Why WandaVision is the Story of Now

For the past year, so many of us have wished, whether aloud or within the confines of our minds, that we could control the world around us. We wish we could lower the positivity and fatality rates of a still largely uncontrolled virus. We wish we could mask-up the ignorant individuals of our respected societies. Above most else, we wish we could keep the impending darkness of tremendous tragedy and hurt outside the borders of our self-contained sanctuaries, even though it would still be waiting just outside the blockade for us.  

I came into WandaVision as a casual fan of Marvel with the exception of X-Men, which ironically hasn't been a Marvel property in terms of legality for a number of years up until the recent past. I've always gravitated more told DC Comics material, though I was never wholly certain as to why. Now older and a bit more self-aware, I realize that a partial-explanation for this might be that from a young age I related more to women then men, and I found the women of DC Comics from Wonder Woman to Zatanna, from Harley Quinn to Martha Kent to be compelling, multi-faceted and strong. This is not to say that Marvel does not contain strong female characters, but growing up people were hardly talking about Gwen Stacy, let alone the fact that she eventually came into powers herself later on, and they certainly were not talking about Black Widow before Scarlet Johansson brought her to life on the big screen. The women of Marvel, again outside the world of X-Men populated by badasses like Jean Grey, Mystique and Storm, were just not within my sphere of consciousness. When I saw the promos for WandaVision, having a vague understanding from watching Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) a billion years ago, and Avengers: Infinity War (2018) while I was mildly intoxicated one evening at home, I was immediately beguiled not only at the pastiche-style with which the story would be told but that it would be told from the female perspective. A story of grief, in a year and a half, filled with it to the brim, that would seemingly also appease superhero fans, often-considered to be brutish and less invested in cognitive insight than in punching stuff. I had to see for myself if WandaVision could succeed with such lofty ambitions. The results were not just pleasantly surprising, nay. They reinvigorated my creative beliefs in how stories could be told across film and television, which demographics they could be told to, and most importantly, what they could be about on a thematic level. 

Episodes 1-3:

The best way to describe the entirety of WandaVision is a masterclass on nostalgia, and the first three episodes are the perfect introduction into this world of strange-familiarity. The specificity in costume design, lighting, cinematography, dialogue, set design etc., is nothing short of magnificent, as if these eras of television never ceased existing in the first place, because on so many television every day, thanks to syndication and reruns, they haven't. Many have complained about the "slow start" of the first two entries, which feature zero "action" as would be defined by any superhero fan of the last two decades. Instead, "Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience and "Don't Touch That Dial" ask you to sit back and relax and revel in the reminders given as to why Vision, Wanda and the loving bond they share was such a fan-favorite in the film franchise they came from in the first place. We get to see them as everyday people and recognize them as ourselves despite their extraordinary abilities. Without this set-up, we as the audience could not fully comprehend as richly as we do why Wanda yearned for normalcy and why she will so fiercely fight against anyone or anything that risks disrupting it, as made evident by her actions at the end of episode three to "Geraldine." 

Episode 4 

In many ways, the most uninteresting episode of the series, though that isn't entirely its fault. "We Interrupt This Program" does just what its title implies. It is an expositional dump the size of a New Jersey Highway, its the byproduct of WandaVision residing inside such a wide-spanning universe. Explanations must be given, characters must be established, and stakes must get raised if the rest of the series can be allowed to have the emotional gravitas it will most certainly possess. We forgive this episode's hefty narrative-obligations almost completely in gratitude towards actors Teyonah Parris, Randall Park, and the always delightful, Kat Dennings who give the supporting cast of character enough heart and humor to get us through this explain-a-thon. Even Josh Stamberg gives an appropriately-arrogant performance as Acting Director of S.W.O.R.D. Tyler Hayward. It isn't a series highlight as much as it is a necessity, but at least the creative team tried to make the vegetables as tasty as possible when feeding them to us.    

Episodes 5-7

It's important to note that as the eras of television have progressed, the conflicts dealt within them have gotten more serious. This reflects the evolving landscape of American Television. In the 1950s and 1960s, most American audiences didn't want serious subject matter to be explored in their sitcoms. They wanted escapism from the hardships already outside their own front doors ranging from war to poverty, from political corruption to racial inequality. However, by the late 70-90s, audiences had grown to accept that tough times were a part of who they were and therefore should be exhibited in the characters they watched on TV each night. Episode 5, "On a Very Special Episode..." my personal favorite of the entire limited series, is the best example of the trust that had grown between television-makers and their audiences to handle a subject matter like death in a way that can be teachable and still entertaining. We see Wanda start to learn this lesson in this very same episode, and she tries to pass on the wisdom to her young sons, Billy and Tommy, that death is okay and the complex feelings that come alongside it are valid and imperative to the human soul to experience. It is the arrival of her brother (played by Evan Peters of Fox Marvel fame in a clever, if not infuriating, red herring) that stops this emotional maturity in Wanda before it can lead her to dismantle this self-imposed delusion of superb suburbia. We will later learn that this was done deliberately. For selfish reasons, a certain nosy-neighbor played by the incomparable Kathryn Hahn could not allow Wanda to have such an epiphany, at least not yet, and not unsupervised. 

Episode 8

While the acting in the penultimate episode "Previously On" is phenomenal, with Olsen, Bettany and Hahn putting in their best performances in the entire series here, the lack of imagination in its set-up warrants some criticism. Surely the writers could have found a way to embark on this journey to the past in a way that felt less "A Christmas Carol" in its execution and more aligned with the television tropes the series as a whole had been so expertly celebrating up to this point. Still, with an opening witch-burning unlike any other and a quote that has already sparked memes upon memes, the episode manages to be a triumph despite its conventional, borderline literary structure. We get the explanations we need in a much-more visually absorbable method than in Episode Four.  

The episode also sparks surprising criticism against big-government and the military not often seen in the Marvel Franchise, which frequently positions its heroes as brave militants or subsidies like Tony Stark, fighting the good fight with noble intentions. Here we see faults acknowledged in spades, from Wanda and Pietro's loss of their parents due to war to her mistreatment as next of kin to the person she loved the most in the world. Hayward's holier-than-thou argument that Vision must be destroyed to protect society at large is proved to be bullshit when they turn a version of him back online later in the episode. They would never not take advantage of such a power source, not when it can be used as a means of war and domination. Still, though corruption is acknowledged and briefly explored, the series does not completely deviate into a piece of Anti-War propaganda. After all, Monica and Jimmy are military and law enforcement personnel, respectfully, and they each play a positive role in ensuring that alls well that ends well. It challenges conventional notions but doesn't completely follow through.

Episode 9

Full disclosure, as I've just watched the finale now, this part of the review is the first that I am writing. "The Series Finale" as it is so aptly titled, will in little doubt enrage many fans. Almost every single popular theory, from the arrival of the ominous comic book Big Bad, Mephisto, to the true identity of Evan Peter's Quicksilver imposter, fans were left with few Easter Eggs to fry for breakfast Saturday morning. Even the one cameo we all thought would be definite, the arrival of Benedict Cumberbatch's Doctor Strange, turned out to be a non-starter. Showrunner, Jac Schaeffer and her team for eight straight episodes hardly pulled focus off of Wanda and Vision's journey for other such fanfare with the exception of setting up an origin story for Monica Rambeau, so why would we expect the finale to dedicate a significant portion of time to other MCU properties? That isn't to say the finale didn't provide fan-service. Many of those who came here for the kind of subdued pensive introspection we got in Episode 8 would be, at least somewhat disappointed to find a large portion of the finale dedicated to those hallmark fight sequences that superhero films cannot survive without. Others argue that the finale didn't explore the mythos of witchcraft enough, nor Wanda's guilt for what she had done to hundreds of people trapped inside the Hex. These are valid oversights, but at least they can be remedied in future installments of her journey in the films. Still, despite some fair grievances, this started as Wanda's story, and it appropriately ended as such. 

Some will have wanted it to end as a film, which in the case of superhero franchises, explosively sets-up the next enthralling chapter to come. Still, with a dedication to homaging Television of Great, WandaVision doesn't sacrifice its devotion to the medium that helped bring it to life in its final bow. How many sitcoms have ended with the simple flicking off of a lamp? How many one-hour dramas finish with the main character setting off on a new and exciting journey usually away from the primary setting? The bad guys neutralized, the kids tucked in. It was time to go, and go it did, with the elegance of understatement and subtly which defined some of the best parts of this nine-episode journey. Paradoxically, the final episode manages to break cinematic conventions through a television-lens context. Vision defeats his identical counterpart not with his fist, but his words, a rarity in a battle between men on the big or small screen, well, in this case, android-men, but I digress. When Wanda inspects underneath the car for Agatha's body, she finds only her shoes, a clever nod to the Wizard of Oz (1939), another story of hope and heartache begetting a fantastical world of seeming paradise. In these moments, "The Series Finale" is giving small but noticeable "thank you's" to the medium that allowed it to get to this point in the journey, film. 

Conclusions: 

Much will be written, and rightfully so, about how the finale most importantly represents Wanda's acceptance of grief. She makes the ultimate sacrifice a matriarch can make, her family. However, we do not see her dissolve into an inconsolable heap. This time, Wanda finds strength in her loss. Though White Vision is out there, he is not the person she fell in love with, and I'll be honest, it would likely be a sizable disadvantage to the emotional resonance of the material if he were to become himself again. If our losses are permanent, so must be Wanda's, not because of some twisted sense of fairness, but because Wanda has always been since Episode 1 an extension of us, of our entrapment due to lockdown, of our grieve over a life un-lived or cut short.  If she can survive it, we can, with or without magical powers. 

In the post-credits scene, Wanda hears the voices of her sons. In the context of the Marvel Franchise, this insinuates that they are out there somewhere. Maybe not in this universe but another. However, for those who have only come to visit Westview to witness Wanda's cathartic journey, to the casual viewer, and those that have lost loved ones they can never get back, this moment means something else. It means that if grief is love persevering, then a life lived after loss is a life shared with those departed. That's why Wanda and Vision, in their tearful goodbye, show hope because perhaps his next life will be lived as a memory inside of the woman who loved him for the man she knew he was within himself. He won't be a physical manifestation, living, breathing and tripping over an ottoman, but a voice to guide her in her dimmest moments moving forward. The most magnificent thing Wanda could do for him and herself was to allow him back inside her mind, for that is where he is meant to exist now, as are so many gone too soon. Indeed, by the end of the series, we find that Wanda's greatest power possessed is to love others more than herself. It's the creed every superhero needs to live by. That's the vision of life she's found. That's WandaVision. 

Palmer: A Lesson on Love and Gender

 

Being different can be hard. It's even harder the younger you are and the less autonomy you possess in the world around you. Though we often misperceive the entitlement of younger generations, the truth is the younger you are, the less the world owes you. If this weren't true, fewer children would go hungry every day. Homelessness would be an "adult-only" issue, and children would have to take several classes upon reaching their 18th birthday to be informed about what the world would expect of them now that the "privilege" of childhood has come and gone. It might sound paradoxical to some, but most children are taught that their right to life comes with strict parameters that they are only able to free themselves of upon entering adulthood, if they're lucky. These parameters might be parental expectations, protocols of the educational institutions they're enrolled in or adherence to a scripture made by the place of worship they are made to attend. We act as though childhood is this time for a liberating expansion and exploration of our imaginations, of discovering where we can fit into the world, but this is only so in the most ideal of scenarios. Too many children around the world don't live in the most ideal scenarios, however. 

Palmer (2021) is a cookie-cutter film in a lot of ways. An ex-con, Eddie Palmer comes to live with his grandmother as he tries to put his disgraced life back together and forms a bond with a curious young boy, Sammy, whom he comes to love and protect against the ills of the world. Pretty rudimentary stuff here. Cheryl Guerriero's screenplay as directed by Fisher Stevens hardly trods new cinematic ground, but it's the use of gender identity within an important subplot that does allow it to engage in thematically-richer conversations than it wouldn't have otherwise had. Sam's character is really what makes or breaks this film, though Justin Timberlake does give an impressive performance that works against type even if some people will be left less than convinced that an NSYNC member would beat the shit out of a drunk in a bar or mop the halls of an elementary school. June Squibb in an all-too-short supporting role and Alisha Wainwright, fresh off a phenomenal first season of Netflix's "Raising Dion" each give solid supporting performances that add tenderness to the steaming tension functioning throughout most of the film. Still, it is newcomer Ryder Allen as Sam that provides the film with its most compelling and heartfelt moments of awe, and it is through him that we as the audience are given a lesson in how to treat gender-queer youth at a time when their very existence is being questioned daily.

Sam is a boy who likes to play with dolls. His heroes are fairy princess and basically anyone that has a kind word to say to him. He asks for very little of the world other than for it to allow him to be who he wants to be, who he truly is. The sheer thought that any of this is unusual or "wrong" doesn't even occur to Sam. Why would it? He has shown successful opposition to the indoctrination we thrust upon children from the moment they are born. This is what you are supposed to wear, and this is how you walk when you wear it. This is the toy you are supposed to play with, and those are the children you are supposed to share it with. When a child inquires whether they may step out of these social structures more often than not, they are met with rejection, ridicule and even punishment. We often accuse these children of being "confused" about the role they are meant to play in life. Sam is certainly not confused. At one point in the film, he definitively states that he is a boy, just one that enjoys tea-parties and dress-up. He knows what's in his heart and finds society's attempts at re-educating him on this topic to be comical in all honesty. His rebelliousness is executed with such ease we wish we possessed his level of courage and confidence.  

In what kind of environment does a child like Sam get to best thrive in? The film examines that but some details might be overlooked by some. A gender-queer child, like any other child, needs love, affection, food, clothes, the human basics. On top of that, gender-queer children require acceptance, often more-so then gender-conforming children who's identities are rarely challenged in any substantive way. Sam's struggle is finding someone who can supply him with all of these essentials and not just some. His mother, played with savagery by the consistently talented Juno Temple, though a drug-addict living in a trailer with an abusive boyfriend, does appear to be capable of providing Sam with the acceptance he so desperately requires. She never once scolds him for his effeminate ways and buys (or steals) him the "girly" items he'd like such as a backpack. However, as mentioned prior, she is incapable of providing him with safety and stability. Because of that, he is left exposed to individuals, such as her toxic boyfriend, whom degrade and belittle his sense of self-worth, or at least try their hardest too.

Sam finds solace with Palmer's grandmother, who also doesn't seem to mind his sensitive nature and even encourages it. She is able to provide him with stability and safety, but her advanced age and eventual death prevent her from fulfilling this unofficial contract in the long-term. Furthermore, her devotion to her church, more-so than her family, results in Sam being on the brink of homelessness when he and Palmer must figure out a new living situation within a short amount of time. Even indirectly, the church endangers Sam's human rights to safety and security, because it never owed it to him in the first place. 

Sam's teacher, Miss Maggie, provides him with love and acceptance and within the walls of her classroom. In one memorable scene, she uses a Halloween costume to make a not-so-subtle statement about individualism. Some may find this potential equation of gender-expression as being a performative act and somewhat problematic, but the intentions here are good, and it counts for something, especially for a child like Sam who doesn't often witness any attempts at solidarity or understanding from cis-normative people. Still, much like parents, teachers are limited in the guidance and protection they can provide. Maggie offers Sam stability and security by stating he could stay with her until his mother returns though he chooses to remain with Palmer instead. He senses something in this man that is lacking in the rest of these caregivers.

It is the geniality of Timberlake's well-establish persona that contradicts beautifully with the hardened exterior he exudes in his portrayal of Palmer. He keeps a tricky balance by not veering too far into ultra-masculine nor excessively flamboyant as he and Sam forge a bond built on mutual-acceptance and understanding. Neither tries to become more like the other, and they simply give each other the necessary space to grow and thrive. Sam attends a football game, while Palmer participates in a tea party. They don't do these things out of appeasement. They do them because these actions are declarations. "You can be you." Sam projects this to Palmer more often than Palmer projects it towards Sam. That's because Palmer, in a way, needs these affirmations more than Sam. While Sam needs acceptance to survive, he has built-up a storage of acceptance inside himself for the times in life in which he cannot receive it from others. Palmer hasn't done the same for himself. He doesn't have any self-love on reserve, Sam does. Society taught Palmer he could live without it. In a completely un-shocking turn of events, society was wrong. Palmer is the only person able to fulfil all of the essential needs that Sam requires; it just takes him time to master them all whether that be getting used to him wearing a tiara from time to time or perfecting his sandwich making skills so that the child can have a proper lunch. By having Palmer "need" Sam, just as he is, just as Sam "needs" Palmer to survive and prosper, the filmmaker is doing more than making a statement of tolerance. This is a declaration of essentiality. Queer and Gender-Non-Conforming children are essential to our growth and prosperity as a global society moving forward; they always have been. Not just because they deserve what every other child deserves, but because of the lessons that they teach us about ourselves, about the theft which occurs during our falsely "free" childhoods. They give us a chance to break ancient cycles and stop comprising who we are and considering instead, who we can be.  

The film arrives to streaming at a time when we are arguing about whether it is "fair" to cis-children for a trans-child to play a sport, while completely ignoring the erasure that is embedded at the core of this quarrel. To consider the notion of fairness in this argument suggests that a viable solution would be to prevent willing and able children from participating in physically and psychologically beneficial activities. Think about children like Sam, and those like him, particularly those of color who have additional burdens to conquer in their pursuit of authenticity. Why does fighting for them have to be perceived as fighting against any other child? Why is this an either-or argument? It isn't, and it never was. Palmer is a familiar story, one that we've seen hundreds of times before in some variance and will likely again in hundreds of other films in the future. We've even seen versions of Sam before. Still, we've never seen this Sam before. He is wholly distinguishable upon himself like anyone else is and should be. This Sam comes across our screens as these humanistic debates are occurring in real-time, in our courthouses, schools, and living rooms. Palmer's provided him with the essentials, yes, but you can still provide something of value to him or rather to those he represents. Palmer is a solid film altogether, genuine if not a tad saturated. It can entice a lively conversation or quiet reflection. At the very least, it's an entertaining hour and fifty minutes. That is the least we can ask of it. What do you think is the most someone like Sam can ask of us?  

Sorry if I'm at the risk of sounding like a Sarah McLachlan ASPCA Commercial, but guess what, if you understood that reference, that probably means it works. Happy 2021 Everyone. May this New Year bring you renewed hope and happiness. 

Closing The Curtain on 2020

 

The Prom (2020) 

With Broadway shut down the last few months and Steven Spielberg's West Side Story (2021) still a year away from release (assuming that release date even sticks, who knows these days) the world needed one of Hollywood's most celebrated achievements, the musical. Directed by Ryan Murphy and based on the hit-Broadway play, The Prom has all the critical components for a successful musical film. Led by Meryl Streep, James Corden, Nicole Kidman, Kerry Washington, among many talented others while also introducing fabulous new blood with the likes of Jo Ellen Pellman and Ariana DeBose, the film adaptation of the Broadway show tells the story of a high school girl in Indiana that gains the unlikely help of a group of self-involved and good-PR-seeking celebrities to fulfill her dream of taking her girlfriend to prom despite the objections of the girl's conservative unsuspecting mother. Kerry Washington brings her best Candace Owens impression alongside her otherwise glorified secondary role, though she does display some killer singing pipes in one noteworthy scene. The controversy surrounding Corden's performance is warranted, especially in his character's unnecessary lisp. While he shows moment's of genuine vulnerability, particularly in his scene with Tracey Ullman, in a surprise cameo, his portrayal of Barry can't help but feel more like a schtick than an actual human being. While gay actors can play straight and vice-versa, the benefits sometimes of casting in accordance with sexuality is an inherent understanding in many gay actors of when to reign in the cliche' and embrace the authenticity of subtly instead. Kidman's character is a fun addition, especially considering her most recent television role in The Undoing, but the film truly sidelines her for a majority of the narrative. Meryl is sublime and is able to toe-the-line of campy-pleasure with much more aplomb than Corden. Her vocal execution surpasses even that of both Mamma Mia's, which is no easy feat, but her subplot romance with Keegan-Michael Kay lacks both chemistry and adequate development. Pellman and DeBose are the film's true "Unruly Hearts", and we almost wish at times that the narrative would give them the due justice they deserve, despite the reverence we have for the enjoyable performances of the older supporting cast members. There is something uncomfortably ironic about how a story of conceded cohorts helping out a disenfranchised youth actually disfranchises the youth further by not making her, nor her closeted black queer girlfriend, the center of the narrative. Still, the soundtrack is as high-energy as any setlist comprised by a DJ working a high school prom in the last ten years would be, and gives all cast members a chance to show us what they can do, vocally. The story, though preposterous on many levels, is appropriately optimistic and well-intentioned for the most part. Director Ryan Murphy creates a world of "Hyper-Reality" as seen in his television endeavors of Glee, American Horror Story and most recently The Politician (also on Netflix). Those looking for a grounded narrative or complex depiction of celebrity culture and civil rights need look elsewhere, Murphy and co are here for the simple things, love is love, bullying is bad and zazz is the cure to your life's unhappiness. While you can rightfully chastise the creative team for not diving deeper into the material, you can't deny that the way they approach the surface level of things is exhilaratingly romping and heartfelt. We didn't need complexity right now as much as we needed to have a good time and be reminded of the best parts of life that await us at the end of this hellish experience. In that sense, The Prom is an absolute hit. People's qualms about the plot inconsistencies and the questionable performance choices of some of the actors can be discussed and critiqued so long as you don't allow them to completely overshadow what is an essential dose of glamour and joy in these dour days. If this is the worst Murphy can do in a musical adaptation, and we certainly hope it is, then his next endeavor will surely be an even bigger spectacular spectacle. It's not Chicago (2000) or Grease (1978), but The Prom is a life vest for those who needed it and unequivocally declared that "It's Time to Dance" even if the song playing is problematic and overly familiar in certain parts.  

Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey (2020) 

While The Prom gives you Broadway nostalgia, Jingle Jangle instead looks forward by taking all the best elements of the Christmas movie genre and revitalizing them freshly and entertainingly. Right off the bat, the fact that it has nothing to do with Santa Claus is a huge success by itself. While old Saint Nick is always a pleasure to see, not all Christmas tales have to be centered around him and his damn reindeer. Jingle Jangle embraces the holiday season by crafting a wholly unique and original narrative that promotes all the important themes we love to see in this winter wonderland brand of cinematic storytelling. It is about love, family and the power of the imagination. The plot about a failing toymaker developing a bond with his estranged and curious granddaughter is unafraid to show emotional maturity while also giving us reasons to laugh with earnest sincerity. It is not completely devoid of tropes, but director/writer, David E. Talbert knows how to use them with careful calculation, making creative decisions that evoke spontaneity without risking narrative derailment. With a phenomenally composed score, the musical has all the high-energy and charm of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul lyrical work on La La Land (2016) and The Greatest Showman (2017) (who's choreographer, Ashley Warren continues his incredible work here as well) without the problematic racial issues associated with each of those other musicals' plots. In fact, the film champions diversity as effortlessly as it eschews Christmas cliches, by normalizing it without drawing false-noted attention. This is a Christmas movie with a predominately black cast, but it is a holiday story for all to enjoy. Those who deserve it most certainly are the black boys and girls who never saw themselves as the center of a holiday tale, but the film is so much more than the race of its cast, it is a testament to ambitious, un-condescending filmmaking. The best Christmas films speak to children and adults alike with wonder and optimism, and this one achieves just that while making it seem appallingly easy. Given the amount of Holiday Stinkers that come out of the film industry each and every year, audiences know quite well that making a Christmas movie (a musical one, nonetheless) that grants us more than just a two-hour escape from online ordering and snow shuffling but an experience that is to be treasured long after the credits roll, is a rare find indeed. I personally look forward to adding Jingle Jangle to my holiday film-watch list next December and for many of the Decembers to come. It is a film that warrants inclusion into tradition by being in many ways untraditional.

Woman Woman 1984 (2020) 

Unlike the two other films listed, Wonder Woman 1984 was meant to be released on the big-screen and technically has been in some parts of the United States and worldwide. For so many, however, the viewing experience for this film will be from their home television-sets. Considering some of the subject matter dealt with in this second installment in the super-heroine's cinematic adventure, that setting is arguably appropriate, even if it isn't as dazzling for the eye-sockets. The film has us checking in on the Amazonian Princess roughly 70 years after her first encounter with mankind during World War II, in which she met, fell in love with, and ultimately lost a courageous and genteel pilot, Steve Trevor. The 1980's in America was a time of rampant consumerism, of instant gratification in the form of products you probably didn't need, but felt like you couldn't live another day without. It was a time of conflicting ideologies, of outward optimism clashing with internal dread which resulted in cultural resets like the death of disco and the ascension of hardcore punk and metal music. These combative tones and moral conundrums are at the heart of this sequel. It is a movie about the consequences to our desires and the importance of trust in ensuring our survival in this ever-changing world around us. It does succeed in the "period film test" as I like to call it, which is the question of whether a film justifies its period setting or not. This one certainly does, with its themes, costumes, set design and overall aesthetic screaming 80's as loud as an invisible jet engine as it soars through the night sky...with fireworks. Yes, that is a scene spoiler, one of the better moments that the film's journey provides for us and Diana, our titular heroine. She is a different woman here, jaded and occasionally cold, less naive and care-free. Much of her light has been dimmed, though not completely extinguished. The sequel ultimately fails at being superior to its predecessor, but then again, so many do, especially in the superhero genre. Unlike the first film, this one lays on its themes too thickly, especially in the dialogue. During the climax, Diana delivers a monologue (which somehow gets broadcasted because apparently the lasso of truth also connects you to satellite television) that spells out everything that esteemed director, Patty Jenkins wants you to take away from the film. Wonder Woman 1984 too often falls into tropes like this that the first film so skillfully avoided. It feels like Jenkins has lost trust in the audience and believes that if they aren't spoon-fed certain messages, that they won't be properly received. While the theme is placed front and center throughout, the plot is sometimes undersold, like the wobbly details of villain Maxwell Lord's devious plans for...I guess world domination? Pedro Pascal does remarkably well with a villain who's backstory isn't even given proper exploration until the climax. Though the Trump comparisons are inevitable, Lord feels like he represents an outdated idea of success, more than a single person. Trump just happens to fall under this category, as well. Kristen Wiig, the performer I was personally most excited to see in this film, is unfortunately similarly underserved by the script despite showing admirable talent in balancing comedic and dramatic tonal shifts throughout her performance. She isn't in the film enough, and her friendship with Diana, a crucial component to both of their character arcs is rushed. Her character's arc also ends in a very muddled way, seeming redemption with no underlining motivation apparent. Still, she manages to infuse enough exuberance into the performance, especially in the latter half of the film, to make her inclusion feel worthwhile in the long run. Her final character design is also an impressive and visually entrancing blend of CGI and prosthetic if only it was on-screen longer for us to be able to admire. The action scenes are brilliantly conceived as before, and the climactic battle especially shows notable improvement from the overt video-game vibes that the final battle in the first film gave. Ultimately, Wonder Woman 1984 is too much like the 80's, it's at constant conflict with itself over what it wants to be and uses too many familiar cliches and tropes to circumvent narrative complexity for plot convenience. The first film was effortlessly charming, timeless and empowering, this one shows shades of those positive qualities but has to work harder to achieve them amongst a cluttered and frenetic story that doesn't feel like it has enough room to breath. This film certainly learned lessons from its first and we hope the same applies to the third installment which should focus more on maintaining originality outside of the formulaic constraints of the superhero genre.

Soul (2020) 

In the year of 2020, we're all getting philosophical as we interpret the continuously bizarro events around us. In a world so constantly-shifting around with racial tensions, global health crises and enough political turmoil to fill a six-season show produced by Shonda Rhimes and Aaron Sorkin put together; it is only natural that film, which is often a reflection of our reality in one way or another, would begin to get philosophical as well. Normally, this would make many people groan in annoyance. Give me simplicity, give me normalcy, give me talking cars for goodness sakes! Though in production since 2016, Soul was the movie that people needed right now, whether they were aware of it or not. While The Prom indulges our need for gluttonous glamor and carefree celebration, Soul indulges deeper emotions and feelings, ones rooted inside ourselves but still ever-present on the surface, particularly over the last few months. A hapless jazz pianist, Joe dies the day he finally gets his big break and stuck in a limbo of sorts, enlists the help of a body-less soul named 22, that wants nothing more than to never go to Earth, the exact place which Joe wishes to return to. What ensues from this conflict-filled dynamic is an adventure that transcends the boundaries of metaphysical and ethereal realms of existence. Before plot can even be touched upon, one cannot stress enough what a magnificent achievement the film's animation and sound design is. From the facial details on each and every character, major or minor, to the chillingly accurate sound of a subway screeching out of one station onto the next, Soul's next level production value elevates its weighty thematic material even higher with its impressive realism and devotion to detail. It is simply gorgeous to watch and prompts us to consider why animation is still not as respected in the industry as it should be. The film does a great job of defying formula with a plot that can hardly be considered predictable to any uncynical viewer. We truly do not know how Joe's journey will end, any more than we know the answer to our own. Soul is the first Disney/Pixar movie that really feels as though it is made more for adults than children. In fact, children play no significant role in its plot whatsoever and a large majority of its dialogue-based humor makes pop culture references that young children would likely have to ask their parents about to grasp fully. This year, adults needed a life lesson, and if they weren't going to listen to reason, the news or science, then film really was the last resort. Soul makes us reexamine where we are all going in life and why in the same year that life has been put on pause for so many of us and has resulted in many of these own personal reflections within ourselves occurring over the last several months. It explores depression and creative blockage in thoughtfully vibrant ways that are neither overtly bleak nor panderingly watered-down, considering it is an animated "children's" film. While so many of us are fueled, sometimes obsessively by our passions, it is not they that inherently define us, but our recognition and enjoyment for them. You can't help but think of all those that have died and continue to die from the virus. What their passions were and how the trip to the ever-after (assuming there is one) might've been like for them. What rumination and musings they had along the way. None of us wants to be Joe or even 22, but the fact of the matter is, most of us are and the film is a clever kick-in-the-butt to get us to face life before it's had its fill of us. To stop letting our passions define us into depression, insecurity and insanity and instead use them to unearth our best selves. By the end of the film, Joe hasn't found that person yet, but that's okay, neither has the audience. It starts conversations that need to be had with ourselves, with children and the ones we love.  Soul tells us to treasure our time in a year that felt mind-numbingly slow and unquestionably arduous because we are always, Pandemic or not, one step away from the Great Beyond.

In Closing

This year has been a century and never before in my life more than now have I been thankful for the escape that film and television provides. In the years coming, we will undoubtedly see this year's events adapted on the stage as well as the big and small screens, many of these stories are already in development. We have been living history while art has and continues to allow us to make sense of the history itself, it's long-term effects on our hearts and minds, as well as our relationships and even bank accounts. I wish every single person reading this peace and prosperity in this New Year more than ever before. 2021 will not be a complete reset but what it can hopefully become is a revival of our spirits and with that hopefully much new, informative, thoughtful and all-around entertaining content across an assortment of entertainment platforms. Keeping escaping to film and television and other forms of entertainment but when you come back to reality, continue to do everything in your power to make today a great day and tomorrow an even better one, not just for you, but for others as well. Happy New Year.  

 

Election Day Special: 5 Election-Based Films

IF YOU'RE READING THIS AND HAVEN'T VOTED YET....THIS POST WILL STILL BE HERE BY THE TIME YOU GET BACK! GO VOTE!!!

Election (1999):

I found this 90s classic to be worth the hype that preceded it, but maybe not for the same reasons as others. Election is a film that will likely always sustain relevancy because as generations of politics and politicians evolve and change so does the way you apply the modern-day political landscape to the world of the film. Having already watched the first two seasons of Ryan Murphy's debut Netflix Series The Politician, it was quite evident that the hyper-realized world of that series has some source of inspiration that leads back to Alexander Payne's film. Though only about a high school election, the stakes of the film feel so high because the director is able to immerse you into the world of the characters in such an intimate way, right down to exposing us to one of the most intimate moments of many human's existence, nightly prayers. Although, the way these characters pray makes many of them feel as though they are parodying the faux-Christians that currently crowd the Alt-Right movement of this country with their false sincerity and self-aggrandizing undertones. Over the years, obvious comparisons have been made to Reese Witherspoon's classic character, Tracy Flick and Hilary Clinton, but I found myself even more interested in the comparisons that can be drawn between Tammy Meltzer and the Orange President of the United States, at least at the time this is being typed. Tammy and Orange-Loaf both aren't interested in politics or leaving some substantial mark in the history books for the betterment of others. Their desires are much more internalized. They are angry. And they both recognize that this anger can be utilized, magnetized to polarize the social climate to their advantages ultimately. Both run for office under the guise of "renegades", Tammy is just the more honest of the two. She doesn't care if you recognize her true intentions or even if she wins, so long as she's shaken the system and caused some disorder along the way. Then again, Tammy doesn't owe money to any foreign powers, at least the film's narrative never suggests as much. Who then does Jim McAllister represent as our protagonist. For me, his representation shifts as the plot evolves. He is both at times, the swing voter (much like Lisa) and also the corrupt system that elects illegitimate or otherwise undeserving candidates to elected office. He's the former, because of his bias in the electoral process itself by cheating. Jim's reasons for not wanting Tracy to win are completely shallow. She might very well be annoying, but she's also obviously qualified for the position, however imperfect she may be. While her tearing down the posters is wrong, she's only brought to do that because of McAllister's selfish actions hid underneath an attempt to even out the playing field and allow more students to run. He is the voter that enters the booth deciding that "So and So doesn't smile enough" or "So and So is just too mean" without actually having an informed opinion about policy motivating their reason for filling in one box over another. When he distorts the results, he is Russia, he is lobbyists, and he is gerrymandering and voter suppression all wrapped into one depraved and pathetic individual. Whatever you may think of Jim and the Mark of Cain he gets in the form of a bee sting to the eyelid for his many misdeeds, or any of the characters by the end of the film, it is the final line that rings the most truth out of anything said into a microphone, written on a torn poster or even transcribed onto a cupcake throughout the entire film: "What's great about American is we can always start over." Here's hoping Jim. 

Recount (2008):

In this current election cycle, this film practically qualifies as a horror film. Recount details the political fallout of the 2000 Presidential Race which involved a recount occurring in several Florida counties that proved critical in deciding whether George W. Bush or Al Gore would be the next President of the United States. The film has been criticized in the past for positioning the Democrats as its obvious protagonist and thereby, victims to the conflict at the center of the piece. However, this is a rather narrow-minded viewpoint as the film divides its time quite liberally (no pun intended) between showing the internal operations of both the Democrats and Republicans. It isn't as if Democrats were fighting only to have Democratic votes counted. They were trying to ensure that every Floridian's voice was heard at the polls. In fact, Republicans who worked on the recount have said in the past that the film depicts a fairly accurate portrayal of the tactics, ruthless as they were, that was utilized to ensure that a second Bush would be entering the Oval Office in January 2001. The film was the first to teach me at such a young age what voter suppression is and in an exceptionally gut-wrenching scene, the negative effect it predominately has on African Americans and the formerly incarcerated. Because the film centers so much on the procedural issues concerning the recount we don't get to see much in terms of the public's dealing with such a historical hiccup of Democracy. Right now, with the impending dread of a potential Supreme Court Case deciding this election as they did in 2000, social media has allowed us to have more direct access to the concerns of the masses that partisan bullhorns will snuff out their voices and votes from being heard and cast respectably. It features a fantastic, award-winning supporting performance by Laura Dern as Katherine Harris, the Secretary of State for Florida at the time. Though we should be avoiding Kevin Spacey films as much as we can, especially when they concern ironic themes of morality and justice being squandered by corruption and wealthy privilege, he too gives an effective performance as the film's protagonist, Ron Klain, Gore's Chief of Staff during this fiasco. The lessons we learned from this experience will no doubt be tested in the coming days and weeks and here is hoping that if Jay Roach does have to make a film about the 2020 Election, that it's ending is able to have a much more optimistic look at the electoral and legislative systems in this country than Recount. 

Swing Vote (2008)

Arguably the only film on this list that positions its protagonist outside of the political/electoral sphere. In fact, Kevin Costner's Bud Johnson doesn't even cast the uncounted vote which causes the humorously chaotic plot from unfolding. This is a film about voters more than about the people we vote for. A recently unemployed alcoholic in New Mexico, Bud's intelligent and passionate daughter Molly decides to cast his Presidential vote for him when the voting machine falters, and the entire election comes down to Bud's single, uninterested, vote. The two ambitious candidates played by Kelsey Grammer and Dennis Hopper and their even more ambitious campaign managers played by Stanley Tucci and Nathan Lane respectively go through exorbitant lengths to win over a voter who didn't even know who was running in the first place. Apparently, Molly is the .0000000008% chance of voter fraud that happens every 40 years or so that we've been overlooking while worrying about the veracity of mail-in ballots. Every actor and actress in the film manages to evoke enough humanity to prevent the material from becoming too farcical, with Grammer and Hopper suffering the most by trying not to seem like horny contestants on a politically-oriented spin-off of "The Bachelorette." For a modern viewing, it doesn't help that Hopper's character, who is the Democratic nominee, is named, of all things, "Donald." The film contains a subplot with a journalist hungry for career-advancement and the truth, and not necessarily in that order. "This isn't journalism. This is television" declares George Lopez as a television station manager and her boss in a line of dialogue that has aged about as well as fruit left in the hot sun. The film explores through its improbable premise the issue of politicians catering to the voters rather than relating to them on a substantive level. We see this exemplified beautifully through several ad campaigns filmed throughout to appeal to what they perceive to be Bud's evolving political stances on various important topics. This includes an abortion ad involving children disappearing in a poof on a playground that is so funny, even staunch Pro-Lifers could get a kick out of it (probably not), and a more dated and rather offensive immigration ad that looks like something Trump would've shot if we actually believed he felt comfortable around a lot of Hispanics at once. While Molly is often portrayed as the young voice of reason, that doesn't mean she is always right. In one critical scene, while arguing with her father for feeding into the fire that the two candidates are trying to set under his butt in order to sway his vote their way, Molly claims that Bud is ruining America with his selfish actions. It isn't Bud that's ruined America; however, he's just exploiting an already polluted political and electoral process. His transformation into a concerned and informed voter may feel a bit contrived but so is the American Dream that includes the notion that the only motive a voter walks into the voting booth with is what they believe is best for the country as a whole, not just themselves. Swing Vote acknowledges the flawed system, the corruption on both sides of the aisle to be convincingly performative rather than effectively committed in their actions on the campaign trail doesn't give us all the answers on how to make things better for both ourselves and the country, but it does make it fairly clear that a good place to start is the voting booth itself. 

Man of The Year (2006) 

With comedians in the last several years becoming a surprisingly reliable and thought-provoking source of news and provocative commentary on current events, is it that much of a stretch to imagine what it would be like to have one elected as the next President of The United States? The problem with Man of The Year, unlike the other films on this list, is that it fails to focus enough time and attention upon its titular figure and instead becomes pre-occupied with the conspiracy that got him elected because after all, American's are way too jaded to ever majority vote outside of the political norm. Laura Linney gives an effective performance as a guilt-ridden tech worker who learns that her company's faulty voting machines have resulted in an entertainment figure winning the electoral college. The movie, however, becomes more about her and her mission to get the truth to the man soon to inherit the keys to the imperfect kingdom, in this case, Robin Williams, as funny as ever despite the film's numerous faults, rather than about how such a nomination could rightfully shake-up a system that has after over 200 years become stagnant to the true duties it owes to its citizens. Then again, maybe we should be careful with this logic as it sounds uncomfortably similar to the mentality of many voters who went red in 2016 to give the Presidency to a businessman to "shake things up" a bit. Then again, while Tom Dobbs was a successful television personality and political commentator before running, the current President was a bankrupt supposed billionaire. Yes, that logic might itself be a stretch, but what logic isn't these days? Man of the Year spends too much time trying to figure out if it's a political comedy, a thriller or a romance, but while it is sorting all that out across the screen it also presents us with an interesting look at how blurred the worlds of celebrity and politics would eventually become and how the most frightening conspiracy theories aren't about sex-trafficking inside pizzerias, but the notion that our vote can be corrupted, discarded or otherwise compromised at a set-price with little to no regard for the democratic or moral implications. 

Game Change (2012) 

Jay Roach returned to HBO four years after the critical success of Recount to tell what is essentially a political reimagining of A Star is Born with narrative undertones akin to what you'd find in a psychological drama directed by Hitchcock at his creative peak. Though the film tells the story behind how Sarah Palin became the vice-presidential nominee of John McCain, much like Swing Vote the film's central core is a critique of the style-over-substance attitude that has become pervasive in our political system in the United States for far too long. It is an issue that affects both liberals and conservatives. Julianne Moore's performance as Palin is a tour-de-force not simply because of her physical resemblance but her commitment to examining the woman behind the punchline that Palin ultimately became, and still is, in pop culture. Sarah Paulson and Woody Harrelson shine nearly as bright in supporting roles as members of the McCain team attempting to wrangle a loose pit bull with lipstick, which are words Palin has self-described herself with before, as Moore does in the movie itself. Ed Harris gives a decent enough supporting role as John McCain but never captures the character with the same sense of mesmerizing aplomb that Moore is able to achieve so quickly. Palin's delusions of granduer are eerily reminiscent of the current President who she'd eventually enthusiastically endorse while contradicting everything she supposedly admired about her former running mate, John McCain. While the movie teeters on becoming the love child of a Behind The Music Special cross-bred with a Lifetime Movie, it is an entertaining watch nonetheless for those of us who miss the days when politics could be laughed at without the tinge of somber-severity that has become standard practice now when reflecting on the current political climate.