South Park season 20

**SPOILERS HEREIN**

Is it too soon to declare South Park’s adoption of season-long storytelling a failure?

We’re only three seasons into this experiment, and they only just (sorta) pulled it off successfully last year. I wouldn’t call this season a success, but it’s hard to write it off completely because great comedy and sharp satire has coexisted along with some really bad, sometimes painfully unfunny stuff since the show’s earliest days. Such is kind of the nature of the beast for a show produced in less than a week’s time. However, this season suggests that the show is much better-suited to a standalone episodic structure (and tonight’s episode title would seem to be an admission).

As a continuing narrative, it was a mess of ideas that never really gelled. A lot of them were just bad ideas. Cartman's dreams of going to Mars didn’t have much to say and weren’t very humorous. Neither was the riff on Colin Kaepernick or the subplot of Butters and and the boys’ inappropriate protest, both of which were left dangling. The election stuff was pretty bland (the show recovered well enough from having to make changes at the last minute due to the result, but it was apparent they were unprepared to tackle it). The commentary on women and comedy came off as way out-of-touch, like Matt Stone and Trey Parker were vaguely aware of the subject but didn’t know enough to say anything about it.

The member berries were a great idea, one of the show’s surreal allegories that’s close to brilliant. This device made commentary as astute as any the show has ever given us, exploring how nostalgia is like a drug that clouds our minds and holds us back. The show presented a smart slice of cultural criticism by positing that obsession with “sacred” stuff from one's childhood and the desire to return to a better bygone era that never really existed aren’t that far removed from one another.

But the most cutting plot, for me, was Kyle’s dad Gerald as the king of the Internet trolls. Think about it: The man attacks targets of all kinds simply to get a laugh. Despite having a following that insists his actions mean something, he's adamant that he does what he does only because it’s funny. But when the Danish anti-trolling program is revealed to be the biggest troll job of all, one that will hurt many people, suddenly he doesn’t think it’s so funny anymore.

One can see Gerald as a vessel for Parker and Stone. And though none of what they’ve done over the years amounts to abuse, their comic viewpoint has always been “screw everybody,” rarely taking any issue seriously and never above mining a laugh from it even if it’s something that shouldn’t be laughed about. But now, the world suddenly seems less friendly and less stable than before. This plotline almost seems like they’re apologizing for displaying this attitude for so many years, and for all the much meaner nihilistic trolls out there who’ve applied this approach to comedy to real life, and hold the show up as one of their edgy, un-P.C. inspirations.

A good idea, but it could have been a single episode, or at most a two-part episode. Same goes for any of the aforementioned ideas. And even if the bad ones still didn’t work by themselves, standalone episodes would have allowed the season to more easily move on from the bad. The late 90s and early aughts are considered the show's classic era; no one dwells on awful entries from that period like “Quest for Ratings” or “City on the Edge of Forever” because the show would reset every week.

At the end of the day, the show’s problems are more structural than of substance. In outlook and humor, it’s the same old South Park, funny (not quite as much as a decade or so ago, but still funny) and full of ideas (good and bad ones). Maybe it’s just the member berries talking, but rather than trying to tie them together into some bigger whole, the show would benefit by going back to tackling one issue at a time.

Bad Santa 2

2003’s Bad Santa was cringe comedy at its most cringeworthy, a “feel-bad” movie that not-so-facetiously embodied the term. Its humor lay in the vulgarity clashing with family-friendly holiday aesthetic, but it really landed because there was a real desperation underneath. For all the laughs (and there were plenty), the movie never let you forget that Billy Bob Thornton’s mall Santa thief was a pathetic alcoholic mess, and the not-all-there kid he befriends (Brett Kelly) a heartbreakingly sad case.

Thirteen years later, the envelope for R-rated comedy has been pushed further and further, to the point where little of what happens in the film would be truly shocking today. So, the belated sequel ups its game to keep up with the times. The dirty gags are grosser and more pronounced. The “horrible” jokes and un-P.C. barbs are more in-your-face about it. The raunchy sex, while showing little skin, is more explicit.

Only this time, it’s about as real as a pre-lit plastic tree. Thornton’s protagonist is practically a living cartoon, never really impaired by the gallons of booze he downs unless the joke calls for it. He, as well as his criminal co-conspirators (Tony Cox as his dwarf partner, Kathy Bates as his rotten mother), are less detestable human beings than an artificial sort of nasty for comedy’s sake.

As the film opens, life has not improved for drunken lowlife Willie Soke (Thornton) since last time. His mother and his recently-paroled ex-partner manage to lure him to Chicago to participate in their latest scheme: working as bell-ringing Santas for a charity in order to rob it during a concert on Christmas Eve. Willie’s reluctant at first (and that’s an understatement), but through planning the job and the spirit of the season, he starts to reconnect with his family, real or surrogate.

I’m not exactly kidding about that schmaltzy stuff. The original went very light on the sentiment, and what bit it had only highlighted the contrast with the dark and dirty. But this time, the film tries to sincerely squeeze some unironic holiday cheer into the mix, and presents the closest thing to a heartfelt ending a movie like this could possibly get. And it’s the fakest thing in the entire picture, which is really saying something in a movie where the main players are basically cartoon characters.

Phoniness aside, it’s mostly funny in a lowbrow cartoonish way. The cast plays off each other well and is visibly having a good time letting loose (especially Bates), even though the film's idea of “loose” isn’t that outrageous in 2016. The only exception is Kelly, who comes off like a Z-grade knockoff of Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover. His severe social ineptitude was hilarious (if a little painful) as a kid, but it’s just grating and a little uncomfortable (not in a funny way) from an adult. 

Bad Santa still endures as a demented December classic for a certain audience (I count myself among them). Bad Santa 2 is about as memorable and special as a chocolate Santa from a gas station. But, a chocolate Santa is still enjoyable enough while you're consuming it.

Doctor Strange

Its excellent Netflix output has so far been Marvel’s main avenue for expanding its horizons (mostly into darker, grown-up territory). The company’s film division has lately been mixing up its successful formula with new genres, however, and Doctor Strange is arguably the cinematic universe’s most ambitious feature yet.

Trippy stuff like alternate dimensions and the warping of time and reality are the film’s main attraction. Such subjects seem to always invite a self-serious, arguably pretentious approach, the picture and its makers practically preaching to the audience how smart and great they are. Doctor Strange needs no such sermonizing, tackling the material with a confidence so assured it's able to have a smarmy, joke-cracking attitude about the whole thing and not miss a beat. It would almost seem arrogant if the movie weren’t so much fun.

The film gives us a hero to match in Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), a master neurosurgeon with an ego that rivals Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark. After a deadly car crash damages the nerves in his hands, he travels to Nepal to seek treatment at the mysterious site of Kamar-Taj. Upon his arrival, he finds a cabal of sorcerers led by the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton) who conjure interdimensional energy to defend the world. Strange trains with his hosts and develops new powers and abilities, conveniently just when renegade sorcerers led by Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen) seek to summon the evil force Dormammu from the Dark Dimension.

Yes, strange, indeed. Novice viewers or casual Marvel fans might not comprehend every bit of what’s going on, though the film navigates through the narrative with reasonable clarity. And frankly, the sights we see on that journey are much more engaging than understanding it completely, anyway. The combat through kaleidoscopic mazes of bending space and time are some of the coolest, most imaginative use of visual effects in some time. It’s also very funny, at least as quip-filled as Guardians of the Galaxy. And aside from the unfortunate whitewashing of Swinton’s character (sorry, but simply referring to her as “Celtic” does not rectify things), the movie boasts one of the bests casts of any single Marvel picture (as opposed to team-ups like The Avengers).

Above all, it’s different enough from other superhero fare that it feels fresh and enjoyable. It may ultimately be a lighter film than its trippy elements would suggest, less heavy than the character drama some of the Avengers have gone through recently. But in a genre that produces around a half-dozen films a year now, something that feels new and exciting (on top of being a blast visually and otherwise) is a rare gem.

Batman: Return of the Caped Crusaders

It’s always fun to revisit the old 1960s Batman from time to time, chuckling at its wackiness and at how far comic book adaptations have come. A new adventure starring that not-so-Dark Knight would have been a good time any year. But after the relentlessly broody Batman v Superman and the nastiness of The Killing Joke, Return of the Caped Crusaders is an especially welcome and refreshing palate cleanser.

The film even subtly addresses super serious versions of the character, with a storyline that sees Adam West’s boy scout Bat inexplicably turn bad. It’s amusing seeing what constitutes dark and gritty in this lighter continuity, and how even a tiny shred of Frank Miller-esque ruthlessness is such a rough fit in it. It also astutely highlights how its campier take isn’t that much sillier than going full-on grim and gritty just for the sake of it.

Also back are series alumni Burt Ward as Robin and Julie Newmar as Catwoman, while The Joker (Jeff Bergman), Penguin (William Salyers), and The Riddler (Wally Wingert) somewhat resemble their 60s counterparts. It’s a fairly typical absurd plot pitting the Dynamic Duo against their dastardly foes, albeit on a much larger scale than the TV show (animation doesn’t have the budget limits that 60s network fare had, I guess). The iconic theme and word graphics that follow each punch are there (the latter making for one of the best gags once adjusted for the eviler Batman), as are the comically perilous situations and ridiculous dei ex machina leading out of them. Also scattered about are tiny references that pop culture junkies can have fun trying to spot, including one or two that surprisingly snuck their way into a film as PG as it gets.

If there’s one complaint, it’s that it never quite arises to the laugh-a-minute zaniness of the show. And in a way, you can’t fault the movie for this; no matter how goofy things get, nothing is ever quite as absurd in animation as seeing it performed by live-action actors with a straight face and zero special effects. Also, some of the gags (particularly the famous recurring “spray can” for every situation, which is repeated a few times) play like winking directly at the audience. Such plot points were much more hilarious when the old show simply went with them like they weren’t totally laughable.

These are far from death blows, though. And considering the state of DC’s live action films, I’m willing to grade on a curve. Batman: Return of the Caped Crusaders is a joyous, funny piece of work for Bat fans of all ages, and the first Batman film in a while that meets any of those criteria.

A announcement regarding "South Park" Season 20

Since beginning this blog, I have reviewed each new episode of South Park, usually within 24 hours of airing. However, for the new season starting tonight, I have decided to instead wait to review the season as a whole.

My reasons mostly have to do with the fact that over the last two seasons, the show has transitioned from standalone single-episode plots to season-long storytelling. I've found that series with a continuing narrative lend themselves better to reviews of a complete season than of individual episodes. Simply put, not every part is equal in its completeness or importance; for every "Full Measure" or "Ozymandias," there are bridge, filler, or loose end-tying episodes.

Also, my personal schedule this fall may present uncertainty about whether or not I'll be able to view and review the show on time each week. And for a show that's known for being nearly up-to-the-day in its timeliness, I feel that a late review, even a mere few days late, is already obsolete.

So, I'll be back with a full recap and review at the end of the season, and possibly with one at the halfway point. I'll also share my thoughts on each episode on Twitter when I watch them.

If that's not enough for you, well...

Kubo and the Two Strings

Kubo and the Two Strings is one of the most remarkable works of animation I’ve ever seen.

A general trait of stop-motion animation is that there’s a definite sense of, for lack of a better word, unreality about it. It may not be as realistic or mobile as computer animation, but rather than a flaw, this quality adds to the make-believe feeling of a stop-motion feature, be it the whimsical sense of humor that pervades Wallace and Gromit, or the fantastical aura of a fantasy film.

And then there’s Kubo, which the viewer could mistake for a computer-animated work if they didn’t know better. The picture is a feast of gorgeous sights, full of fantastic monsters, metamorphosing works of magic, and origami creations that form and come to life before our eyes, all on a canvas populated with characters as expressive and alive as any digital performance from Andy Serkis. All this would be impressive done with CGI, but as handmade stop-motion goes, it’s absolutely jaw-dropping.

The visual experience alone is enough, but the picture also offers a story to match. In it, the title character (Art Parkinson) is a boy who lives in ancient Japan with his mother (Charlize Theron), regaling stories of his samurai father’s exploits to the local villagers. But when his evil twin aunts (Rooney Mara) find and attempt to kidnap him, he’s forced to flee his home and find his father’s samurai armor, helmet, and sword to battle his evil grandfather the Moon King (Ralph Fiennes). Joining Kubo on his quest are a wise monkey (Theron) and a warrior beetle (Matthew McConaughey).

Though it may sound like a simple adventure tale, it takes some smart and original turns and shows a wide range of emotions, at different times funny, happy, sad, and tension-filled. Such feeling is bolstered by the animation, which finely tunes the mood of each scene. It’s fun in some, frightful in others, and melancholy at times in a way relatively little kid or even adult movies achieve. It’s a beautiful work in both spirit and aesthetic, both elements intertwining with one another perfectly throughout.

Even though CGI has mostly usurped stop-motion’s place in animated films, there’s still a quaint warmth about the medium, like something made by hand with love and care versus a mass-produced product. Well, there’s nothing quaint about Kubo, but it certainly has the feeling of something unique and special. This is truly a film for all ages, full of life, wonder, and action for kids, while also providing thoughtful ideas and well-developed characters that will appeal to adults. Whichever column the viewer falls under, this is not one to be missed.

War Dogs

War Dogs sees director Todd Phillips aiming for his The Big Short moment. Which is to say, a filmmaker known for comedies (as The Big Short’s director Adam McKay was) attempting to go serious with a piece about a timely and contentious issue, sold under the façade of a bro-tastic comedy. Peel away that shell, is there a similarly brilliant, fierily polemical piece of Oscar-worthy gold? No, but there is ample evidence that Phillips has a strong dramatic picture somewhere in him.

The subject is war, circa the second term of George W. Bush. After putting an end to those controversial no-bid contracts you might’ve heard about on the news at the time, the U.S. military started purchasing weapons and equipment from smaller outfitters. Meaning, the film posits, that they were willing to buy from any average Joe able to get their hands on guns. The movie tells the true story of two such Joes, struggling Miami twentysomething David Packouz (Miles Teller) and his sleazy childhood pal Efraim Diveroli (Jonah Hill), who dove head-first into this market, making millions procuring weapons through methods ranging from shockingly legal to blatantly illegal.

The film is clearly shooting for an outrageous and blackly satirical take on a grim subject, something a prestige filmmaker like, say, Martin Scorsese would deliver (similarities to The Wolf of Wall Street beyond the casting of Hill abound). Well, Phillips frankly isn’t on that level yet. The small narrative and structural touches meant to convey sophistication and respectability are, in fact, elements mostly played out at this point (interspersed title cards, literally made up of lines of dialogue that are spoken aloud soon after, are freshmen-year-film-school unoriginal). The misadventures of the two leads onscreen also don’t seem quite as shocking as the film was probably going for, and aren’t as funny as anything in Phillips’ straight-up comedies. Though to be sure, there are moments that are amusing in a cringe-inducing way.

It’s when the film starts on the commentary that has me at a critical stalemate. There is a definite sincerity to the picture’s disgust with the world it depicts. But it’s decidedly underscored by a striking sense of naiveté. It’s as if the filmmakers, and by extension the film itself, can’t comprehend their subject and their anger at it enough to form the clear, unapologetic viewpoint required for an effective polemic. Then again, I’m not sure if this is a result of a poor grip on their outrage, or if it’s the point of the entire thing, that this world is so tangled and without sense that it’s hard to direct outrage in a single direction.

The latter possibility is reflected in Teller’s performance, a comparatively earnest one showing a mostly decent person lured into temptation (the real Packouz apparently supports the film, so his depiction is the rosier of the two). He’s mostly sympathetic, but there comes a point where the extent of the character’s blindness to the business he’s in mightily strains believability. Also, it’s funny how his conscience never asks the tough questions, and only kicks in when his girlfriend (an underused Ana de Armas) gets on his case. Hill (whose real-life counterpart is suing the filmmakers) is the much more convincing one simply because he’s got absolutely no sympathetic or redeeming qualities at all, and yet is very funny and a mesmerizing presence. His comedy chops are already known, but between War Dogs and The Wolf of Wall Street, Hollywood might have a new go-to guy for scumbag parts.