Review: Call Me By Your Name

Call Me By Your Name (2017) - Luca Guadgagnino

       I have been putting off writing this review for a few days now, and I'm not entirely sure why. I suppose, on some level, I am intimidated by the idea of reviewing this movie, and not just because it's sooooooo great (it is a very good movie) and I don't want to get gushy. It's something more elusive. Call Me By Your Name is a beautiful film filled with gorgeous imagery, caring performances, and unbelievably well-crafted characters. This movie is extremely intimate and personal, so much so it's almost like I shouldn't even be watching it. It has the quality of making you feel like you're quietly spying on two people falling in love over the course of a summer. It's a quiet film of the utmost captivation, and one's response to the film is dependent entirely on how emotionally you attach yourselves to the characters involved. Personally, I had a strong reaction watching this movie, and putting it into categories of "good" and "bad" (partially useless because it's all very good) are even more unnecessary because this movie is all about mood, atmosphere, and honest feeling.
       TL;DR this movie is great and heartbreaking.

        The film takes place somewhere in Northern Italy (the exact location never specified, giving the story a kind of ethereal feeling from the beginning, as if it could be anywhere and nowhere, an impossibly beautiful setting where everyone is gorgeous and speaks seven languages), in the summer of 1983. The time period, like most of the movie, really, is a quietly curious little detail. It certainly shapes some of the style of the story, but for the most part it could take place any time. But it adds an interesting depth that is below a thin, Richard Butler-y layer. Timothee Chalamet stars as Elio, seventeen-years-old, extremely intelligent and piano ingenue but perceptively quiet, while he and his family of professors and prodigies are vacationing in practically unrealistically beautiful Italy, like they do every year. And like every year, his father (Michael Stuhlbarg) has a college student/research assistant from the states stay with them. This year it's Armie Hammer's Oliver, Adonis-sexy and impossibly sculptured, if not a bit aloof to the point of impolite.
       And basically everyone just has a nice summer and they're all friends and then it's over.
       Haha, of course not, people start fuckin'. And it's pretty hot.

      The point is, the plot that follows is barely there and whatever is is barely worth describing. What matters is the slow, almost cautious atmosphere the movie creates around these two characters, who despite their palpable (and did I mention hot?) attraction to each other, are confused by their own emerging sexuality and the ever-present pressure of societal norms (more on that later).
      While Stuhlbarg and Hammer give amazing turns, the movie belongs to Timothee Chalamet's Elio, who has the difficult job of being simultaneously quiet, engaging, surprising, and relatable. On paper it might seem tough, but Chalamet (who's only 22) sells it so well. He has angst with never seeming angsty, and he imbues every scene he's in with a kind of precocious naivete. He's crazy smart, but he realizes how young he is, but in realizing how young he is once again proves how smart he is. But at the same time he's confused, anxious, a little bit scared--oh yeah--a fucking teenager. Exactly.
       The almost lackadaisical pacing of the film never feels boring for a moment, thanks in large part to the absolutely gorgeous cinematography and direction. I wrote a review recently for All the Money in the World (don't see it, but do read my review!), a movie that also takes place in Italy, and I complained about how muted and grimy every shot in that movie was. A few days later I was so goddamn pleased to see this movie and how dazzlingly it treated the scenery of the dreamy Northern Italy landscapes.

       I make jokes about the sexiness of the movie (cuz that's what I do, I make jokes, also, hot damn Armie Hammer dude, he is one of those hot-ass water statues they done dug up in the sexy ocean), but it also has a very subtle air of heartbreak surrounding it. Not in a way that makes the movie sad, exactly, just in a bittersweet kind of way. I love so much that the movie never makes Elio or Oliver's sexuality the focal point of their love. It's not compelling because they're gay, it's compelling because they are both (Elio in particular) discovering things about themselves they didn't know where there before. It would have been easy to add a crying, disappointed old-world Grandma shaming Elio for wanting to be with a man, but it doesn't do that at all. It's heartbreaking because we know it's not going to last. We know from the beginning Oliver isn't staying long. We know that Elio is only seventeen and there's no way this kind of relationship will sustain itself, even if Elio doesn't know that. Regardless of your preference or personal history of relationships, everyone, ev-er-ee-one, can relate to that exquisite, stupid pain we all felt when we were teenagers and realized something wasn't going to last forever. This movie is that bottled up, nostalgic and sad and beautiful, wrapped up in a fucking gorgeous countryside setting.

Grade: 5 cum-filled nectarines

Random Thoughts:

• I'm supposed to believe Armie Hammer is Jewish? Shyeah-right, that dude is the waspiest, blue-eyest, blonde-hairest Aryan-est looking dude on Earth. He didn't just play one Winklevoss he PLAYED TWO OF THEM. Dude's a Protestant or something fursure.
• Michael Stuhlbarg might be my favorite non-Michael Shannon actor working in Hollywoo right now. Which is another reason why you should all go see Shape of Water. Fuck, I love that flick. 

Review: Darkest Hour

Darkest Hour (2017) - Joe Wright

       The first scene of Darkest Hour is a wide crane shot over the floor of English Parliament in 1939, the day that Neville Chamberlain resigned as Prime Minister. It's a fine shot that very elegantly shows a bunch of old-ass, wrinkled white men gently shouting at each other in British politeness. "How dare you! Well how dare you sir!" Ugh. This was my first red flag: Old white men surrounded by more old white men doing not only old white men things but BRITISH old white men things. UGH. Then my second red flag came mere seconds later when I reminded myself, "Holy fucking shit. How many times are they going to keep telling this same fucking story over and over and over again?" British integrity! Decorum! Parliament! Churchill! Cigars! Difficult decisions about the honor of our noble Empire! Fuuuuuuck you.
       Look, I get that WWII was a pivotal point in the history of what created our modern world, and I definitely hate Nazis as much as any American--cough, well, okay nevermind, but still, you get it. But why, why, WHY are British and American filmmakers alike so obsessed with celebrating how great we did at shoving it to the fascists 80 years ago? Is it because we feel guilty about not doing as good a job at it anymore (ha, no)? Is it because old white filmmakers are desperately trying to prove the white man's diminishing relevance in today's world (ha, yes). No matter the intention behind showing us the same fucking story over and over again, it has, without a doubt, lost its oomph.

       Did you know the King George VI had a stutter? I did, because I watched it exhaustively portrayed in The King's Speech (that movie sucks). Did you know Churchill was a somewhat-despised-by-his-own party-grump, who, against all odds, succeeded in uniting the British government against the inevitable onslaught of the German forces? I did, because I watched the first season of The Crown last year (that show is actually pretty good, but thank Christ, John Lithgow's Churchill is just a supporting player to Claire Foy's much more interesting Queen Elizabeth). So why-oh-why does this movie even exist if not for any reason other than to get a famous British actor to put on hours worth of fat makeup and snatch up an Academy Award for being one of the BRAVEST WHITE MEN IN BRITISH HISTORY? There isn't any. There is no other reason for this movie to exist, and even then it still serves to show the Godly greatness of old white patriarchal politicians. I reiterate: Fuck you.
       Is the movie well made? I mean, sure, yeah. Is it well directed? Yeah, Joe Wright (of better, albeit painfully British movies like Atonement) knows how to stage a scene and get some good shots. Is Gary Oldman good as Churchill? Of course, Gary Oldman does a great, two-hour long impersonation and is unrecognizable as Winston (although, I genuinely feel most of that credit should go to the make-up artists, who no one really actually gives a shit about. I believe David Malinowski is the key makeup artist for Oldman, but IMDB is not very clear on this), but forgive me if I'm not so fucking shocked and in awe of a veteran British actor of great esteem being able to do a prolonged impression of one of the most famous and most imitable figures in British history. John Lithgow ain't British and did it amazingly a year ago. I could copy and paste every actor you've heard of who's played Churchill but it would take up the rest of this review. This movie does not need to exist. They even keep talking about the forces at Dunkirk, ANOTHER MOVIE MADE THIS YEAR THAT WAS ACTUALLY EXCITING. Uuuuuugh, I didn't realize how much this movie annoyed me until I started writing this review. Hah, this must be what all women who finally sleep with me must feel!

        It doesn't even tell a particularly interesting facet of Churchill's career. The movie takes place during the first month or so of his Prime Ministry, where he was contentiously chosen to take the place of Neville Chamberlain against his own parties wishes, because they wanted Stannis Baratheon-- sorry, something-something Halifax--aw fuck it I'm just gonna call him Stannis, to take the position, which he declined for reasons I don't remember, but were surely very British. Should Churchill be open to the idea of peace-talks with Italy and Germany in exchange for agreeable post-war terms? Or should they....not? It's a tricky situation, surely, and one that Churchill grumpily yells about for almost two hours before deciding to take the tube and ask the common people what they think. Christ. Well there he is quickly reassured that little girls and apparently the only black person in England are "totally on yuh soide, Proime Ministah! We loave ya! Aye!" It's shmaltzy farts and I won't stand for it. Then he goes in front of Parliament and (spoiler alert, fart noise) everyone agrees with him! Why didn't he just take the fucking subway at the start of the movie? Sorry Stannis. I wish Brienne of Tarth woud've been there to kill you when the flick began.

        But behind every great man is a great woman, right? At least we can have a strong female character in the mix, right? Well not here! We do have Kristen Scott Thomas and Lily Collins as Churchill's wife and secretary respectively, but they serve to do nothing other than show the audience just what a gentle and caring fucker this old fuck really is. Lily Collins, who is lovely and has a great energy about her as an actor, doesn't get to do a single thing the whole movie except follow Oldman around and look amazed by every time he fucking farts or chugs a whiskey. Good lord, we get it, WHITE MEN DO EVERYTHING AND ARE THE BEST. Have I mentioned 'fuck you' in this review, yet?
       This movie is blatant awards bate and it doesn't need to exist. Churchill was probably (read: probably not) a decent man who did a lot for Britain and for the world during a difficult time in the world's history (probably, maybe, probably not, not really), but we do not need more films about him. We have fully exhausted the golden age of World War II films where we heroically stood up to the Nazis. Now we're just going to have to wait until 2025 when there's a new group of heroic white people who save us from the Alt-Right. Goddamnit.

Grade: Who knows. Or cares. Read a history book or something.

Review: Molly's Game

Molly's Game (2017) - Aaron Sorkin

         As a general rule, I hate it when reviews automatically start by referencing the other works of the directors, screenwriters, actors, etc. I don't think it's fair to put so much pressure on the filmmakers previous body of work as a form of dictating what we should feel about whatever this newest, reviewable piece of work is (Please don't go back through my previous reviews to see how often I've done this. I'm not gonna do it, so neither should you. Looove you). Yes, obviously, sometimes it can help set up a certain context for what you're about to see, but often it seems like lazy reviewing to me (And clearly I'm such an ingenue of the reviewing game). Well goddamn it all if I can't do the exact opposite of preaching what I sow (is that a saying?), but it's virtually impossible to review the new film, Molly's Game, the first directorial debut of long time screenwriter of walking and talking, Aaron Sorkin, without discussing his larger body of work. Sure, you can enjoy the film on its own merits, because it's overall a well-made and engaging film, but it's also the most Aaron Sorkiest thing Aaron Sorkin has ever Sorkined. Sometimes you just to have to strap yourself in and smell your own dirty fingertips (is that a saying?).

        Aaron Sorkin is the screenwriter behind A Few Good Men, The West Wing, The Social Network, Moneyball, and similar others. If you're not familiar, all those projects have this in common: Everyone talks fast. So fast. Everyone is the most clever person you've ever heard speak. Every conversation is an intellectual dual where everyone is trying to be the most charmingly coy fuck ever born. Everything is done with a small, sardonic wink, the characters (who are all just idealized versions of how Aaron Sorkin wishes humans spoke, because trust me, they do not speak this way in real life) always nodding to the audience, almost as an in-joke about how much smarter they are than the rest of world. It honestly takes a while to get used to how Sorkin-y he can get, and even when you do, it doesn't mean it's always great. Sometimes it is (The Social Network), and it's used to further the characters and narrative in a meaningful way. Sometimes, however, it's less successful (Moneyball) and it just serves to show unpleasant people not only being unpleasant but also totally fucking know-it-all-y at the same time (how many bullshit adjectives can I invent for this review? I might reach Sorkanistic levels of bullshit!) At best he's very clever, and at worst he creates non-humans that not even aliens would want to anally probe.

       Okay, okay, so how does this all factor into Molly's Game, the true(ish) story of Molly Bloom, the runner of one of LA's biggest underground poker games, packed to the gills with actors and other big celebrities, before moving to New York and getting accidentally mixed up with the Russian mafia and arrested as part of a widespread RICO charge? Well it's important, because not only did Aaron Sorkin adapt the screenplay from Molly Bloom's book, but for the first time in his feverishly sly career, he also directed the flick as well. And honestly? It's good. It's quite good. It's also SO Aaron Sorkin it almost collapses under its witty banter, all-too-clever repertoire, and never-ending slapshot-speed narration.
       But it doesn't collapse. And a lot of that is because Jessica Chastain is the greatest.
       The movie has some missteps along the way (which I'll get to), but Jessica Chastain's protrayal of the titular Molly never gets too precious or clever, despite Sorkin's nonstop barrage of geniuses talking quickly at you. She's strong and doesn't take your shit, but still finds a way to express a sense of humor that isn't too smug (which is essentially Sorkin's number one speed). You not only enjoy watching Chastain get deeper and deeper into Molly Bloom's semi-seedy yet extravagant poker life, you understand the choices she's making. She's one of the most relatable Sorkin characters to ever grace the screen, regardless of her ultra-intelligence and Olympic skiing background. Aaron Sorkin did a great job writing and a good job directing this movie, but including Chastain as its key acting collaborator was possibly the best moves he made.

       The writing is exactly what you'd thing from a Sorkin movie (if you've never seen a movie written by Aaron Sorkin and are still reading this review, you are the greatest person I have ever met and you don't deserve this shitty of a review), so then what about the directing? Considering his movies and shows are so often written like plays, with long monologue following long monologue, I was a little surprised at how he chose to shoot the film: Everything is shot so tight and close, almost always framing everything as near to the actor's faces as the cameras would allow. With so much dialogue so rapidly shooting back and forth it seemed strange to isolate the characters in their own wide frames so often, but there are plenty of times during the film it works (during poker scenes where characters are clearly at odds with each other, or when her and Idris Elba's lawyer character first meet to establish his distrust of her), but there are other parts where it comes off a bit shaky and overly dramatic. There is one scene in particular, a scary scene of violence that I don't want to discuss in detail, but suffice it to say the close-ups come off as hacky and blurry in a very silly kind of way that robs the scene of some of its agency.

I am so fucking attractive.

        There are also some parts that get, as I mentioned before, So Sorkined out that it's almost dumb. A silly, last-minute reconnection with her father (played admirably by Kevin Costner), who pushed Molly to the extremes her whole childhood, and is supposedly a brilliant therapist, tells her he's going to "give her three years of therapy in three minutes." It's the most blatant piece of screenwriting in the whole movie, and it's utterly ridiculous. But even that scene ends on such a sincere, moving moment of utter parenting that I can't even knock the whole thing. In the end it all basically works.

        Sorkin's dialogue always makes for great, scene-chewing performances, and Molly's Game doesn't disappoint (Idris Elba and Michael Cera give great, quick performances that hold their own with Chastain's Molly). Regardless of the schmaltzy ending, or the too-sweet moments between characters that could never quite exist in real life, Aaron Sorkin makes such a strong and valiant case for why this type of story should come from someone like him. The film simultaneously has the excitement and quickness of a good poker movie, but still stays close enough to the protagonist's POV that it remains a dramatically successful film. And let's face it: Jessica Chastain kicks fucking ass.

Grade: 8 out of 10 Michael-Cera-Tobey-Maguires.

(PS. It's totally Tobey Maguire. That guy's a dick.)

Gross.

Review: All the Money in the World

All the Money in the World (2017) - Ridley Scott

       All the Money in the World tells the true-ish story of J. Paul Getty, oil tycoon and the world's first billionaire, whose grandson, Paul Getty III, was kidnapped in Rome in 1973. He was held captive for almost half a year before...there was a conclusion of sorts (my reviews are like pick-up trucks, spoiler freeeeeeeee). What follows, however, is not a kidnapping thriller. It's barely a family drama, and it's certainly not an exploration into the nature of greed in our American culture. What could have, on paper, seemed like an interesting movie, is instead just a frustrating two plus hours of stupid people being assholes. The basic plot points were set in stone, and instead of actually trying to understand any of these characters choices, Ridley Scott is much interested in having everyone speak in aggrandizing speeches, almost like they knew everything they were going to say was going to appear in a movie trailer.
         OH YEAH. And then there was the whole, "The star of my movie turned out to be a predatory monster so instead of canceling it or pushing it back I will just reshoot every scene with a new actor," issue (you know, that old shtick). I don't want to spend a lot of this review talking about the horrifying behavior of Kevin Spacey and the production difficulties that faced the film crew once it was discovered, but suffice it to say when I spend most of the movie reflecting on how crazy it was that they had to reshoot so much of the movie so quickly instead of actually thinking about what was happening on the screen, that's not a great sign for your movie. (And to be totally parenthesis honest, it was the main reason I even wanted to see this movie. Ugh, fuck you Kevin Spacey, you fucking piece of shit.)

       Paul Getty (played very well by non-pedophile Christopher Plummer) was as famous for being rich as he was for being a miser. He installed a phone booth in his mansion that he made people pay to use. So when his teenage grandson (Charlie Plummer) is kidnapped in Rome, it's unsurprising that he's hesitant to pay the 17 million dollar ransom. Getty says it's because he doesn't want to put his other grandchildren at risk, but it's very evidently clear it's because paying that much wouldn't be tax deductible. This is kind of a fascinating concept, especially now in 2017 with a certain tax-cut poised to change the face of how the rich can save their money, but its never explored more than, "He's a rich asshole!" Which, honestly, we already know that about rich people, from movies and in real life. The movie kind of shoots itself in the foot from the gate: It's either going to just say the same things we already know, or it's going to try and find meaning in places that don't exist. Unluckily for us, the movie basically does both.
       What follows is Getty's former daughter-in-law, Abigail Harris (Michelle Williams) trying her best to get her son back with the help of Fletcher Chase (Mark Wahlberg), who is Getty's...business associate? Lawyer? Beer pong bro? They might mention his actual title in the movie but I sure can't remember it. He's basically a fixer, but he's not any fucking good at it. In fact, no one in this movie is good at anything except making big important speeches. It's seriously the stupidest kidnapping case I have ever seen perpetrated. Every kidnapper is an idiot. The first third of the movie is basically about how the Calabrian criminals who kidnap the unlucky teen keep forgetting to put their masks on, allowing the hostage to see their faces. I'm not kidding, it happens three different times with three different kidnappers. Pick another profession, idiots, one that lets you have your face out in open air.

       But the cops are stupid too. Michelle Williams is pretty idiotic, and Mark Wahlberg (which I gotta admit, I love it when they cast him as an intellectual type who wears glasses. It's like watching a 'roided up tyrannosaurus rex interpretive dance a Ted Talk about the subjective nature of memory) doesn't really do anything other than deliver exposition and incessantly say the title of the movie. Did you know Getty has...ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD?!
        When the script isn't so far up its own ass with speeches no real human would ever give (when you become super rich you only speak in cryptic monologues, I guess), there are some good performances to be had, especially by Plummer and Williams. Plummer is appropriately terrifying, instilling more fear than any of the kidnappers can ever muster. And while I never quite like her character, Williams is very good. She has a great vocal affectation, kind of Jackie O-like, that makes her heavy moments of emotional dread subtle and exciting. But other than that, the movie is just kind of flat. Especially visually: It's an ugly movie. It's all washed out in muted sepia and tints of blue. Everything looks dull and boring. And, like, shit guys, you're filming in Italy, an objectively beautiful (if not terrifyingly aggressive) country that's vibrant with life and color. I don't know why Ridley Scott decided to not shoot any of that. Maybe it's supposed to mirror the ugliness of Getty's greed? Sounds nice, but I'm sure that's not it. Instead the movie's just ugly.

         The movie is simultaneously boring and tries too hard to drum up excitement and drama in scenes that are so obviously manufactured and unreal. In one of the movie's last scenes there's a chase between four different groups of people in a town that is for some reason completely abandoned except for the aforementioned people involved in the chase. It does not make any sense. It's more ridiculous and fake than the escape scene in Argo where a bunch of Iranian soldiers are chasing a commercial flight down a runway in military trucks.
        The character resolutions are all surface level and unsatisfying. And after a non-exhaustive Wikipedia check, turns out to be chronologically bullshit. And hey, I don't care if a movie doesn't stick to its real-life counterpoint beat for beat, but if you're going to change things, it should be for a reason. Not so you can have people say grand and exquisite things in unrealistic situations. In the end its a competently made movie about incompetent people. But hey, at least there were no pedophiles in it!

Grade: 3.3 out of 17 million dollars in ransom. Plus one Christopher Plummer!

See, what this poster PRESUPPOSES is...What if Kevin Spacey weren't a piece of trash?

Review: Downsizing

Downsizing (2017) - Alexander Payne

       What happens throughout a person's life to make them feel unfulfilled? Is it because of the choices they make, or is it due to circumstances outside their control? What can a person even do in this day and age to try and get themselves out of these existential pitfalls? Is it money? Is it personal happiness and growth? Is it making a difference in the world? Also, what about the world? Isn't it our duty to try our best to preserve the ultimate gift of our planet for future generations? And let's say we do somehow make the scientific advancements necessary to save the environment and the entire Earth, is it our duties as human citizens to work together to try and improve the world? But what about improving the world on a micro level as well as a macro level? Also, wait...What if the entire world is ending?! What should we do then?! Or, or, what about the illegal smuggling of products to foreign nations? Huh?! IF THIS PARAGRAPH IS STRESSING YOU OUT THAT IS COMPLETELY UNDERSTANDABLE. All of these ideas (and more!) are at least, on some level, brought up (I definitely won't go as far as to say 'explored') in Alexander Payne's new sci-fi drama marketed as a quirky comedy, Downsizing. The movie has A LOT of ideas, and while it kinda mucks its way through most of it, parts (one part, really) of this movie were done so well and so honestly that the movie almost kind of works. Almost. Kind of.
       Matt Damon stars as Paul Safranek, the absolute epitome of "life didn't turn out the way I thought it would." He had to drop out of med school to take care of his mom with fibromyalgia, he still lives in his too-small childhood home, works as an occupational therapist at Omaha Steaks (the closest he could get to being a surgeon), and constantly feels like he's not giving his wife (Kristen Wiig) all she deserves. Well wouldn't ya know it, there just might be a cure! It turns out that in Norway a doctor (Jorgen Januss Jorgensun--I'm kidding that's not a real name but it practically is because Norway) has discovered a way to shrink all organic matter to roughly 5% of its original size, including humans. Matt Damon's high school classmate (a particularly smarmy Jason Sudeikis) has undergone the process, known as, you guessed, small-makering--I'm joking it's called Downsizing, and helps convince Damon to take the leap to a being small, where his money is worth hundreds more and everyone gets to live a life of miniature luxury.

       This is all novel enough, I guess. It's not an awful idea (and one I would have been much more excited about if I hadn't seen the same fucking trailer with the same fucking Talking Heads song over and over and over and over and over). The movie certainly seems pretty pleased with itself for the first forty-five minutes or so as well. Could you change your life by shrinking down to 5 inches tall and living in luxury? There are some really great visuals as Matt Damon undergoes the shrinking process, and there is an emotional turn or two (once again, that were just fucked to death by the trailers), but the movie really fucking drags to get started. I was fairly bored, mostly finding solace in watching Damon looking slightly fatter than he usually does. Of course you can't change your life by simply moving, even if it is to a miniature paradise where you're roughly the size of a flaccid penis. We already knew this.
        The movie legitimately doesn't matter until Ngoc Lan Tran (Hong Chau) arrives. She's a semi-famous Vietnamese protester who was arrested for her demonstrations and wrongly imprisoned for years before being wounded in a bombing attack, losing her leg, and being downsized against her will as punishment. She is rescued and sent to Leisure Land for rehabilitation, and there she works tirelessly as a cleaning lady to help the more impoverished small people living in large, dirty apartment projects outside the comfortable paradise of actual Leisure Land. Damon meets her as she's cleaning his slimy European neighbor's (played by Christoph Waltz, the human epitome of slimy European), and while helping her with her prosthetic leg (because he's an occupational therapist, you see), but instead ends up helping her literally feed the hungry and help heal the sick, due to her brash, almost rude tenacity.

       If this movie works at all, and a lot of it doesn't, it's 100% because of Hong Chau, who creates such a three-dimensional character out of what could so easily have been an offensive fucking caricature. Ngoc Lan is Vietnamese, and she is from Vietnam (the actress who plays her is from Vietnam's neighbor in SE Asia, Thailand). Therefore, she has broken English. She is also hardworking and dedicated to the point of myopia, ignoring her own health problems stemming from her missing leg and poor prosthetic. Now I am certainly not a female from Southeast Asia and don't pretend to know their plight, but the character of Ngoc Lan is not a simplified hero for our white protagonist to save. She also in no way needs Damon's Safranek to accomplish what she wants, and she sure as fuck doesn't need him to tell her what to do. It's actually the exact opposite: Matt Damon is basically a fucking mess without her. She is a strong person, a woman who understands how important it is to see the world around you and try your best to make it better, no matter what. She isn't concerned with existential crises or trying your hardest to be happy. But she's not a savior either, and she's not here to teach us lessons. She has emotions and desires and needs just like every other human, big or small. I honestly cannot believe that this movie was able to create such an interesting, complex character.
       She's so great in it, in fact, she makes you realize just how quickly the rest of the movie is bullshit. Downsizing, just like Matt Damon's publicist, has a Matt Damon problem. It's not that he's bad, per se, it's just that his character is meaningless when compared to Ngoc Lan, who has actual agency and wants to change things. Considering he's the main character of the whole movie, Matt Damon's character doesn't actually make many choices. Things just happen around him. And yes, I understand that is part of the point of the character, but it does not make for the most compelling character.

       The movie brings up so many possible philosophical debates but doesn't really have answers for any of them. Part of that is refreshing, because I definitely don't want to try and watch Payne and his co-writer Jim Taylor try and tell us what to think about environmentalism, classism, poverty, political protest, the literal end of humanity (this movie really bites off more than it can chew), and part of it is noodle-scratchy because they didn't have to try and tackle that much. Especially considering it's a "comedy" that isn't really very "funny." (Ngoc Lan gets the most laughs, and not because of her accent, but because she is a real character with pathos and doesn't dig bullshit). The movie basically should have started and ended with her (with maybe just a little bit of Christohp Waltz in there for slimy European measure). Downsizing was not a great film, but Hong Chau's Ngoc Lan Tran was fantastic in it.

Grade: 2.5 Tiny Matt Damons

Review: Pitch Perfect 3

Pitch Perfect 3 (2017) - Trish Sie

       The first Pitch Perfect movie came out over five years ago, and it was a modestly charming little comedy about finding your voice (I'm vomiting typing that, it was an intentional barf-comment) and sharing your passion with the people who are important to you. Somehow, the fact that it was about acapella singing didn't make it the most annoying thing in the world (unlike actual acapella singing, which is objectively the worst thing ever invented after racism and PT Cruisers), and I was super surprised to find that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Then three years later they made a sequel that no one really asked for, but was still...kinda good! It had a few too many racist stereotype jokes and certainly wasn't necessary, but it kept these same (mostly) likable characters and had a enough of a handle on the music/singing sequences that it still worked, even if there was a diminishing return beginning.
       And now here we are, capping out the trilogy that DEFINITELY nobody asked for! And all the characters you kind of remember are back! There's Becca (Anna Kendrick), Fat Amy (Rebel Wilson), um...the one who loves singing a lot (Brittany Snow), the really uptight one who barfed in the first one (Anna Camp? I wanna say? I don't feel like IMDBing it right now, sorry), and all the rest that filled out the rest of the Barden Bellas, the premier female acapella singing group in the country (hahaha, that's not a thing). Only this time they're all graduated and living in the real world, having a rougher time of it than they anticipated, so they get back together for one more job! One last score! One...final...jobber! For some reason!

        Let me be very clear from the start (if you consider third paragraphs the start): Pitch Perfect 3 is an incredibly stupid movie. The plot is nonsensical, but it doesn't matter in the slightest because the movie is only barely interested in creating an actual narrative. It's much more interested in showing us Becca magically sampling music beats together to make good (?) songs and Fat Amy's murdering/drug dealer father who kidnaps the Bellas to get control of the 180 million dollars Amy has in an off-shore bank account in the Caymen Islands. Also the father is John Lithgow and he has an Australian accent. I promise I know how stupid these previous sentences sound. And yet, goddamn-it-all to hell if I didn't find this stupid little movie about acapella singing that isn't actually about acapella singing at all anymore pretty fun and charming.
        Sometimes movies can get by on ineffable charm and sweet interactions from its lead. That doesn't mean all movies SHOULD do that, but if it can then I say go with it. Anna Kendrick is always likable, giving a wry deadpan that helps make the ridiculous excitement of all the other characters more relatable. Rebel Wilson is doing the one thing she keeps doing, but for some weird reason it hasn't worn off on me (it probably should, I get it, she's fat, I think they've mentioned it before). This time the Bellas are traveling around Europe (I'm pretty sure they did that in the last one too? Once again, however, I am not going to IMDB this to find out) touring with a USO show for the troops, and at the end of the tour one of the three groups opening for DJ Khaled (Is that a real person? I've already made it clear I will not unearth any of this information myself) will be offered a music deal. Will it be the Bellas? Will Becca get her big break?!

       Who cares!? Like I said, this isn't really a movie about singing anymore. Instead, let's have John Lithgow show up and kidnap the Bellas while Fat Amy has to go on a rescue mission to save them from Lithgow's yacht and essentially kill half a dozen unnamed henchmen in the process, fighting kung fu and doing back flips and shit. It is SO stupid. They DO however, sing Toxic by Britney Spears to help distract the evil guys long enough to let Amy save the day! (This movie is SO idiotic, I almost kind of revere it). But even though it's ridiculousness never ends, the movie still does a decent job with all the songs and musical sequences (these movies have always done these well), and most importantly, actually cares about its characters while at the same time making fun of them for loving acapella so much. (In fact, part of the reason these movies have worked at all from the beginning is it does NOT take instrumentless singing very seriously at all. Its ability to poke fun at itself has always been one the series' best traits. Self-awareness is what made me fall in love with C-Tates, after all).
        If you haven't seen and enjoyed the previous two installments, don't bother with this one. Even if you DID, you can probably still skip this flick. It's been advertised as "The Final Chapter" in this truly magnanimous trilogy, and even while I enjoyed it for what it was, I truly hope it is the last. If they make a fourth (which I know I would still see because I am incorrigible) I think it would actively make me a stupider person during the run-time. Like, I'd leave the theatre and forget what gerunds are. But for now, I'll take fun and dumb.

Movie Grade: Six Australian John Lithgows.

Review: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017) - Jake Kasdan

     Whoooooo! Sequel tiiiiiime! Let's do itttttttttttt! Jumanji, you guys! Remember that kind of weird, not great showcase of CGI that came out something like 20 years ago, that was about a board game?! Robin Williams was in it, cuz he was a guy who was alive?! Everyone! Remember?! THERE WERE MONKEYS AND SHIT! THEY STOLE A COP CAR!

       Is this what cocaine-fueled movie executives at Sony thought the average movie-goer was thinking? Why did this movie get the blatant sequel grab (Oh yeah, money) even get made (MONEY)? Because, and trust me on this, the original idea of Jumanji was indeed properly mined before 2017. It was mined, emptied, turned upside down and patted to get all the nooks and crannies out. But hoo boy! That won't stop snow-nosed movie fucks from cramming Dwayne Johnson in it and hoping that alone will be enough to make a decent flick!

        It wasn't! It was a bad movie!

        The new Jumanji flick, Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, is not a well-made or decent movie, its biggest issue being that it never quite justifies its reasons for existing. It's banal to the point of eye-rolling. Firstly, they just figured that making it a video game and constantly referencing Instagram would make it 2017 saavy, but it only succeeds in a weird, "this is what movie execs seem to think" kind of way. It's like watching your parents write a high school script. Which, yuck.

       Jumanji (in the funniest/stupidest scene in the movie), which is a board game that makes crazy jungle shit go down (in case you needed a refresher, and trust me, you don't), is tired of being JUST a board game, so it hornily stares down a video game system (which even by 1996 standards is totally unrealistic and chronologically erroneous) and...eats it? Becomes it? Morphs into it using only the power of green lights? Who the fuck knows, it becomes a video game to entrap four new high schoolers into its zany hijink world instead of morphing the real world into a jungle-scape like the first one. That's the plot. There. You fuckers just made me reiterate the plot of Jumanji 2. Are you happy? I'm not. I've never been happy. 

      The nerd is nerdy! The girl nerd is girl nerdy! The bitchy girl is bitchy and the jock is jocky! Have you ever gone to high school for approximately four minutes? Congrats, you are emotionally equipped to write this film! But the personalities of these students isn't paramount, as after they quickly establish who is cool and who isn't (Selfies! Because 2017!) the kids are kicked the fuck out the scene to make way for the big name actors involved. Sooooo, okay. I will be kind for a second and state that Dwayne Johnson and Karen Gillan actually do a halfway decent job of imbuing their performances with the anxieties that plague their teenage, uncool selves. They are by far the best part of the movie, and let's face it, the Rock is always, 100% a welcome addition to any major motion experience. But the rest of this flick?

       Fridge, the jocky football player and tall black high schooler, sure didn't seem like he was just a bigger Kevin Hart before he was zapped into the game, but goddamnit all to fuck if that's not exactly how Kevin Hart plays it. It could be goddamn Dame Judi Dench morphing into Kevin Hart's body and that shitty comedian would have no recourse other than screaming loudly and shrilly at everything that happens. He's not a high schooler, he's a goddamn stunt. (Legit, I hate Kevin Hart, he is so annoying and takes every possible funny thing he has to say and kills it by SAYING IT SO LOUDLY). And then there's Jack Black, who is the hot Instagram girl transformed into his schlubby body. Jack Black does what he can, but it's tough to make a positive lasting impression when everything you say boils down to a quasi-creepy-teenage-gay joke and dick jokes. So many dicks jokes. A glut of dick jokes, you guys. Guys. Guys? There are so many dick jokes. Also, not that this REALLY matters, but the second the popular girl zaps into the video game she essentially changes her entire personality to better fit the Jack Black character. Oh wait, character growth IS really important? Well fuck, this movie must be pretty dumb, then.

        Also, there are so many dumb dick jokes. So. Many. Dumb. Dick Jokes.

       I get the overall message the movie has to say: Be the person you want to be. Sure, that's a nice thought, but it doesn't matter much when every problem is solved in a thirty second heart-to-heart about believing in yourself. "I can't do it." "Yes you can." "Okay." There, I just saved you sixteen dollars.  

       But honestly, none of these critiques would matter much if they had made an exciting or funny movie. Spoiler alert, they didn't! The comedy ins't funny and the action isn't exciting. What the fuck am I doing there? It looks like a CGI shit fest, the 8th best reviewed movie from the summer of 2002. The computer graphics for every animal looks just about as good as it did in 1996, but back then it was exciting, or quaint, or both, I'm not sure. The movie is ugly and its green screen chic robs all the action of any agency. If I can clearly imagine the dudes making the movie just drawing our characters out of danger, then why should I give a shit? The movie is a video game without any video game excitement. It just leaves a faint fart smell in the theatre. 

       I didn't like this movie. I wasn't expecting The goddamn Shape of Water (Ho my god I love that movie so much you guys I can't stop listening to the soundtrack by Alexander Desplat, that movie is so great and exciting and whimsical and lovely and Jesus can I just review that movie again?), but I promise it's not too much to expect a family holiday-timed action/comedy to be so devoid of joy. But nope. Just throw some CGI hippos and some Jack Black dick jokes and that's whatcha got: Jumanji: Welcome to the Shitty Jungle. 

Grade: 2 out of 5 shitty movies.