesn’t really lead anywhere, or come from anywhere.

And yet, this works perfectly — it’s all about internally-logical nonsense, and a coherent plot or developed characters would get in the way of that. Never has such a perfect depiction of a weird dream been turned into fiction, especially since Alice regards everything that happens with a sort of perplexed detachment. Even though NOTHING in Wonderland makes sense (vanishing cats, sentient chess pieces, arguing playing-cards painting roses, the Hatter convinced that it is six o’clock all day every day, the Tweedles questioning her reality), she addresses everything with a sense of bemused internal logic (“I’ve had nothing yet, so I can’t take more”).

And Carroll festoons this wacky little tale with puns (“We called his Tortoise because he taught us”), odd snatches of mutilated poetry (the magnificently weird Jabberwocky poem) and tangled snarls of eccentric logic that only works if you’re technically insane (so… flamingoes are like mustard?). This keeps the plotless story as sparkling and swift-moving as a mountain stream laced with LSD, so the mind never has a chance to get bored by Alice simply wandering around, growing and shrinking, and engaged in a string of conversations with loopy people.

“Alice in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking Glass” are a mad, mad, mad, mad experience — and between Carroll’s sparkling dialogue and enchantingly surreal story, it’s also a lot of fun. Never a dull moment.

Review: The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien

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Middle Earth is on the verge of falling, and Sauron’s vast armies are about to swarm mankind’s last defenses. Only two things can save the world: a lost king returns to his throne, and a little hobbit makes it to Mount Doom.

So needless to say, there’s a lot of tension in “The Return of the King,” the final installment in J.R.R. Tolkien’s epic fantasy Lord of the Rings trilogy. Tolkien builds up the inevitable clash between good and evil in the form of a final apocalyptic war for Middle-Earth – and rather than cheaping out with “and then they all lived happily ever after,” twines in the bittersweet edge of a man who had seen war and evil.

Gandalf and Pippin ride to the city of Minas Tirith, which is about to be attacked by the force of Mordor – and to make things worse, the steward who rules Gondor is going nuts. Merry finds himself in the service to King Theoden of Rohan, where his determination to follow his lord into battle leads him into a terrifying confrontation. And Aragorn is seeking out allies to fight Sauron on a military scale, even if they can’t defeat him unless the Ring is destroyed. His search will take him to tribes of forest-dwellers, to Gondor — and even to summon an army of the dead.

In Mordor, the unconscious Frodo has been captured by Sauron’s orcs, and taken to the fortress of Cirith Ungol. Sam is desperate to free his friend, but knows that he can’t take on an army, and that Frodo would want him to finish the quest. Sam manages to free Frodo from captivity, but they must still brave more dangers before they can come to Mount Doom, the only place where the Ring can be destroyed. As they travel Sam sees Frodo slipping further and further into the Ring’s grasp. Will Frodo be able to destroy the Ring, or will Middle-Earth be lost?

“The Return of the King” is an impressive juggling act, with Tolkien keeping different subplots and character arcs constantly moving around and alongside each other. And as he did in “The Two Towers,” he further expands the world of Middle-Earth, both by introducing new civilizations and by expanding on the rich history that we get only a slight taste of (the undead army that serves Aragorn).

And in this story, we get some gloriously memorable scenes (Eowyn’s stand against the Witch-King, Sam charging into an orc citadel) intertwined with ones that show Tolkien’s love of the little people who occupy his world (Pippin making friends in Minas Tirith). His writing becomes a bit too exalted in places, especially after the war, but in other places it’s rich and compellingly beautiful.

“The Return of the King” is also the grimmest of the three books in this trilogy. Frodo and Sam are stuck in the vividly horrific Mordor, while the city of Minas Tirith is on the verge of completely crumbling. Tolkien does a phenomenal job of exploring the madness, despair, rage and sorrow that accompany a war, and the way it can affect even the idyllic Shire. And he doesn’t forget the slow period of healing that follows – for people, for civilizations, and even for nature.

And the ending has a feeling of finality; Tolkien shows that in a war like this, there is no true “happy ending.” Even if the good guys win, there will still be scarring, and death, and haunting memories of what once happened. And even if a person survives, he will never be the same.

Frodo Baggins is almost unrecognizable in this book – the bright, naive young hobbit has been worn down to a pale shadow of himself, increasingly consumed by the Ring until he threatens his best friend with a dagger. In contrast, Sam has come into his own, showing his own brand of quiet heroism and strength as he does his best to help Frodo get to Mount Doom, even though he’s increasingly sure that they won’t be coming back.

And the supporting characters are not neglected either, with the younger hobbits being exposed to the horrors of war, Aragorn breaking fully into his role as the future king of Gondor, and Legolas and Gimli continuing to be absolutely delightful. One particular standout is passionate war-maiden Eowyn, whose complicated battle with depression and ambition is handled with far more sensitivity than anyone would expect of a book from the 1950s.

It’s difficult, once the story has finished, to accept that one has to say goodbye to Middle-Earth and its enchanting inhabitants. But as Gandalf says, “I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”