Reviews

Comedy can be hard. The more subtle your brand is, the more meticulous the doing has to be. This 1967 feature definitely has its moments of being more plainly absurdist, almost carrying parodying energy, but significant portions are quietly wry and offbeat. The dividing line between the humor and the root yakuza story is often thin, if not sometimes indistinguishable, and at other times a mile wide, to say nothing of certain art film sensibilities that work their way into the presentation throughout the runtime. There's nothing specifically wrong with any of this, yet the simple fact of the matter is that there are delicate but definite differences in the type of entertainment to be had from different types of movies, and the mixture here sits at an odd juncture that's hard to describe. This, too is fine, but how does one begin to meaningfully dissect and analyze a feature that's sort of all over the place? If one in any way finds the amalgamation enjoyable, how does one subsequently offer a cogent, meaningful recommendation? I'm not sure I have the answers in this case, but I do know that 'Branded to kill' is a strange, rather intoxicating ride, and while one might draw comparisons to this or that, there's really nothing entirety quite like it. More than that, when all is said and done, I kind of love it.

I thought I knew what I was in for when I sat to watch, but I actually find myself very much understanding why this wasn't received so well upon release, and why production company Nikkatsu was initially so incensed at the gall of filmmaker Suzuki Seijun. There comes a point where the overall narrative, while remaining cohesive and coherent in following hitman Hanada, gradually shifts more toward playful incongruity and flippant bizarrerie as the scene writing definitively embraces a more scattered, oddball approach. Though along that same broad progression, the tone shifts wildly between crime drama, outright violence, fetishism and eroticism, "New Wave" pretensions, kooky comedy, shrewd artistic considerations, and even some surrealist overtones, meshing as neatly as it could in a picture of this nature with similar jolting leaps in Suzuki's direction and shot composition, in the acting, in Nagatsuka Kazue's cinematography, absolutely in Tanji Mutsuo's editing, and more. Through all this one furthermore discerns echoes of classic gangster flicks, film noir, The Ghosts of Filmmakers Yet To Come (Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie), sex comedies, pure farces, and yes, still more - all while the sum total of the visuals results in a frankly dazzling presentation that often recalls the treasured style of classics like 'The third man,' 'The trial,' or 'Touch of evil.'

It's a hodgepodge, yet none of it is accidental or sloppy. On the contrary, I fully recognize the impeccable skill and intelligence in the direction, and what ultimately comes across in the writing as downright brilliance. Both as written and executed there are many sequences herein that are altogether ingenious, and at length, only more so because they ride the unlikely line between so many genres of storytelling and film-making. The filming locations are exceptional, and the production design and art direction wonderfully sharp, just like the costume design, hair, and makeup. The stunts, effects, and action scenes are unfailingly excellent, and I can only salute those who worked on the title's sound in any capacity, too. I admire the cast as they deftly navigate the difficult spaces between so many moods with terrific range and physicality, above all star Shishido Jo. Yamamoto Naozumi's music is employed more sparingly, yet adds splendid flavor where it does pop up. Event he use of lighting and shadow is fantastic. In every regard, really, 'Branded to kill' is tremendously smart and well made - it just also happens to be a curious blend that throws a little bit of everything together, and does so in a fashion as suitable for wholly earnest drama or action-thrillers as for frivolous comedy.

It won't appeal to all comers, and any recommendation must necessarily be paired with a lot of verbiage just to give a vague sense of what one is getting into. If you're open to all the wide, weird possibilities of the medium, however, and ready to engage honestly with whatever comes your way, then 'Branded to kill' is a delightfully fun, engrossing, and satisfying slice of cinema that's well worth our patience. If at first it's hard to parse, over time the film ably gels into something very unique, and as far as I'm concerned this is a minor gem that deserves more visibility.

There are some directors I just have a hard time engaging with, no matter how beloved they may generally be. Between Jean-Luc Godard, Luis Buñuel, Federico Fellini, and even Ingmar Bergman I've loved some of their pictures, and hated others; worse, I've felt decidedly indifferent toward some, or at best liked them, but didn't get anything from them. Much the same goes for Oshima Nagisa. I've loved some of his films ('Empire of passion'), and others ('Double suicide: Japanese summer') just didn't leave much of a mark. Add 'Three resurrected drunkards' to the latter group. I appreciate the suggested commentary, the skills of all involved, and the intended comedy. I simply don't believe any of these qualities actually meet their potential, and the resulting viewing experience is at best just rather middling.

To the extent that the movie carries a message with its examination of the poor treatment to which immigrants are subjected - represented in the core idea of the Japanese protagonists being mistaken for Koreans - the premise is countermanded in part by all the other bits and bobs that are casually tossed in along the way, and definitely by the inclusion of a Korean character who is more or less antagonistic. In its very last minutes that messaging comes to the fore, but in a manner so heavy-handed as to break with what the piece has been doing for the entire rest of its length. There are some clever ideas in here that may have been ripe for comedy, but by one means or another they fail to evoke the desired reaction: because the tone is too soft, because the comedic timing is off, or often because the bit just isn't clever enough to earn a laugh. The nearest this comes to being funny is at various points in the latter half as the same sequence of events plays out in a more absurd way, but that's still not enough, especially as the whole begins to feel overlong and tiresome. Other odds and ends are clearly of a more somber nature befitting a "comedy-drama," but the attempted comedy works against these beats. Meanwhile, though I recognize the capabilities represented in the acting, cinematography, music, sound, costume design, stunts and effects, and so on, I just have a hard time caring about these facets when the substance of the feature falls flat.

Oshima has been included in a group of filmmakers pinged as the "Japanese New Wave." Like the "French New Wave," however, and other art movements - Impressionism, Expressionism, Modernism, Romanticism, Parallel Cinema, Neo- or Hyper- or Post-Whateverism, and so on ad infinitum - the label is meaninglessly non-descriptive. Oh yes, I discern some similarities of "New Wave" style, but it's a style that in my view is extraordinarily hit or miss, and in and of itself carries no special influence or importance. As the title fails to impress in any other capacity, that label is just an empty word.

No doubt this hits all the right notes for some folks, and some viewers will find 'Three resurrected drunkards' to be riotously funny or deeply impactful. I'm not one of those viewers. I don't specifically regret checking it out, but it's my belief that the flick fails to say, do, or be any of what it was meant to, and the sum total is ultimately very so-so and undistinguished. By the time the end credits roll, it feels like we've been sitting for longer than eighty minutes, and my already humdrum favor is further diminished. Watch if you want, and may you find it more valuable than I did; I think my time would have been better spent elsewhere.

It seems strange or even traitorous to even think that this feels atypically unrefined coming from a true master like Kurosawa Akira. It comes across as a little less polished than even some of his works that came earlier in his career, like 'The men who tread on the tiger's tail' or 'Drunken angel,' and at the same time, I don't know if it's entirely his fault. It's well established that Kurosawa's original cut of 'The idiot' was nearly four and a half hours long, and with some 100 minutes of that footage seemingly lost, there is some curt editing or storytelling to present (e.g., written exposition in lieu of missing reels) that is clearly a result of that imposed reduction, and other instances that are perhaps less discernible but just as plausibly attributable. This is in addition to instances of editing and transitions of Kurosawa's own making that come off just the same, and all such examples only amplify the heavy contrast that already exists in the narrative. Kameda is so reserved, kind, and gentle that he comes off to other characters as foolish at some points, or backhandedly jesting; in comparison, every other character is so strident, impetuous, shrill, demanding, and mercurial that the dynamics are nearly as painful as if the figures were screeching directly in our ears.

Yet despite a certain subjective measure of inelegance in the extant feature, it's also true that this remains an upstanding, engrossing drama in which the filmmaker's admiration of Fyodor Dostoevsky readily shines through. I dare say that the themes are more stark and imposing here than they have been in other cinematic adaptations, like Georges Lampin's of 1946, however fine a piece it may have been at large. Kameda, standing in for Prince Myshkin with his simple, unvarnished sincerity and sensitivity, struggles to grasp or exist in a world where his tender nature is highly anomalous. Just as much to the point, Kameda unwittingly provokes the jealousies, insecurities, hidden desires, latent feelings, and otherwise dark passions of those around him, and moreover illuminating others' failings; in a world so troubled, Kameda's very presence is a reactive catalyst that sets off a calamitous sequence of events. No, it's not exactly a happy film, but it's firmly compelling, and as the tale advances any issues fade to the background as the strengths become more prominent and outweigh them. And incredibly, while no one could ever doubt Kurosawa's skills as a director, here I don't think his direction counts among the foremost qualities.

Oh yes, the man orchestrates shots and scenes with the keen eye and subtle touch that we expect of him. Yet here I think it's instead Kurosawa's adaptation as a writer, working alongside Hisaita Eijiro, that leaps out to me more. The plot moves at a deliberate pace over these nearly three hours, but in a purposeful fashion that allows the script to establish the characters and slowly, judiciously lay in the pieces of the tableau. With that the fierce drama and deeper ideas resonate with a quiet vibrancy as they bring Dostoevsky to bear, and if at first the picture didn't make a major impression, in the second half I was fully invested in the knotted weave. To that same point, between the writing and direction 'The idiot' maintains a very low-key tenor even when supporting characters are at their most shrill; this, however, allows the story to speak for itself, and likewise the acting. The performances are unfailingly marked by range and emotional depth within a superbly nuanced approach, and though some characters are less pronounced in the narrative, and others more prone to high-strung emotion, other examples are altogether brilliant. The foremost stars here are exceptional in their portrayals, exemplified in a late scene shared between Mori Masayuki (Kameda / Myshkin), iconic Mifune Toshiro (Akama / Rogózhin), Hara Setsuko (Taeko / Nastasya), and Kuga Yoshiko (Ayako / Agláya) where feelings silently boil before finally exploding. The writing lays the foundation, and the actors breathe life into the proceedings, and between these two facets the lasting value of the title is secured.

For various reasons this may not appeal to all comers, and I readily admit that it doesn't crack my top five favorites among Kurosawa's oeuvre. For any matters that may tarnish our opinion, though, far more than not this continues to stand as a terrific, absorbing, satisfying drama, standing taller than many others over the years. Unless one has a specific impetus to watch it may not be something that demands viewership, yet whether one is a fan of someone involved or just looking for something good to watch, ultimately it's hard to go wrong with 'The idiot,' and it again affirms the lofty reputation of so esteemed a filmmaker. I had my misgivings but at length these don't amount to much, and I'm pleased to give 'The idiot' my high and hearty recommendation.

It's a little curious. At large the narrative carries a muted tenor and is somewhat deliberately paced as it builds, yet just as the editing often feels excessively curt, individual scenes are often decidedly more brusque and direct as they present, with more boisterous energy. To that same point, the sequencing sometimes comes off as disjointed as the plot, as it presents, bounces around a little, and moreover without absolute, uniform clarity. The result of these factors and other sundry peculiarities is that despite the plain earnestness and overall care of the feature - Misumi Kenji's adaptation of Ikenami Shotaro's historical novel - there are odd slivers of discrepancy and ill-fitting construction as the tale is imparted of samurai Toranosuke, caught between two paths at a turning point in Japan's history. Such matters aren't so severe as to gravely diminish the viewing experience, but they come to our attention rather quickly and remain prevalent as the story gradually ticks forward. In one fashion or another, something perpetually feels off about 'The last samurai,' like one tidbit or another is always ill-advised or just didn't belong.

These issues are noteworthy and unfortunate, in some measure leaving a persistent mark on the whole. Still, the judicious, purposeful plot development makes more of an impression than the relatively coarse scenes; the weighty drama at the core of the saga supersedes some puerility, cartoonishness, or touches of melodrama. The storytelling and execution are definitely imperfect, but as the picture speaks to a time of great sociopolitical upheaval and violence, the entirety is perhaps more than the sum of its parts (which includes both plusses and minuses). More than not this is engaging and compelling, and even with perceived troubles its more than 2.5 hours go by swiftly in light of the broad strength of the storytelling and production. As we would well assume of most any period flick, significant consideration was given to all the details that would bring this distant time to vivid life, including lovely filming locations, superb sets, and impeccable costume design, hair, and makeup. Where violence takes precedence the stunts, effects, fight choreography, and otherwise action sequences are terrific and exciting; where quieter drama prevails, with comparatively infrequent exceptions the acting is fantastic, capably bringing to bear the sobriety of this depicted moment in history with swell performances of poise, nuance, and physicality.

While I think the movie has its faults, far more than not Misumi and Kunihiro Takei's screenplay is strong and steadfast, with the value of the scene writing and narrative handily outweighing any drawbacks. Much the same certainly goes for Misumi's direction, characterized by mindful calculation more than not so as to achieve just the right tone and desired impact; some scenes unquestionably meet with more welcome success than others, including a tragic beat to come in the latter half. With that said, in general the back end arguably tends to be tighter than the first half, as if - with all the foundations laid, if sometimes a tad more roughly - the substance to come had the benefit of sharper focus from all participants. Imperfections remain through to the end, but when all is said and done 'The last samurai' is absorbing and satisfying, rising above its lowest points. I recognize the kinship it shares with other jidaigeki films. All told I don't think it's a title that altogether demands viewership, yet if one admires Japanese cinema it's most assuredly well worth exploring. I see what it does well, more than sufficient to compensate for its shortcomings, and I just wish that the full length enjoyed more even-handed, meticulous application of the skill and intelligence of all involved.

I don't necessarily think there's any need for one to go out of their way for 'The last samurai,' but it's a solid, engrossing period drama that keeps us invested, and I'm glad to give it my firm recommendation.

I know it's just a matter of personal taste, but I'm of the mind that there's one issue with this film to semi-regularly rear its head: the preponderance of the best writing is reserved for the chief star, Cary Grant. It's not that it's not still darkly funny and enjoyable otherwise, but as Grant's Mortimer tries with manic energy to navigate the bizarre scenario he finds himself in, the star - and in turn, those with whom he shares scenes - benefits from a spark of vitality in the feature that elsewhere is rather variable. Quite emphasizing the point, Raymond Massey and Peter Lorre are both outstanding in their portrayals of Jonathan and Dr. Einstein, two figures flush with big personality and presence, yet when they first enter the narrative Grant is absent, and the tone becomes unexpectedly grave and dour; when Grant returns with Mortimer, so does the humor. Whatever the quality of this may otherwise be, I think it's an odd, unfortunate mark against the picture that there should be any such variation.

Yet with that said, thankfully that otherwise quality is extraordinarily high, for 'Arsenic and old lace' is wonderfully fun and entertaining! Wild, joyfully animated performances adjoin exaggerated character writing as scenes are (almost unfailingly) filled with wry situational humor, meta humor, witty banter and cheeky dialogue, delightful gags, excited physical comedy, and/or twists of expectations and the comedy of errors. The story is a blast as newlywed Mortimer returns home to his sweet, beloved aunts and dear, touched Teddy to find the surprise of his life, and events quickly spiral out of control. I don't know how much screenwriters Julius J. And Philip G. Epstein may have deviated from Joseph Kesselring's play, if at all, but all are to be congratulated for a fabulously clever farce. While Grant unquestionably stands out most as he literally and proverbially throws himself about, all his co-stars are generally just as terrific, including not just Massey and Lorre but Priscilla Lane, Jack Carson, Josephine Hull, Jean Adair, John Alexander, and more.

In all other regards the title is splendidly well made, including sets, costume design, hair, and makeup, and stunts. Frank Capra definitely knew his way around an invigorating comedy, and the director broadly maintains a certain fervor about the proceedings that doesn't even dip on rare occasion so much as temporarily change its tune. I do find it interesting that some have remarked on bigger, meaningful themes in the play and movie, for in my opinion this is too frivolous for those notions to especially manifest, though on paper I can see where such folks are coming from. That's beside the point, though: while in some measure I find 'Arsenic and old lace' to be a smidgen imperfect, its high value far outweighs any subjective faults, and those faults subsequently become rather negligible. I'd stop short of saying it wholly demands viewership, but if you're looking for plain old entertainment, overall there's not much going wrong with this. If you have the chance to watch, I'm happy to give this my solid recommendation!

There are sadly relatively few figures of Japanese cinema who have ever achieved sufficient renown to become household names even within the insular pop culture of the United States. With his wonderfully fanciful storytelling, and equally lovely, whimsical animation, Miyazaki Hayao thankfully counts among those lucky few. By all means, there are darker or more serious themes and story ideas in his movies, and some imagery that's distinctly rather unsettling, yet far more than not there is a warmth, gentleness, and sense of wonder that makes any drama go down easy with predominant airs of lighter fantasy and adventure. Among all his works I'm perhaps least familiar with 'Ponyo,' yet scarcely any sooner than it begins does it show itself to be kith and kin with the man's more widely known pieces, and for those who are receptive to such fare, it's well worth exploring if one has the chance.

There are very familiar odds and ends in the storytelling, not least with narrative focus on young Sosuke as a protagonist and his family situation which is less than completely ideal, and a young girl of marine origin who through magic becomes more human. In addition to foremost themes of balance between the human and natural worlds, and ecological concerns of the ocean, the story also broaches notions of power and responsibility, self-determination and self-realization, stubbornness, kindness and compassion, and so on. And still, for whatever conflicts or more somber edges there are to the narrative, the overall vibe remains that of a cheerful, lighthearted fairy tale. The result is a fair amount of (admittedly endearing) cutesy frivolousness, but with just enough substance to impart some earnest, meaningful thoughts, and to invest us in the narrative. For that matter this extends to Miyazaki's screenplay at large, all around pleasant and enchanting.

The animation is flush with plentiful gratifying detail, and at all times is very easy on the eyes. Even more to the point, between the foundations in the writing and their realization on-screen, no few sequences are plainly beautiful and especially captivating. Further factor in the swell voice acting and Hisaishi Jo's delightful music, and the viewing experience is really just a minor joy from start to finish. Granted, even with all this in mind I don't know if I'd say that the picture is the sort that is essential, or demands viewership - it's engaging and highly enjoyable, but not necessarily something that wholly enraptures us, and ultimately the plot is of a decidedly fluffy, slight nature. Him and haw as we might about the particulars, however, 'Ponyo' only wants to entertain and inspire, and it's a splendid little piece just as it is. Don't go out of your way for it, yet whether you're a major fan of Miyazaki or just looking for something nice and buoyant to watch, this is an excellent film that's worth checking out.

We do ultimately get everything we expect from an iconic franchise that is seventy years old: a kaiju tromping through the countryside, destruction of urban areas, an endeavor of military and scientist figures concocting a plan to counter a titanic beast, and spotlights on a few select characters to propel the narrative. We get some notable tropes of the blockbuster, too, with the return of a character in the third act, shots employed strictly for dramatic effect, the emphasis on a united front against a terrible enemy, and more. For any points of familiarity we can identify, however, these and more, the simple truth is that there are precious few monster movies, and precious few blockbusters, that can really compare to this. Why, modern Hollywood blockbusters are so fixated on snarky humor, grandiose world-building, and dazzling digital effects that no matter how much such works try to impart storytelling of meaningful weight and impact, the actual import may get lost in the process. 'Godzilla -1.0,' however, has no need to worry about such matters. Not only is this a superlative monster movie, and a superlative blockbuster, but it bears a strength and profundity that shares more in common with the most celebrated, heartrending dramas than the average prestige filmmaker is likely to acknowledge. In all sincerity, this is one of the very best pictures of the past year - easily meeting or beating some that have garnered more acclaim and accolades - and especially for a series known for its sometimes campy genre romps, it's a picture that will stand the test of time like relatively few could claim.

It doesn't even matter that the post-production visuals are leagues beyond what most Hollywood flicks can claim. I mean, it does matter, for many reasons: what it says about the U. S. studio system and how U. S. movies are made, what it says about the difference in budget and what is possible on smaller amounts, and among still more, the strain and "crunch" that may well be demanded of effects artists that pretty much amount to exploitation and labor abuse. But the fact that the titular creature, and all the explosions, rays, blasts, and catastrophe look as good as they do - extremely realistic, and unquestionably among the very best computer-generated imagery that cinema has witnessed to date, matching or exceeding any point of comparison - is frankly just a welcome, gratifying bonus. The fact that we audiences are treated to thrilling scenes of action, and the wanton devastation that we anticipate of gargantuan entities of all stripes, is part and parcel of the franchise experience, but even this is almost a secondary priority of this 2023 installment. No, we have writer and director Yamazaki Takashi to thank for the real substance of 'Godzilla -1.0': the very human drama at the center of the plot, and the manner in which the kaiju plays into and reinforces those elements that are most critical in these two hours.

This is a story of the tragedies of war, and the disregard of politicians for the people in their charge, and the effort to rebuild and live in the wake of death and ruin. This is a story of cowardice, paralysis in the face of mortality and/or the incomprehensible, trauma, guilt, regret, self-punishment, forgiveness, redemption, bravery, self-sacrifice, and love. It's a story of loss and grief, and of trying to come to terms with continued, mounting terror and suffering, and of rising to the challenge despite it all. Yamazaki draws to mind classic Japanese films that deal directly with the calamitous circumstances and uncertainty facing post-war Japan and its survivors; I'm reminded of Imamura Shohei's 'Black rain,' among others. And in the midst of all these ponderous, hard-hitting themes, focused primarily on pilot Shikishima as a protagonist, there stands Godzilla and the grave threat he poses to a people already navigating the aftermath of war. The representation here is truly monstrous, and horrifying on a visceral level; this iteration isn't so much a mutated lizard, let alone an overgrown dinosaur or a man in a rubber suit, as it is a dread nightmare that immediately evokes a reaction, more closely recalling the bear in Alex Garland's 'Annihilation.' For as fun as classic entries in the series may be as a man in a rubber suit tramples miniature sets representing Tokyo, with the human drama foremost in this saga, as Godzilla brings doom with his landfall the sequence to follow isn't exciting so much as it is chilling, hair-raising, and heart-wrenching. The characters are fully fleshed-out, relatable, and sympathetic, and we want them to succeed in defeating this new threat, even though we don't know how they could.

With all this firmly in mind, the narrative is raptly absorbing and compelling, satisfying, and rewarding, from the spotlight on Shikishima to the growing threat of Godzilla, to the genuinely inventive plan to combat him, through to the very end. Just as much to the point, like the characters, I believe the narrative is far more thoughtful and carefully penned than it has been at most if not all other points in the decades-long series, and more than in most blockbusters, for that matter. The scene writing is stupendously strong, and the dialogue no less so. With such solid foundations, the cast is given an opportunity to demonstrate their skills to an extent that such fare infrequently allows, and they really do impress. Kamiki Ryunosuke, Hamabe Minami, Yoshioka Hidetaka, Sasaki Kuranosuke, and even those in smaller parts like Yamada Yuki or Tanaka Miou, all give performances of range, nuance, and emotional depth that very much speak to the dramatic core of the feature, and that deftly manage the demands of reactivity that come with the kaiju overtones. Likewise, Yamazaki's direction is just as smart and sharp as his writing, striking all the right notes at all the right times to make this title as earnest and potent as it could be. This is to say nothing of composer Sato Naoki, whose score is truly, honestly just as stupendous as all those other facets noted above. From its softer phrases, to the more quietly searing themes, to the most sweeping or dramatic chords, Sato's compositions are impeccable in complementing and bolstering the mood at all times. Where he borrows from the famous music that has helped to define the name of Godzilla over many years, it is with a shrewdness, if not also a subtlety, that gives these notes gravity they have not always carried. If that's not a high compliment, then I don't know what is.

All such commendations extend just as well to those operating unthanked behind the scenes: cinematographer Shibasaki Kozo, and editor Miyajima Ryuji; the costume designer, and hair and makeup artists; the production design, art direction, props, and more. In every regard this film is made to the highest standards of cinema in the twenty-first century - and then some. It can't be overstated how wonderfully engrossing 'Godzilla -1.0' is, and all-around terrific. I didn't hear much about it upon initial release, and the awards it was given did come as a bit of a surprise. In subsequent months (even just the past week) the word of mouth has been effusive, uniform praise, and having now watched for myself, I could not be happier to report that the hype is no jest. Yamazaki has created a new entry in this enormous franchise that stands impossibly tall, and having admittedly seen some but not all of them to date, I have to wonder if any of its brethren can meaningfully stack up. With stellar writing, outstanding special effects, tremendous direction and acting, rich music, and otherwise superb craftsmanship from every corner, this is far more than just a monster flick, or an action-blockbuster. It elicits deep feelings that not even all pure dramas can, and it keeps us invested on a level that makes it difficult to tear our eyes away from the screen. I can't fathom any reasonable argument for not naming this one of the best movies of recent years, and I am so incredibly pleased to give 'Godzilla -1.0' my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation. Don't let the creature feature underpinnings turn you off: this is an instant classic that is very much worth exploring for one and all.

I'm tired. I'm so, so tired. When, fairly early in the length, Lady Kong first appeared on-screen, my gut reaction was to throw the phone I was holding in my hand. Elsewhere I could only throw up my hands and/or clutch my head in bewildered disbelief, and this was mostly true where the beasts were concerned. Somehow they manage to look both better and worse than the ape suit that Rick Baker wore in 1976's 'King Kong.' At least they spend probably half their time perambulating like actual gorillas instead of being perfectly bipedal, and there is notably less effort here to make the simian faces bear human expressions - a critical failing of the previous title. Then again, both King and Lady are bipedal at points, and where they are indeed made to wear expressions other than "anger" or "grimace," the incidence looks just as awful, and incredibly, arguably more so. I truly can't decide whether the suits themselves, now accordingly worn by Peter Elliott and George Yiasoumi, are better or worse than the prior costume design, and meanwhile, the giant mechanical hands that are used when an ape is interacting with a human definitely do look worse than those of before. They are clearly different, and not just worse, but they look so shoddy that one could be forgiven for supposing that they were genuinely the same set pieces used ten years before and had not been maintained or reskinned in all that time. At least the rear projection, used to visualize full-body giant apes in the background and humans in the foreground, has improved in the intervening period, but that's not saying all that much.

Apart from the fundamental appearance of the two most important elements of the movie, 'King Kong lives' has... well, it has many problems, but one stands out above all: this wanted to be three different films all in one. It tries to be pure campy schlock, like 1976 misfire 'Queen Kong,' with an abundance of gags, situational humor, and outright kitsch. It tries to be a sincere monster-laden adventure film, like 1976's 'King Kong' tried to be with very mixed results and which the 1933 progenitor achieved to tremendous success, and this is reflected in the most plainly dramatic moments and in the familiar themes that are intermittently touched upon. It also tries to be a fun-loving genre romp, not unlike Toho's 1967 kaiju flick 'King Kong escapes,' and we see this chiefly (but not exclusively) where the apes are allowed to rampage and inflict violence and destruction upon deserving targets. I don't know where the responsibility lies between Dino De Laurentiis, producer Martha Schumacher, writers Ronald Shusett and Steven Pressfield, and director John Guillermin, but the picture could have chosen any one of these paths and found some measure of success. In trying to split its time between all three flavors, however, none are allowed to fully take hold and have the complete desired impact - and each, in turn, kind of works against the others. Even without taking into account the otherwise quality, one outcome of these issues is that 105 minutes feel much, much longer than they are.

But where that otherwise quality is concerned, broadly speaking the feature doesn't fare much better. The waffling tone doesn't help, but the dialogue and scene writing very commonly earned an exasperated response; the story is rather thin, as are the characterizations. The obligatory romance between Amy and Mitch is far less than convincing. I don't think anyone here specifically gives a bad performance, and the actors give duly appropriate performances as best they can under the circumstances of trying to determine what movie they're in. I feel sorry for Linda Hamilton, though, who probably gives the strongest performance and really is trying to save the whole project; on the other hand, some cast members come off worse than others, including Brian Kerwin. (What was it my friend said? "Like if Robert Redford ran into a wall?") Granted, those operating behind the scenes turned in solid contributions, including production design and art direction. Those stunts and practical effects that are employed look pretty great. It's not like 'King Kong lives' is completely abysmal. That's an extremely low bar to clear, however, and in all earnestness, between the general lack of entertainment and the heavy sighs the title inspired again and again, I really believe that Frank Agrama's 'Queen Kong' - pretty much just as unexciting and dubious though it may be - is actually more worthwhile than this is. If that's not a severe detraction, then I don't know what is.

I didn't have high expectations in the first place, and still this fell well below them. The film can claim sparks of potential, yet one set of sparks invariably cancels out another all throughout the runtime, and all that's left is overall weak writing. It remains true that I've watched worse pictures - I've seen the bottom of the barrel, and this isn't it - but ultimately 'King Kong lives' is so exhausting that the only manner in which I could say that I don't regret it is insofar as I'm that person who will watch almost anything, for better and for worse. For anyone who isn't such an avid cinephile: even if you're an especial fan of the medium's foremost monster, or have some other special impetus to watch, I cannot recommend spending time with this vexing dud. I would suggest just revisiting the 1933 classic, which even still remains far superior to any other Kong flick to date.

And to think, the last thing I watched before this was a Kurosawa movie.

One expects great things from Kurosawa Akira, and unfailingly gets them, but it's somewhat a different matter to quickly fall in love with a title. The core narrative is a contemporary drama of post-war Japan, yet substantial wit provides warm tinges of humor right from the start, terse Doctor Sanada nevertheless has a heart of gold, and the music of Hayasaka Fumio is an exquisite match that perfectly captures the mood at all times. Relatively few are those pictures in which I so swiftly come to adore the character writing, for the figures herein are written with outstanding personality, intelligence, and dynamics, in no time becoming the beating heart of these ninety-eight minutes. 'Drunken angel' was fairly early in the filmmaker's career yet he already demonstrates that mastery that he would continue to polish in subsequent years, and the script Kurosawa penned alongside Uekusa Keinosuke is a true joy as a cinephile. Further factor in the reliably exceptional cast that so deftly brings the tableau to life, and there can hardly be any disputing that this is another classic treasure from one of the world's greatest directors.

One sees prescient echoes in Doctor Sanada of 'Red Beard' that would follow seventeen years later, only that was a period piece and this is a modern drama that particularly zeroes in on the relationship between the kindly clinician and tough guy Matsunaga, and the other lives they are connected to or trouble they're drawn into. And I could hardly be happier with how smart and flavorful the result is in so many ways, demonstrating marvelous skill and intelligence in not just the characterizations but also the dialogue, definitely the scene writing, and the narrative at large, not to mention Kurosawa's supremely mindful, artistic shot composition and Ito Takeo's cinematography. All these facets are splendidly sharp, and there are unmistakably hard edges to come in the story with the yakuza involved, yet there is also a discernible gentleness and fluidity in the fundamental craftsmanship that betrays the touch of a legend, and a budding finesse that would only ever come to more completely define his style. The feature bursts with vigor and vitality in dabbling with crime drama, film noir, and swirls of American cinema and culture - fitting for post-war Japan - in addition to the heartfelt undercurrents that in one measure or another remain central to the proceedings. The sum total bears some level of familiarity, yet is indisputably a creation all its own and reflects all the brilliance that Kurosawa would come to be known for.

Between icon Mifune Toshiro and star Shimura Takashi I don't know whose performance is more complete, wholehearted, and gratifying, to say nothing of co-stars including Nakakita Chieko, Shindo Eitaro, Yamamoto Reisaburo, and those in still smaller parts like Kogure Michiyo or Kuga Yoshiko. Much the same verbiage could be applied to those stellar contributions made from behind the scenes, from the indicated music, cinematography, and direction down to the lighting, sets, costume design, hair, and makeup. There isn't one element in this movie that is marked by anything less than the utmost care if not outright ingenuity, with even the stagnant "water" at the center of town, the keenly subtle insinuations of the U. S. occupation (in defiance of regulations), and select diegetic music playing meaningful parts in the tale. 'Drunken angel' is deeply compelling, not to mention enjoyable and satisfying, but it furthermore evokes a bounty of emotions and invests us in the characters in a fashion that not all kindred fare is able to. For all those ways in which it is in any manner different from Kurosawa's most well-known works, or arguably less refined, the same vibrant electricity courses through the whole length, and the same inspired genius. It's incredible, really: no matter how much of his oeuvre one explores, and how often his lofty reputation is confirmed over and over, I don't know of any other filmmaker who makes us repeatedly feel surprised at how excellent his work is.

What more is there to say? I think I could continue praising this picture but I would start to repeat myself, and trip over my words more than I already have. I anticipated liking it, and still I'm taken aback by just how superb it is. Whether one has a specific impetus for watching or is just looking for something good there is no going wrong with 'Drunken angel,' and as far as I'm concerned this is so fantastic I would readily stand next to any comparable piece out of Hollywood or England - and at that, it would probably stand taller. Another gem in an already luminous crown, this movie is another enduring testament to the nearly unparalleled legacy of Kurosawa Akira, and I'm pleased to give 'Drunken angel' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation.

I forget how I came across this film in the first place (reading about amusement parks, I presume), but the premise piqued my interest enough for me to seek it out. There are some classic, superb thrillers that saw release in the 70s, and a couple I'd readily identify as favorites (Coppola's 'The conversation,' and Richard Lester's 'Juggernaut') aren't even among the most famous or commonly named. Disaster flicks, too. Whatever the end product here ended up being, I admit I had fairly high expectations based on past experience with some contemporaries. Thankfully, whatever our individual opinions may be, I think 'Rollercoaster' quickly begins to show itself to be a quality feature that holds up very well. The opening scene is smartly executed to build tension, giving the proceedings a strong start; Timothy Bottoms is wonderfully smarmy and creepy as the unnamed antagonist, and 43-year old George Segal plays protagonist Harry with a hard-nosed disposition that's backhandedly endearing, recalling the prototypical leads in film noir. With composer extraordinaire Lalo Schifrin's penetrating score lending terrific atmosphere throughout, I'm happy to say that this is a thriller that meaningfully keeps us invested as the plot develops - and I rather believe it stands shoulder to shoulder with its 70s kin.

As with some other like-minded titles, ultimately it doesn't really matter what the villain's motivations are. The value in the picture rests in the stakes facing the power players and the unknowing innocents, and the "cat and mouse" game between opposing forces - the wily capabilities of the antagonist, and the protagonist's efforts to stop them. I really have to give a lot of credit to everyone who had a creative hand in this, because what sounds from the outset like a bit of a novelty proves itself to be perfectly earnest, genuinely suspenseful, and very highly satisfying. Producer Jennings Lang, director James Goldstone, and the writing team of Richard Levinson and William Link with Sanford Sheldon and Tommy Cook give us a firmly compelling story fleshed out with stupendously smart characters (and an extra cunning, cold villain), sharp dialogue, and vivid and engrossing scene writing. No few bits here are kind of ingenious if you ask me, even on paper, and every contributor who helped to realize that screenplay did an outstanding job. Edward A. Biery and Richard M. Sprague's editing is particularly keen, and likewise some of David M. Walsh's cinematography. I appreciate the locations this had access to to shoot, and the production design is splendid. Those stunts and effects that are employed are excellent, and I repeat that Schifrin's music adds a lot to the viewing experience; a cameo by rock band Sparks is a swell bonus.

While Bottoms and Segal unquestionably have the most presence among the cast, and deservedly so, all others appearing in 'Rollercoaster' most assuredly do their part to lend weight to the title, down to the smallest supporting parts. Among others, it's noteworthy that this is an early role for Helen Hunt, and while Henry Fonda arguably boasts the most name recognition, Richard Widmark gives a commanding performance as severe Agent Hoyt. And kudos to Goldstone: from the very beginning through to the very end, this is a film that's solidly absorbing, and I felt myself drawn in more here than I have with many, many other films. I've noted in passing some blurbs that made reference to Alfred Hitchcock, and truthfully, I think that comparison is earned; the time after watching is spent actively relaxing nerves that have been wound tight for two hours. Everything here is great, honestly, and as Goldstone serves up shrewd direction to tie all the pieces together, I can't help but be impressed. Not every flick that's labeled as a "thriller" brings the desired feelings to bear, but this one most certainly does, and I could hardly be more pleased. Why, it succeeds in this regard with less violence than some of its brethren, relying instead on the strength of all other facets, and in my mind that only speaks even more highly to the sum total. When all is said and done 'Rollercoaster' is surprisingly, gratifyingly enjoyable and impactful, and surely anyone with a taste for the genre will find much to love here. I might stop short of saying it's an absolute must-see, but if you do have the opportunity to watch then I'm glad to give it my enthusiastic recommendation!

It's a bit strange to dig into Kurosawa Akira's lesser-known features. There's never any doubting his skills as a filmmaker, but it feels like we're seeing a different side of him away from the spotlight of his mastery. This is particularly true in the case of 'The men who tread on the tiger's tail': while there are certainly elements common to his later works, including the period setting and the comedic element represented primarily in Enomoto Ken'ichi's porter - a commoner amongst samurai - in other ways this very much looks and feels quite different from the preponderance of Kurosawa's oeuvre. It is a decidedly smaller piece, both in length (one hour) and scope, being limited to a small setting and a very select few characters. With heavy emphasis on dialogue and conversation within that small space, the nature of this flick's origin as a play is readily evident; however much the filmmaker may have changed some facets of the source material with his adaptation, and the historical record, one can easily imagine the drama playing out on a stage. Factor in some decidedly simpler instances of editing and cinematography, and song, and this title arguably comes off as the most common of Kurosawa's body of work.

None of this is any reflection on the quality of the film, though. On the contrary: it bears some sensibilities rather unique from the likes of 'Ikiru,' 'Ran,' or 'Rashomon,' but we can also see the same reliable skill, intelligence, and care poured into these sixty minutes. Goto Toshio's editing and Ito Takeo's cinematography are generally just as sharp and smart as one would assume of Kurosawa, with some extra brilliant moments here and there; Kurosawa's direction is as fastidious and impeccable as ever, including some excellent shot composition. The production design, art direction, and especially the costume design, hair, and makeup are lovely and handily transport us to this past era in Japan's history, a credit to all operating behind the scenes. The performances of the cast broadly, and Okochi Denjiro specifically as foremost Benkei, are steady and nuanced, capably bearing all the gravity of the scenario despite the miniature runtime and even as Enomoto stands in contrast with his boisterous, nervous energy - a splendid, essential complement after its own fashion. Above all, 'The men who tread on the tiger's tail' is ample demonstration that pictures have no need of grandiose effects, epic lengths, or complex plots to be raptly compelling, to carry stark tension and suspense, or to thoroughly entertain. Every inch of the screenplay is marvelously shrewd, with the dialogue, characterizations, scene writing, and overall plot all carefully and directly feeding into the rich tableau and the power it carries even over so abbreviated a length.

By the strength of the writing alone this movie stands head, shoulders, knees, and toes above countless others that are more famous, or which were bigger box office successes. With the tremendously high value of all other facets considered, the viewing experience is much more than first meets the eye. In fact, if at first one is not so impressed by the saga as it presents, as the minutes tick by it becomes more and more striking, and one discerns more and more the kinship it shares with 'Yojimbo,' 'Seven samurai,' or 'Kagemusha.' Frankly I believe this only affirms once more how truly great a filmmaker Kurosawa was, that he can make so monumental a mark no matter the size or span of a piece; I treasure three-hour 'Red Beard,' and this one hour jaunt also unexpectedly yet firmly shoulders a quality and weight of storytelling and film-making well beyond how it may seem from the outside looking in. This should maybe not be so surprising after all given the man's enduring reputation, and still one is astonished again and again by just how completely Kurosawa proves himself. Suffice to say that whether one is an especial fan of the legend or just looking for something good to watch, 'The men who tread on the tiger's tail remains an outstanding classic, and at that one which is surely underappreciated. It may not be as visible as some of its brethren, but it would be a sore mistake to pass up the opportunity to watch something so enjoyable and satisfying, and I'm happy to give this feature my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

You know, not too long ago I rewatched the original 'Star Wars' for the first time in a long time, and it struck me that for as excellent as it truly is, it was kind of a concatenation of fortunate circumstances that made George Lucas' creation the premier sci-fi franchise of cinema. There were a lot of similar features made in the 70s and 80s, and there's a universe where it wasn't 'Star Wars' but Peter Yates' 'Krull' of 1983 that developed into a major multimedia phenomenon. There is also conceivably a universe where Fukasaku Kinji's 'Message from space' was instead the space opera to enchant global audiences. Granted, the latter possibility is surely less likely in the grand scheme of things; the production values aren't so uniformly hearty, the storytelling isn't entirely as earnest, and it really does feel like much of this picture distinctly borrows ideas from its 1977 superior. This flick carries itself with a very different vibe, and no matter one's opinion I don't think there's much arguing that it's more of a fun-loving romp, and at that one which is second tier at best. Still, if you're open to all the wide possibilities of the genre and the medium, for the most part this is fairly well made, and ultimately pretty enjoyable.

I would be curious to know when exactly 'Message from space' entered production, because the comparisons one can draw to 'Star Wars' are substantial. Morioka Kenichiro's score has one theme that more closely echoes surfer bops of the 60s, but the bulk of it - whimsical, dramatic, sweeping, stirring, and/or dynamic - pointedly recalls John Williams' work of the prior year. Between the original story of Fukasaku, Ishinomori Shotaro, and Noda Masahiro, and Matusda Hiro's screenplay, no few of the character archetypes, relationships, and settings, and broad strokes of the scene writing and certainly the plot, echo their counterparts in a famous galaxy far, far away. And even some conceptions in the visuals share a measure of kinship, not least with regards to spaceships and practical effects. Still, for whatever parity there is between this picture and Lucas', there's no possible mistaking one for the other. The sets, costume design, hair and makeup, and miniatures, props, and weapons take their cues not just from other sci-fi fare, but also from historical Japanese culture (chiefly samurai), fantasy, and more, seemingly including contemporary American features of a nature very far removed. Though some creative choices are more curious than others, all such facets really do look great, if not downright gorgeous, with welcome detail. The post-production visuals range from basically on par with 'Star Wars' to perhaps notably inferior, especially some rear projection, but they're not bad, and in the very least I've seen much worse. For the most part I really do like Morioka's music as it adds swell flavor, and the sound effects are actually rather terrific.

Some sparing instances of Fukasaku's direction seem a smidgen heavy-handed in terms of the tone imparted; in fairness, it's also possible that the difficulty instead lies with an actor's interpretation of a scene. Excepting such examples, however, by and large the man's direction is solid (if less refined than what he has demonstrated elsewhere), and likewise, the cast gives appreciable, committed performances appropriate for the material. And while the narrative is filled with some familiar elements - including a gargantuan mobile fortress for the villain, a very particular final target for the heroes along a very particular route, and a reference to the heroes receiving medals - there is definitely more than enough here for the title to stand out as its own creation. Some of the dialogue could be stronger, sure, and maybe the character writing, too, but the scene writing is more sure-footed, and the overall narrative is just fine in imparting the tale of select individuals chosen by fate (mystical space seeds) to save the people of Jillucia and rise against the evil Gavanas Empire. 'Message from space' comes off with a tenor and a set of production values somewhere on the spectrum between 'Star Wars' and the like-minded films of Roger Corman, but that doesn't mean it's specifically bad any more than it means it's pure mimicry. This knows what it is and doesn't pretend to be anything it's not, and some small odds and ends are unexpectedly sharp.

No matter one's impetus for watching there's no reason to go out of one's way for it, and I can understand how it won't meet with especial favor from all comers. Nonetheless, it's a movie that only wants to have a good time, and if you're receptive to works of such a variety, I don't think it's nearly so bad as its reputation suggests. I had mixed expectations when I sat to watch and I was pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable this turned out to be; warts, imitations, and all, I for one quite like 'Message from space,' and as far as I'm concerned it earns a casual recommendation.

For all the success that much of the film industry enjoyed in the silent era, there were no few instances of fortunes changing upon the advent of the talkie. Even screen legend Buster Keaton diminished in the sound era, to say nothing of his stated regret of signing with MGM. One way or another, I think it's only reasonable to sit for 'Sidewalks of New York' with a measure of trepidation; how might it hold up decades later? The good news is that this is enjoyable, and it certainly earns laughs at no few points. The bad news is that it also bears major flaws that severely weigh it down, and it's direly uneven. I don't outright dislike this, but I also don't think the movie comes anywhere near to the likes of 'Go west,' 'The navigator,' or 'The General,' even strictly in terms of the comedy - and frankly, that's the least of the title's problems.

Unlike Keaton's prior works, or the best of other comedic icons, there's a considerable mean streak in the writing here as characters are extra curt and even cruel to one another. With that in mind, I'm not so impressed with the direction of Zion Myers and Jules White, for it seems heavy-handed at points, turning that mean streak into shrill, grating, moody outbursts that feel ill-fitting for a Keaton feature. On that note, I guess overall the child actors are just fine, including prominent Norman Phillips Jr., but under Myers and White's direction they frequently do not fare so well; the result rather demonstrates the conventional wisdom attributed to W. C. Fields to "never work with children or animals." Weirdly, in other instances the direction just comes across as weak and middling, dampening the humor. Myers and White are technically capable, but the tone simply feels wrong.

Equally troubling if not more so, the plot is built more for serious crime drama than for a cheeky romp, exemplified in a scene to come just after the halfway mark and broadly defining much of the latter half. In fact, the picture quite comes off as an inelegant smash-up of (a) a dramatic script of risky juvenile delinquency, and mixing with criminal elements, with (b) tidbits of classic Keaton ballyhoo - and sadly, nothing about the combination is really strong enough to earn substantial favor. To that end, elsewhere some bits seem to strain terribly to achieve the desired effect, even if they're setting up something better to come later. 'Sidewalks of New York' could have been a crime drama, or could it have been a comedic Keaton vehicle, but even if we suppose that this was an attempt at something a little different for the star, the effort to blend the two halves didn't fully pan out. No matter how good it may be at large, this 1931 film does not count among Keaton's top credits.

It's not that the sum total is specifically bad, but the weave here of comedy and drama is all too tenuous, with each part dragging down the other. Such critiques are regrettable, for at its best there really is a lot to like in these short seventy-four minutes. Though not every odd and end lands as intended, we are nevertheless greeted with delightful gags, situational humor, physical comedy, sharp dialogue, and general silliness and shenanigans. Keaton is as reliable as ever as an actor, especially when it comes to sacrificing his body for comedy, and co-stars Anita Page and Cliff Edwards ably keep up. There are aspects of the writing that are primed for delicious frivolity or engrossing drama, however sorrily flat they are when swirled together, and all those behind the scenes turned in excellent work. From the stunts and effects, to sets and costume design, to Leonard Smith's cinematography, more than not the movie is well made, even if it sometimes comes across that those involved were still working out the kinks of the new sound paradigm.

It's so unfortunate, then, that the end product turned out the way it did. I think various folks share the responsibility here, between the directors, the writers, and producer Lawrence Weingarten - not for lack of trying, but they took a swing and missed. For all that this does well, it plainly struggles in the ways that matter most, and the lasting entertainment value is significantly reduced. To one degree or another 'Sidewalks of New York' remains worth checking out, but if you're looking for a joyful blast of comedy like Keaton was known for, it's best recommended that you stick with his silent masterpieces, and if you're looking for a crime flick, you have plenty of other options. Do watch if you have the opportunity, but don't go out of your way for it, and save it as something light and more passively amusing.

I like Peter Facinelli as an actor, and it's noteworthy that this is his first full-length feature as a director. I like Jordan Danger - I loved her in 'Eureka' - and in addition to starring, this notably marks her first go at screenwriting. And hey, a small role for Colin Ferguson! These were my points of interest in watching 'Breaking and exiting,' even as I noted poor reception; I've watched other movies that were regarded poorly and greatly enjoyed them, so maybe my opinion here would similarly be a step up. That was my hope. Unfortunately, burglar Harry is our protagonist, not depressed Daisy, and Harry is almost perfectly unlikable; he is written with a sense of humor, but of the sort that says not "you're a funny guy" but "you're obnoxious, and not as clever as you think you are." It's not until Daisy is specifically introduced, after twenty-five minutes and one-third of the runtime have elapsed, that this film earns its first laugh; only after there is another character to offset Harry's repugnance does the comedy begin to manifest, however softly. It's not that 'Breaking and exiting' is utterly terrible or lacks redeeming qualities, as a zero percent score on Rotten Tomatoes currently suggests as of these paragraphs. It's that the problems with this picture are rather identifiable, and I genuinely regret that my criticisms are chiefly directed at a first-time writer whom I otherwise quite appreciate.

In fairness, there is a lot to like here. The acting is splendid; I continue to adore adept Danger as an actor, and for as awful as Harry is, Milo Gibson plays him with energy, and ultimately range, that's admirable. Facinelli's direction is nothing special, but it's solid, and I hope he continues to grow in his skills. This is well made in most regards, including the hair and makeup, costume design, production design, and Christopher Hamilton's crisp cinematography. Some of the music is bland, overdone, and/or chintzy, but there are some small nice touches in the mix, too, that lend welcome flavor. And there are some promising bits in Danger's script. Many titles have explored a criminal getting more than they bargained for, to great success, with Francis Palluau's delightful 'Bienvenue chez les Rozes' being a prime example. The essence of the meet-cute is a minor joy given the circumstances under which Harry and Daisy encounter one another, and furthermore, there's some wonderfully morbid wit amidst the dialogue that wryly plays with Daisy's mental state and stated intentions. Daisy is actually a very relatable and well-written character, for that matter, and I recognize definite personal touches in Danger's writing, and familiarity with the underlying subject matter. And all told I do think the screenplay reflects developing skill and intelligence as a writer, for there is real humor scattered throughout that earns the desired reaction, and discernible earnestness lies at the heart of the story. As select production stills greet us during the end credits, we get a firm sense of the hard work that went into the project, and the warm camaraderie that all shared.

The issue is that despite everything 'Breaking and exiting' has going for it, and despite the more offbeat notions, at the end of the day it's mostly just a formulaic romantic comedy. It could have been a black comedy. When adjoined with the darker, more atypical premise, some choice lines and the most conventional, bare-faced ideas provide wisps that could have been shaped into an underhanded parody of the genre - and why not, with the central couple-to-be being a thoroughly unlikable burglar and distinctly troubled young woman? The turns to come in the last couple scenes add nice little sparks to help cement a fine finish. There is a lot to like here, and it had much potential. So it's kind of tiresome and aggravating when we get abundant scenes, dialogue, and broad character writing that could be copied and pasted into or from any of countless romantic comedies that have preceded this one in the past ten, twenty, thirty, or forty years. I'm not entirely sold on Daisy's shift, though maybe that says more about me than it does about her or Danger; Harry's rapid character growth is even less convincing, as it effectively boils down to a variant of the dubious trope of a villain having a change of heart when they see "love" or "goodness" for the first time. When the tale again becomes more dramatic in the back end the writing and direction feels a smidgen heavy-handed; that first noted turn in the penultimate scene is nevertheless accompanied by some more Very Common tidbits, and the last turn in the final moments comes too late for anything meaningful to be done with it. I like this title. I want to like it more than I do.

I can very honestly say that I look forward to seeing Danger progress in her career; I hope to see her in more as an actor, and may she grow as a writer with this as a modest start along that track. The same goes for Facinelli as a director, and I wish nothing but the best for the participants at large. I'm just somewhat sad that for all the advantages 'Breaking and exiting' can claim, at length it walks a tried and true path, only to the beat of a slightly different drum. I don't believe the utmost denigration this has received from critics is warranted; I'm of the mind that its difficulties and its high points balance each other out, for better and for worse, and the sum total is sort of middling and so-so. I'm glad for those who get more out of it, and I can understand how it will meet still less favorably among others. For my part I'm glad that I sat to watch, but I won't be dwelling much on 'Breaking and exiting' hereafter, and I just hope that at some point in the future I will have more glowing words to share about all involved.

Hot on the heels of Camillo Teti's flummoxing 'Titanic: The legend goes on,' it wasn't enough for Orlando Corradi to create his own animated Titanic flick, 'The legend of the Titanic,' for he added terrible insult to grievous injury a few years later with the bewildering 'In search of the Titanic.' And still this was apparently not enough, for here comes Corradi following up his dubious full-length films with a television series that continues the saga. I thought I knew and was prepared for how awful 2010's 'Fantasy Island' was going to be, but either I blocked out my memories of the preceding movies to spare myself the pain, or everything about them that was already so questionable managed to get even worse in the intervening six years. Let's not pull punches: this one season of Italian children's TV is so ghastly that I'm fairly certain I could feel the cells in my body dying as I watched, and specifically for that reason.

I was prepared to say that there are a couple facets of this series that aren't completely rotten. Yet within even only the first two episodes I changed my mind, and the fact of the matter is that I believe the one thing in these several episodes that deserves any steady modicum of respect is the music. It tends to be repetitive and bland, exactly the type of themes that would be commissioned for a generic, low-grade animated adventure series, but in the very least it doesn't make my ears bleed - and at its best it's actually pretty swell. Unfortunately, this is the most consistently kind I can be in speaking of 'Fantasy Island.' Granted, it's also the case that the painted backgrounds commonly bear some nice detail, and some of the computer-generated imagery of some other environments, especially those underwater. On the other hand, some settings are oddly bereft of any detail or texture. There are also too many instances when these backgrounds and environments, particularly the CGI, are utilized in a manner that gauchely emphasizes the artificiality. And not least as these often clash with the active animated elements. If the best that can be said of the visuals is so-so representation of the setting, something is horribly wrong.

Beyond these aspects the series only ever gets worse. Characters and other active animated elements are usually realized with unnatural movement that is unsettling in and of itself, and somehow the fact that it is so rapid and fluid makes it more nightmarish. Nevermind that non-human characters are anthropomorphized; just wait until you get a glimpse of non-human characters, including those with fins, being given human limbs, and mouth animation straight out of Cronenbergian body horror. Why, even the designs of some human characters are decidedly unnerving. Some bits of the animation are just confusing or nonsensical as they present, including semi-regular head-bobbing that recalls the idle animations of videogames; no few other odds and ends make me cringe with a severe reaction that exists somewhere on the spectrum between astonishment and disgust. There are times when the animation is so hideous that one is perhaps reminded of the ironically godawful work seen in some modern adult animation, like on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim programming block, where part of the joke is in the outward witlessness of the visuals.

I trust that the dialogue of the English dub corresponds as closely as possible to the original Italian script, but one way or another the dialogue is mostly just horrid, simple, and dull - and like the rest of the writing including the humor, mostly senseless, and insulting to the intelligence of even the youngest viewers. The character writing reliably raises a quizzical eyebrow, as roundly atrocious for new characters as for those who return from the pictures. The scene writing is a garbled, baffling mess, and often self-contradicting. I suppose one might argue that there is at least some semblance of cohesiveness to the narrative at some times, yet all told the show does such a poor job of communicating that narrative in terms of pacing, tone, sequencing, or plot development that one should well be equally dismissive of the story. That's where the storytelling isn't bizarrely unsophisticated to a degree far exceeding the norm of any children's fare; the "plot" is often so light and fluffy that it seems too much to say there is any substance here. Even the first episode, a clip show recapping 'The legend of the Titanic' and 'In search of the Titanic,' overflows with stunningly bad writing in its fragments of new material, and as each subsequent episode briefly recounts the events of the prior, these recaps are also surprisingly clumsy. Accentuating these points: within the last few episodes 'Fantasy Island' finally stops twiddling its thumbs and tries to give us some meaningful plot, but that plot as it presents is barely coherent, and the sheer ineptitude of the writers could not be more evident - especially in the last episode, which bunglingly trips over itself trying to wrap up the narrative.

The English dub is excruciating with regards to both the voice acting, including more wild tonal discrepancy, and in how the vocal tracks are synchronized with the visual cues. Or rather, too often not remotely synchronized; in the worst examples, the animation unmistakably shows a character speaking, but there is no audio at all, or vice versa. In a spirit of generosity that is probably not deserved, maybe we could say that the dubbing is not concretely the fault of Corradi or 'Fantasy Island' in and of themselves. Yet especially seeing as how the dub retains the original Italian theme song, even as the responsibility for this component seemingly lies with Miami-based studio "The Kitchen," I think it surely is another severe mark against the whole; surely Corradi was the one who for some reason approved this dub. Furthermore, just as the animation often includes that strange head bobbing, very frequently there are awkward long pauses and weak pacing in the voice acting and direction that hang too long, then for longer still - the functional equivalent of what in radio is called "dead air." I'm unsure whether this is more or less preferable to some voice acting so foul as to inspire mocking laughter (as in, if you don't laugh, you'll cry).

I guess I can't say I wasn't entertained every now and again. Against all odds there are very scarce, very scattered good story ideas here; in the latter half of the show, the episodes "Encounter with the wolves" and "Jeffrey's confession" can claim the most (and maybe only) earnest, solid writing of the whole shebang. But outside such exceptions, the entertainment this has to offer comes only in the form of a convergence of all those aspects that are so egregious as to totally confound. This includes small moments like the sudden unnerving appearance of Tentacolino, or an unintentionally funny exchange of dialogue. This includes the befuddling "logic" that allows a beat or scene to transpire, or that a beat or scene insinuates in turn; or outrageous writing that takes the concept of "movie magic" - a far-fetched beat to advance the plot in the most gawky manner possible - to stupefying new extremes. Though the music is decent enough, there are also hilarious examples where the music is exercised in a manner that again produces absurd tonal issues. Elsewhere the show unflinchingly mimics scenes from James Cameron's 'Titanic,' and one instance was so breathtaking that I had to pause for several minutes to collect myself. If this is the prevailing sort of value 'Fantasy Island' has to offer, that's not much of a point in its favor.

In every manner that matters, including even the editing, this series is just woefully dreadful. We get the impression of pure laziness, outright incompetence, and a wholesale lack of intelligence on the part of many if not most who were involved, if not all. Every time you think it can't get any worse, it does. I'm genuinely perplexed that Corradi was ever able to get this produced in the first place. At its best there's nothing here that we can't get elsewhere in animation, and even that seems too kind. The series regularly seems to have trouble so much as making up its mind what mood it wants to impart, as the voice acting, character animation, and writing - and music - fly off in different directions while also otherwise being shoddy; there is suggested violence that is stunningly brutal, and some moments are a half-step away from being appropriate for horror. If all this has been too long-winded, however, then let me speak plainly: there is no good reason to watch 'Fantasy Island.' If you, like me, are both curious and masochistic, and are the sort of person who would watch 'The legend of the Titanic' and 'In search of the Titanic,' then there's a rancid sort of logic that extends to also watching 'Fantasy Island.' Be that as it may, this is actually somehow worse than the movies, and one's time is emphatically best spent elsewhere. I cannot recommend this to anyone. Don't say I didn't warn you.

It's hard not to fall in love with this film right away. Even the very first glimpses we get of the remote filming locations, the same territory where the real figures trod some seventy years before, are incredibly beautiful; whether one spends a lot of time outdoors or is trapped in a modern life away from natural splendor, we're immediately drawn into the experience and wish we could step through these forests, hills, lakes, and river valleys ourselves. There is a soft vitality in the cinematography of Nakai Asakazu, Yuri Gantman, and Fyodor Dobronravov that makes all the images to greet us even easier on the eyes on a fundamental level, and the same surely goes for the color processing of studio Mosfilm. Together with Kurosawa Akira's impeccable shot composition and otherwise vision as a filmmaker, there are countless shots all throughout these 2.5 hours that would look right at home framed on a wall, or collected in a coffee table art book. This is to say nothing of the terrific production design and art direction, costume design, hair, makeup, stunts, effects, and sound design; everyone operating behind the scenes turned in outstanding contributions, rich with fine detail, that are beyond all reproach. While Isaak Shvarts' score is relatively sparing in its dispensation it smoothly feeds into all this quietly stirring resplendence, and the saga to unfold. The result from these facets alone is that 'Dersu Uzala' is tremendously absorbing, satisfying, and rewarding, a total gem.

That's only part of the movie, however, and in other capacities that are just as integral the picture dazzles and endears itself to us just as quickly. While it's hard to pick a favorite among Kurosawa's many iconic works, 'Red Beard' stands out to me with the full-hearted warmth it carries in its portrait of humanity at a modest rural clinic. In relating the tales of the clinic staff and of its patients, Kurosawa shows us not just compassion and empathy, but the ideal of the community that humans can foster and maintain when we're at our best. To my absolute pleasure, this feature of ten years later buzzes with similar feelings of warmth and gentle wonder, for 'Dersu Uzala' wastes no time in developing those themes and ideas that are its true substance. It is biographical, yes, telling of one man's life, and we get significant drama and adventure as a vast wilderness is explored and mapped, with all the risks that follow therefrom. Just as importantly, though, it is an examination of a man who is completely in tune with his environment, and who carries with him the wisdom of the natural world; of budding respect for nature, and its power and majesty; of the close bonds of camaraderie that can grow between two people from very different backgrounds; and of bittersweet remembrance, and loss: of those dear to us, of our place in a cold, changing world, and of our own strength and faculties over time. The narrative in and of itself is marvelously engrossing and downright captivating in tracing the journey of Vladimir Arsenyev and the titular figure, and Kurosawa and co-writer Yuri Nagibin are to be further congratulated for robust characterizations, hearty dialogue, and utterly vibrant scene writing to propel that narrative. But in adapting Arsenyev's memoir Kurosawa and Nagibin delved deeply into that meaningful core in the process of also relating that stupendous story, and the viewing experience very swiftly becomes all the more fulfilling even through to the ending that is more downbeat.

One can readily discern how much hard work went into the production, and how arduous the project must have been, not least given the far-flung locations, difficult terrain, and severe weather conditions. In recognizing this the title once again becomes even more potent and impactful. The same holds true as touches of humor, moments of suspense, and notes of tragedy round out the full-hearted drama and the adventurous tenor. The same holds true as we watch the magnificent performances of all on hand, and above all stars Yury Solomin and Maxim Munzuk - they all but disappear into their roles with exceptional range, nuance, emotional depth, physicality, and personality. Every greatly moving feeling that is infused throughout the length is brought to bear through the acting just as much as through all else, and between Solomin and Munzuk I don't know who I treasure more. Let's be frank: is there anything about this film that is less than perfect? I, for one, really do not think so. The landscapes are so gorgeous that Kurosawa often makes us feel like we're not seeing Earth but otherworldly sights built in a studio for a fantasy flick; the utmost earnestness of the portrayal of humanity keeps us firmly grounded and inspired, hoping we can carry that spirit with us as we return to the real world once the entire runtime has elapsed. Every last element of the project is flush with unyielding skill, intelligence, and care, and it is once again confirmed that Kurosawa was one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live. I would unreservedly name 'Dersu Uzala' as counting among the man's best pictures, and to the same point, almost certainly among the best pictures ever made.

No, in general it's not as visible or as celebrated as the likes of 'Ikiru,' 'Seven samurai,' 'Rashomon,' or 'Kagemusha.' And I think that's a darn shame. I could scarcely be happier with just how superb this is, and I can't recommend it highly enough. As far as I'm concerned this is another stellar, must-see classic in a landmark career, and 'Dersu Uzala' is well worth seeking out however you must go about it.

Let's not beat around the bush: this is a truly dazzling, absolutely brilliant film. It's derived from Tsutsui Yasutaka's novel, certainly, yet there's a big difference between even the most vivid print medium and an audiovisual interpretation, and the conscious mind can only extrapolate so far from the spoken or written word alone. There's really nothing quite like cinema for bringing visions to life, and rarely is this more true than for those stories that have ever in any way explored dreams, and/or broken or uncertain realities: 'Little Nemo,' 'A nightmare on Elm Street,' 'Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse,' 'Inception,' Quentin Dupieux's 'Réalité,' 'The lathe of heaven,' Kon Satoshi's own 'Perfect blue,' and so on. Moreover, for all the splendor that practical effects or computer-generated imagery can produce - or even just sharp direction, cinematography, and editing - pure, classic animation is still unparalleled in achieving sheer wonder. Amazingly, as the last picture in an all-too brief career, Kon's 'Paprika' may have them all beat. From the very beginning to the very end this is incredibly creative and has us wholly ensorcelled, and I ponder if even the nearest points of comparison can actually stack up.

A trippy, action-packed opening scene bleeds into a credits sequence which is itself marvelously vibrant and fun, and as the plot picks up from there it wastes no time and keeps us firmly engaged. What follows in short order is a fast-moving, fabulously fluid, mind-bending journey that smashes together ideas and genres and vibes, but does so in a manner that against all odds feels perfectly organic and cohesive - not unlike how the disorder and disparate elements of a dream make perfect sense to the unconscious mind. Thus do we get swirls of science fiction, nightmarish horror, psychological thriller, neo-noir, romance, and drama, all wrapped up in wild, intoxicating concoctions of both storytelling and visuals that reflect pure, unbridled imagination, and for which the word "surreal" seems woefully insufficient. All this is further complemented and reinforced by composer Hirasawa Susumu, whose original music is really just as entrancing as the wide array of sights to greet us. From driving upbeat pop, to more conventional dramatic chords, to unnerving soundscapes that bolster the dark, warped atmosphere, Hirasawa's contributions are much like the writing and the visuals: infectious, whimsical, and bewitching. I'm not likely to forget 'Paprika' any time soon, and the music is a big part of that.

To read a plot synopsis one may well be mystified, yet Kon and co-writer Minakami Seishi adapted Tsutsui's novel in such a fashion that we are readily immersed in the world, and are able to keep up no matter gnarled the internal conception of reality may become. The feature is quite the ride in following the tale of havoc being wrought through dreams and fantastical technology, but tremendously smart and strong scene writing, and equally steady, mindful narrative writing and plot development, keep the material cogent, terrifically absorbing and entertaining, and deeply satisfying. The nearest I may come to offering criticism is that there are a couple odds and ends (Konakawa's story thread, and the ending provided for Dr. Chiba) that arguably aren't woven in as thoroughly, or which are too neat and clean as they present. I'm unfamiliar with the novel, and I can only assume this is a matter of beats that Kon elected not to flesh out so as to remain focused on the core plot; that's the sense I get, anyway. The incidence isn't nearly so severe as to specifically detract from the viewing experience, however, and for as superbly thrilling, engrossing, and enjoyable as 'Paprika' is otherwise, I almost feel bad speaking ill of it to any infinitesimal degree.

Given its pointedly oddball nature, some jolting imagery, and violent and sexual content, I can understand how this won't appeal to all comers. Be that as it may, I cannot overstate how excellent the movie is, and ninety minutes fly past all too quickly. With writing, visuals, and music that are all equally rich and enticing, and fine contributions from all others involved to bring the project to fruition, this 2006 anime is nothing less than a treasure. It's a modern classic, really, and whether one is particularly keen on animation or stories of a more far-flung tenor, or just looking for something good to watch, it would be a sorry mistake to pass this up. As far as I'm concerned 'Paprika' is altogether great, and I'm happy to give it my very high and hearty recommendation!

For all the grandeur and whimsy that studios can deliver with multi-million dollar extravagance, it seems sometimes as if filmmakers have forgotten what actually makes viewers flock to cinema. Movies can be entertaining, thought-provoking, thrilling, or impactful with even the most limited resources; all that is necessary is earnest effort and care, and as such even amateur filmmakers can do great things. On a reported budget of well under one million dollars, largely making use of location filming, and even while betraying its more modest nature as a feature made for television, filmmakers David Loxton and Fred Barzyk churned out a work of science fiction that is compelling and disturbing. The effects are modest, and the tone, pacing, and direction at large do reflect the boundaries in which this operated, but even as much is suggested rather than seen - well, that is the ideal, isn't it? We neither want nor need to have every last detail specifically visualized for us as an audience, not any more than we want or need a series of sequels to explore the origin story of every iconic character. When the first major calamitous event transpires in this adaptation of Ursula K. Le Guin's novel, we don't need a montage of blood, gore, and death; a symbolic rendering is more than sufficient, and ultimately may be more effective. 'The lathe of heaven' may not be a total revelation, but nearly forty-five years later it continues to stand tall with a power that all the most grandiose genre flicks of subsequent years can scarcely touch.

Dreams have been the playground for storytellers since humans first began passing down myths and legends, but even as they have provided the foundation for many dazzling sci-fi or fantasy films, there remain relatively few that completely wrap themselves up in the unreal as this does. To much the same point, relatively few films toy as completely and relentlessly as this does with its internal sense of reality. At its most extreme this can make for a challenging viewing experience, yet with strong scene writing and a firm, cohesive narrative - a credit to Le Guin, yes, but surely also to screenwriters Roger Swaybill and Diane English - the proceedings remain grounded, and highly engaging. True, in addition to dabbling with conflicting philosophies, there are very familiar root thoughts in the tale of the responsibility that comes with power, and the unintended ramifications that well-meaning desires can produce. I would also say that while by and large Swaybill and English did a fine job of adapting Le Guin's book to the necessarily condensed format of a different medium, maintaining the spirit of her prose if not the letter, in the back end especially it seems as if additional material therefrom is being added in a manner that makes the audiovisual representation a tad more unwieldy. Shrewdly reduced and streamlined as this TV movie is in imparting a story of reality-altering dreams, part of me wonders if it might not have been reduced a smidgen more to tighten the narrative as it presents.

All this is kind of just splitting hairs, however, because when all is said and done there's not much arguing that 'The lathe of heaven' is a terrific feature that holds up splendidly. The locations used for various settings here are gorgeous and all but otherworldly, yet still remain suitably little known such that unless one otherwise has reason to recognize them (e.g., living in the greater Dallas-Fort Worth region) our suspension of disbelief is easily maintained. All those behind the scenes turned in splendid work to bring this yarn to vivid life, from production design and art direction, to costume design, hair, and makeup, and I rather wonder just how much of the budget actually went to the vanity artists. Those effects that are employed are swell just as they are while ably lending to the experience, and the sharp contributions of cinematographer Robbie Greenberg and editor Dick Bartlett only further bolsters the presentation. Above all, between Swaybill and English's screenplay and Loxton and Barzyk's direction, some facets of the plot are realized in a gratifyingly smart fashion that circumvents any concerns for the budgetary limitations of the production. Factor in excellent, steady performances from Bruce Davison, Kevin Conway, and Margaret Avery, and the result is really quite well done all told. Yes, it has some moments that are weaker by comparison, yet in a medium that isn't generally known for as high a level of quality as its Silver Screen brethren, the fact in variably remains that this title is roundly solid.

Unless one has particular impetus to watch I don't know that I'd go so far as to say this is a must-see; it isn't necessarily a perfect adaptation of Le Guin's novel, and even if one is especially invested in fare that plays with dreams and reality, the doing here may not be its utmost selling point. 'The lathe of heaven' nevertheless stands admirably tall as a minor classic of science fiction, with ideas bigger than the scope of this one production, and it's well worth checking out if one has the opportunity.

From the time this was released the only thing I heard about it was bad word of mouth. I was not the person then that I am today, so I immediately put out of my mind any notion of watching. Fast forward thirty years and I figure it's time that I saw it for myself: How bad could it be? Is that reputation really deserved? There are some noteworthy people involved, and filmmaker Adam Resnick and star and co-writer Chris Elliott both got notice for their work with David Letterman; that has to count for something, right? Unfortunately, no sooner than it begins does 'Cabin boy' begin to show its nature, and the fact of the matter is that at all times this movie is either hopelessly dull, utterly obnoxious, or so utterly obnoxious that it becomes hopelessly dull. I suppose there was potential in the concept, which basically boils down to the classic "fish out of water" comedic scenario, but Resnick and Elliott somehow fashioned a screenplay around that scenario that strips away all its humor. At best this flick is a dud, and at worst it's actively aggravating.

With sufficient wit and mindful tact, most all the elements herein have produced fine success elsewhere. No such intelligence or care was employed in these eighty minutes, however, and so the closest the film comes to earning a laugh (and still failing to do so) was within the earliest scenes with a cameo by Letterman. As it stands the picture is flush with a rotten mean streak even outside the presenting strains of classism, sexism, sexual harassment, ableism, fatphobia, homophobia, and other ugly odds and ends; whether swarthy or smarmy, characters are wholly unlikable, and are given tiresome dialogue, while the intended humor is further characterized by oafish boorishness and juvenile puerility, buffoonish raucousness for its own sake, satirical elements bereft of the requisite cleverness, childish gross-out gags and sheer tawdry cartoonishness, and jokes that are broadly too empty-headed to curry any favor. In other titles some animated, committed performances might feed into the comedy, but it is first necessary that the comedy can otherwise stand on its own legs. The same goes for bare-faced, low-grade "effects," plainspoken inauthenticity, and overall production values that hover somewhere between "live television" and "unsophisticated, simple-minded live-action children's TV." More than not the "comedy" is so crude that it's really more fitting for a kids' movie, yet the "comedy" is also too adult for young viewers.

I suppose the production design and art direction are admirable, and the practical effects; the costume design, hair, and makeup are swell. The lighting is unexpectedly nice, too. I think there are actually some really great ideas in the script with the blend of fantasy and comedy in a setting that's sort of modern but also sort of generic with seeming anachronisms, and I could see the root ideas being appropriate even for the more fanciful side of silent cinema (e.g., Max Linder's 'The Three Must-Get-Theres'). Truthfully, the overarching vibe that the feature carries rather reminds of the animation or live-action fare seen on Cartoon Network's famous Adult Swim programming block: works in which low, humble production values and unfunny jokes are a deliberate backhanded move, part and parcel of an ironic sense of humor. With that in mind, in some measure maybe 'Cabin boy' was just ahead of its time, not least as it puts some recognizable stars (above all Melora Walters and Russ Tamblyn) in ridiculous scenes that by all reason should be insulting or even offensive. Even if we generously take this view, however, it still remains that the sum total is too emptily crass, vulgar, and unclever, and in all earnestness, I didn't laugh once. That is the one thing we typically demand of comedies, and this fails to meet that low bar.

I don't believe this film to be wholly rotten; I see the potential it had, and what it does do well. I regret to say, though, that "what it does do well" is not comedy of the kind that will appeal to any but the most base of viewers, or members of the audience who are actually too young to be sitting for it. The production is a mixed bag of bits that haven't aged well, bits that are too low-brow, and ingenuity the world hadn't quite accepted, all executed in a manner too soft to have any impact anyway. Alas. There are far worse things you could watch, but it turns out that this picture's poor reception was pretty much right on target. I think I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I did, but having now seen it for myself, I won't ever have a need to see 'Cabin boy' again.

It's gently paced, and by and large carries itself with a tone that's even softer. While we do get everything we expect out of a jidaigeki film, and still more particularly of samurai films, the preponderance of the length is defined by quiet, reserved scenes of dialogue, with the predominant focus being squarely on the meticulous, careful nuance of the acting, cinematography, and direction. Beyond even all this, the tale on hand is one of utmost despairing tragedy, the sort that should make any thinking, feeling person blanche in horror, yet on account of the precise, supremely mindful approach taken to the storytelling and film-making, the picture is less likely to evoke the emotions one would assume. Yet none of this is accidental. 'Harakiri' was shaped with only the very highest degree of skill and intelligence, an indefatigable purposefulness that meets or exceeds all points of comparison, and any possible expectations. The patient, thoughtful viewer is rewarded with an exquisite masterpiece that in my opinion meets or exceeds any standard one might carry in mind for cinema. This is without question one of the greatest movies ever made, putting to shame the vast majority of anything that has ever been generously granted such a label.

'Harakiri' is perfect. Every note in the increasingly sparing original score of Takemitsu Toru is deployed with an ingenuity that complements, reinforces, and amplifies the hushed yet spellbinding drama that unfolds. Impeccable sound design makes even soft footfalls inspire as the brilliant, fastidious choices that they are amidst the craftsmanship. Rarely has an editor deserved praise more than Sagara Hisashi, for rarely have I so plainly been able to recognize the finesse and artistry that film editing might boast in the hands of a wizard. Miyajima Yoshio's cinematography is rich, crisp, and vivid, smartly visualizing every detail for us in a manner that both accentuates the drama and bolsters the artistry that overflows in the vision of filmmaker Kobayashi Masaki. To date I can't claim to be familiar enough with Kobayashi to speak directly to any point of comparison, yet in watching this feature I'm pointedly reminded of Kurosawa Akira, a man known for his perfectionism - be it true or not, I detect the same level of painstaking diligence in Kobayashi's work here, and that is only the highest of compliments. All this is to say nothing of those facets that more commonly earn praise, like the gorgeous sets and filming locations, lovely costume design, hair and makeup, and props and weapons, and vibrant choreography, stunts, and effects. Yet incredibly, flawless as these facets are, they just aren't the first to catch one's attention.

Given the overall tenor of this title one could be forgiven for not being immediately swept away by the acting, itself mostly understated and restrained. Like all else here, however, there is stupendous subtlety in the performances that belies the searing drama of the saga and the fervency of the underlying emotions. All involved - not least Iwashita Shima, Mikuni Rentaro, Ishihama Akira, and especially star Nakadai Tatsuya - are to be congratulated for momentously strong portrayals that bring their characters to such stark life in the realization of so gripping a tale. And with all this firmly in mind, it is a tremendous credit to Kobayashi, to producer Hosoya Tatsuo, and to every contributor, above all Hashimoto Shinobu in adapting Takiguchi Yasuhiko's novel, that the story here is so incredibly powerful and impactful. I sat to watch with no foreknowledge save for the film's reputation, and I am altogether stunned. The low-key tack adopted throughout most of these 133 minutes allows the dialogue, scene writing, and narrative to speak entirely for themselves, slowly laying the groundwork and stirring the pot while building to a terrible crescendo quite unlike any other. The premise seems simple as down-and-out ronin Tsugumo approaches the Iyi clan with a request to commit harakiri, and first explains the course of events that led him to this juncture. What unfolds instead, through intermittent cuts to flashback and to the active plot, is a deeply absorbing and compelling story that through to the end only becomes more dour and dispiriting.

Moreover, through the framework of that story, Kobayashi and Hashimoto latch onto bigger ideas and themes that reverberate like a thunderclap and which remain infuriatingly relevant to our modern world. 'Harakiri' is, at its core, a fiery, strident, cleverly devised manifesto. This is nothing if not a vehement condemnation of the adoption of symbols by movements, subcultures, and broader societies, and of the dogmatic codes that zealously cling to those symbols while not just forsaking reason, compassion, and humanity, but also the very values and principles that such symbols and codes are purported to represent and ensure. In some measure I'm reminded of Abel Gance's 1919 epic anti-war classic 'J'accuse': this may specifically target the practices and code of honor of the samurai, but Kobayashi's ferocious statement applies just as equally to any society that puts some emblem on a pedestal - a flag, a ribbon, an ideal - and whether in word or on paper enshrines a system (codes, laws) that emptily prioritizes such emblems and uses it as a shield, a thin veil, to mask horrid, harmful, iniquitous behavior. That the picture does all this while also demonstrating expert craftsmanship, telling a riveting story, and embracing magnificent artistry, can only mean that the end result is a treasure with precious, precious few works that can call it kin.

This has been on my list to watch for a long time, and I anticipated enjoying it, but I am completely taken aback by what has actually greeted me. I'm aghast that it's taken me so long to see it; I'm almost heartbroken and offended that it's not widely held in much higher regard, and more routinely recognized. As far as I'm concerned the sum total is in every way a piece of cinema beyond all reproach, with fantastically shrewd notions at every turn. Even the climax and the ending defy our assumptions: we get action violence, but tactfully dispensed and cut such that it is as artistic as it is exciting; Tsugumo is a virtuous protagonist, and a fierce warrior, but he is not a "one-man army" who will tirelessly cut down all his foes; there is a patient deliberateness in the climax that flies in the face of the hard-charging bombast that characterizes much modern fare; the flick concludes with a denouement that bucks the norms and standards of much of cinema, further cementing the central themes while resolving the plot in a fashion that is at once both satisfying and upsetting. What here is less than superlative? In my estimation the answer is "nothing." For various reasons this may not readily appeal to all comers, and strictly speaking we all have different personal preferences where movies are concerned. Be that as it may, there is no doubt in my mind that this is one of the very best features in all of cinema, and it would be an awful mistake to pass up an opportunity to watch. 'Harakiri' is a truly essential classic that's well worth seeking out however one must, and I'm happy to give it my very, very highest, heartiest, most enthusiastic recommendation!

On the one hand, by one means or another many in the film industry who enjoyed tremendous success in the silent era saw their fortunes change upon the advent of talkies, and even icon Buster Keaton was not immune. On the other hand, 'Doughboys' has been remarked as one of Keaton's great successes, and was accordingly regarded by the man himself as the best movie he made within what he otherwise came to recognize as an ill-advised contract with MGM. How does this 1930 picture hold up more than ninety years later? It doesn't take long for us to find out, and I'm very happy to say that this really is just as reliably fun as we would expect of the star at his legendary best. Pretty much right from the start we get healthy doses of clever situational humor, robust gags and physical comedy, witty dialogue, and outright silliness, not to mention exaggerated characterizations and animated performances. With Keaton adopting a slight variation of the soft-spoken, well-meaning dope that he played so well in the likes of 'The Navigator' and 'Go west,' and all others deftly playing opposite, the result is terrifically fun!

Granted, no few points are deserving of criticism, or at least hearty discussion. In a manner not uncommon to other early sound titles, there are times when the tone, pacing, and direction generally are extra soft within a scene - giving the impression that filmmaker Edward Sedgwick, the cast, and the crew were still figuring out how comedy worked with sound. In such instances the energy and humor are dampened to some small extent, and strictly speaking the audio is sometimes a tad muddled. Conversely, we get early examples of the unsophisticated dullness of "noise and raucousness for its own sake" as intended humor, taking advantage of new sound technology in the least meaningful way. There's also something to be said for glorifying the military, making light of the abusiveness of drill sergeants and the rigid discipline of the military, and cheerfully toying with a dark period in world history; there's a backwards, morbid levity in lampooning "The Lost Generation." Just as modern superhero flicks can and should be scrutinized for their unthinking elevation of the military, it's worth critically analyzing such matters even (especially) in comedy.

Dissect the feature as we may, however, 'Doughboys' has no aim but to entertain, and it does so most stupendously. The stunts herein are perhaps fewer and more modest than those Keaton is famous for, but they are absolutely a joy just as they are. Him and haw as we may about the particulars, this really does carry marvelous, vibrant electricity about it, and the supporting cast are just as splendid in embracing that spirit, including Sally Eilers and Edward Brophy,among others. The writing team deliver fantastic scene writing and dialogue within the framework of a narrative that ably weaves together wartime drama and the classic comedic scenarios of a dim-witted protagonist stumbling into one quandary after another, including romance and enlistment. And all those operating underappreciated behind the scenes turn in outstanding contributions across the board: stunts, effects, action sequences, and choreography; highly detailed sets, and sharp costume design, hair, and makeup; and even some smart lighting, cinematography, and editing. To whatever degree the title faced some difficulties with new techniques and technology, much more than not Sedgwick's direction is as excellent as we should suppose of so esteemed a filmmaker, tying all the odds and ends together with keen, mindful vision.

And hey, say what one will about how cinema regularly treats war and the military, there are also points herein that shrewdly poke fun at "military intelligence" and the most daft aspects of warfare and allegiances. I think it's also true that, not least given some issues with pacing and comedic timing, a mere eighty minutes still feel a smidgen longer than they should. No matter how much we find fault with one element or another, though, I don't think there's much disputing how funny and enjoyable 'Doughboys' is at large. The viewing experience may be a tad uneven, but overall this is a pleasure, and we can hardly ask for more. I'd stop short of saying the film is a must-see like some of Keaton's other works, yet whether one is specifically a fan or just looking for something good to watch, I'm happy to give 'Doughboys' my solid recommendation.

It isn't necessarily outwardly impressive, and compared to those titles that Kurosawa Akira is best known for, this drama centered tightly on one family seems rather common at first blush. Yet however it might appear from the outside looking in there is meaningful, deeply impactful substance within, and in its own way the picture is just as striking as anything else the man has made. His period pieces tend to get all the glory, yet in the contemporary tale of one family, and the elderly patriarch desperately fearful of the atom bomb, Kurosawa gives us a different sort of movie that ultimately hits just as hard, if not more so. Despite myself I sat with some mixed expectations, but I should have known better, and 'I live in fear' is another outstanding classic from one of the world's greatest filmmakers.

As if one should ever harbor doubts about Kurosawa in any manner, this film is generally well made in every capacity. The sets and costume design may not be the sort to wholly capture the imagination, nor the cinematography or selectively employed music, but every facet is ably crafted and serves the whole well. While the utmost perfectionism and fastidiousness the filmmaker is known for isn't necessarily on full display as it would be in later works (e.g., building a whole town for 'Red Beard'), one can rest assured that his direction remains as reliably terrific as ever. Given the nature of the feature, here that predominantly means guiding the cast in their performances, and it's safe to say that all involved are fantastic. Some actors may stand out more than others, including Negishi Akemi as young mistress Asako, Miyoshi Eiko with her reserved acting as Toyo, and likewise Shimura Takashi with his soft-spoken portrayal of Dr. Harada. Of any player participating, though, it's impossible not to take note of icon Mifune Toshiro, starring as beleaguered Nakajima Kiichi. For a figure of Japanese cinema who is usually so instantly recognizable, 35-year old Mifune is completely unrecognizable as he disappears into this role. That's partly a credit to the hair and makeup artists, certainly, yet Mifune deftly shifts his physicality into the hunched posture and hobbled gait of an old man, and if one didn't have the benefit of outside context we wouldn't know it was him. Be that as it may, Mifune's impassioned delivery and personality remain intact, and for all that there is to appreciate in these 100-odd minutes, he is foremost.

Not to count out anyone else who helped bring 'I live in fear' to fruition, but even more than Mifune's disappearing act it's easily the screenplay that ultimately holds the most power here. The basic premise is fairly straightforward, and within the concept of anxiety in the Atomic Age leaves plenty of room for a broader tableau to start to take shape. The flick specifically speaks to the recent horrors inflicted upon Japan at the conclusion of World War II, the emergence of nuclear weapons, and the all too reasonable apprehension of annihilation. To whatever extent these thoughts may be universal, however, the narrative as it presents draws upon a wider array of ideas that absolutely broaches the modern human experience. The story is one of conflict within a family, with court mediators standing in for the larger community or society that may play a part in facilitating discussion or resolving such conflict. There are questions at play of when fear and anxiety crosses over into concerning or harmful behavior, or mental illness; the agency and rights an individual may have under such circumstances, their responsibility to others, and the agency and rights of those around them; and what role society can or should play to manage, in any degree or fashion, the difficulties of such scenarios. As such notions remain despairingly relevant seventy years on, if not always with the same details, the question also lingers of just what an appropriate response is to a world that has gone mad. While 'I live in fear' lacks the spectacle of 'Kagemusha' or 'Ran,' as the core comes into focus it is just as strongly absorbing, and at length, just as worthy.

Typical verbiage such as "enjoyable," "satisfying," or even "rewarding" carry too positive a connotation to apply to a picture of this tenor, not least as the course of events quietly comes to a head in the last act. The sum total definitely leaves a lasting mark, however, and while this isn't as famous as Kurosawa's many other masterpieces, it unmistakably belongs among that same lofty company. I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, and it rather goes without saying that it's downbeat and depressing, yet for those who are receptive to the material, 'I live in fear' continues to stand as a title of consequence, and it's very much worth seeking out on its own merits. Kurosawa again proves that his legendary reputation is completely deserved, and I'm glad to give 'I live in fear' my high and hearty recommendation.

From a standpoint purely of its visual presentation, this is a stunningly beautiful film. For that we have many and much to thank, from the exceptional filming locations, to the grand production design and art direction, not to mention exquisite costume design, hair, makeup, and even lighting. Between Luchino Visconti's impeccable vision as director, and Giuseppe Rotunno's smart, vibrant cinematography, most every shot and scene to greet us is orchestrated with an artistry and finesse that is deeply pleasing. Factor in the glorious mid-century Technicolor, a contemporary process that routinely captures the imagination more than modern film-making techniques often do, and 'The leopard' is flush with beautiful aesthetics that make these three hours go down very easily. Superb, nuanced acting, and judicious employment of splendid stunts and effects as the narrative requires, are just excellent bonuses, and likewise Nino Rota's lovely original music. Whatever else is true of this picture, the viewing experience is smooth and flavorful to behold.

With all that gorgeous splendor well in mind, there remains the question of the storytelling. I fully recognize the high esteem in which Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's novel has been held, and to much the same extent Visconti's cinematic adaptation, and I understand why. I also believe there is a certain variety of historical drama that loses its power when the audience who sits for it is not steeped in the same culture, heritage, and history, and this is perhaps even more true where gentle pacing and a soft tone define the plot and its development. There is strong value in the saga of Italy at a time of much sociopolitical upheaval, with focus on the ruling class who may occasionally demonstrate wisdom and meaningful rumination, and who at least as often show themselves to be, in one fashion or another, a disparate assemblage of despicable toads. The extent of that value may vary considerably from one viewer to the next, and it is surely those who are somehow personally invested in Italy and its history who will get the most out of this celebrated classic.

I appreciate 'The leopard.' I am also just aware that, at least for me, its pointedly muted approach to the material, and to the themes and bigger ideas on hand, reduce the weight and impact thereof, even as they remain sadly germane to our world of 160 years later. Don Corbera is a figure whose stature, prominence, and relevance are slowly fading in the light of the new society that is emerging with its own decadence and corrupting influence, and at its core the tale is bittersweet if not altogether wryly sorrowful. I feel, however, that this does not especially come to bear until the ballroom sequence that dominates much of the last hour, and even as Burt Lancaster quietly shines in this last portion with an utterly phenomenal, understated performance of nuanced emotional depth, I find myself wanting that the whole had been navigated with an equal level of adroit focus and mindfulness. All told I greatly admire this feature, and it's just that it doesn't completely hold the same significance for me as it clearly and reasonably has for many others. For the ardor of its craftsmanship alone this remains upstanding and well worth checking out, and I see the marvelous substance that lies at the heart of the story; I just wish that said substance were more plainly tangible to me. Yet if I at all sound unenthusiastic, please don't mistake that tenor in my words for a lack of respect, honor, or fondness: him and haw as we may about the particulars, 'The leopard' is a movie whose reputation is well deserved, and I'm glad to give it my firm recommendation.

I mean no disrespect to other actors when I say that David Suchet is so closely associated with Hercules Poirot that it's hard to imagine other stars in the role. Even Peter Ustinov had a notably different interpretation in the several films where he played the Belgian; what about Albert Finney? What about that otherwise enormous cast of very recognizable names and faces? And just how would Sidney Lumet's adaptation of Agatha Christie's novel stack up in general, regardless of possible comparison to all the others out in the world? Thankfully we don't need to concern ourselves too much with these questions, for while it is possible to do wrong by Christie (see 1988's 'Appointment with death,' or rather, maybe don't), it's relatively hard to do so, and with her writing as reliable foundation we can trust in this 'Murder on the Orient Express' being a firmly enjoyable murder mystery.

Granted, "reliable foundation" and "firmly enjoyable" do not mean "perfect," or in the very least, there may be various odds and ends with which one may take issue based on personal preference and/or comparison to other iterations of Poirot. For my own tastes, I'm not particularly fond of Finney's portrayal of the famous detective. As a character he is a man with a brilliant mind, with tastes and behaviors ranging from refined, to idiosyncratic, to peculiar. Suchet played him with a wry disposition, a certain lack of sociability, and a temperament that became more severe upon provocation; Ustinov lent him a more congenial or even jovial flair. Finney, meanwhile - whole and committed as his performance is - rather makes Poirot come off just as, well, an offensive little goblin. There, I said it. Maybe Finney's Poirot is closer to Christie's than Suchet's, I cannot pretend to know to a certainty, but I do know that Finney's Poirot comes off as an investigator more suited for what I know of Monty Python than for what I know of Christie. As Christie accordingly took exception to Finney's mustache in this 1974 movie, maybe she would have agreed.

Other matters nag at me, too, like part of Richard Rodney Bennett's score. While at large it is fine complement for the proceedings, the buoyant theme employed while the train is in motion suggests that Julie Andrews is about to swoop in with an umbrella and break into song; the tone clashes. Especially given Finney's interpretation of Poirot, the zeal of the Belgian's assertions feel out of character to me as the script attributes five deaths to the villain. Perhaps this is a reflection of the values of Christie's time, of philosophy, and in turn of semantics, but my own count is rather different, and with that disparity the manner in which these thoughts are treated here rubs me the wrong way. Further, I would suggest that while overall the writing is solid - how could it not be, as Paul Dehn adapted Christie's novel? - the fact is that generally speaking, I just don't feel that this picture makes a major impression. It's well done at large, certainly, yet it was only with the very, very last scene that I found myself sitting upright, wishing to congratulate Lumet for the insight that produced this moment. True, other titles can't claim even one such moment, but this doesn't change the fact that I don't find 'Murder on the Orient Express' to be as completely absorbing as one might commonly hope of cinema.

But maybe I'm nitpicking. Lumet, Dehn, the cast, and the crew have given us an ably entertaining murder mystery, with characters that are broadly well-written and a protagonist whose keen intellect allows him to piece together the truth from only scattered, disparate scraps. The story is compelling and capably assembled, the many esteemed actors on hand give commendable performances, and some particulars aside, Lumet's direction is excellent. All those operating behind the scenes turned in terrific work, not least the costume design, to bring this sordid tale to life; I quite appreciate Geoffrey Unsworth's cinematography and Anne V. Coates' editing, as well. We can discuss the value of specific elements, and how much we think they do or do not fit as they present, but the very least that can be said is that the feature is very good. The exact level of esteem with which one is inclined to regard this will vary, and for my part I'm not especially enthusiastic, but it remains well worth checking out. Whether one has a special impetus to watch or is just looking for a good time, 'Murder on the Orient Express' holds up fairly well, with the caveat that some bits and bobs won't necessarily meet with the same favor.

Ever the age-old question when a new release quickly flounders and earns a poor reputation: how bad could it be? After a certain point it's not enough to read about such works, and we have to see them for ourselves. While this was the first full-length feature for director S. J. Clarkson, she has enjoyed a full career in television. Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless' screenplay for 2016's 'Gods of Egypt' notably had its issues, though it wasn't the biggest problem in that film, and anyway I remember enjoying their work on 'The last witch hunter.' Whatever one thinks of other movies they've been in, there are some fairly respected actors here. And on the one hand, while Sony's live-action superhero fare has been met with mixed reception, it's not like they're totally incompetent - after all, they've churned out two of the best superhero flicks ever made in 'Into the Spider-Verse' and 'Across the Spider-Verse.' All this is to say that at least based on its building blocks, 'Madame Web' probably had chances that were just about even. Unfortunately, once we sit to watch, in no time the viewing experience becomes rather laborious, and with a runtime of nearly two hours, one thing we have to be thankful for is that this isn't longer like too many of its kin.

I suppose it's possible that if someone is an especial fan of comic book movies then this might meet with more favor in their eyes. By the same token, I pretty well tired of action blockbusters a few years ago, and just completely gave up on the "Marvel Cinematic Universe" in 2018, so maybe I'm more prone to harsh judgment of a like-minded title. In absolute fairness, I see the potential that this had. While it's flush with superhero flavors, the core narrative is a thriller about precognitive visions and the protection of three young people who will important in the future; other pieces have played in this space to swell success. Some intended humor actually does earn a laugh. Clarkson's direction is technically competent, I find no fault with the actors in and of themselves, and this is well made from the standpoint of all those contributions from behind the scenes: stunts, effects, computer-generated imagery, costume design, hair, makeup, cinematography, editing, sound, Johan Söderqvist's original score, and so on and so on. All this is well and good, so what is it that troubles 'Madame Web?' However skilled the participants may be in and of themselves, their efforts here were guided by questionable creative choices, and above all, this film is woefully heavy-handed, and in no time becomes all too exhausting.

I am someone who loves watching pictures. I'll watch almost anything, and it's how I spend the majority of my free time. Too often this picture feels like a personal attack on me as a cinephile; I intermittently had to pause for several minutes to collect myself just because I felt overwhelmed by the presentation. From the opening scene onward, far more than not the writing is gawkily forthright and unsubtle, and oppressively emphatic - in its exposition, dialogue, scene writing, characterizations, the plot and its development, contemporary references and allusions to the early 2000s setting, nods to broader comic book lore, and too much of the humor (that is, those bits that don't land). I don't know where the culpability lies between Sazama, Sharpless, Clarkson, and co-writer Claire Parker, but the incidence is all too notable. That same gawky, forthright, unsubtle, oppressive, emphatic tack is subsequently applied to or infects a great deal of other facets throughout the runtime: the soundtrack, the acting, Clarkson's orchestration of scenes as director, Mauro Fiore's cinematography, Leigh Folsom Boyd's editing, the CGI, action sequences, the manner in which Cassie's visions are employed, the more fantastical costume designs, and more. Even in some quieter moments, like a "confrontation" early in the latter half between Cassie and Ezekiel, 'Madame Web' is a lot to take in and try to process, and not in a good way.

It's not wholly rotten. More than not I think the root story is fine and interesting. There are some nice touches here and there, kernels of welcome earnestness, and some admirable themes and bigger ideas. While the entirety does force the actors into some small corners, in the best moments where their abilities shine through I think the cast go a long way in making the feature palatable. The more judicious and mindful instances of editing and CGI are excellent, even where Cassie's visions are concerned, and likewise the other odds and ends; the filming locations and sets are generally splendid. Reading about the production I find myself pleased with the consideration and hard work that accordingly went into it in various ways, and I appreciate the sentiment, indicated in early press releases from Sony, that the endeavor would be a slightly different type of superhero flick, more of a "suspense-driven thriller." Even with loads of action that tenor truly is brought to bear in my opinion, a refreshing change of pace from the overbearing popcorn flicks of Marvel and DC, and I'd even go so far as to say that 'Madame Web' is surely stronger in its second half; it seems apparent that there comes a point where more care was taken, and my favor is restored to some degree. I see what the title genuinely does well.

I don't think this is absolutely awful. I think the harder it tries, and the more grandiose it tries to be, especially at the climax, the more it stumbles. The more it steps away from the "suspense-driven thriller" and toward "superhero action blockbuster," the more it struggles; the more it layers on the sentimentality (not least in the denouement), the more it raises a skeptical eyebrow. There is, in fact, a decent amount of value here, yet through to the end it remains true that wide swaths of the viewing experience are sadly gawky, forthright, unsubtle, oppressive, and emphatic. Listen, I love The Cranberries, but the use of their song over the end credits literally made me cringe. 'Madame Web' is a rickety roller coaster from desperately heavy-handed for a preponderance of the first hour, to more reserved and thoughtful in a fair stretch of the second half, and regrettably, back to desperately heavy-handed in its last few scenes. Had all gone well with this production, and had it been uniformly approached in the same measured fashion, I think I would have very much liked this, and maybe even looked forward to future stories with these characters. As it stands, I want to like the result more than I do, but I'm having difficulty mustering further kind feelings. I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do; for those who engage honestly with it, and step away disliking it even more, I understand. When all is said and done I can't bring myself to hate 'Madame Web' - I'm just sorry that everyone involved took a swing, made some miscalculations, and missed, with disastrous consequences. My best wishes for all who had a hand in this, and may they bounce back and/or redeem themselves in due course.