Ash vs. Evil Dead, "El Jefe"

The reason the Evil Dead series remains so popular, I think, is because it really gets why people love horror movies, and gives it to them. It’s got the gore (and then some), it’s got the humor, and at least in its earlier entries, it’s got the scares. Instead of the traditional slow-building tension of your average horror movie, the series employs a hyper, off-the-wall pacing that’s as full of energy as terror. The 1981 original, for my money, is the best Halloween party movie, ever.

The comedy gradually overtook the horror as the series went on, and Bruce Campbell’s protagonist Ash evolved from a typical dimwitted horror lead in The Evil Dead, to a parody of a dimwitted horror lead in Evil Dead II, to a comically uber-macho (and still slightly dimwitted) action hero by the third entry Army of Darkness. All have been have entertaining, but nothing that came after ever matched the raw, frenetic, hungry effect of the low-budget original. Still, having a cult following, and this being the age of resurrecting any and all objects of nostalgia, the series has come back to life like one of the evil Deadites. First came the more straight-played, seemingly unrelated remake two years ago (also good), and now comes Ash vs. Evil Dead, a direct sequel to the original storyline that ended in Army of Darkness.

The premiere finds ol’ Ash living a quiet life in a trailer park in Michigan, using his manly charms to woo the ladies. Unfortunately, during one of his marijuana-fueled hookups, he reads from the famed Necronomicon, releasing the Deadites upon the world once more. Despite the dark and supernatural forces descending on his town, Ash spends most of the episode spitting out every reluctant retired action hero cliché. But honestly, does anyone really believe he won’t eventually pick up his shotgun and chainsaw?

The show is pure fan service, offering a lot of things longtime viewers will instantly recognize: the fast-paced POV shots, the frantic and fearsome Deadite possessions, and plenty of gore (though of a more standard variety than the impressive stuff in the films). Also, Campbell has honed masterful comedic chops by this point, so Ash’s exchanges with his coworkers-turned-allies Pablo (Ray Santiago) and Kelly (Dana Delorenzo) are amusing. For nonfan viewers, a subplot with Jill Marie Jones as a cop who comes face-to-face with the Deadites adds a bit of the terror that’s been lacking in the series since at least Evil Dead II. It doesn’t really hold any surprises for the initiated, though. Really, there’s nothing much here that hasn’t been done before, except for the novelty of seeing the greying Ash tangle with his undead foes Jason Bourne-style, and in the kinetic slow-mo that’s become commonplace in today’s action pictures.

One hopes the one thing about horror movies Ash vs. Evil Dead doesn’t come to embody is the diminishing returns that come with multiple entries. That tends to happen when horror franchises release sequels year after year, but this being a weekly series, it could reach that point much more quickly. We’ll see (it might be inevitable), but for now, the show is an adequate Halloween treat for fans, familiar but fun.

South Park, "Tweek x Craig"

Man, does this episode seem lost.

The show’s more or less taken it upon itself this season to sort out all the thorny social issues and debate that has dominated online cultural conversation recently. Well, this episode comes off like that one person in every comments section who leaves a long-winded, pseudo-scholarly response full of hot-button buzzwords, but clearly has no idea what they’re talking about. Tonight, Matt Stone and Trey Parker bit off way more than they could chew and were unable to connect all of it (or really any of it) into something meaningful, or left much room for humor.

And the worst part? The long-ago episode which focused on the same two characters (season three's “Tweek Vs. Craig”) is a favorite of mine, among the first dozen or so episodes of the show I ever watched. When I saw this week’s title, I thought just maybe we’d be getting a sequel to it. But, no dice.

This time, Craig and Tweek are lovers, not fighters. Or so everyone thinks, as the new Asian students at South Park Elementary obsessively produce artwork depicting them as lovers. As they try to prove they’re, in fact, not homosexual, the town around them (specifically, the adults) deal with it in different ways.

There are some seeds of ideas (gay rights supporters placing same-sex couples on a pedestal instead of treating them like anyone else, the out-of-touch ignorance of well-meaning middle-aged people in these changing times), but they never grow into anything, funny or otherwise. The recurring PC Principal character points out the particulars of consent, for no good reason but to make sure the show’s goaded every last touchy subject on the Internet. Also, pointless and not very funny. And the plot elements involving Asian students and Randy’s confusion about Asian countries don’t seem to have any purpose at all (and aren't funny).

Well, actually, the reason they're there is pretty obvious: it’s an extension of the main plot impetus, which was really an excuse for a fan art contest. Maybe their intentions were good, but to me, this stinks of a gimmick. It sort of reminds me of how another long-running adult toon periodically outsources its title sequence to others to generate some viral buzz. And frankly, the thought that South Park has followed in its footsteps to a late-period phase of creative autopilot crossed my mind.

I hope that’s not the case. But this episode contains almost everything bad about the show besides its floppy-headed Canadian running gag: namely, stupid surreal humor (to be fair, the show’s pulled this off many times, but when it misses, it really misses), and straining for timely relevance or satire without having a clear grasp of the issues, at the expense of humor. Cartman’s seeming psychosis managed a few laughs (the final toilet scene particularly), but they weren’t that big. And this whole part felt detached from the rest of it, like even the creators knew this entry was severely lacking in the humor department and they threw this in hastily to try to rectify the problem.

Bridge of Spies

He’ll always be known first and foremost for his technically marvelous megahits, but Steven Spielberg has, in the new millennium, displayed a strong body of work with less blockbuster flash and more substance. Such films range from serious politically-minded dramas like Lincoln or Munich, to the personality-driven caper fun of Catch Me If You Can. Even some of his more high-budget pictures like A.I. and Minority Report, for all their effects and action scenes, engage more on an intellectual level. It’s been an enjoyable chapter of the filmmaker’s career, and Bridge of Spies happily continues it.

The film tells the true story of the legal and political affair of Rudolf Abel (Mark Rylance), a Soviet spy caught in New York in 1957. Brooklyn lawyer James B. Donovan (Tom Hanks) is tasked with defending him in court. This being the height of the Cold War, this thankless task makes Donovan a social and political pariah. But it also leads to his direct involvement in the negotiations to exchange Abel for Americans imprisoned by the Soviets and East Germans amidst major Cold War moments like the 1960 U-2 plane crash and the building of the Berlin Wall.

The film is almost like two movies in one. The first, as Abel goes to trial, plays like a legal drama, only a little sparse on the details and even courtroom scenes. It makes up for that, however, with some compelling and righteous meditations on the American Way that are relevant today. Despite the intense hatred toward him and Abel and even threats against him and his family, Donovan never backs down from the belief that his client has the same right to a fair trial as anyone else. Replace a few 1950s-specific words with modern ones, and it’s just as solid an argument against detention without trial that has been perpetuated by this country of late. Later on, the point is driven home by contrasting Donovan’s arguments on American values with depictions of Soviet interrogation techniques, which somewhat recall recent torture scandals. It’s all subtle enough that it doesn’t lecture the audience, but it’s unmistakable for viewers who follow world events. And in spite of the negativity and inevitability of the outcome, the tone of the narrative is almost inspiring.

Once the film moves on to the spy stuff, it becomes an exciting, crackling piece of work. Even though it doesn’t have the mystery or ambiguity of a caper film (this being history and not fiction), the negotiations and one-upmanship among all the parties plays out like a game in any espionage thriller, and just as excitingly. Little bits of levity are also weaved expertly with the danger, so as to throw the audience off just enough.

The picture shifts gears between these two distinct parts expertly. Such is a credit to Tom Hanks in the leading role, who uses his chameleonic ability to be convincing in just about any role. In the home front section, he’s the righteous rock of American legal ideals, never wavering no matter what abuse and hatred his case elicits. But once he enters the spy arena, he’s totally believable as a normal guy essentially dropped into an extraordinary circumstance and more or less making it up as he goes. It’s a perfect approach because he’s never more than a small step or two ahead of the audience, which makes us almost forget that there's only one outcome. And in a movie where words are the biggest plotting bombshells, even among such a big cast of strong roles, he never fails to dominate the scene like a pro, especially in his comic timing. Also strong in that department is Mark Rylance, who cuts the tension with a graceful wit that’s welcome.

And of course, this being a Spielberg film, the technical aspects are fantastic. A terrific sequence showing said U-2 crash is quite impressive, as is the really cool depiction of the Berlin Wall and the divided city of that time. The bright, intense cinematography might seem a bit overpowering, but effectively represents a stark thematic contrast between the darkness of the communist world and the light of America. This is a picture with strong ideas about history and patriotism, but instead of being self-serious about its importance, it also delivers as a superb piece of entertainment.

South Park, "Safe Space"

Here, Trey Parker and Matt Stone are in straight-up “Screw everybody!” mode. When they get into that mood, they’re kind of hit-or-miss; sometimes, it just comes off like an angry tantrum. But tonight, they managed to have a point. Several, rather.

As the title suggests, the episode sees characters retreating to safe spaces, which for those unfamiliar with the term means a position where they don’t receive mean comments and are not shamed. In the case of Cartman and several celebrity caricatures, it’s fat-shaming they're running from, with the job of filtering out the astronomical amount of mean comments on their social media going to poor Butters. As for Randy, the shaming he’s trying to avoid is not being singled out for declining charity donations at the Whole Foods checkout.

On the surface, it seems the show is going further than bashing political correctness to defending vile online trolls, and blaming the recipients of abuse for the comments the receive. Then again, the depiction of said victims cutting themselves off from such criticism also cutting them off from the real world kind of resonates. It’s admittedly a bitter pill, but apt. So are the recurring mocking PSAs depicting starving third-world kids that contrast sharply with narration about safe spaces, which are practically screaming that proponents of such don’t have any real problems.

I’m sure many will take this as a defense of the indefensible (especially the obnoxious, prejudiced anti-P.C. crowd). But, the episode can’t quite be called a defense of trolls and bullying, for the simple reason that the sheer volume and cruelty of what Butters has to sift through does to him (it wisely doesn’t let the audience hear much, as the insults might be taken as comedic, diluting their harmfulness). It’s kind of like how Stone and Parker’s Team America was called a right-wing wet dream for casting liberal celebrities as villains, ignoring the fact that the film’s comedic hyper-jingoism and collateral destruction was hardly a positive depiction of neocon foreign policy.

In other words, the overall position of the episode, like the movie, is “Screw everybody!”

I guess it’s up to the viewer to navigate the conflicting but solid points, just like in real life. But should one choose not to do that and just watch it as a piece of cartoon comedy, the scenes of Randy in the Whole Foods checkout are hilarious like a sketch that keeps one-upping itself, and the celebrity skewering is simplistic but amusing. And of course, it’s always painfully gratifying to laugh at Butters’ sorry circumstances.

On time travel in "Back to the Future"

**25-TO-30-YEAR-OLD SPOILERS HEREIN**

By now, you’ve probably seen hundreds of things talking about all the stuff Back to the Future Part II got wrong about today: hoverboards (at least commercially available ones); garbage-powered flying cars; the Cubs winning the World Series (this one is still possible, but as things stand at publishing time, it’s not looking good for the Cubbies). What you’ve probably not seen and might not remember, and what has bothered me since I first saw the film years before it was obvious its predictions would be way off, is the fact that it makes some pretty obvious time travel mistakes. 

I count at least two just from memory:

1. When Marty McFly (Michael J. Fox), Doc Brown (Christopher Lloyd), and Jennifer (Elizabeth Shue) travel to 2015 from 1985, they see older versions of Jennifer and Marty, as well as their kids. Well, if they really traveled to the future, they would not see themselves, nor would they have any kids. Because by traveling into the future, they would create a timeline in which, from the point of view of everybody else, they vanished off the face of the Earth in 1985.
2. After old man Biff (Thomas F. Wilson) altered the timeline to make himself rich and powerful, Marty suggests they go back to 2015 and stop him from stealing the time machine. Doc says they can’t because if they traveled into the future from alternate 1985, it would be a different future than the one they visited. So why was old Biff able to return to the same 2015 from which he left after going back to 1955 and giving his younger self the sports almanac?

There are other reasons the second entry is the weakest in the trilogy (the jarring shifts in tone, the half-gimmicky, half-lazy decision for the final act of the picture to overlap with its predecessor), but its blatant sci-fi errors are what stick out the most. My guess is that the filmmakers were so determined to create a more complex and ambitious time travel plot that they overlooked some pretty simple inconsistencies.

Conversely, however, the first and best Back to the Future seems to have the simplest time travel plot of the three. But after some careful watching and analysis, it has the most complex (and certainly the coolest) possibilities, advertently or not.

As viewers may recall, the first movie opens in 1985 with Marty in a less-than-ideal living situation. His father (Crispin Glover) is a pushover still bullied by Biff, and his mother (Lea Thompson) is an alcoholic. His adventure in 1955, however, alters the future so that his parents are rich and successful. But before he finds that out, upon his return to 1985, he witnesses himself escape back in time from the Libyan terrorists.

My theory is that in 1955, the timeline wasn’t altered by Marty’s arrival, but split in two. In one (we’ll call it “Timeline 1”) the McFly family is lower middle class and beset by personal struggles. In the other (“Timeline 2”), they’re much happier and better off.

The Marty of Timeline 1 went back to 1955, and his interference with history led to the creation of Timeline 2. When he witnesses himself going back in time in the mall parking lot, he’s looking at an alternate Marty, for whom Timeline 2 is the regular timeline, and who grew up in wealth and privilege. We don’t know for sure, but it’s possible this Marty’s interference in the past resulted in the creation of Timeline 1. In effect, the two different Martys switched timelines.

In such a scenario, the Marty who grew up in Timeline 2 is in for a sad surprise when he returns to 1985. It kind of sucks for him, but imagine he’s a spoiled, snotty rich kid, and it actually becomes a little satisfying.

Extensive time travel pondering aside (and I haven’t even touched anything from the Western-era Back to the Future Part III), all three films are tons of fun (even the jagged second one, despite my criticisms, is far from a bad movie).

Happy Future Day!

The Ride was pretty great, too. R.I.P.

Update (10:40 PM): And, the Cubs have been officially eliminated from the playoffs. I'm a White Sox fan, so I'm not too upset. But I still want my flying car that runs on garbage!

South Park, "You're Not Yelping"

I’m a little disappointed in myself for laughing at that closing musical number. Not because it was mean or all that offensive (for all its grossness), but because the joke was just so easy. South Park has gone here before, and anyone who's ever worked in, eaten at, or just seen a movie or TV episode taking place in a restaurant has heard these jokes before. And yet, there I was laughing it up like the immature kid I was when I fell in love with the show. It wasn’t as goofily great as the musical takedown of the Kony 2012 guy, but hey, I’m humming it to myself as I write this, and probably still will be tomorrow.

What led to this point was that all the restaurants in South Park, from the longstanding ones to the classy joints in the recently gentrified part of town, became beset by insufferable Yelp reviewers. All of them see themselves as the most important voice on the subject of food online, and all abuse their standing to get special treatment. And of course, Cartman is among them, using threats of a bad Yelp review to bully the student son of a restaurant owner.

And all the while, I was thinking to myself, “Is Yelp really that influential in the restaurant business currently?” Yes, the last episode two weeks ago was one that shows Trey Parker and Matt Stone still have good ideas left in the tank, but this one is the latest in a relatively recent batch that makes them sound pretty old. Sometimes their indignation at current culture is righteous (last week’s episode and their critique of freemium games last year certainly were). Sometimes it's just light and funny (“Handicar"). But at its worst, it comes off as just crotchety (last year’s “#REHASH” being the greatest example). That was kind of the case here.

Maybe I would have been more forgiving if it was funnier (I’m not too disinclined to agree with the overall point about arrogance and self-importance). But, quite frankly, I could see what jokes were coming from the start and was just waiting for them to finally show themselves. Though I had a pretty good chuckle when they finally came at the end, I wasn’t laughing much while I was waiting.

The Walk

Here we have a good old-fashioned IMAX film. By that, I mean a film similar to the often real-life, less-than-Hollywood-length productions which are all about the sheer experience of seeing awesome images on an enormous screen. Well, The Walk is not quite that, as it’s a Hollywood production with a two-hour running time, name actors, and an Oscar-winning director. But it, too, is all about the thrill of its spectacle. That spectacle: French high-wire artist Philippe Petit’s 1974 walk between the recently completed Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.

The movie’s even presented like one of those IMAX docs, opening with Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Petit introducing himself as our host from atop the Statue of Liberty, just because. He narrates the proceedings with a showman’s exuberance as if we’re watching documentary footage, even though it’s really a studio re-creation. We learn a bit about Petit’s early life, his inspiration and training to be a wire-walker, some of his earlier feats, and what drove him to perform such a dangerous act. It goes on a little bit long, like waiting through an opening act to see what you really came for, but the picture and everyone in it has a humorousness that keeps it up-tempo, at least.

The lead-up to the walk, as Petit and his accomplices plan and set up for his very illegal feat, at first takes the form of an amusing little caper yarn until the heights suddenly become apparent. Even when the characters are still preparing on top of the Towers, the sky-high scenery makes the old adage “edge of your seat” quite literal. It’s like actually being way up on a tall building, with the feeling that even a tiny move will send you tumbling to the streets below. The film even toys with the viewer by visualizing some of the characters’ fearful thoughts of falling to add an element of danger. And when Petit finally steps onto the wire, it’s all absolutely breathtaking: the view, the danger, the adrenaline. The effects are beautiful and dazzling throughout the whole picture, but the walk sequence is something else (and instead of being forgotten after five minutes, the 3D actually enhances the experience). It’s so incredibly tense following in Petit’s footsteps in this safe capacity that one wonders how he was able to do it for real, but can easily understand the exhilaration he must have felt.

As for the elephant in the room (the ultimate fate of the towers still fresh in everyone’s mind), the film acknowledges it in an oblique and subtle fashion that’s heartfelt without casting a somber aura on the whole thing. On the contrary, the prevailing emotion when the credits roll is joy and amazement at having seen something really cool.

The Martian

The Martian is the third great picture about space travel in as many years, following Gravity and Interstellar, respectively. Remarkably, none of these films really overlap in their focus or subject matter (though they do share a few stars), each of them giving the audience a different aspect of outer space. Gravity was about the sheer experience of being in space, in both the best and (mostly) worst of circumstances. Interstellar explored the theoretical side of space and admittedly ventured into purely speculative territory, the fiction part of science fiction. The Martian, the best of the three, is focused on the science part.

The film’s opening drops right in on a NASA crew on Mars, but before we even get to see much of their home base or scientific undertakings, a severe storm blows in and forces them to abort their mission. During their evacuation, botanist Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is hit by debris and presumed dead. Turns out he survives this mishap, though, and is now stranded on the planet with limited supplies and no means of communication. To survive, Watney must find a way to create more food, water, and oxygen all alone in an alien environment, as well as make contact with Earth in hopes of being rescued.

In the novel on which the movie is based, author Andy Weir managed to repackage reasonably complicated science into effortlessly readable and fast-moving, even humorous prose. The film compresses the narrative nicely, retaining bits of the book’s journal framing device in the form of video logs (though thankfully not going into tired “found footage” territory) among the more straightforward scenes of Watney on Mars and NASA organizing their rescue plan on Earth.

As for making the scientific content exciting, well, therein comes one of the underrated talents of director Ridley Scott: he knows how to take his time efficiently. At his best, his work’s, for lack of a better word, slower scenes have an unmistakable pacing and are brimming with substance that stimulates the picture, whether it’s building terror in Alien, creating mood and atmosphere in Blade Runner, or musing on the religion and politics of Kingdom of Heaven. In The Martian, though, these scenes are the meat of the narrative, not just supplementary to the major points in the dramatic structure. The danger doesn’t have a grave immediacy that rushes things along (which kind of gives the setbacks Watney faces more dramatic weight, not to mention making them more unexpected). And yet, in Scott’s hands, the film is as captivating as a tightly-wound thriller, even when it’s spelling out the science like a classroom lesson. It’s also imbued with a levity that’s welcome even among the most dead serious sequences, and a soundtrack (a sort of running joke throughout) that’s surprisingly much more fitting than one might think.

One must single out Matt Damon in the lead role, since the narrative is centered on him. He’s got the convincing demeanor of both a real astronaut and a regular person pushed to their limit, as well as a sardonic bent that’s appropriate for both the role—it’s a way to keep his spirits up against the overwhelming challenge of staying alive—and the overall tone of the film. But it’s almost more accurate to call this an ensemble picture due to the abundance of great roles. Every speaking role seems authentic and believable, from major supporting players Jessica Chastain, Jeff Daniels, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Kristen Wiig, to those with only a minute or two of total screen time. 

The Martian is also a beautiful-looking movie with terrific effects and sets, and as realistic space sequences as any ever filmed. Yet, all that almost seems like an afterthought. It’s not the aesthetic or spectacle, but its scientific substance that’s most compelling. It’s not only one of the best films this year on any level; it’s absolutely refreshing, for it entertains the brain instead of just the bare senses.