42

Today marks the 66^th anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s debut with the Brooklyn Dodgers. The significance of that moment can’t be overstated. While he wasn’t actually the first African-American in the Majors, he still broke through a barrier into an organization that, like many things at the time, only allowed white men, and did so well before the Civil Rights Movement (and a year before the desegregation of the U.S. Military) when Jim Crow and segregation were alive and the norm. I'd say his legacy hasn't dimmed: his number 42 is retired throughout Major League Baseball, except for today when every player wears it (42 makes sure to point out both facts in its closing montage).

The legend and historical importance of Jackie Robinson is so big that it seems to outshine the story of Jackie Robinson the man. 42 gives us a little bit of a look at the man, but is obviously intent on maintaining the legend.

The film depicts the initial signing of Robinson (Chadwick Boseman) in 1945 and his first season with the Dodgers two years later. The narrative consists not of typical sports drama, but of anecdotes. Well-known instances of the verbal and sometimes physical abuse he endured are depicted, as are certain moments when his team stood up for him, such the famous embrace from Pee Wee Reese (Lucas Black). Writer-director Brian Helgeland weaves the anecdotal and authentic into a script that is never too sentimental, always engrossing, and a lot fun at times (he does make sure all the racists meet some little comeuppance, if only from a scripting perspective) and serious when it needs to be.

Credit is due for not sugarcoating the racism. While not nearly on the shocking level of Django Unchained, it’s hardly sanitized, and it’s not tackled ridiculously like in Crash. The film is rated PG-13, and the MPAA made the right decision not to give it an R and thus likely barring a younger segment of the audience from seeing it. The film should be seen by younger viewers to get an idea what racism really is, how hurtful it can be, and how strong the spirits of Robinson and those before and after him had to be to overcome it.

Boseman gives a subdued, stoic performance, embodying the quiet grace and will that epitomizes the Jackie Robinson legend. He doesn’t really delve too much past that, but there are glimpses under his skin. His subtle facial expressions and actions communicate a whole range of emotion and inner turmoil. Robinson may never have retaliated against the abuse he got, but Boseman’s depiction makes it clear that he was human, not superhuman, and it wasn’t easy being targeted because of his race.

Surprisingly, the more lively roles are the people around Boseman. Harrison Ford brings a solid understated authority and some humor as Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey, which works despite the fact that the makeup and accent certainly can’t disguise the fact that it’s Harrison Ford. As Dodgers manager Léo Durocher, Christopher Meloni matches Ford on the humor but contrasts him with a fiery demeanor. And the team surrounding Boseman all back him up well, whether their characters support or reject him onscreen.

The film’s baseball moments are down pat; it’s the parts outside baseball that leave some to be desired. The movie only scratches the surface of the man behind the legend, with only passing references to Robinson’s life outside the game. Nicole Beharie brings some graceful support as his wife Rachel, but even she seems like a secondary character. On the macro level, the film doesn’t quite capture just how important Robinson was. His struggles are depicted vividly, while the inspiration of him enduring them comes off a little too lightly. The lack of these elements doesn’t hurt 42 as whole, but it could have been so much more.

The film also fills almost every archetype of the biopic and sports movie formula. But it overcomes both of them, the former because it’s made with skill and care, and the latter because the story is one of purpose, not faux-inspirational Hollywood schmaltz. And I’ll admit: I’m a baseball fan, so I may be a little more forgiving on this level. But even if you're not, the picture is a respectful and loving tribute to Robinson, told with the reverence of a fable passed down to different generations.

Evil Dead

1981’s The Evil Dead and its sequels have a cult fan base that essentially guarantees a built-in audience for the new remake. I’m not among those diehard fans, or even really a fan of horror movies in general. But one stat from the new picture caught my eye: 50,000 gallons of fake blood used in a single day of filming. This I had to see. Even in an era of constantly pushing the envelope for violence in entertainment, that is impressive.

The original film, made by several young filmmakers and actors over a few weeks in a wooded cabin, is an effective little horror movie. Not particularly scary, but the filmmaking techniques create a frantic atmosphere that’s impressive for such a low-budget picture. The gore is often stomach-churning (though you can tell at times the blood is just syrup), and the bloody excess reaches levels that become downright comical. The new version is obviously aiming for straight-up horror rather than comedy, but it isn’t shy about the matching (or surpassing) its predecessor for excess. 

The plot has been slightly changed from college kids simply vacationing in the woods to the five protagonists (Jane Levy, Shiloh Fernandez, Lou Tyler Pucci, Jessica Lucas, and Elizabeth Blackmore) retreating to the family cabin to help one (Levy) kick a heroin habit. But what happens at the cabin is much the same: they find a book bound in human skin left by the previous tenets (shown in a brief pre-credits prologue), and failing to heed the warnings scribbled on the pages to leave it alone, they summon an evil force that possesses some of them and terrorizes the rest. Bloody mayhem of all types ensues.

Every production value in the picture has been given an upgrade from the original. The real woods in which they filmed in 1981 have been replaced by a dreary, much spookier landscape of fog and black, leafless trees that looks like something out of a nightmare. The adequate but not very convincing demons from before have been replaced by truly scary ones. And the gore, in short, doesn’t disappoint. Once the carnage starts, we’re treated to a parade of stabbing, slicing, shredding, splattering, burning, dismemberment, and shudder-inducing bodily horror (the infamous tree sequence has been replaced with something way more disgusting and horrifying, and one scene of possessed self-mutilation involving a box cutter made me squirm). Blood is spilled at monsoon levels even before the finale where it literally begins raining blood (but, alas, no Slayer on the soundtrack). And while the film is more shocking in its gross-out factor than truly terrifying, there are several tense moments that pay off with a jump scare rather than just gore (well, actually, along with the gore; things are rarely more than a minute away from something bloody).

All that blood, however, can’t wash away the weakness in the acting department. Jane Levy is the closest thing to good in the picture, as she is moderately believable as someone going through drug withdrawal, which kind of makes her trauma as she becomes possessed seem a little more real. Most of the time, though, the cast (including Levy) not only makes every horror movie mistake in the book, but their reactions, decisions, and dialogue are dumb by even the lowest standards of stupidity. Sometimes, this makes for unintentional comedy (the funniest thing about the film, intentional or not, is how Lou Tyler Pucci’s nerdy character keeps suffering maiming after maiming and yet doesn’t die, and even looks content and lackadaisical just moments later). More often, it just makes you roll your eyes. But in the end, the bad acting actually works in the film’s favor because you never get close enough to the characters to care that such awful things happen to them. Also, the audience’s expectation of certain horror film clichés makes the ending, a deviation from the original, something of a surprise.

Evil Dead is the cinematic equivalent of a great haunted house ride, except stretched out to 90 minutes and definitely only for mature audiences with a high tolerance for blood and gore. And like all good horror films, it’s made to be seen in a theater: not just to see the cheerful ultraviolence in all its glory, but to share amongst a rowdy audience of like-minded viewers.

Roger Ebert: Appreciation From A Fan

Yesterday, Roger Ebert, the greatest and most famous film critic in the world, died at age 70 after a several-year battle with cancer. He was also one of my inspirations as a writer.

I don’t think there’s any argument that he was the most famous. His trademark phrase “Thumbs Up” was not only a badge of honor that every movie he awarded it to proudly displayed on ads and posters, but its use has long since transcended just the film world. On a more “inside” level, the title of his 2000 book I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie, a compilation of some of his most scathing reviews, became something of a piece of in-the-know vernacular (like a meme before memes) among writers, especially online.

As for my other assertion, there is no argument. He was the best.

Ebert was probably most famous for his weekly review shows, first alongside Chicago Tribune critic Gene Siskel, and later with his Chicago Sun-Times colleague Richard Roeper. I was too young to catch any of the incarnations with Siskel, but I did quite enjoy Ebert & Roeper, with its succinct recaps and criticism of new releases, the humorous drubbing of bad movies, and the entertaining but not-so-heated (at least by today’s debate show standards) arguments when the two disagreed. But Ebert’s work which I appreciated the most was his writing.

His reviews went above and beyond just telling you if a movie was good or bad. They’d include thoughtful analysis of the film’s story, characters, and themes, commentary on the issues it explored, discussion of the actors and filmmakers’ other work, statements about the film industry (he made no secret of his opinions on 3D and the ratings system), and even anecdotes from his life if they somehow related to the picture. If it was a good review, it would be very scholarly and fascinating, and yet easy to read. If it was bad, you’d often be in for a very funny piece full of biting sarcasm and scathing wit. A good critic might persuade or dissuade you from seeing a movie. Ebert would make you want to look up more about the actors, directors, or subjects related to the film, even if his review made you want to avoid seeing it at all costs.

I admired Ebert’s craft, but that was not my favorite thing about his career as a critic. What I liked the most was something so much simpler: he was always honest and fair. Too often, many critics seem to jump on the bandwagon and lavish praise on a movie just because it’s popular or highbrow and artistic, or they’ll gang up and pan a movie if it has things going against it. Not Ebert. He was always honest about what he thought about a movie, even if no one agreed with him. Remember Gigli, the 2003 Ben Affleck/Jennifer Lopez vehicle widely derided as one of the worst films ever made? Well, Ebert gave it a not terrible rating of two-and-a-half out of four stars (best I could tell, movies he gave three stars or more got a “Thumbs Up”). On the flip side, he gave negative reviews to much-loved pictures like Gladiator and Fight Club. Whenever new movies would come out, I’d eagerly await his reviews because they were always his unique and honest opinion, not just the general consensus put to words. Even when I disagreed with him, I was always interested in what he had to say.

He seemed to give three-and-a-half and four-star ratings more often and to a wider array of movies than many critics, who generally save those for only the very best of the best. But this was because his sheer love of cinema left no room for any critical snobbery toward certain genres or stars. You could tell from his work that he really, really loved the movies, and his job.

Ebert’s cancer battle cost him speech in 2006, but his voice lived on in his writing, both in his regular reviews and his recurring feature Great Movies, where he’d give longer, in-depth dissections of his favorite titles (these were also collected in a trio of books). He also frequently interacted with his readers, and even found time to write commentary on culture, politics, and current events. Sadly, his voice was heard less frequently these past few months, as his health greatly reduced his output. Now, that voice is silent, and the movie world will never be quite the same.

Thank you, Mr. Ebert, for everything. Rest in peace.

Thoughts on Justified Season 4

 **SPOILERS HEREIN!**

If I had to choose a favorite show currently on TV, it would have to be Justified. No other program right now so expertly combines elements of several different genres (western, mob drama, cop show) into such a perfectly cast and consistently entertaining package. The season-long story arcs make waiting a week between episodes a real pain, and the standalone entries are also entertaining (and often quite humorous). The saga of Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens (pitch-perfectly played by Timothy Olyphant) got better and better as the series went on.

Season 4, which wrapped up tonight, added a little bit of mystery to the mix. Whereas the previous seasons established a clear conflict that built as they went on, this one never made it clear where the story was going to go. This was effective, but at the same time, it seemed like there was only enough plot for six or seven episodes, and the show had to stretch things out to get to 13. 

The mystery ignited when Raylan’s father Arlo (Raymond J. Barry), imprisoned for killing a Kentucky State Trooper in Season 3, started looking for one Drew Thompson, a fugitive who vanished 30 years prior. As things went on, we learned that Thompson crossed the Detroit mob we saw last season before he disappeared and is believed to be hiding out in Harlan County. The rest of the season follows the race between the Marshals, Detroit, and local criminals Boyd Crowder (Walton Goggins) and Wynn Duffy (Jere Burns) to find this figure. 

Well, “race” might actually be a little strong word, as the show sure took its sweet time to reveal the mystery, and left little in the way of major clues for viewers to try to figure it out themselves. Instead, it meandered with subplots that never really took off. The season opener “Hole in the Wall” had Joseph Mazzello as a snake-toting traveling preacher converting Boyd’s underlings in what looked to be a juicy subplot; he was gone after three episodes. Another subplot involving Raylan’s barmaid fling (Jenn Lyon) and her pit fighter husband (Robert Baker) was over before it gained any traction. Comedian Patton Oswalt’s turn as a bumbling cop never seemed like anything more than desperate comic relief. These and other elements kind of screamed, “filler,” while the subplot of Raylan’s pregnant ex-wife Winona (Natalie Zea) established in Season 3 did not advance very much. 

One new character became a regular throughout (most of) the season: Colton "Colt" Rhodes (Ron Eldard), a junkie ex-military policeman who becomes Boyd’s chief enforcer. I’m not quite sure what I think about the character. I thought Eldard was effective in the scenes he was in as a man broken by drugs and PTSD, so much that even murderous brutality didn't faze him. But then, while watching tonight, I found that I had completely forgotten about the character (he died last week and didn't appear or even get a mention). What I can say with certainty is the subplot involving hooker-on-the-run Ellen May (Abby Miller) was never as compelling as it should have been, being a major part of the plotline.

When the Drew Thompson storyline finally got cracking about halfway through the season, things got much better. The long-awaited revelation (turns out it was the gruff sheriff Shelby Parlow, played by Jim Beaver) caught me by surprise. In hindsight, it seems like one of those twists that are so obvious that I feel stupid for not guessing it, but it was still fun seeing what we thought was a minor character evolve into a major role. And the chaos in the aftermath of the reveal, as Raylan and the Marshals fought through Harlan to get Drew to safety, was quite exciting (episodes 11 and 12 “Decoy” and “Peace of Mind” should have been one long episode, like a mini action movie).

Almost lost amongst the Drew Thompson plot and various side stories was the corner turned by Boyd, one of the best and most surprising developments of the season. Boyd, who’s been at different times friend and foe to Raylan, decided it was time to give up his life of crime and start over with his ex-sister-in-law and current love Ava (Joelle Carter), but after settling a few things and getting the money to start anew. Even at his absolute worst, Boyd has always been a likeable character. This season put him squarely in the role of antihero, but without sacrificing any of his villainous charm.

Tonight’s finale “Ghosts” wrapped up the Drew Thompson/Detroit arc rather anticlimactically, like it was the appendix after a book that tells you what happened to the characters, rather than a captivating final chapter. But Boyd’s epilogue was much more affecting, as he seemed resigned to the fact that he’s stuck in his station in life, at least for now. Raylan was the same old Raylan this season (which isn’t a bad thing), but Boyd has certainly changed, and it’ll be interesting to see what becomes of the character going forward.

Despite being a little too piecemeal, Season 4 reaffirmed that Justified is one of the most entertaining hours of television today, thanks to the excellent core cast and dialogue loaded with the same energy and tension as the pistol that the show’s hero draws so skillfully. I’ll definitely be returning for Season 5.