Film Review: Malignant

Directed by: James Wan; Runtime: 111 minutes
Grade: C

Regardless of how one might feel about the likes of Saw and The Conjuring, it’s hard to dispute that director James Wan has played a crucial role in shaping the modern landscape of horror cinema. One of the reasons why his films have been successful up to this point can be seen in the personal angles found within each: the embittered villain Jigsaw who teaches moral lessons about the value of life; the harrowing scenario of a child’s coma and demonic possession in Insidious; the historical “truths” behind married paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. Instead of diving back into the sequel well, James Wan has conjured a new vision of stylized terror with Malignant, which again possesses a deeper undercurrent involving pregnancy struggles and repressed memories. This is also Wan’s most audacious creation to date, and while pushing those boundaries may result in outrageously fun gore and haunted house trappings, Malignant cartwheels into a realm of absurdity that its emotive intents can’t back up.

Not unlike Saw, much of the strength behind watching Malignant lies in the bizarre twists and turn that essentially start with the first scene, so I’m going to evade as many revelatory spoilers as possible while offering some idea about what’s going on. Shortly after pregnant medical worker Madison (Annabelle Wallis) returns to her spooky, shadowy multi-story home after a long shift, she and her abusive boyfriend are assaulted by a blur of an invader, putting her in the hospital. While the police are investigating the murder of another local medical professional, they find evidence suggesting that the victim – and, by extension, the killer -- may have some connection to Madison. In turn, Madison begins to have nightmarish visions that tie to this murder … and murders that either haven’t happened yet or just haven’t been discovered. As more details emerge in the investigations, further info is revealed about Madison’s dark past and how it relates to the eerie, deformed dressed-in-black killer wreaking havoc in the area.

James Wan has frequently injected an elevated tone into the reality of his horror films, yet in his previous works they were anchored by enough grimness in their visual language and rhythm of the dialogue that they could still be processed at face value. From the start, there’s something suspiciously overstated about Malignant that, despite equally grim circumstances at the beginning of the film, make it tough to buy into the cinematic illusion. From the gloomy lighting and eerie angles amplifying the extravagant appearance of Madison’s home to the overdramatic dialogue, performances, and soundtrack – complete with a repetitious cover of “Where is My Mind?” that sounds like warning alarms -- the stylization never stops feeling like the trappings of a haunted house with something unnatural hiding behind every corner. Unfortunately, this undermines the emotive drama built around Madison’s post-trauma stress and history of difficulty having children, let alone that Malignant may not even be supernatural in nature.



As soon as the antagonist brandishes a gnarly golden short sword alongside an enigmatic black trench coat, it becomes clear that director Wan and co-screenwriters Ingrid Bisu and Akela Cooper really want the villain to become a thing, not just a one-and-done villain. Malignant furthers that impression with a handful of vicious kill scenes that merge ‘80s-level bloody lavishness with convincing modern execution, making up for some of the clashing aesthetics with outrageous scenes of brutality once the killer begins to execute their list of victims. It’s here that the flashy midnight-movie vibe works best, cloaking the identity of the killer with heavy shadows, loud radio distortion noises and fizzling lightbulbs, and during those moments it doesn’t really matter whether they’re some Freddy or Jason-like monster or a human whose identity is being concealed with movie magic. Malignant has its most undistracted fun when the killer’s allowed to unleash hell and escape without a care for the story going on around it.

Crafting an iconic villain is great and all, but there’s a horror movie trying to exist around them as well, and it’s a maddeningly ridiculous one that’s treading water until Malignant can pull the curtain back on their identity. It’s the kind of horror movie where a young woman will drive far out to an abandoned hospital alone, pull up to the dilapidated building at night on the edge of a steep cliff, and be completely fine with going in despite there being a murderer on the loose killing people involved with the reason she’s out there. The kind of movie -- not unlike Sucker Punch or The Final Girls -- where ups and downs in genuine character behaviors or outlandish locations could theoretically be clues pointing toward a false reality or cheeky horror homages, or directorial shortcomings and misguided flourishes of style … or both. While a plot twist can sort some of this out by explaining why aspects of this character or the atmosphere of that location seemed off at first glance, it isn’t a universal solvent for all strangeness, and the silly aspects of Malignant end up preventing it from thriving as a competent slice of horror.

While James Wan’s latest creation essentially overwhelms the audience with twist after twist, there’s ultimately one seismic revelation at the core of Malignant, and the effectiveness of it will likely depend on who’s watching it: someone who needs twists to obey the rules previously established by the film, or someone who enjoys being shocked by outlandishness regardless of whether it makes sense. I’ll be honest, the way the antagonist “transforms” after this reveal – and the visuals that Wan twists into existence in response to it – almost had me feeling like the second type for a minute, relishing the inventive grotesquery despite what caused it. That said, Malignant tears open too many holes in the story and breaks too many rules of the world it established for the ultimate reveal of the killer’s identity to be taken with any kind of seriousness, where even those with fondness for the likes of David Cronenberg and Dario Argento will find it all a bit of a stretch.

Photos: Warner Bros.

Film Review: Zack Snyder's Justice League

Directed by: Zack Snyder; Runtime: 242 minutes
Grade: C+

The story behind the original theatrical release of Justice League almost overpowered the execution of the film itself, yet that’s arguably even more of the case with this long-awaited, almost mythical unveiling of the “Snyder Cut”. Confirmed to exist by the likes of Jason Momoa, it quickly gained a reputation for being a much-longer and tonally different iteration than Joss Whedon’s serviceably lukewarm reshoots, rewrites, and recuts, and by default was assumed to be the superior version by fans of the movie universe. As a direct result of an aggressive internet campaign and with the introduction of HBO’s new streaming service, HBO Max, the suits at the top and original director Zack Snyder -- who, for those in the dark, also directed Man of Steel and Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice -- came to an agreement that would bring him back to salvage his original vision of Justice League for the new streaming service. Well, after tons of money dumped into it and a long wait, it’s finally here … and? Again, while it certainly does improve upon what came before it in ways, a good 4-hour movie that doesn’t make.

If you’re after a rough synopsis of this story’s founding of the Justice League, the presence of the main villain Steppenwolf, and the need for Superman after his death, check out previous reviews of the theatrical cut -- like mine! -- for that. With that out of the way, the comments that Zack Snyder’s Justice League is literally the same movie as the one from 2017, only longer, should be put to rest: this is not quite the same thing as a slightly tweaked “extended edition”. Motivations have been adjusted. Characters have more substance. Some unpopular quirks from the previous cut have been removed. The visual effects have been extensively reworked, from the design of the main villain to the landscape. To cap it off, this new cut places a stronger emphasis on one of DC’s most significant villains, Darkseid, as the primary impetus for not-so-big bad Steppenwolf coming to Earth. There are noteworthy alterations, and Snyder should be commended for having the bravado to go back into this project with a dark history and realizing his vision.



In another sense, this Snyder Cut of Justice League is absolutely “the same movie”. Some things simply cannot be altered without rewriting the script, chiefly that it’s all about chasing down the trio of magic supercomputer “Mother Boxes” that restructure and annihilate life when they’re synced because the script says they do. This new Snyder Cut offers a modified explanation as to why the boxes were abandoned on Earth in the first place, and the answer isn’t convincing, pushing the narrative even more into the shallow, logic-deficient spectrum than it already was. There’s also a clash of ideas in Justice League, in which Batman / Bruce Wayne scrambles to gather together these superheroes to combat a powerful other-worldly villain all on the backbone of them being able to overcome anything if they’re united … yet completely acknowledges that they’re screwed without bringing Superman back from the dead. The Justice League can do it, so long as the near-impervious and overpowered Man of Steel is around.

So no, the Snyder Cut is neither a pointless extension of the theatrical version of Justice League nor a transformation into the hidden masterpiece that the project’s most stalwart supporters hoped it would be. What Zack Snyder’s Justice League ends up being, however, is an improvement with drawbacks: a project that takes fewer steps back than it takes forward, and a project that makes one understand why parts might’ve been restructured in the first place. Perhaps the most high-profile aspect of this whole thing would be the character of the mechanized super hacker Cyborg, the center of controversy regarding Joss Whedon and how he streamlined Ray Fisher’s role in the narrative. The breadth of his character has been restored, and it’s pretty easy to chalk it up as one of the noteworthy successes in this experiment with rejuvenating the original content. Cyborg does harness more of the “heart and soul” of Justice League here through a bleaker, more affective story; Ray Fisher has some justification behind being disappointed, though I believe the magnitude of his content being reinstated has been oversold.



The antagonist Steppenwolf remains a mess, though, and he isn’t helped by the added larger role for the presumed future DCEU supervillain, his boss and relative Darkseid. Plenty of digital work went into transforming how he looks, and the outcome tends to be a mixed bag of eye candy and dull continuity. The theatrical cut’s design may’ve been bland, but it still captured some of the original character’s vaguely humanoid appearance, whereas this restored “original design” looks like the craggy defeated villain from Batman vs. Superman -- an awkward realization of Doomsday -- glued a bunch of knives all over his body and came back for Round 2. Coupled with the presence of Darkseid, it starts to seem like the rest of the DC villains worth putting onscreen are stony-skinned, broad-faced goons with endless swaths of winged faceless underlings at their disposal. While it’s understandable that Steppenwolf might’ve been remolded to look more like he’s from the same bloodline as Darkseid, this also reveals a lack of inspiration behind the antagonist forces up against the League, regardless of whether they're drawn from the source material.

Perhaps the most noteworthy and substantive change to Zack Snyder’s Justice League might be both its most reverential to the comics and, oddly enough, its most detrimental to the film as its own entity. Fans will get a charge out of it, but the restoration of supervillain Darkseid's heavier presence in the story also makes the film itself more cluttered, also introducing a secondary method of widely eliminating planets and lifeforms. Look, I understand the jolt of excitement that’ll come over fans when hearing certain things being name-dropped in a Justice League movie, but the inclusion of a more interesting “side plan” or “Plan B” that the real villain will execute later diminishes the impact of what’s going on here and now with Steppenwolf, which already struggles with 3 awkwardly volatile MacGuffin-like boxes being hunted down by a second-rate lackey (that still requires Superman to beat). This is one of the instances where any changes in the theatrical cut make some sense: in a movie already filled with a slew of new characters and hokey plot devices, it’d be best to leave the actual reveal of Darkseid and his bigger ambitions for a later date, if it comes.



Even though it was a rushed two hours, the original version of Justice League still does a fine enough job of giving the characters breathing room to be introduced and develop as beings, from the penniless and sarcastic youngster Flash to the gristly, boozy cynicism of Aquaman. Goes without saying at this point, but Affleck's Batman and Gadot's Wonder Woman are standouts regardless of the version. The Snyder Cut may add to certain aspects of their characters -- and, by undoing some of Whedon’s modifications, subdues them -- but for the most part, they feel roughly the same and not overhauled like Cyborg. Something else about this film as a whole remains true: there are too many new character concepts packed into too tight of a window, in which Snyder tries to force into existence something akin to the Marvel cinematic universe in a fraction of the time. An extra hour doesn’t help this, especially when it’s these additional character moments where the movie also indulges in more of Snyder’s slow-motion music video level of content. Pacing is certainly an issue with this lengthy cut of Justice League, and these elongated stretches feel like where the tightening or removal of content would be most justified.

Quick admission: I’m not much of a fan of Superman, but the charm and poise of Henry Cavill makes it very difficult not to embrace his rendition of the character on at least some level. To that end, the quest to resurrect Superman -- regardless of how exasperating the character’s endless powers may be -- remains an effective aspect of Justice League, amplified in Zack Snyder’s cut by delivering pure, unadulterated fan service. The most mocked aspect of Whedon’s Justice League, the awkward Superman intro where his mustache has been digitally replaced with an entirely new lower part of his face, has obviously been removed entirely. In its place, Snyder returns to the more successfully emotional aspects of Man of Steel in how he revives the Son of Krypton, both physically and emotionally, and yeah, there’s a black and silver suit involved. Whether this expanded glimpse into his comeback is any good or not, whether this and that make enough sense, becomes less relevant when Kal-El reemerges in those threads ... albeit, much, much later in the film. Between Cavill, the music and the spike in cinematic energy, it’s worth it.



Zack Snyder’s grand finale still has the same rough framework as the theatrical cut, but it feels very different in both tone and visual design. A frequent complaint with Snyder’s films have always been how dark and grim they are, and it’s pretty clear that creative decisions were made to “brighten up” the ending for theaters, from lighting up the sky with an apocalyptic orange hue to making dialogue quippier and emphasizing that the superheroes cared for civilians in the surrounding area of the final battle. For better and for worse, Snyder reverses these adjustments to craft a final act more aligned with his insistently gloomy sensibilities, shrouding everything in near-grayscale darkness and making it so the heroes are concerned with nothing else but their primary mission. It’s also more violent, leaning into its R-rated possibilities with the caliber of bloodshed. Those who were adamant about the theatrical cut’s inferiority will automatically see these changes in a positive light, but those changes also result in a leaden, nonsensical conclusion that misperceives decapitations and time travel as quality.

Opinions and attitudes about the Snyder Cut have run hot over the past year, with one side fully on the bandwagon with championing the continued potential of the Snyderverse and the other side arguing that his Justice League would follow suit with the rest of his subpar-reviewed superhero work. Regardless of where one falls on this spectrum, either side or in the middle, there should be at least one takeaway after finally seeing Zack Snyder’s Justice League: this is the cut that matters. There’s talk about which version will be the “canonical” choice for DC’s cinematic universe, but it’s a discussion that really doesn’t carry much weight, as they both essentially reach the same destination once it’s all said and done. One just takes the longer, preferred route with more interesting things to look at and has an ending that hits differently; either way, if they’re ready for Justice League 2, it’ll be easy to write a follow-up that essentially branches off from both. Thing is, even with a bizarre 4x3 aspect ratio, nobody’s going to want to go on Joss Whedon’s bumpy ride anymore after seeing this Snyder Cut.

Photos: WB/HBO

Film Review: Tom and Jerry (2021)

Directed by: Tim Story; Runtime: 101 minutes
Grade: D

Despite a rich history that includes the likes of Mary Poppins and Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, there’s always the urge to remind Hollywood that combining real-life actors with hand-drawn animated characters from the past rarely turns out well in the modern era. Yet, for every Garfield or Smurfs or most recently Woody Woodpecker, all tonally jumbled and awkwardly unfunny pieces of work, there’s a Sonic the Hedgehog that comes along to prove that, sure, it’s possible to get the balance between realities and styles of humor right. Which brings us to Tom and Jerry, the latest of these hybrid endeavors from Barbershop and Fantastic Four director Tim Story, a project that had been kicked around in development for over a decade prior to it finally being filmed shortly before the pandemic brought Hollywood to a standstill. It’s a decade-long tale that comes to a thud of a conclusion, resulting in yet another outrageously unamusing live-action cartoon that loses its grip on a relative sense of reality.

Perhaps even less than other classic cartoons, there isn’t a lot to the story of Tom and Jerry, just a string of other recurring characters who complicate the endless chase between the titular house cat and a mouse that's just a step or two ahead of him. For the most part, the cartoons take place in a run-of-the-mill American home, filled with obstacles and makeshift weapons -- matches, fireplace pokers, drills, clothes irons, you name it -- that provide the two adversaries plenty of ways to thwart one another. Sometimes they go on boats and to train stations, but these were unique excursions. This live-action film can be seen as one of those excursions, sort of: both Tom and Jerry are trying to find a way to live inside of a high-profile hotel, during the period where a ritzy wedding will be taking place. A newly-hired employee at the hotel, Kayla (Chloe Grace Moretz), has been tasked with managing their presence in the building and keeping the mouse specifically away from the wedding proceedings. Jerry, and to a lesser extent Tom, have other plans.

Look, I’m not really interested in getting into the debate about violence in older cartoons, but it’s worth noting that the personalities of Tom and Jerry are particularly at the mercy of the zany whack-a-mouse antics between ‘em. Even though they live in a weirdly crossbred world where animals can at the very least talk amongst themselves, the two of them never speak, which forces their brutal chasing after one another to be the extent of their characters; Tom’s reasonably smart but reckless, Jerry’s a smarter troublemaker, and that’s about it. This live-action movie shoulders the challenge of being truthful to this lineage while also being careful with modern family-friendly sensibilities, so we’ve got a cat and mouse that never speak despite other dogs, cats, birds, elephants, etc. around them being chatty, and where the slapstick comedy carefully tiptoes around point-blank violence with obvious weapons. Amid mixed signals about what sort of reality we’re working with, one where a hotel apparently built in a mouse hole at one time that slides along a wall, there’s a void here in the shape of why it’s worth suspending this much disbelief.



Those who wrote Tom and Jerry understand the conundrum, and that’s where the rest of the film’s hotel setup comes from, providing a place where the homeless (?) cat and mouse desperately want to stay. Enter Chloe Grace Moretz, who plays a seemingly sharp hustler of a millennial and serves as a way for the audience to, in some form, connect with the animated characters as she tries to keep them out. Moretz seems to be at her best when portraying a character with a somber backstory or a heavy sarcastic streak, and she’s working with half of that equation with the vivacious yet deceptive Kayla, a fairly typical yet annoyingly featureless twentysomething who laments her lack of experience and qualifying skills. How she finds herself in a position of authority at a prestigious hotel is the stuff of, well, cartoons: the flippant rhythm of Chloe Grace Moretz’s delivery ensures that little will be taken seriously as she “fakes it until she makes it”, or in how she interacts with the overly stiff hotel managers played by wasted comic-relief potentials Rob Delaney and Michael Pena.

There’s this massive, important wedding at the center of Tom and Jerry that’s filled with the extravagance of elephants, drone cameras, and the fawning adoration of social-media “influencers”, and, frankly, it seems like it’s just more trouble than it’s worth. Don’t ask any questions about why Kayla’s hired to help oversee this event or why her resume isn’t looked at with suspicion, because that’s a dead end; however, the growing rom-com sappiness at the heart it all can’t help but make one question why it needs to be there in the first place. Sure, it’s there because the event itself creates more of a collision course with the film’s animated stars, but it also presents a glaring and unnecessary reason why Kayla wouldn’t be hired on the spot and why the hotel wouldn’t take any chances with not hiring pros to get rid of freeloading critters. While, yes, this could be viewed as nitpicking at what’s essentially a cartoon in motion, it’s also the aspect responsible for holding the focus of slightly more adult-minded audiences, and there's little care for any sort of internal logic.

Brief moments are still there when Tom and Jerry captures the live-action cartoon goals of the production, specifically a scene where the two characters completely ransack a hotel room chasing after one another, marrying clever flowing camerawork with their whirlwind movements. Stuff breaks everywhere, debris flies in every which direction, and the animation and production design come rather close to selling the illusion not unlike how Who Frame Roger Rabbit? does at its most energetic points. These exists in bursts, shorter than cartoons but about the same length as the “action” bits in an episode, which should appease both the youngest of audiences and the nostalgic for however fleeting those moments end up being. Even if there’s some enjoyment to be had in those slapstick antics in Tom and Jerry, there’s over an hour and a half of ineffectual rom-com and soul-searching workplace dramedy padding it all out, time that’d be better spent revisiting the beautifully-drawn classic cartoons of a bygone era.

Photos: Warner Bros.

Film Review: Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar

Directed by: Josh Greenbaum; Runtime: 107 minutes
Grade: C-

Bridesmaids came out nearly a decade and a half ago, and the comedy within the script by Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo still works as well as it does because of how authentic and identifiable they made the characters involved in preparations of a wedding. From underemployed, single creatives amid the economic collapse to overly perfect -- and overly wealthy -- friends and exhausted middle-aged parents, there’s a little something for everybody within its sharply executed laughs and deadpan scenarios … and even the things that aren’t “for you” could be identified with. With a decade-plus under their belts, it stands to reason that a new script from Wiig and Mumolo, about two isolated midwestern women in the late-40s going on a life-affirming vacation to paradise, could land on some of the same substance even when surrounded by ridiculousness. That isn’t what Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar is about, though, instead an outrageously persistent and shallow hodgepodge of surrealism, showtunes, and culottes.

Adorned with semi-short, feathered hair straight out of a decades-old style mag, we’re introduced to Barb (Mumolo) and Star (Wiig) as they chat at their place of employment, a sparse little furniture shop in Nebraska. After a life event gives them some free time and an excuse to ponder the direction that their lives have taken, they decide to visit the magical locale of Vista Del Mar, a resort town on the western side of Florida. After they get settled in their hotel, the two make an effort to soak up the local flavor and see the sights, including spending an evening partying with a much younger man, Edgar (Jamie Dornan). What seems like a typical midlife-crisis travel setup gets interrupted by the nefarious plans of an almost Bond-level villain, a starkly pale-skinned woman with an aggressively angular black hairstyle and an eye for vengeance upon the city of Vista Del Mar. As Barb and Star figure themselves out, their vacation intersects with the villain’s evil plans.

Barb and Star cannot get past its opening scene without revealing the big issue that’ll follow it until the credits roll: it’s tough to relate to it through the ultra-absurdity, projecting an attitude more like an extended Saturday Night Live skit than the Wiig-Mumolo duo’s other screenwriting effort. The chatter between Barb and Star as they sit on a floor-model couch and ignore customers may offer some amusement with the dry humor, but these are caricatures poking fun at stereotypes instead of semi-authentic mid-40s single women needing a break from their midwestern rut. From their participation in a weirdly authoritarian “talking club” to their matching obsessions with a specific name for a woman, it’s clear that Wiig and Mumolo have written way above elevated reality instead of, y’know, something boosted just a few steps above normal. Closer to Night at the Roxbury and Superstar than other modern SNL-ish spoofs, this is about shallow cartoon versions of people that the world surrounding them treats as entirely normal, a playground for how outrageous Wiig and Mumolo can get.



This is all before Barb and Star even take their first steps into the Palm Vista Hotel, which tosses those watching into a sea of ‘80s pastels, seaside decor and choreographed musical numbers, making it abundantly clear that enjoying this comedy will depend on one’s threshold for vibrant embellishments. The ladies get into the types of antics expected of a vacation-style comedy, from hooking up with strangers to trying stereotypical tourist activities, and the humor follows suit with overstatements of this dynamic duo’s fish-outta-water goofiness and need for a, uh, cleansing of the spirit. Wiig and Mumolo are clearly committed to having fun with it, doing a suitable job of essentially acting like high-pitch accented clones of one another, but they’re too enamored with the oversized characters they’ve created to keep tabs on whether their material makes its own laughs. It’s like soberly watching someone else getting lost in their own colorful hallucinations, complete with talking animals and spontaneous songs.

What’s odd about Barb and Star is that its most outlandish aspect, the amplified supervillain (also played by Wiig) who seems lifted straight from an abandoned Austin Powers sequel, ends up being its most successful invention. While the Nebraskan ladies are busy getting their groove back in Florida, the embittered albino baddie conjures up a dastardly plot for revenge against the small coastal tourist trap that destroyed her life, and the sequence of events forming her backstory and murderous plot are delightfully satirical. She’s only really there to give Barb and Star something exciting to do in the third act -- that’s how quickly vacation hijinks lose interest -- but her arrival in a white jumpsuit, sharp black bangs and ocean blue goggles turns into a breath of fresh air from the increasingly stale, mawkish absurdities around our two heroines. Her manipulation of Jamie Dornan’s solemn, smitten and entirely down-to-earth Edgar might not be convincing, but her visibly icky discomfort while doing so makes up for it.

Maybe this villainess works as well as she does in Barb and Star because she’s the most fully formed and plot essential idea in the script, whereas the rest of the material written by Wiig and Mumolo comes across like a wave of self-gratifying brainstorms that the pair have decided to crash into their audience. Some may find enjoyment in this unashamed vacation from reality, and the value of pure absurdity shouldn’t be overlooked, but there’s a degree of focus and control that makes similar out-there comedies work based on the filmmakers’ grasp on what they want to achieve. Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar wants to try so many things and cram in so much tongue-in-cheek goofiness -- from midlife awakenings and doomsday plots to extraneous plays on words and the baffling “magic” helping out the ladies -- that the point of watching it for any other reason fades away in the Florida sun. No matter how much it wishes to be so, the mythical power of culottes isn’t enough to save the day here.

Photos: Lionsgate

Film Review: Shadow in the Cloud

Directed by: Roseanne Liang; Runtime: 82 minutes
Grade: D

About a decade ago, the claustrophobic one-room or one-location suspense subgenre shot up in popularity, producing an award-nominated film -- and another high-quality contender -- that led to many copycapts. While there were plenty of on-a-clock survival films like it beforehand, the unique tension of such a tight area offers an appealing audiovisual and emotive sensation of sharing the tension with the “trapped” person, whether it’s in a coffin, an elevator, or even a car on a long trip somewhere important. Shortly after, the concept evolved from a relatively simple premise to seeing exactly how crazy a movie can get within those limitations, getting bolder with time periods and locations while including including supernatural elements on the horror side of things that can throw off the intimacy of such a tense human situation. Shadow in the Cloud could perhaps be viewed as the dead end of that development, throwing ridiculousness at the wall in a WWII bomber plane without any of it sticking.

In the middle of World War II, flight officer Maude Garrett has been tasked with the covert mission of transporting a sensitive package from New Zealand to Samoa. As the young, attractive girl climbs aboard the B-17 flying fortress, named the “Fool’s Errand”, she’s met with abrasively sexist and aggressive comments from most of the flight crew, to which she’s mandatorily quartered to the ball turret part of the plane and her package separated from her to keep it safe. Locked in the windowed bubble and dealing with the rest of the crew verbally harassing her over the airwaves, she spots a suspicious shape amid the clouds. Naturally, boys will be boys, so they treat her comments with skepticism and derision as she’s left in the gun turret watching the threat manifests by herself with knowledge of the importance of her package. When the threats of an air conflict start to become more credible, Maude must take matters into her own hands, revealing that there’s more to her than she let on to the flight crew.

Look, it’s understandable that soldiers separated from their families and from members of the opposite sex might’ve be rowdy with a woman brought onto their plane during WWII, but that doesn’t make the beginning of Shadow in the Cloud any more palatable or less prone to shock value. To get to anything even remotely resembling entertainment value, you’ve got to deal with our heroine getting hounded both in person and, more significantly, over the airwaves as she’s locked in the belly of the plane, the soldier’s exaggerated snarls and grins flashing on the screen bathed in red and green lighting. The circumstances that trap her down here, along with the circumstances that separate her from the top-secret package, are preposterous; they seem even more so once the true contents of the bag are revealed. It doesn’t help that Chloe Grace Moretz’s forced, unconvincing regional accent gives the woman an austere and unconvincing presence as she’s fielding the unctuous commentary from her traveling companions above her, whether there’s an air of truth to it or not.



Once Maude’s trapped in the turret, Shadow in the Cloud embraces its most attention-grabbing element, forcing her to stay enclosed in a windowed bubble and clearly under mental duress as she spots things lurking in the darkness outside the plane. At this point, the film suggests that it’d like to be another genre of movie entirely: with the appearance of a fanged, taloned bat-like creature it has a name that I won’t reveal due to potential spoilers -- it starts to act like a B-grade monster movie. Honestly, the visual effects aren't too shabby, and the rendering of these tactile flying critters sinks its teeth into the illusion of it all. Unfortunately, this also starts to blur with the overwhelming chauvinistic angle present in the film, in which her warnings are drowned out by the soldiers’ heckling. This botched meeting point, between the real-world concerns about this woman’s mistreatment or dismissal and the new presence of unrealistic bat-creatures that she’s warning about, undermines whatever symbolism or commentary is intended by writer/director Roseanne Liang and Chronicle/American Ultra writer Max Landis.

As a cross between historical battle-of-the-sexes tension and creature feature, Shadow in the Cloud tends to be uneven and muddled enough, yet it doesn’t stop there by pivoting once again into an all-out action thriller with Chloe Grace Moretz as the badass heroine. She’s got a lot of potential as a unique genre actress, and she’s delivered better-than-expected performances post-Hitgirl in the likes of Let Me In and Suspiria, but she gets lost in the outlandishness surrounding her in this high-elevation blockbuster. There’s a brief moment, when she ditches her accent and grabs the handles of the turret, where it’s possible to see her as a fiery Valkyrie of sorts who's full of fury and struggle as she unloads upon threats to the B-17. Her winces and discomfort while she’s locked away in there are capable of drawing one into her mental space in a similar vein to Ryan Reynolds in Buried or Tom Hardy in Locke; however, there’s also inconsistency to her performance, coasting between dour realism to scream queen exaggeration to invincible bravado, leaving one baffled at sorting out what to take seriously and not.

Shadow in the Cloud is already gliding on fumes getting to its destination with three different subgenres crammed into the space of a one-location thriller, and then it reveals what’s inside the secret government box that Maude’s transporting to Samoa, which begins the film’s inevitable nosedive. Of the countless things that could’ve been securely stored in that large leather case, this is easily one of the most poorly thought-out, orchestrated with good intentions yet reckless abandonment of any hint of believability. Revealing what’s inside should’ve probably been the moment when the film decides that it doesn’t give a damn about realism, but instead it’s the most forthright attempt at salvaging a dramatic point to everything that’s going on, and it’s still followed by perfectly-timed explosions, goofy air physics, and … a fistfight with an oversized, vicious bat-thing that doesn’t immediately end in death? Shadow in the Cloud desperately wants to reach its destination as a grindhouse flick with a soul and a purpose, but it changes course so many times that it has nowhere to go but crashing down.

Film Review: The Craft: Legacy

Directed by: Zoe Lister-Jones; Runtime: 97 minutes
Grade: D-

Something worth discussing before digging too far into the pseudo-sequel/remake The Craft: Legacy: my relationship with the original film, spanning nearly a quarter-century now, has had its ups and downs. When revisiting it a little over ten years ago for the first time since the late-‘90s, the tale of a foursome of young women forming into a powerful coven seemed like an overly straightforward and dated occult thriller, merely supported by the strength of the actresses and how they embody the individual witches. After a more recent screening during the Halloween season, those impressions remain intact, but the examination of these characters’ internal motivations for being drawn to magic and the incremental build towards their synergy as a coven speak much louder than they once did. If anything, The Craft: Legacy only strengthens those new positive impressions and makes the original look far, far better in comparison, as any criticisms aimed at superficial characteristics or rushed friendships and understandings of witchcraft are vastly more fitting here, and that’s just the start of the issues.

The Craft: Legacy exists in a very strange middle-ground between whether it’s a remake or not, as it follows many of the same plot points as the original but with entirely new characters and circumstances. It begins with a family moving into a new house, where a teenage girl -- this time, named Lily (Cailee Spaeny) -- exhibits powers that they don’t fully understand, and kicks into gear with her first day at a new school. Unsuccessful at integrating with the other “regular” students, this new girl finds her way into the good graces of a threesome of outcasts (Zoey Luna, Gideon Adlon, Lovie Simone) who have been practicing witchcraft for some time with meager, underpowered success. The reason they’re not able to harness more power is because they need a fourth member to coordinate with the four elements and cardinal directions, and due to the circumstances of their meetings, this incomplete coven rushes to invite the new girl into their circle. Thing is, they might not be fully prepared to wield the magical prowess that they’ve just discovered.

Lily’s a compelling protagonist as a melancholy and ethereal young girl, and Cailee Spaeny serves as a spitting half-image of her mother -- played by Michelle Monaghan -- looking just enough like her to sell the illusion and differently enough to consider what her absent father might’ve been like. Combined with how she and her mother are moving in with a new father figure (David Duchovny) and his three adolescent sons, it’s all just enough to get The Craft: Legacy to her first day of school and the point where she meets the other witches. Then, the perfectly-timed circumstances emerge in which Lily becomes an instant pariah on her first day of school, and the film starts unraveling very, very quickly, all because the script forces things to happen and refuses to allow them happen organically. Where the coven of witches in the original The Craft develop their bond and work up to bigger powers with time, these girls are making significant magic happen by the second day of meeting one another. Who knew it was that easy to develop telepathy, freeze time, and completely alter another person’s personality?

The big problem with The Craft: Legacy? There’s nothing to the three other witches, at all, prioritizing woke culture representation instead of fleshing them out as individuals caught up in said issues. None of them have layers, only external traits that, frankly, do a horrible job of emphasizing how or why they’re social outcasts. While the original Craft deals in issues of poverty, racism, body deformation, suicide, even rape and abuse, it also uses them as a means of giving the four witches a deeper sense of personality in how they’re impacted by those things and are drawn to their coven. Legacy forces the viewer to glean what characterization they can from the comic-relief sarcastic lingo of one girl and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference to another’s transgenderism, and that’s it, with zero interest in exploring and empowering these women by showing legitimate interest in them. Instead, the film’s more interested in having the witches confront and conquer a single issue: toxic masculinity, how it shows up in schools and lords over the home. Yep, it’s all about the boys.

At the point where this new “villain” becomes known -- David Duchovny was so close to making this work -- The Craft: Legacy veers away from being a wishy-washy remake and into brand new story territory, driven by mystical and physical twists alike and the repercussions branching from them. With these wild departures from its source material, the hope is that it’d at least provide additional imagination and excitement with a spellslinging conclusion, yet writer/director Zoe Lister-Jones has conjured something even more unremarkably conventional than the original’s power-play dramatics. One could cast any number of criticisms at how the witches’ powers appear way too competent for their experience level, how anguished conflicts within their coven rings false, or how it plays out like a superhero origin akin to X-Men or Power Rangers, but really, it boils down to none of it feeling earned. The Craft: Legacy desperately wants to be this generation’s witchcraft drama, yet from the borrowed phrases and diminished themes to a shoehorned cameo at the end, it just makes the original look even more magical.

Film Review: Fatman

Directed by: The Nelms Brothers; Runtime: 100 minutes
Grade: B-

The mythology built around modern-sat Santa Clause suggests that he’s an entity with intimate knowledge of a lot of ways in which the world works, most curiously in how he knows whether all children have been good or bad during the year … and why they fit into either group. There are a bunch of other practical questions also surrounding jolly St. Nick that usually get dismissed by magic, like: “How does he run a large toy operation on zero income?” and “How is it that global governments have no idea about his existence?”, and Fatman sees those enigmas as an opportunity to explore a more human, interesting side of Chris Cringle. Wrapped in a well-paced thriller with a darkly comedic bow on top and a grizzled Mel Gibson delivering it with force, this gritty indie from the Nelms Brothers has a good time with the idea of Santa’s moral decision-making and filling the mythical gaps of his challenges posed to his everyday operations. It’s odd, for sure, and cherry-picks where to add realism and what’s best left a secret, but it strikes a novel balance between dreariness and reviving the weatherworn holiday spirit.

Gibson has been in the news recently for getting in impressive physical shape for a man in his mid-60s, and that story merely adds to the juxtaposition between the “fictionalized” Santa and the “realistic” Cris Cringle in Fatman. He’s bearded and has a deep, jolly laugh, but this guy’s far more aligned with the disposition of a blue-collar workingman: putting along in a ruby red pickup, checking a PO box, and stopping off at the local bar in a small snow-covered town. His talent for literally knowing everybody comes in handy, but the old coal-vs.-presents thing understandably leads to some dissatisfied little kids out there, like wealthy science prodigy Billy and his inclination for forcing others to give him what he wants. When Christmas doesn’t treat him right, he hires a professional hitman (Walter Goggins) to go after Santa Claus himself, which plays into his longstanding obsession with the “fat man”. Of course, Chris Cringle isn’t the same tubby, foolish guy either imagines him to be.

Not too long into Fatman, it becomes clear how the story’s strategy will play out, split in half to showcase what the “real” Santa’s and his workshop are all about and what the guy’s like that actively wants to murder the embodiment of Christmas and accepts hitjobs from a wealthy kid. The chief reason to check out the Nelms Brothers’ film obviously comes in how they’re going to overhaul the “big guy” into something real, and it’s impressive how they’re able to both methodically check off points of interest -- how he affords his workshop (or doesn't), what a genuinely understanding Mrs. Claus (delightfully played by Marianne Jean-Baptiste) would be like, how the elves are involved -- while also sticking to conventional dramatic thriller techniques. As we learn about this struggling, slightly boozy version of St. Nick and how his ties to the US government preserve his operations, the glittery mystique of the character slowly falls off and gets replaced by a more practical, yet still supernatural interpretation of his knowledge and longevity, portrayed just about perfectly by Gibson with charming gruffness and low-key formidability.



What’s interesting about Fatman is that the Nelms Brothers understand how big and brassy the Santa aspect of the film might appear, so they’ve somewhat understated and grounded that side of the story to amplify the utterly quixotic and intimidating presence of Walter Goggins’ hitman. The actor’s experience with bleakly comedic bad guys does wonders for the stone-faced killer, though one could argue that he’s even less humorous here with his training, preparations, and travels than in the roles he’s played for Tarantino or Shane Black. There’s also some unique layers to Goggins’ hitman, which extends to his young employer, Billy: the concept of people who ended up getting overlooked by Santa Claus and the entitled, confused anger they felt. Just watching Goggins blast his way through gun-range obstacle courses and coax info out of people about Santa’s location pulls you into the momentum toward reaching his target, brimming with excitement in seeing how he’s capable of matching up to the big guy. Goggins elevates the hitman’s stony, mustache-twirling villainy into something with pathos.

Fatman succeeds when it overhauls expectations and archetypes, and it’s clear that the Nelms Brothers have their fingers crossed that raw novelty and spirited execution will be enough to make those watching ignore the mundane aspects moving it forward. The only reason the plot’s intriguing is because of Santa Claus; without that added context, the setup’s little more than milquetoast veteran-vs.-upcomer suspense. The film rarely succeeds in hiding its predictable moving parts, with the amusement factor being an effective distraction only about half of the time, and there are ample logic issues whenever a realistic twist gets added to Santa Claus and neglects several others. It doesn’t help that the mastermind pulling all the strings, prep-school “little shit” Billy, ultimately makes for an obnoxious and petty villain who’s unlikely to suffer any real comeuppance. Without investment in the novelty of Fatman, which isn’t guaranteed even for those interested, everything else might just be frustrating.

It’s not giving too much away in explaining that the perimeter surrounding Santa’s workshop has transformed into a heavily fortified area, which will make it even tougher for Goggins’ hitman to reach and kill his target for the predictable clash in Fatman. Naturally, this sets up the final act of the film to be a violent game of cat and mouse, and the execution of the stealth, the explosiveness, and the fanfare leading into the inevitable square-off makes for a rousing climax, filled with military-style tactics and bravado. At this stage, perhaps strategically, the Nelms Brothers decide that it’s the right time to shake up expectations and cash in on a careful build-up of hints throughout Fatman, which results in an ending that manages to be both a cheap escape from consequence and a justified, uniquely inspiring embodiment of the mythos of Santa Claus. Seeing this bloodied, rough-and-tumble version of St. Nick sacrificing and surviving to preserve the spirit of generosity turns out to be more genuinely inspiring than many -- most? -- other Christmas movies out there, flawed as it may be.

Film Review: Locked Down (2021)

Directed by: Doug Liman; Runtime: 118 minutes
Grade: D+

We’re just about at the one-year point of the world having to get adjusted to a global pandemic, ranging from subtle food/delivery inconvenience and getting used to new ways of doing business to constantly avoid being infected with “essential” environments like grocery stores or hospitals. Then, there’s the concept of social distancing and the need for lockdowns, to which the isolation and claustrophobia can wreak havoc on the psyche of most people given enough time. These are significant themes worth exploring in popular culture, and clearly the prompt at the core of Locked Down, written by Steven Knight of Locke and Serenity fame and directed by indie/espionage guru Doug Liman. Forcing themselves to make the film happen in outrageously short order and under strict circumstances, the creative process reads more like following through with a challenge than an organic bottling-up of novel, timely ideas, and the hollow and forced execution of Locked Down show the symptoms of that.

The film begins honestly enough, capturing two sides of the lockdown in the United Kingdom through a couple in very different stages of their lives and different employment situations. Paxton (Chiewtel Ejiofor) is an ex-con driver who wallows in the grimness of his situation, feeling inherently cursed and having no qualms telling others about it either in-person or over video chat. Linda (Anne Hathaway), an expat, has climbed up the management ladder in a merchandising business and, as a result, gets repeatedly stuck on unpleasant Zoom calls, leading her into a stressed and substance-dependent state. Amid the lockdown, the two have decided to separate and move on with their lives just as soon as the restrictions are eased, but not before their circumstances align for one last rendezvous: the opportunity to steal something incredibly valuable that will perfectly set up their post-relationship lives.

Like the diversity of the scenarios that he’s previously written, the quality of Steven Knight’s scripts ranges from the intimately-scaled and poignant to the overly conceptual and artificial. His work in the single-car “thriller” Locke and the avant-garde desperation of Dirty Pretty Things bode well for pandemic isolation drama, but what happens in Locked Down, regardless of the best of intentions, never gets to authenticity. Sure, people will relate to Paxton’s delivery bag-snatching, poetry recitals in his neighborhood streets and the sleepless tension of being in a replaceable job, or with Linda’s prettied-up digital meetings -- where she copes with being the one who fires people -- and boozy dance sessions. The dialogue coming from the characters doesn’t read like genuine people dealing with these problems, though, but like high-profile actors in a stage play trying to empathize with an audience over the plights of everyday post-COVID citizens, especially the unprovoked Shakespearean lamentations of Paxton.

It would feel better to be able to say that Chiwetel Ejiofor and Anne Hathaway overcome the misgivings with their characters in Locked Down, that their natural dramatic poise still presents them as relatable personalities, but it doesn’t end up working that way. Hathaway borrows from her fierce, yet composed Selina Kyle in The Dark Knight Rises for Linda, yet her frustration and rebelliousness don’t match up with how she got into this vague executive job in the first place, distracting from the film’s compelling overtone of managing human resources during the pandemic. Ejiofor’s burdened anxiety takes one back to his brilliant turn as a compromised illegal immigrant in Dirty Pretty Things, yet all his solemn speeches have a preachy calculation to them that weakens his presence as a neglected human being in the social spectrum. Substantive cameos surround them in the form of Zoom calls -- Ben Stiller, Mindy Kaling, Ben Kingsley, Stephen Merchant -- and their recognizability tends to be a double-edged sword, as they’re both dramatic support for the difficult voice-call medium and celebs literally phoning in their status quo.

These are all qualities that would reduce Locked Down from being a reputable, timely piece of work to being a flawed, yet acceptable melodrama with the best of intentions, but it’s the transition from those stagy dramatics into a pseudo-heist that ultimately leads to disappointment. The level of contrivance at work here cannot be understated, effortlessly bringing together the couple’s professions into a opportunity dropped in their laps at the perfect time, fueled by suspicious conditions that almost use the pandemic as a crutch whenever things become too unbelievable. Every aspect of what draws Paxton and Linda in the position of becoming criminals is rushed and negligent, with a nonstop chain of reckless phenomena and shameless holes, from the ratio of people who’d recognize the name Edgar Allen Poe to how likely someone’s going to check the authenticity of a multi-million-dollar acquisition upon receipt. Telling the audience that they won’t doesn’t automatically mean they’ll believe it.

Don’t expect either Ocean’s 11-style theatrics or something akin to Doug Liman’s more action-oriented momentum once the “heist” begins (Edge of Tomorrow is "an utterly absorbing blockbuster"; Bourne Identity is still a classic), and frankly, it isn’t clear whether Locked Down would be a better film with more of that included at the end. While the commitment to Paxton and Linda as grounded individuals may be commendable, the pandemic-themed glimpses at their lives aren’t considerable enough to make one care enough about their livelihoods to roll with this uninteresting, questionable excuse of a planned caper. As such, there’s little genre entertainment value in this climax to their story, driven only by the marginal tension of the close calls whenever one of many obvious peculiarities are close to being discovered. As it rides through its conclusion with blinders up to practical repercussions, Locked Down gets stuck in the limbo between remaining semi-realistic and allowing itself to do things like normal, and in the process misses the chance to shine in either area.

Film Review: Replicas

Directed by: Jeffrey Nachmanoff; Runtime: 107 minutes
Grade: D

Largely due to the success of John Wick, we're in the midst of something of a Keanu Reeves revival, and I couldn't be more excited about that. In the right roles, which are often stoic or deliberately composed with doses of genuine, fiery emotion coming out of his character, he can deliver rather absorbing performances that hit just the right tones for certain styles of plotting. Worth remembering, though, during this time of celebrated revival, that he can just as easily be cast in the wrong parts that stretch his talents too thin and leave him feeling like an awkward presence … and that all his past films aren't immediately transformed into gems, like The Day the Earth Stood Still and 47 Ronin. Unfortunately, his latest attempt at science-fiction with Replicas goes down the rabbit hole and into the latter category: despite a few noble ideas involving the creation of artificial life and the willingness to incorporate dark humor, they get lost in this ideologically messy, tonally confused and logistically harebrained piece of work from Traitor director Jeffrey Nachmanoff that misuses Reeves' capabilities.

Dr. Will Foster (Reeves) heads a research initiative for the Bionyne Corporation based in Puerto Rico, in which he and his team concentrate on duplicating a person's consciousness and transmitting it into an autonomous robot body. Despite the groundbreaking advances they've made, Foster's team are coming up short in bringing the entire project fruition and are close to losing the company's financial support, if they can't deliver on its entire spectrum. After returning home to reflect on his project and spend some time with his family, an accident causes his wife (Alice Eve) and three kids to abruptly die. Working as a man of science and taking risks, Foster decides to take matters into his own hands and try to create Replicas of his family … yet, since his robotic technology isn't working properly, he attempts to test the furthest fringes of science by duplicating their consciousnesses and transferring them into real bodies. When the results aren't entirely spot-on, he copes with the consequences.

Replicas begins as a soft sci-fi exploration of how a person's thoughts, feelings, and all-around being could be channeled from their physical body into a mechanical one, tapping into an interesting spectrum of ideas when the consciousness may or may not handle its new, synthetic vessel. At the beginning, that's where the script makes one think they're headed, but the film shifts gears so quickly that it nearly gave me whiplash: to the cloning of human tissue, then shifting again into the rapid gestation of bodies, and then yet again by bridging those together with consciousness transferring. It takes some adjustment to roll with how far Foster has come with consciousness transference -- yet still a distance away from realizing it -- to suddenly embracing the full-on successful cloning of bodies. The science in Replicas ends up being too much crammed into one story and unable to be taken seriously, but it's also frustratingly contrived to be advanced at just the right levels for Foster's neuroscientific plans to come to life … and falter whenever the story needs tension or drama.

Long before Replicas haphazardly merges futuristic sciences, it strikes an odd chord in an unexpected area: with its dark humor. Now, I'm a firm believer that genre movies shouldn't take themselves too seriously, and that including moments of levity can elevate thrills or suspenseful drama by opening a figurative pressure valve, releasing some of the tension, and then letting the heaviness build up again. The humor needs to fit the circumstances, though, and the circumstances we're working with here are the deaths of a scientist's entire family, whom he cared for immensely; it might've been a different situation had he been a callous narcissist or something like that. When Foster jokes around with Silicon Valley's Thomas Middleditch on the same night that his family died in a pretty horrific and traumatizing way, it sends some mixed and unsatisfying signals about how these characters should be deciphered. The comedic timing between Reeves and Middleditch works fine enough as the more solemn, spread-too-thin research scientist and his edgier subordinate co-researcher, but the material simply comes across as out of place.

Through the boundless magic of science-fiction where the end could justify the narrative means, Replicas finds a way of getting Dr. Foster's family back on their feet … well, most of ‘em. At a certain point, the film essentially transforms into one long chain of gray moral dilemmas, engineered by the writers' self-imposed limitations on the plot and the preposterous advancements -- and success rate -- of the research being done at Bionyne Corporation. The dilemmas, and the suspense that branches off their repercussions, fail to rationalize the fantastical whirlwind of technobabble that got us to this point, introducing question after question about the general timeline, the stability of this advanced tech under less-than-ideal circumstances, and some exceptionally poor decision-making that has immediate consequences. These stumbles in practicality turn into critical distractions from the thought exercises brainstormed by the writers responsible for Replicas, and no, despite how good it is too see him again so soon, the bearded yet reticent attitude of Keanu Reeves isn't enough to salvage how it all happens.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]

Film Review: Destroyer

Directed by: Karyn Kusama; Runtime: 121 minutes
Grade: C+

If the measure of quality one uses to evaluate a film's strength is whether it made the individual feel something, regardless of what that feeling might be, then Destroyer could be seen as a roaring success. The latest film from The Invitation director Karyn Kusama takes great strides to make those watching get involved with the harrowing life of a gaunt, ramshackle police detective -- and mother -- whose past encounters while undercover continue to impact and, in ways, curse her life some decades later. The psychological and physical hits that she takes, the fear and guilt that she exudes, and the absence of an ability for her to lead a real life come together into an expressive portrait in Destroyer. Despite the raw emotions and weighted suspense, however, the film's intentions as a character study stop short of conveying a deeper understanding of what she endured and how she fully got to where she's at today, resulting in a dramatic onslaught -- fueled by an unrecognizable Nicole Kidman -- that suffers from not bridging the right gaps from who she was and who she's become.

Destroyer takes place across two different timelines: the current era where Erin Bell is a very rough-around-the-edges detective working homicide cases, and in the past before the events that'd ultimately change her as a person. The two timelines are linked by a semi-psychotic criminal named Silas, positioned as an almost mythical arch-villain as he announces his continued existence to Erin through cryptic means. In the past, Erin's association with Silas (Toby Kebbel) and his drug-abusing criminal network showcase some of the lengths to which undercover agents will go to embed deeper into an outfit, the moral boundaries they're willing to bend or cross to maintain appearances. During the present, her attitude reveals what can happen when traumatic life events take their toll as she uses her methods to seek out Silas, before he reaches her. As the chronology jumps around, it paints a picture of her relationship with fellow undercover agent Chris (Sebastian Stan), as well as with her somewhat estranged daughter, Shelby (Jade Pettyjohn).

As someone who usually isn't persuaded by Nicole Kidman's ability to transform into another character, instead usually just seeming like she's just slight tweaks of herself in every role, I was absolutely blown away at how deep she goes into Erin Bell and how unrecognizable she is for the entirety of Destroyer. Unkempt, scraggly, and inhumanely gaunt, her portrayal of Bell exists in that space of performances where you have to actively convince yourself that you're looking at a specific actor, elevating the transformative exhaustion and remorse that she's endured over the years. She's callous, but it's the kind of callous that indicates that there's heart and compassion underneath the harsh exterior, a testament to Kidman's thousand-yard stare glances and depleted body language as she procedurally lumbers between important contacts. She's a brave, talented detective whose disposition causes her to throw herself into harm's way with no care for her well-being, making for a compellingly unpredictable hero.

There's another side to Erin Bell, though, the one that exists in the past and made the mistakes that brought her to this point in the current era, and that's where Destroyer stumbles. As more gets revealed about how the younger Bell became entrenched with Silas' organized crime syndicate and built a relationship with fellow undercover agent Chris, the script from Phil Hay and Matt Manfredi attempts to explore how she balances the self-sacrificial side of herself with a desire to embrace and appreciate life from a somewhat selfish perspective. It creates a unique dichotomy as she cements relationships, witnesses unsettling and manipulative behavior from the leader, and makes judgment calls about what she should ignore … and possibly participate in. The chronology grows screwy and disorienting, though, jumping between different steps in the past and the present to emphasize what's important to the thriller narrative at the time and conceal what's really important about the events surrounding Silas, with a twist at the end that's more of a fakeout than a deeper revelation.

Like The Invitation, director Kusama reaches her comfort zone in Destroyer with the bleakness of the human condition, the extent to which people will go for what they want/need and how that spreads out to the people around ‘em. Erin's methods, where she's willing to take herself to get the info she needs, lead to this being an uncomfortable button-pushing experience in certain aspects that exists to witness the absence of her boundaries, yet little more beyond that. A gap needs to be bridged here, to genuinely showcase how the earlier, more optimistic and ambitious version of Kidman's character morphs into the downtrodden one from the current era, and while some details lend themselves to interpretation about how she might've gotten there, they still seem like disparate entities. More needs to be known about that time in its middle, after tragedy and up till now, for Destroyer to come full circle the way it attempts to do in its final scene. Once the screen goes white at the end, though, the two Erin Bells seem like different people that have lots of time separating them for events to further shape ‘em , as Kusama's film hits those discomforting chords in her experiences without forming into a cohesive evolution.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]

Film Review: Serenity (2019)

Directed by: Steven Knight; Runtime: 106 minutes
Grade: D+

Plot twists have the ability to change the entire context of how a movie plays out, to such a degree that it makes discussing it nearly impossible without revealing what's involved with it. Here's the thing about twists, though: the film should succeed as its own experience without relying on a big revelation later down the line to justify why certain things may have seemed out of place, whether it's relationships between the characters or the tempo of the thrills. Serenity -- the latest thriller from the shrewd suspense writer of Locke and Dirty Pretty Things, Steven Knight -- feels like many things are off with its realism as soon as it embarks, where celebrated actors come across as embellished caricatures within an unexplainably false seaside town, leaving one confused by its repetitions and oddities. Once the twist gets involved and explains why things are the way they are, the damage has been done to the film's rhythm, failing to anchor what remains of the story with a misguided, cumbersome shift in perception.

Matthew McConaughey plays our intrepid hero, Baker Dill, a washed-up yet still talented fisherman who has been caught up in catching his "white whale" of a fish, Justice, for quite some time. Along with his wise first mate (Djimon Hounsou), they barely scrape by with the odd charter fishing trip for wealthy vacationers … and when they don't, Baker Dill uses his physical attractiveness to earn a little money with the local women, notably an attractive, caring woman close to his age named Constance (Diane Lane). Amid a rougher patch in his business, Baker Dill receives an unexpected visit from a mysterious woman (Anne Hathaway), someone with whom he had a vague romantic past. She arrives with a proposition: for him to do a dark deed involving her new husband (Jason Clarke) that would provide Baker Dill enough money to stop worrying about an influx of cash. Along the way, he's constantly bothered by a slim accountant type in glasses (Jeremy Strong), someone who seems to know way more about Baker Dill's everyday activities than he should.

None of the main four characters in Serenity are portrayed by actors without an Academy Award nomination, which makes the awkwardness of the performances here more than a little frustrating. McConaughey works with little more than brutish, obsessive traits as Baker Dill, reducing the Captain Ahab archetype to straightforward mania with a slight amount of military veteran distance in his temperament. Anne Hathaway saunters in as a prototypical femme fatale, a seductress with movie-star blonde hair and whispery, sultry vocal tones. Hounsou is a quasi-religious sage personified, and Diane Lane's little more than a concerned sugar momma who enjoys peering out at her boy toy from swung-open windows. In the beginning, with no grasp on the nature of the setting, they all come across as robotic archetypes of their necessary characters, as if a less-experienced writer has put into action the purpose-driven shells of their personalities without giving them the added depth of people.

Because of this, the idyllic seaside setting in Serenity never feels like much more than a mirage as Steven Knight attempts to build tension around Baker Dill, complimented by quirky visual transitions and odd sound choices that'll only make sense in the moment upon a second viewing. On its face, the front end of the story lacks purpose either as an examination of these characters or as an effective thriller, instead existing purely as the placement of moving parts leading up to a substantive reveal. Therefore, the open waters and coastal folks of the town aren't a convincing mirage, instead coming across like a knockoff version of a Christopher Nolan film, one that's actually guilty of the criticisms -- characters as devices; concept above narrative -- that he's been targeted for over the years. Therefore, the compulsion in Serenity is to simply wait for it to make sense, and in the process the suspense empties from what's happening around Baker Dill until Knight lands on the right time to pull back the curtain.

Yes, there's a real whopper of a revelation being reeled in by Serenity that I'm going to try my best to avoid … and luckily, it's the kind of twist that comes to the surface around the halfway point, so that the film can wrap around and respond to its high concept. Steven Knight uses the opportunity for certain characters to dive into existential thoughts, especially Baker Dill's reflections on his purpose on the island: whether he's destined to go through with murder, what forces brought him to the area in the first place, why he gives a damn about "Justice". This could be a probing mind-bender in theory and it does adequately decode the weirdness that occurs beforehand, but very few secondary layers of Knight's execution hold up to the scrutiny of a second thought, even going so far as to flip the uncertainty about the shallowness of the characters to being suspicious about them being as autonomous as they are. Simple questions are answered about the repetitiveness of prior events and the stiff, direct nature of the characters, but not in any way that deepens the island's inhabitants. Reality begins to dissipate, and caring about that becomes a struggle.

That isn't to say that Serenity doesn't attempt to give purpose to the twist, though. In fact, how and why events play out the way they do around Baker Dill hinges entirely on somber emotional purposes, centered on the absence of a parent from their child's life and the extent to which people will delve into artificial escapes from their worries. The headspace where Steven Knight was at while constructing this film had to have been an intriguing one, not unlike those responsible for the likes of Abre Los Ojos/Vanilla Sky, Total Recall, or even The Truman Show. What sets those apart from Serenity lies in the initial experience in absorbing what's going on, because the mounting tension and emotional fabric of those other works are independently engaging as they approach their revelations and choices made by the main characters. Serenity's clumsy neo-noir beginnings must be explained away to squeeze any drops of fulfillment out of the mental gymnastics that follow, and that's where those on the hook with Steven Knight's concept get away.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]

Film Review: The Vault

Directed by: Dan Bush; Runtime: 91 minutes
Grade: D-

Plot twists can be a lot of fun to witness unfold, but they're far less enjoyable when there seems to be no purpose behind their place in the grander cinematic story. When details are revealed about the seeing of ghosts in The Sixth Sense, they're backed by the personal strife endured by the characters throughout; when the true nature of Nicole Kidman and her childrens' conditions are revealed in The Others, they're supported and deepened by her mother character's neuroses and obsessions. The most intriguing thing about The Vault, a hybrid of a bank heist caper and supernatural horror, lies in one of such twists near the very end of the film, telegraphed with similarly presumptuous grandeur in its reveal to that of its predecessors. What results is a mishmash of purposes that lacks proper tension or serious thrills, building to a reveal that doesn't have the necessary potency in its implications to support what happens beforehand.

The Vault begins as a standard bank robbery movie, with a plot orchestrated by sisters Vee (Taryn Manning) and Leah (Francesca Eastwood) to steal roughly a half-million dollars from an old local branch. Coupled with distractions down the street to keep the city's resources occupied, their plan goes off without much of a hitch, leading them toward the money contained within. When the continued safety of the banks' employees and customers comes under fire during the heist, a mustachioed bank employee (James Franco) indicates that there's another vault burrowed deeper in the bank, and he'll help the robbers access it if they double-down on a promise not to harm the others. They agree, but what isn't fully revealed to them is that the bank has a dark history, and supernatural dangers lurk deeper down in its bowels.

The Vault essentially plays out as two different movies with a clear separation point between ‘em: everything that happens before supernatural elements are introduced, and everything that happens after that ever-present variable shifts gears of the entire scenario. Vee and Leah's grand plan has several unnecessary moving parts that don't make a lot of sense, from Taryn Manning blowing up at a bank teller similar to how she conducts her maniacal character in Orange is the New Black to how Leah uses a job interview as a long con for occupying the manager-on-duty. Generic pulsating music adds the necessary amount of tension to the atmosphere as the thieves gain the upper hand against the people within, and everything plays out as if it's following a template of every other heist movie. While I can understand that the movie wants to get to the more intriguing paranormal aspects, the setup comes across as tedious and drains the film of effective buildup before the eeriness take shape.

With a largely stoic James Franco sporting a ‘stache as he pulls back the curtains on the bank's history, The Vault descends into paranormal suspense as the thieves brave the building's corridors in pursuit of a bigger payday. The script tries to lure the audience into caring about the rationale behind Vee and Leah's robbery -- Taryn Manning's brusqueness makes it impossible to, in any way, empathize with her character's irritation with her sister's flightiness; Francesca Eastwood's shrewder and world-weary presence comes closer, but lacks tangibility -- but it doesn't do enough to make those watching care about whether they survive, are captured, or get away with the money. Thus, once specters start to whittle away at their crew through both direct and indirect methods, the suspense falls flat with each splatter of blood or scream of terror; some industrious production design and camerawork deserves to be commended, so at least there's something visceral to grasp onto with the horror aspects of the story.

But yes, there's a twist in The Vault -- two, really, though one's mostly just an elongated carry-over of the other -- which recontextualizes what the viewer has observed since the beginning and attempts to give the story a little heft. It's the kind of "gotcha" revelation that works better as the punchline to a brief and creepy campfire tale, though, instead of the feature-length culmination of either the heist suspense or the growing supernatural tension. That the revelation is unoriginal isn't the biggest problem with what happens, as numerous other supernatural mysteries have effectively landed on highly similar twists involving the mortality of significant individuals. Instead, The Vault keeps whatever potential it had locked up because it tries to succeed at being two different stories, one right after the other, while placing emphasis on the wrong elements for deeper impact, resulting in a monotonous and muddled indie whose lack of care for structure makes one disinterested in the secrets it wants to tell.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]

Film Review: Dark River

Directed by: Clio Barnard; Runtime: 90 minutes
Grade: D+

Most people who like to watch movies have a small collection of titles that they have waiting for when they're "in the mood", ones that are of a deliberately bleak, harsh nature that aren't exactly ideal for popping in and enjoying on a whim. Had Dark River achieved in what it sets out to do, I would've recommended lumping it into that category, largely because of how the material ventures into the territory of physical abuse and unrestrained sibling rivalry. Emotionally-charged performances and gritty visual composition against a decaying farmhouse landscape lend rawness to this tale of sibling rivalry and guilt, but the content's so heavy -- and heavy-handed -- that it yields an unpleasant drama without rewards or virtues to counterbalance it, relying on the intensity of its coarseness for substance.

Upon learning about the death of her father, Alice makes the trip back to her childhood village after staying away for a decade and a half, during which she's become an adept caregiver and shearer of sheep; guess she'd be considered something of a shepherd. The home from her youth sits on the edge of a prototypical British farm, not exactly beautiful under bucolic standards but appealing in its own right. There, she plans on asserting her claim for tenancy of the farm, claiming what she believes rightfully belongs to her, but she's met with resistance by her rough-hewn brother, Joe, whose skill and knowledge with the farm are clearly lacking. As they await a verdict from the higher-ups, the pair butt heads in more ways than one, while Alice copes with haunting memories of how her father treated her.

The pluckiness of Ruth Wilson's portrayal of Alice gives one hope at the beginning of Dark River, depicting her as a self-sufficient and determined woman in a heavily male industry, which sets her up to be a powerful force leading into discussions about whether she'll be taking over her father's farm. That isn't exactly the intention of the film, though, as the story quickly throws her into situations that she cannot feasibly cope with due to the circumstances, hinged on the bullish nature of her brother and the machinations of the agencies responsible for deciding the farm's fate. It becomes more of a display of her suffering than her willpower against tough situations, especially once the darkness of her abused past starts to factor into her mental state. Compelling elements of family turmoil and psychological damage are wrangled into the narrative, but it's not interested in Alice conquering them.

Instead, Dark River pushes further with the dramatics of the situation, escalating the grimness as legal scheming and threats of violence make the story, an adaptation of a novel by Rose Tremain, more unpleasant and infuriating to watch than enriching. With Sean Bean in the role as a father in flashbacks -- he's already a "dead" character before he even appears! -- the film cuts from current-era complications of cattle disagreements and sibling hostility to the escalating toxicity of Alice's home life when she was a young teen or pre-teen, back and forth. Clio Barnard's navigation of the themes involved with what's being depicted are both uncomfortable and, for the most part, lacking the purpose necessary to justify that kind of viewing discomfort. Sympathizing with Alice isn't difficult; however, understanding why we're being subjected to it doesn't come across so easily.

Dark River exasperates far before its ending, but the harrowing final act really makes it tough to take much of worth away from what happens around Alice. That's partly because of the muddied structure of its ideas, but it's mostly due to it being hard to believe that certain administrative decisions would be allowed to progress in light of the circumstances, revealing the story's agenda of going to as dark of a place as it can regardless of practicality. The boundaries built up by parables about grief, guilt, and -- most importantly -- redemption get tested here, and those who've created this one don't realize that they've pushed further than what they can withstand before starting to reconcile the emotive issues. Dark River doesn't have enough redeeming value to be worth the effort needed to watch it in any mood.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]

Film Review: The Mermaid: Lake of the Dead

Directed by: Svyatoslav Podgaevskiy, Christopher Bevins; Runtime: 90 minutes
Grade: D

While this may not be as prevalent in other parts of the United States, the concept of living the "mermaid life" has turned into something of a cutesy mantra for some people who live near the ocean (or wish they did). Rejuvenated interests in the half-human, half-fish mythical creatures has risen to such a degree that we've dropped anchor during a time when movies about them are prevalent … and some of ‘em, surprisingly, are quite good, from an effervescent comedic fantasy directed by Kung Fu Hustle's Stephen Chow to a very dark, bloody quasi-musical from Poland, of all places. The rules about mermaids change between all of ‘em, yet there are a few constants that inherently grab one's attention with the premise, notably the presence of a fish's tail as the lower half of their body. Within Russian folklore, the concept of "rusalka" -- a fearsome nature spirit that often dwells near water -- overlaps with the mythology of classical mermaids, which is why some might be confused by Mermaid: Lake of the Dead if they were hoping for a mermaid horror movie. Hoping for an effective horror movie is something else altogether.

In Mermaid: Lake of the Dead, the "monster" better resembles a siren than a mermaid: the lingering spirit of a young woman who resides near a dock and occasionally lures people into her sphere with entrancing magic. Once within the proximity of her voice and spells, the person struggles to do anything but proclaim their love and adoration for the spirit, whose desires shift erratically depending on its malicious or tormented mood. Early-20s swimmer Roma gets drawn into the magic of this one on the eve of his spontaneous bachelor party, leaving an internal mark on his being that impacts both his physical and mental health. Clues point towards the previous identity of this spirit, which leads to Roman and his fiancé, Marina, to investigate and hopefully find a way to appease her. The "mermaid" is a bitter entity, though, and will consume them if they don't figure out a solution sooner rather than later.

More than anything, Mermaid: Lake of the Dead gives off vibes very similar to those found in the American remake of The Ring, for several different reasons. For starters, to the filmmakers' credit, the film's visuals carry a lot of haunting beauty in each frame, luring those watching into an eerie, disquieting atmosphere very much in the same vein as Gore Verbinski's heavily stylized, and frequently damp; ghost story; some might see a bit of the Japan's Dark Water in there, too. On top of that, the story revolves around a lingering curse that passes from those who experience the mermaid -- not unlike watching that spooky video, complete with seeing warped visions -- and the process of escaping and removing said curse before time runs out. Those aren't inherently bad things, revolving around familiar emotional supernatural tropes and tapping into recognizable imagery of wet, stringy-hair spirits and their teal-coated surroundings. Expecting a mermaid and getting what's essentially an overpowered Samara isn't satisfying, but the film's engagement of the senses yearns to make up for that.

Boy, there isn't anything under the surface of Lake of the Dead, though, and the entrancement of the watery aesthetics wears off quick. It's hard to think of a more generic supernatural narrative than this one, going through the motions with its tale of doomed romance as the origin of the rusalka's spite, as if it's the last exhausted laps of a swimming session. The victims are youthful and absorbing to watch as their torment and investigation proceeds -- actress Viktoriya Agalakova could eventually become a force to be reckoned with -- but the absence of clarity about the spirit's powers and limitations translate into an uncommitted and mechanical wash of supernatural tension. The script doesn't lack for opportunities to develop the characters, either: the pacing intentionally wades along in hopes of building up the pressure of the suspense, yet that time gets devoted to the supernatural villain's rehash of a backstory instead of shaping the imminent victims into layered people. Thus, Mermaid stagnates. Quick.

Mermaid: Lake of the Dead raises the intensity level by splashing around with a few traditional jump scares that reemphasize that the villain isn't much of a "mermaid" at all, instead some kind of hypnotic water spirit that can extend or retract its influence however the plot deems necessary. While it's interesting to see a car some distance from a body of water -- and from the villain -- fill up with dank fluid and attempt to drown the people within, the introduction of this as a possibility opens up a can of worms about how much watery chaos and wrath the spirit could realistically conjure up from far away. Those are the types of considerations that get pardoned when the mythology's interesting or you care about the people drawn into the conflict; The Ring, after all, could be accused of similar (milder) issues. By the end, instead of casting a spell with its unique twist on such a water-dwelling mythical creature, Mermaid: Lake of the Dead mostly just made me wish they had slapped some scales and a fin on her, turned her into a killing machine, and made these unexciting people regret living the Mermaid Life™.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]

Film Review: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald

Directed by: David Yates; Runtime: 134 minutes
Grade: C-

It's tough to be a fan of the Harry Potter franchise and not be as into its Fantastic Beasts prequel spinoff, especially considering the participation of author J.K. Rowling as screenwriter. For all its charmingly rendered creatures, ‘20s-era appearance, and nudge-wink references to the story proper, David Yates' next foray in the wildly-popular universe carries over the awkwardly heavy tones and stilted, erratic characterization from his later, less cinematically successful entries. Much like the protracted two-parter Deathly Hallows, Fantastic Beasts also feels every bit like it's obligated to continuation instead of genuinely inspired. While similar observations apply to the sequel, Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, they are relatively secondary to the film's more pressing missteps: Yates and Rowling have confused ostentation with beastly wonder, overestimated the draw power of the characters' depths, and ultimately assumed more Wizarding World meant they could overextend a plot where little actually evolves leading into a third film. The result is, quite easily, the worst Potter film yet.

Some spoilers for Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them will naturally follow from hereon out, the most notable being that evil mastermind Grindelwald, whom was unmasked at the end of Fantastic Beasts to reveal a graying Johnny Depp, has been imprisoned by America's wizard law enforcement. While being transferred from the max security facility there to London to be tried for his crimes -- always a brilliant move; especially so for an immensely powerful dark wizard -- Grindelwald breaks loose from their control and, naturally, begins to rally the troops. As the Ministry of Magic seeks the whereabouts of Credence Barebone (Ezra Miller), the gray-area villain from the first film, and as Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) attempts to return to his normal traveler's life as a beast wrangler, Grindelwald's influence spreads and draws in those who might be considered allies to the Ministry. Much of their hope lies in the hands of a familiar name whose past once intersected with Grindelwald: Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law), who is at this point the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

One of the complaints thrown out at Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 was that it felt overly stretched-out, that the novel's narrative had been prolonged so the plot could be split into two money-making blockbusters, and that, by itself, it came across as buildup without significant development or payoff. The Crimes of Grindelwald does just about the same, but without the guarantee of a second half to resolve any cliffhangers or justifying the plot's lack of advancement. Now, let's not kid ourselves: there'll be another Fantastic Beasts film; however, the substance of this one suffers from the same presumptuousness as its Harry Potter counterpart, using this gap-filling "middle" entry to extend the story longer than it should. When you look at the state of the Fantastic Beasts plotline at the beginning and at the end of The Crimes of Grindelwald, it's hard not to come away from it without thinking that … well, not much has really happened, and that's over two hours of things not happening. This feels like buying time until more interesting things happen, which can also be viewed as wasting time.

There's a difference between things not happening and things not changing, and that's where The Crimes of Grindelwald hopes to make up for its lack of forward movement in the story, by exploring how the characters change in response to things learned about themselves, others, and the Wizarding World. J.K. Rowling had a challenge ahead of her: devotees to the Harry Potter franchise have a loose grasp on where the events of this prequel -- and the next -- will ultimately end up, while more casual fans can be fickle in their interest levels behind seeing what's already happened in past events in the Harry Potter universe. With an emphasis on Grindelwald and a brewing war between noble wizards and those who practice the dark arts, one can't help but ultimately think to themselves that, yeah, everything's going to turn out fine from all this; however, the interest falls on how certain "good guys" would be persuaded into cooperating with Grindelwald's agenda. The answers, widespread as they may be, aren't very creative, taking cues from X-Men and the Underworld series in the villain's appeals to superiority. For being the series' second most powerful dark wizard, Grindelwald and Johnny Depp's performance within it are unfathomably bland, leading one to miss Colin Farrell.



Sure, there's more going on in The Crimes of Grindelwald than exploring its lackluster villain. Rowling also reveals more about the recurring heroes in her Fantastic Beasts prequel universe; however, their reentry reeks of sequel shenanigans. Newt Scamander remains something of a tourist throughout the events of this film, with just enough of a personal connection through his brother -- Theseus, an auror with Britain's Ministry of Magic investigating the whereabouts of Credence -- to ensure that he appears relevant to what's going on. Other characters from Fantastic Beasts return through mechanical or, at times, nonsensical methods, bringing back quirky mood relievers Queenie (Alison Sudol) and Jacob (Dan Fogler) in a way that undercuts where they ended up in the first, while also working Newt's half-romantic interest Tina (Katherine Waterston), an American auror, into the fray. New characters Theseus and the familiarly-named Lita Lestrange (Zoe Kravitz) add echoes of depth to the film's dramatic endeavors, yet neither are strong enough as standalone presences to latch onto them, merely servicing the backstory that's disguised as a plot here.

David Yates and his team of both practical and digital wizards certainly know how to generate a visually gripping universe, from the precision of costumes to ornate, weathered set craftsmanship and the digital rendering of beasts from one's imagination. Boy, does it feel shallow in The Crimes of Grindelwald, though, as if they're parlor tricks designed to hold one's fleeting attention span instead of to lock one's captivation with a world being created. Scenes with new beasts are lengthy and majestic, holding little purpose beyond reemphasizing Newt's preference for them above humans. There's a point where key characters navigate the shifting pillars of a magic archive that taps into into a sense of awe not unlike seeing Gringotts or the Ministry of Magic for the first time, though that gets weakened by the arrival of questionably rendered -- though, admittedly, still slick and intimidating -- CG antagonists. And yes, in a continuation of sequel desperation, The Crimes of Grindelwald departs to Hogwarts so it can interact with a dashing young Albus Dumbledore, impeccably played by Jude Law, though the sight of its architecture, levitating candles and such actually set the stage for numerous inconsistencies and oddities in the plot, from confusing backstories and arbitrary plot constraints to outright holes.

For all its grandeur and deep interest in the setting's history, Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald struggles to, frankly, have much of a point. Seemingly big things occur near its end -- from a dazzling and persistent onslaught of magical blue infernos to a key reveal about the lineage of the mysterious Credence Barebone -- yet after the flames die out and the shock value wears off, the ramifications of what's transpired lack the sort of concrete substance or immediacy that makes one want to know what comes out of it. Rowling has a great time exploring these events that ultimately build into her world that's enchanted so many people across the globe, but she's done so within the space of a story that lacks momentum and excitement until the script decides that it's reached a point where it's necessary. The pacing suffers, the focus suffers, and the anticipation suffers upon its pseudo-cliffhanger of a conclusion, which left me feeling how nobody should feel at the end of a prequel: it's pretty obvious what's going to happen next, and not even outright wizarding warfare can conjure up enthusiasm for it.

For the full Blu-ray review, head over to DVDTalk.com: [Click Here]