South Park, "The Magic Bush"

Meh.

Tonight’s episode kind of epitomizes where South Park is at this point in its existence. By that, I mean both what’s good about it—the in-the-moment timeliness, the cutthroat satire, the brilliant ability to allegorize an issue using the surreal and disgusting—but also the negatives, namely how all of those things sometimes come at the expense of humor.

The plot has the devious duo of Cartman and Butters getting their hands on a drone, which they fly around town and use to photograph one character’s mom undressing through her window. As is to be expected, Cartman shares it with the world, leading to the town to deploy their own drone fleet to protect the neighborhood. When they start abusing power, a new fleet comes in to police them, and so on and so on.

It’s obviously putting forth the issue of allowing the powers that be to protect us by forfeiting our privacy. But the stronger point is made about the recent privacy debate in the wake of all those celebrity photo leaks. The woman exposed in this case (the mother of minor character Craig) is less a victim than an object of leering to the men in South Park, who are all fixated on her private features and not the fact that her privacy was invaded, much like how the media is blaming said celebrities for taking revealing photos instead of condemning the hackers who released them. Her unashamed retort that what her body looks like is beside the point, that what matters is the fact that she was exposed against her will, has some real pathos to it, but, alas, falls on deaf ears.

It makes a good point, but is it worth the cost of the episode not being funny (and for that matter, even if the point is a good one, is it the duty of a cartoon to make it?)? The only joke is the repeated, unfunny description of the Craig’s mom’s private parts. Really, that is the only joke, as the episode left little room for more by getting overstuffed with so many points about privacy, the celebrity leak controversy, police militarization, and even some flat spooky thriller elements.

Maybe it was just a bad joke. If it had been a better one, maybe it would have worked. There have been many episodes recently where the show was topical and very funny, and next week, it could very well tackle a current issue or fad while making us laugh. Still, would it be so bad to have a simple funny episode that doesn't make a point once in a while? Like, say, a light, carefree half hour about body hair and cannibalism?

Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

A once-great artist getting one last chance to regain their former glory is a familiar narrative on the silver screen. But Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Birdman is not like any such films that have come before. I’m still not sure what it is, exactly, but one thing it’s definitely not is a genre cliché. It’s also not a superhero picture at all, despite starring a few people who’ve played superheroes. Or maybe it is. You’ll have to decide for yourself.

Michael Keaton stars in the movie as Riggan Thomson, a has-been actor famous for playing a superhero called Birdman twenty years prior to the picture (one hopes that, despite the obvious similarity to Keaton’s turn as Batman over two decades ago, his career since has been better than his character’s). To try to resurrect his career—or rather, to leave his most famous character behind and gain the professional acclaim he’s always sought—Riggan has written a play, which he’s also directing and in which he's playing the lead role on Broadway. It’s not going well, as the preview run is beset by accidents, cost overruns, fevered performer egos, and the fact that the general public still only associates him with Birdman. On top of everything, he’s also grappling with an inner voice reminding him of his former glory and predicting the play will fail. And he also has some sort of telekinetic powers, apparently.

But that’s just on the surface. And at that surface level, it’s a pretty entertaining and revealing look behind the scenes of a theatrical production in semi-real time, albeit with some touches of the surreal that build until going for broke in the final act. There’s much more going on, however. As for what exactly that would be, that’s up to the viewer to decide.

Dig a little deeper, and the film says a lot about the entertainment industry and culture. Some fleeting reference is made to the recent glut of superhero movies, and it’s funny. But the film delves in short little moments into other areas of the arts, such as the fallacy of critical or genre snobbery (one scene where Riggan confronts Lindsay Duncan’s snooty theater critic feels like a collective, cathartic middle finger on behalf of all artists to every critic who's ever written a bad review), or the grandeur of considering art “important." On the more macro level, the picture is a rather melancholy exploration of the difference between fame and artistic respect, and how one doesn’t necessarily beget the other. The events onscreen erase the lines between reality and fantasy, but the pathos is very real.

Yet, in spite of that, the movie isn’t at all depressing, but a lot of fun. For all the ambiguity of what it all means, the whole thing plays as a very funny comedy. It’s also quite a well-casted piece of work. Keaton guides us through the strangeness we’re witnessing like a pro. He’s got the zeal of an artist doing their passion project, but unlike his character who’s crashing and burning, he’s nailing it on every level. Every bit of comic timing, every dramatic turn, and every moment where we’re not sure what’s going on, he’s compelling. Also notable is Edward Norton as a talented but difficult actor, with equal emphasis on both qualities. He’s the most unlikeable character in the film, egotistical and antagonizing in many ways. But his skill is beyond reproach; whenever it seems like he’s letting his guard down and revealing more about the character, he does something to rebut the perception the characters (and the audience) have of him. Emma Stone has a grounded frankness as Riggan’s daughter, representing his anchor to the real world (as well as, perhaps, the voice of truth, or at least the public consciousness). And Zach Galifianakis plays it straighter than his Hangover persona, but is hilarious as the play’s lawyer/producer. 

The film is also impressive on a technical level. In the hands of cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, a recent Oscar winner for Gravity known for lengthy unbroken shots, the movie is seamlessly shot and edited so that most of it seems like one long take with no cuts. The result is a pace that's breathless and rousing even in the slower moments. Between that and all the happenings onscreen to ponder, Birdman is always interesting and entirely watchable no matter how weird it gets.

Constantine, "Non Est Asylum"

Most people probably only know the character John Constantine from the forgettable 2005 film. That’s too bad, because the DC Comics warlock is a great character, not at all like Keanu Reeves’ tired, dreary performance. But it’s not at all surprising he was watered down (and changed from British to American). His comic Hellblazer is quite dark and often brutal, its protagonist rather misanthropic, and its sociopolitical edge rather untenable for a mass Hollywood product.

So, what of the new NBC incarnation of Constantine? Well, at least they let this John Constantine (Matt Ryan) be British, though the network took away his chain-smoking privileges, which upset some longtime readers.

The series’ first episode begins with the title character in a British mental hospital, hoping to learn that his visions of the occult are all in his head. Of course they’re not imaginary, as he soon finds out. After giving up on his treatment, he heads to Atlanta to seek out a young woman (Lucy Griffiths) who has undiscovered supernatural abilities and is being hunted by some sinister force.

There’s good and bad to talk about here. Among the good, Ryan is probably the best John Constantine that network television can give us. He’s got the character’s dry, funny deadpan and cynical, disaffected shell that lets just the right amount of a more sensitive interior show. Most importantly, the show incorporates the rather important character trait of being haunted by a soul he couldn’t save. And the supporting roles have strong veteran players, such as an authoritative Harold Perrineau as a guardian angel and Jeremy Davies as a meek hacker who shares in Constantine’s pain.

On the bad side of things, the show is a little more like the movie than the comic in all the wrong ways. At its best, the comic has seen its share of sophisticated writing and compelling drama. The show, so far, consists mostly of routine action, simple jump scares, and special effects that aren’t very good even by broadcast TV standards. And given, it might be because the writers decided to drop a character after the pilot was finished, but the whole thing just seems like a standard monster-of the-week show.

The program deserves a chance because at least they’re trying to be respectful to the character. But I don’t have the highest hopes of it ever living up to the Hellblazer comic, not just its highly intelligent plotting and depths of depravity, but also its wicked sense of humor. For all its heavy subject matter, the comic is often laugh-out-loud funny. The show so far doesn’t have such a sense of humor, which could really help make up for its shortcomings.

Fury

The opening of David Ayer’s World War II picture establishes the brutality of the characters in the aftermath of battle when the film suddenly cuts to black, as if to deny the viewer any sense of hope or triumph, little though it may be. The screen then fades in to a makeshift Allied camp where the soldiers are all dirty and exhausted, spent to the point that they look less like human beings than just empty bodies. This isn’t the “Good War” that we see so often from Hollywood, where combat is almost secondary to soldiers hanging out, and even if the battles are bloody there’s still a strong sense of righteousness. Fury is war at its barest, simplest level, just one group of people killing another.

The setting is Germany in April 1945, when the Allies were marching across the country, and the depleted German forces were conscripting kids to fight. The film depicts this through the eyes of the crew of a Sherman Tank whose nickname gives the movie its title: the leader Staff Sergeant “Wardaddy” (Brad Pitt), three hardened vets who’ve been with him the whole war (Shia LaBeouf, Michael Peña, and Jon Bernthal), and a green young soldier (Logan Lerman) brought in to replace the fifth crewmember (we don’t see his death, but do get a glimpse of the gruesome aftermath). Even though the war is nearing its end, Fury’s crew and their division still face resistance and bloodshed as they take enemy territory one town, one field, or one patch of road at a time.

The battle scenes are very well done, edited superbly to add the claustrophobic horror of being enclosed in steel on top of the intensity of combat. But much of the fighting is of a different breed than most war movies. Most battle scenes post-Saving Private Ryan consist of the characters surrounded by chaos on all sides. Here, there’s a methodical monotony to the combat. Soldiers die on both sides until one is either wiped out or surrenders, then the victors just move on. No punches are pulled with the blood and gore, but also, the film doesn’t linger on any of the carnage. Death is just a part of the routine in war.

The cast has a terse earnestness that’s appropriate, and frankly, they seem more realistic because they don’t display any of the hailed warrior clichés like brotherhood or nobility. They have a certain camaraderie, but it seems out of familiarity and necessity to stay alive more than anything. They’re abrasive to one another and get on each other’s nerves. The film’s “come together” moment is less a display of togetherness than a mutual acceptance of inevitability. The few bits of humor are pitch black and do little to cut the bleakness of their situation. Even in the few breaks from battle, such as a brief interlude in a German town, they are broken. They share stories about what they’ve seen to counter the “Good War” myth, but much of the acting doesn’t need words. It’s all in their faces: their expressions, their glum, empty glares hinting at the unimaginable. It’s so simple but very convincing.

Simplicity is what makes the picture as a whole so effective. There’s no mention of the politics or ideologies clashing in the war, and aside from the 1945 date given, no reference to events hinting at the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s just the grim reality of the front line, all guts and nothing even looking like glory. And rejecting anything more than that only makes it more timeless.

South Park, "Handicar"

In its depiction of disabilities, South Park walks a very fine line. When it does touch on the subject, usually through the disabled characters Jimmy and Timmy, the show mostly displays a positive message of inclusion rather than pity. But, those same episodes get a lot of laughs at the expense of the characters and their, shall we say, slowness (both physical and the other way). That was most exemplified four years ago in “Crippled Summer” (the one with the summer camp for disabled kids not-so-subtly named “Lake Tardicaca”), and it’s highly evident once again in this episode. It’d be mean and disgusting if the show were less clear in its message of acceptance

This episode features two returning characters from that previous episode: Nathan and Mimsy, the scheming rival of Jimmy and Timmy and his dim-witted lackey, respectively. This time, they’re trying to sabotage Timmy’s nascent ridesharing app, clearly based on Lyft and other such services. Their plans find allies in several transportation entities, from rival apps and regular taxis that are losing business, to car companies whose luster is fading. But, of course, every one of their attempts blow up in their faces.

This episode has things we’ve already see on the show, and not just the same cartoony territory as “Crippled Summer.” The commentary on ridesharing services is almost word-for-word the same free market stance that's been featured before (well, not word-for-word, but it was so similar that it registered with me mentally as a such). But the episode hammers the point home by featuring Tesla, a company facing what arguably can be called legal sabotage in our world, as one of the bad guys trying to shut Timmy down. It’s a move whose brilliance is commendable; I mean, how many shows can intertwine such cartoonish slapstick with legitimate legal commentary? This isn’t just timelier than other shows, it’s much smarter. And yet it doesn’t overwhelm the episode so that it becomes preachy at all.

It’s the cartoon stuff that kind of lost me, mostly because the show it was spoofing—Hanna-Barbera’s Wacky Races—is one I am not familiar with. But that’s okay, because Mimsy and Nathan’s continuous slipups are quite funny, even though deep down I know I shouldn’t be laughing (especially one scene that you’ll know when you see it). I also enjoyed the little things: the Matthew McConaughey running gag that seemed pointless until a redeeming payoff, and a split-second jab at Ben Affleck, adding to the inexplicable running feud Trey Parker and Matt Stone have had with the actor throughout the show’s run.

South Park, "Cissy"

Well, I certainly misjudged Randy’s brief appearance “disguised” as pop singer Lorde last week. Turns out it was actually the starting point for a scathing rebuke of the teenage musician. As it played out, it made for one of those episodes where the show actually made me feel a little bad for laughing, probably even more so than any other time where that was the case.

It was just part of the episode’s larger theme of gender identity. Specifically, how the subject pertains to going to the bathroom, as Cartman claims to be transgender just so he can use the girls’ bathroom at school. Of course, the right he claims to use whichever toilet he wants only pertains to him and becomes a problem when other students call him on his BS.

Cartman makes it easy to laugh at because, like always, his position is untenable to the extreme and purely self-serving. The satire on gender issues cuts so deep, however, that it could almost be taken as not satirical at all. I mean, I’m pretty sure Matt Stone and Trey Parker are targeting people who are opposed to transgender rights by reversing roles and making characters who are cisgender (a term I and I’m sure many others haven’t heard until tonight) the victims of discrimination. But at surface value, the storyline could be seen as vindication of a scenario transphobes might really fear. Just because I understood what they were trying to say doesn’t mean other people will.

The Lorde subplot (she’s really Randy in disguise, and he invented her so he could use the women’s restroom at work) was less ambiguous. Sure, they were making fun of a ridiculous real hoax, and there were a few backhanded compliments for the singer. And the episode ends on a very pro-trans note. But the vibe of the whole Lorde spoof felt to me like they were basically calling her transsexual in the way an immature high-schooler uses gay slurs as insults. It’s one thing to poke fun at someone’s work (I loved the joke that enough Auto-Tune makes Randy’s lame everyday singing to himself sound exactly like “Royals”), but this was just mean.

I guess it’s okay that I laughed—cracked up, really, at both plots—because I got the satire, and because I’ve laughed at other things on the show that were as bad or worse. At least that’s what I’ll tell myself.

Gone Girl

**POSSIBLE SPOILERS HEREIN**

What is it about a David Fincher film that always stands out? Certainly he’s skilled at creating a dark and tense atmosphere, but there’s another factor to his work: psychology. The director always takes time and manages to get into the heads of his protagonists so the audience can feel their state of mind and truly understand their reactions to events unfolding around them. This, I think, is what makes a Fincher thriller so unsettling and effective, more so than any gloomy filmmaking techniques, jump scares, or (in the case of Seven) gory violence. It’s also why he’s still good when he steps outside of the thriller genre and tackles regular characters, such as Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network (however accurate that movie might have actually been). 

His latest film Gone Girl, adapted for the screen by Gillian Flynn from her bestselling novel, seems like it’s going to be a little of both, at least for a while. The eponymous girl is Amy Elliott-Dunne (Rosamund Pike), who disappears from her Missouri home on her anniversary. Her bar owner husband Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) appears detached and a little too unemotional about the ordeal, and certain subsequent events start to arise suspicion. As more revelations about Nick surface and the community turns against him, the film alternates with passages from Amy’s diary detailing their relationship falling apart. It begins to seem a little apparent where the plot is going, but it’s still a compelling narrative about the unraveling of a marriage, mostly thanks to Affleck for excellently creating the most awful husband ever put on film. Or at least he seems that way because he comes off like a slimy person you might actually encounter, not an exaggerated movie character.

But oh, do things take a sharp, brutal turn. Where we think the picture is going turns out to be dead wrong, and where it actually goes is much more horrific. It’s a jarring, shocking twist, and the story keeps building on it to crazy degrees. In the hands of some horror schlock-master or cheap thriller flick hack, it might all seem excessive, and it probably still is here. But Fincher slowly travels to each new depth like a calculating master of tension, never giving viewers even a brief reprieve, even when it ends. The film isn’t jump-from-your-seat scary, but you’re never at ease watching the horrifying plot unfold.

As much credit is due to Pike as Fincher. She at first appears so sweet and sad, her marital trials and misfortune earning her the audience’s sympathy and her husband their ire. But when the truth is revealed, she really hits it out of the park. At her worst, she’s a cold, unstoppable incarnation of pure hate and destruction (think Anton Chigurh with a principle and without the cattle gun). Unusual for a Fincher film, in her we get a peek inside the mind of the sinister force at work instead of its victims or its chasers. What’s there is truly twisted and frightening because it only makes sense to her. Never once does it seem like her actions have a justifiable point. And yet, we empathize with her. She not only manages to manipulate the other characters into believing she's the pure, doe-eyed domestic angel, but we the audience almost almost forget about everything she does and buy it ourselves. It’s a great villainous performance that doesn't fall under the “love to hate” cliché; Pike just makes you feel queasy and uncomfortable and so unclean. Affleck's character, who unquestionably does bad things and could have been the bad guy in many movies, comes off as almost saintly by comparison.

Admittedly, if you think about it, the film is much better than it should be. It doesn’t really offer any insights on marriage, abandoning the subject completely when the thriller plot gets going. Speaking of which, that thriller plot contains some things that only happen in pulp crime stories, and Amy's master plan becomes a little less realistic the more extreme it gets. The exploration of the media plays more like parody than allegory (though that doesn't make it any less entertaining, particularly Missi Pyle's nth degree riff on a certain crime show pundit). And contrary to some analyses, it doesn’t really make any great statements on feminism. As a matter of fact, taken seriously, it can arguably be considered antifeminist, if not misogynistic.

But, so what? The movie’s made with such quality, so adeptly directed and masterfully acted that none of that hurts it at all. In fact, knowing that it's not completely grounded in reality might make it a little easier to stomach. No matter how dysfunctional your relationships might be, chances are they’re not as bad as this.

South Park, "Gluten Free Ebola"

Ah, it’s been a while since the people of South Park have been in a full-blown panic. When there’s a story about something that could harm us, you can count on the little mountain town losing its collective crap. It always makes for some free laughs (at least from me), and more than that: every time the news ominously strokes our fears about the latest threat, the ridiculousness of the townspeople’s rabid hysteria cuts the tension and lets us know we shouldn’t all freak out. And that reassurance couldn’t have come at a better time than now.

This time, the threat sending the town into a frenzy is a potential health crisis. No, not that one (though the episode clearly has its allegorical eye on it, spelling it out in the title for those who can’t catch the connection otherwise). The culprit causing all the panic is gluten. In one of their patented reversals, the show appears to be ripping on the latest food trend (going gluten-free) and its adherents who take every opportunity to tell people about it. But low and behold, the little wheat compound causes some hilarious maladies.

The episode doesn’t go as far with its concept as it could have, and doesn’t make much of a point about gluten-free dieting or disease scares, other than that panicking is a bad idea. But then, that seems to be by design. The final revelation about the now-retired food pyramid (anyone else remember that?) seems to distinctly not make a point besides saying "Screw you!" to fad diets, while reminding those looking to dissect the episode for a bigger message that it’s just a cartoon.

The solution worked well and was funny. Many other parts—the vulgarly macabre gluten deaths, the aforementioned panic scenes with dim-witted everyman Randy front and center, Cartman’s supremely weird dream about pyramids and Aunt Jemima—were, too. The B storyline—a conclusion to last week’s plot in which the four main boys try to get Lorde to perform at a party to win back their friends—was a disappointment, however. After building the point up the whole episode by referring to but never actually showing the singer, they could have at least provided an amusing celebrity parody instead of just more Randy.