Month: November 2023

NEXT GOAL WINS (United Kingdom, 2023)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Taika Waititi
CAST: Michael Fassbender, Oscar Kightley, Kaimana, David Fane
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 41%

PLOT: In 2011, the literal world’s-worst soccer team from American Samoa gets a new coach one month before the next World Cup qualifiers.


In all the best ways imaginable, Next Goal Wins is a throwback to those countless formulaic sports movies of yore, from The Bad News Bears to Little Giants to Cool Runnings to The Mighty Ducks and beyond, right down to some of the songs used on the soundtrack. The underdog formula is nearly as old as film itself, and there have been many, many bad attempts at using it.  Where Next Goal Wins succeeds is in making the audience really care about the players and the coach before the big match.

Apparently, that’s not easy to do.  The list of films that get this basic concept wrong is long and undistinguished, from badly-thought-out sequels (Rocky V, Major League: Back to the Minors) to original concepts that crashed and burned (The Air Up There, The Babe).  In fact, there have been so many BAD sports films that I initially didn’t want to see Next Goal Wins.  But it’s from a director I admire, New Zealander Taika Waititi (Jojo Rabbit, Thor: Ragnarok), and the trailers made it look mildly interesting with its exotic setting in American Samoa.

After watching it, I am once again compelled to repeat Roger Ebert’s axiom: “It’s not what a movie is about, it’s how it is about it.”  The formula may be old, but Next Goal Wins executes it beautifully, like a textbook sliding tackle.

The story begins with a flashback to when the American Samoan national football team – that’s “soccer” to us Yanks – legendarily lost 31-0 to Australia in the first round of the 2001 World Cup qualifiers.  (The device for this flashback is a charming narration from Taika Waititi himself, playing a Samoan priest…or preacher…it’s not quite clear, but it’s pretty funny.)  Flash forward to 2011 when a down-on-his-luck soccer coach Thomas Rongen (Michael Fassbender) is given a take-it-or-leave-it offer to coach the American Samoan team…a team which, by the way, had never scored a single goal since its inception.  The existing coaching staff, along with the team’s devoted fans, are so beaten down by disappointment and defeat that they don’t even necessarily want a win.  They’ll take just a single goal in official competition.

(I should mention here that before you think this is going to be another “white savior” movie, I assure you, it’s not. In fact, one of the characters brings up that very question, and the team ultimately rises and falls based on how they incorporate their own attitudes and customs rather than in utilizing new methods from their new Caucasian coach. This is key.)

What happens next is predictable to anyone who has ever seen Major League.  We meet the team members, a squad of misfits that includes an oversized goalie, a guy who looks like a reject from the old Geico caveman commercials, and a transgender player who spends most of her time on the practice field standing alone and playing with her hair.  Tradition says that the goalie must redeem himself, the caveman guy will reveal hitherto-unknown skills, and the transgender player will rise to the occasion when it counts.

Does all of this happen?  Well, yes and no.  I don’t want to reveal too much, because a lot of the pleasure in this film is watching how it toys with cliches, turning some of them slightly sideways while fully embracing others.  …okay, I’ll reveal one example.  Remember the overweight goalie?  You’ve probably seen him in the trailer, where the coach tells him to go around instead of jumping over him during a drill.  In another, less-inspired film, he would somehow save the day during the climactic match.  Nope.  He’s replaced about halfway through the movie with the ORIGINAL goalie from ten years earlier, the one who allowed 31 goals against Australia.  (But, as another team member points out, he did make 60 saves in that same game.)  Now this guy has something to prove.

Predictably, everything leads up to the first qualifier against Tonga.  We’re never given much info about this team other than they are the opponents and are therefore two-dimensional douchebags.  They insult the Samoan team unnecessarily and taunt the transgender player at a pre-game mixer.  Formulaic, yes, but it fits neatly into the mold of this movie, and I’m willing to let it slide.  There’s even a revelatory discovery halfway through the match that blindsided me and imparted even more emotional weight to the entire movie.  Don’t let anyone spoil it for you.

After looking at the critical comments regarding Next Goal Wins, it seems like this is just going to be one of those movies that either works for you, or it doesn’t.  One critic calls it “deeply irritating” because it follows the underdog sports movie formula in lockstep.  Well, yes, but it does it so well and with enough variations on that theme that I forgive its predictability.  Another critic says the film “doesn’t seem nearly as challenging or risky as most of what Waititi has given us before.”  Well, geez, what were you expecting, Slap Shot crossed with Jojo Rabbit?  Other critics make that same complaint, that the film suffers relative to Waititi’s previous films.  Well, wouldn’t it be fairer to judge the movie itself instead of comparing it to his earlier work?  Or is that just me?

Next Goal Wins was just a great time at the movies.  It may not unlock the secrets of the universe, but I had more fun than I expected.  I can’t ask for much more than that.

(P.S. For those of you keeping score, my girlfriend cried twice.  Do with that information what you will.)

THE MARVELS

By Marc S. Sanders

If you just want to join your family to have fun at the movies then go see The Marvels. 

The thirty third installment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (33???????? Wow!!!) follows a trio of women donning the superhero costumes and getting caught up in an exchange of bouncing around their respective presences with one another.  One second Ms. Marvel (Iman Vellani) is in her Jersey City home with her family and then suddenly she’s in an astronaut uniform, floating through space, previously occupied by Monica Rambeau (Teyona Parris).  Another minute, Monica is in that uniform and then suddenly she is occupying the space once held by Captain Marvel (Brie Larson).  This happens a lot within the first twenty minutes and its edited so well for laughs and hijinks as the three main characters of the film are constantly having to switch adventures on a dime.

I have not watched the Ms. Marvel Disney Plus TV series yet.  I won’t lie.  This guy who grew up on Marvel comics, cartoons, and toys is getting MCU exhausted and I just have needed a break.   I’m told there are some elements of that show that lead to some things going on in The Marvels.  Didn’t bother me though.  While I like wink and nod subtleties, it is not why I go to the movies.  I’m not watching War And Peace.  I’m watching superheroes who wear spandex and capes and fly.  I trusted myself to pick up on who was who and what was what.

The Marvels works for the most part as a stand-alone story from the rest of the MCU stuff.  Ms. Marvel, aka teenager Kamala Khan, is a diehard fan of Captain Marvel aka Carol Danvers.  Her room is adorned with her idolized hero in various poses and flights.  Kamala finally gets to meet Carol when they share an adventure together.  Her parents and brother are the strangers in a strange world who give poor Nick Fury (Samuel L Jackson, who I think holds the record for most MCU appearances) a hard time for the sake of comedy.  Monica is the niece by friendship connection to Carol Danvers.  Monica was a child the last time she saw Aunt Carol.  Since that time, her mother has passed away from cancer while she disappeared during Thanos’ blip.

A new Kree villain is mounting an offence.  Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton) has recovered a wristlet of power (meh…it’s a MacGuffin).  Kamala has the other wristlet (meh…another MacGuffin).  Dar-Benn is going to fight the trio and then another MCU film will have been completed.

The Marvels is not a perfect movie.  At times the characters are speaking in their own science fiction scientific speak to tell me what is happening next and honestly I have no idea what in the hell they are talking about.  Meh!  I didn’t care.  Just get to where you need to go.

What serves the film is the set ups of scenes.  Kree bad guys wreck Kamala’s house while the family looks on as one dining room chair or another dish gets bashed.  Holes get smashed through the ceiling as well.  Three Stooges kind of stuff.

There’s also a planet The Marvels travel to for help where the citizens are dressed in pastel colors and ribbons and only communicate in song and harmony.  This could have been a season 3 episode of the original Star Trek series.

The most inspiring and memorable scene is especially catered for lovers of cats and Barbra Streisand.  This sequence that comes late in the film gives new meaning to the phrase “We are herding cats now.”  As silly as this moment is, it should remind you that producer Kevin Feige and his squad of MCU writers have not run out of inventive ideas yet.  This is on the level of the best Saturday Night Live skits you can find. 

Everything is still good in the MCU.  I still enjoy most of what has come down the pike.  The products are just oversaturating themselves by releasing so soon after each other. The MCU is not so enjoyable when it feels like homework to know who and what everything is and where it all left off.

With this installment, the cast is having fun.  The writers are having fun.  The visual effects are having fun.  The story and the bad guy really don’t matter.  The Marvels is simply a kaleidoscope of rainbow color sci-fi silliness and that’s enough to satisfy me.

What would have been a nice touch though is if Babs herself made a cameo appearance.  Then again, the reference joke made in the film during that cat scene left the teenage guys sitting next to me dumbfounded as to why I was laughing so hard at the inclusion of a Streisand number in the film.  Guys, have you not heard of Broadway?????????

THE HUNGER GAMES: THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES

By Marc S. Sanders

The Hunger Games: The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes is a stellar prequel to Suzanne Collins’ well-known franchise approach to reality television within a barbaric dystopian setting.  Francis Lawerence returns to direct this characterization of the would-be antagonist Coriolanus Snow played by unknown Tom Blyth in a blazing performance of innocence eventually corrupted by a warped environment of law.

The story takes place just over sixty years before Collins’ first trilogy that centered on the heroine archer Katniss Everdeen.  A vicious annual tournament known as “The Hunger Games” has reached its tenth year and interest in the programming has waned.  Rebellion throughout the twelve districts of Panem is getting stronger and the idea of selecting children to compete in a battle royale to the death is frowned upon. 

The elite students, which include Coriolanus and his best friend Sejanus Plinth (Josh Andrés Rivera), have been assigned to a new development in the Games.  They are to serve as mentors to the selected contestants.  Sejanus, who is the son of one of Panem’s wealthiest entrepreneurs, protests the games altogether.  He’s outspoken and determined in his efforts to put an end to the event.  Yet, his father’s wealth always bails him out.  Coriolanus does not seem to have an opinion on the matter.  He’s more curious about the showmanship of the contestant that he’s been assigned from District 12, a wildcat by the name of Lucy Gray (Rachel Zegler, giving a magnificent presence to her role).

Lucy Gray is a free-thinking troublemaker wearing a wardrobe of colors and design.  She is a bursting talent with a guitar as well and an attitude to boot.  While the other contestants appear malnourished, poor, sad and legitimately pitiful, Lucy has a guise of confidence and independence.  She certainly stands apart from her competition when they are all locked up in a zoo cage for the public and press to look upon as hype ahead of the grand tournament.  Lucy is not a skilled fighter, but even without Coriolanus’ guidance she knows how to develop a following.

Elsewhere, there are the puppet masters.  There’s Dean Casca Highbottom (Peter Dinklage), the inventor of the games, and teacher to the mentors.  He stresses a promising future for the best mentor performance, but there is to be absolutely no cheating.  As well, Viola Davis plays a devil of a villain as a Dr. Volumnia Gaul.  Think of her as the equivalent to the Nazis’ Dr. Mengele who experiments with new inventions of hideous creatures and process.  Her towering canister of colorful snakes is chilling anytime it appears on screen.

The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes has a long running time for a science fiction piece catered for young adults.  However, it confirms the error that was made with Collins’ film adaptation of her third novel, Mockingjay, which was split it into two films for the sake of greedy revenue commercialization to line Lionsgate’s pockets.  Because this prequel is contained as one piece, Tom Blyth is invited to perform a thrilling character arc of a poor, but intuitive, and good-natured young man who is eventually transformed into an evil personification. 

Lawrence’s film has multiple opportunities to end and roll the credits.  However, it carries on and becomes a journey for its principal characters, Lucy Gray and Coriolanus Snow are much like in the same vein as Vito and Michael Corleone in The Godfather.  Novels often have the luxury of spanning a wide berth of time to inch their way towards a protagonist’s destiny.  Movies tend to want to hurry things along.  With Francis Lawrence’s film we are granted the time to see how Lucy Gray performs during the leadup to the games as a character of confidence that a public is willing to follow and bet on, but most importantly care about.  Accompanying her is Lucy’s mentor, Coriolanus Snow, who is curious and concerned for Lucy’s wellbeing.  While being separated from one another for large portions of time, the two characters convincingly fall in love. 

The second act of the film is the sport in an arena, far from the technologically sophisticated nature found in the other films.  In this prequel chapter, it is simply an in the round stone coliseum of wreckage following a rebellion strike with barbaric weapons left in the center to grasp for advantage. 

The third act, which in another director’s hands might have been saved for a churned-out sequel, follows the aftermath of where the characters go from here.  Coriolanus becomes an infantryman in District 12 along with Sejanus.  A whole new design is introduced late into the film, and it is as if we’ve begun a brand-new episode of a franchise series.  What keeps The Hunger Games installments feeling fresh is that we are granted both the events preceding the games as well as what’s occurring thereafter. 

The cast is outstanding.  Viola Davis and Peter Dinklage have those jaded and unusual appearances suitable for this disturbing setting.  Davis especially absorbs the scenery whenever she is on screen.  Her costume wear, hair and makeup only enhance her chilling performance.  Jason Schwartzman does a superb interpretation of Lucky Flickerman, an ancestor of Stanley Tucci’s flamboyant character from the other films, and the MC for the games.

Rachel Zegler lends her talents for song and guitar to the film, and I loved every second of it.  I know she is currently not favorable in the public eye based on comments she has made.  However, if she continues to follow a course of picking smart roles and playing them as well as she does here, and like she did in Spielberg’s West Side Story, then she is destined to becoming an elite leading actor in the likes of Julia Roberts and then later Anne Hathaway.  I loved every song she performed in the film as well.  She lends a twang to her vocals that blend beautifully with her guitar strings.

Tom Blyth is so trusting with his boyish complexion and bleach blond curly mop top.  He fits well into the destitute role of the son of a dead would have been tyrant.  His wardrobes are described as hand made at home, even with small bathroom tile pieces serving as fashionable buttons on his dress shirt.  Blyth, while humble, wears everything with confidence, remaining the exact opposite of the President Snow we knew from Donald Sutherland’s performance in earlier films.  This Coriolanus is someone I can trust.  Someone I do not question.  Yet, when the end of the film arrives, I’m left surprised by the outcome of the character even though I know what’s expected of him.  It’s a positively inventive characterization from Suzanne Collins, interpreted with a subtle balance between protagonist and antagonist from Tom Blyth.  This guy might have been a better casting choice for Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequel films. 

I’m angry at myself for not having yet read The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes.  I imagine it’s a crackling good read.  The film concludes with doors open for questions that leave me curiously thinking, four days after having seen the picture.  I can only hope there are additional films to come that explore even more deeply into Suzanne Collins’ rich tapestry of dystopia and the complex characters that occupy it.

The Hunger Games: The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes is one of the best pictures of the year.

NAPOLEON

By Marc S. Sanders

I never knew much about Napoleon Bonapart.  He was short.  He’s French of course. There’s that famous painting with his right hand tucked into his tunic. Or was it his left?  The big hat. I’d heard he was kind of a brat.  Ridley Scott’s latest period piece, Napoleon, confirms most of what I recall.  The painting was nowhere in sight though.

Joaquin Phoenix portrays General Bonapart, and he surely had a great challenge ahead of him. I cannot say that I was bored with any part of the film, but I did find Napoleon to be quite bland during the first act of the film.  Phoenix, doing his best with a script by David Scarpa, seems to be a stand in with nothing of much consequence to say.  It is only when the Captain all but invites a promotion upon himself to the rank of General, following the guillotine beheading of Marie Antoinette, that his arrogance begins to show.  Thereafter, he takes it upon himself to force the hands of the governing council to resign from their positions, a very entertaining sequence for sure.  Then Napoleon sees no other purpose but ongoing conquest. 

With each passing scene in Napoleon, the ego of the title character grows and grows and that is the underlying theme of Scott’s picture.  We journey to the pyramids of Egypt to witness Napoleon lead his armies towards further conquest.  Alternatively, we also trek through the raw winters of Russia and on to a blazing Moscow.  Who set the Russian city alight is a question that history may contradict of the General’s claim.

Napoleon is sure to get a slew of Oscar nominations.  However, it will likely not be in any of the major categories.  The numerous battles are outstanding in whatever setting Ridley Scott offers.  Whether it is in the desert or murky winter grounds, I could not tell if the armies were physical extras or CGI.  It all looked seamless in its construction.  David Lean would be proud.  Sound editing was also perfectly in sync.  The set designs of the many scenes throughout are exemplary from bedrooms to halls and the wallpapers, furnishings and floors and even the outdoor landscaping of the French estates.  Even Napoleon’s tent on one battlefield after another are absorbing.  The costuming always makes a statement.  Every stitch and distressed shade of blues, reds and whites tell a story.  Yes, it’s all very impressive.  However, I did not go to Napoleon to grade a college project assignment in fine arts.  Overall, it has to be the movie itself that grabs me.

Unfortunately, Ridley Scott’s film suffers from shortcomings that cannot be forgiven.  I have to lend credit to my wife who pointed out flaws that did not come to my attention until I heard her input, and thus could not deny.  There are topics brought up in the film that are either not followed through clearly or are left with questions. 

One moment in particular occurs when Napoleon opts to marry the daughter of a leader. Do not ask me to remember which leader. Characters leave the picture just as quickly as they enter.  One daughter is of proper age.  The other daughter we are told is only age fifteen and Napoleon turns down the idea of the latter, but in the scene afterwards it appears that he actually did choose to marry the fifteen-year-old.  The girl certainly looked like a teenager.  So, how did that come to be? 

A storyline I really took an interest in was Napoleon’s marriage to Josephine (Vanessa Kirby).  The widow of a dead soldier, with three children, he marries her for love.  Then he leaves to conquer some more and more around the world.  Yet, the general returns when he realizes she is happily having affairs in his absence.  The bruised egotistic response of Napoleon is very well played out. Joaquin Phoenix has his best moments in the storyline he shares with Vanessa Kirby.  However, while I thought I understood, my wife pointed out that the film does not clearly explain how the relationship continues.  There’s animosity at first but then there is a mutual love between the couple and how exactly did that flourish and change?  When was the mutual affection eventually sparked?  What works best is how the two are unable to bear a child together.  Napoleon is nothing but forceful in his moments of sex with Josephine.  He will damn well force a pregnancy even if it means he has to thrust harder and harder inside of her.  Yet, no results come of his efforts. An heir must carry on the Bonapart legacy.  Since one does not appear, it taxes heavily upon the powerful leader.

Later in the film, following the couple’s dissolution of marriage, a child is born but who exactly carried the offspring?  Details like these seem to be glossed over.

Few directors are as skillful at showing grand scenes of battlegrounds with sharp, clear edits of how the fighting progresses.  Ridley Scott demonstrates that over and over again with one scene after another.  He accomplishes fare like this so well in other films like Gladiator and his interpretation of Robin Hood.  The dark hazy cinematography works beautifully on a big screen.  However, I’m not sure if it will be as effective on a sixty-inch flat screen where there’s a risk of intrusive glares in your living room.  These magnificent scenes need to be watched on a big screen.

Unfortunately, the attention to detail is not lent to the story as effectively. Napoleon’s mark in history did not just happen in a period of a few years.  For a brief window of time, France was a superpower ahead of the likes of Egypt, Britain, Austria, Prussia and even Russia.  Two hours and forty minutes may seem like a long film and yet Napoleon likely needed at least an additional hour to serve a complete historical recount.

If you want to see Napoleon, now is your chance while it plays in theaters.  Again, I do not believe it will have the same effect at home.  Regrettably, the film does not offer enough on the plate.  No one in the cast is doing anything of Oscar caliber accomplishments.  Ridley Scott comes up short of end of the year award considerations for not inviting tighter storytelling, and that also goes for David Scarpa’s script. 

The visual marvels of this period piece are what is to behold.  Watching Napoleon, I certainly felt like I was there amid the glorious costumes, set designs and cinematic photography.  Nevertheless, while I may have been in the room, the hosts of the picture were not sharing their entire conversation with me around the dinner table.  Alas, at times, I was left to stand in the corner, feeling like an unwelcome guest.

SPEEDY (1928)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Ted Wilde
CAST: Harold Lloyd, Ann Christy, Bert Woodruff, Babe Ruth (!)
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 100% Fresh
Everyone’s a Critic Assignment: “Watch a Silent Film”

PLOT: An everyman helps his girlfriend’s grandfather keep his obsolete horse-drawn trolley business alive by finding odd jobs in New York City (when he’s not having fun at Coney Island with his gal).


Speedy is charming, delightful, inventive, funny, thrilling…I could go on.  For me, this movie, along with the other Harold Lloyd films I’ve seen (The Freshman, Safety Last!, The Kid Brother), cements my perception about Harold Lloyd when compared to the other giants of his day: Chaplin will always be The Tramp, and Keaton is the Great Stone Face, but Harold Lloyd, in his films, is us.

Lloyd plays Harold “Speedy” Swift (get it?), a young man who loves his girlfriend, Jane, almost as much as he loves Yankees baseball.  How much does he love it?  He interrupts his duties at a soda shop with frequent phone calls to a friend who gives him the up-to-the-minute score of the Yankees game.  (No radio stations or televisions yet…ancient history, folks.)  He then passes the score to the workers in the kitchen by using a pastry case as a scoreboard and doughnuts and crème horns as zeros and ones.  When he finds out the Yankees have scored three runs in an inning, I found myself actively wondering what pastry item he would use for a “3.”  The answer may or may not surprise you.

Jane’s grandfather, Pop, owns and runs the last horse-drawn trolley service in New York City.  Big-shot railroad owners want his track for themselves, but Pop won’t sell until they meet his price (craftily inflated by Speedy himself in one of the movie’s funnier scenes).  The rail tycoons learn that Pop must run the track’s route at least once in a 24-hour period, so they hire some goons to hijack the trolley the next day.  When Harold learns of their plan…

But this is just a synopsis.  There is a story here, but it is almost secondary to the delights to be had just from watching the film play out, not just because every scene is cleverly executed, but also because many of those scenes present the viewer with what amounts to a travelogue of New York City in 1927, from Times Square to Bowling Green to Washington Square Park to Coney Island.  (A documentary on the Criterion Blu-ray of Speedy reveals there were several skillfully concealed cuts to the streets of Los Angeles, but I was absolutely fooled, so I stand by my statement.)

The highlight of the film is the sequence when Harold takes Jane to spend his week’s pay at Coney Island.  These scenes left me flabbergasted.  I have seen many vintage photos of Coney Island in the 1920s, but never had I seen film footage of any kind.  Some of the rides there defy belief.  There’s a giant flat disk that spins on the floor and guests pay for their chance at a prize if they can stay on the revolving disk for three minutes.  There’s a flume ride where the ride vehicle shoots out into the bay instead of staying in a chute.  There’s something called the Steeplechase that looks like a death-defying ride on a gravity coaster, but instead of sitting in a car, you’re riding on top of a metal carousel horse…no lap bars!

The Coney Island segment is home to some of Speedy’s funniest gags, like the live crab that improbably winds up in Speedy’s pocket and causes havoc on the midway by popping balloons, pinching passersby, and stealing a woman’s negligee…from her purse, of course.  And let’s not forget the scene when Speedy looks at his reflection in a funhouse mirror, doesn’t like what he sees…and flips himself off.  That’s right: in this pre-Hays-Code film, a character in a mainstream movie, certainly seen by children and adults alike, gives himself the finger.  Don’t believe me?  Take a look:

I must have rewound that scene five times to make sure I saw what I saw.

Anyway, the other highlight of Speedy is when Speedy gets a job as a cabdriver and gets to drive Babe Ruth to Yankee Stadium.  That’s right.  BABE.  RUTH.  Just like with Coney Island, I had only ever seen The Babe in grainy newsreel footage and still photos.  To see the Sultan of Swat in a fantastically restored film from nearly a century ago was…damn, I seriously cannot think of the right word for it.  I had a big grin plastered on my face during his entire scene, and it’s a long scene, with Speedy careening through traffic, barely avoiding accidents, while Ruth hangs on for dear life.

The experience of watching Speedy, with its real NYC locations and the inclusion of genuine sports royalty, felt less like watching a movie and more like watching a magic window into the past, like a wormhole through space and time.  The last film that made me feel transported like that was the fascinating documentary Dawson City: Frozen Time, about a trove of forgotten films and newsreels from the turn of the century and slightly beyond found buried under the permafrost in the Yukon.  To be sure, there are plenty of old films that I’ve seen before, but Speedy is the first one of those that presents, not a manufactured set or a western town that was already old in the 1920s, but a living snapshot of a real, tangible place where the locations in the film can still be seen today.

And I haven’t even started on the brilliant performance from Harold Lloyd himself.  Lloyd carries the movie on his shoulders from the get-go, establishing himself as an everyday Joe who just wants to earn that cash and help his girlfriend.  He doesn’t mug, like Chaplin, and he doesn’t stare, like Keaton.  He just IS.  He never comes off as overacting, playing every scene absolutely straight, expressing consternation and exasperation at the fates that, for example, gets him away from a dirty mutt on the street, only to back into a freshly painted fence.  Or watch his face on the midway when he wins a special prize: a baby’s crib.  Jane, his girlfriend, lights up.  Speedy does what any man not ready for commitment would do: tries to give the damn thing back.

After a frantic chase under the city’s elevated train tracks that results in a genuinely unplanned accident – SUCK it, French Connection, we were here first! – everything comes together in a massive rumble (between the rail tycoons, their thugs, and residents of Speedy’s and Pop’s neighborhood) that has to be seen to be believed.  At the end of the film, I still had that stupid smile plastered on my face from earlier.  What a treasure this movie is.  What a delight.  I don’t know if Speedy is available on any streaming service, but if it’s not, I would urge anyone who loves film to buy or borrow a copy whenever they can.  For film aficionados, it’s a gem.  For anyone new to silent films, this would be a great place to start.

THE MARVELS (2023)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

[Phase Five, #3, for those keeping track]
DIRECTOR: Nia DaCosta (the first African American woman to direct an entry in the MCU, incidentally)
CAST: Brie Larson, Teyonah Parris, Iman Vellani, Samuel L. Jackson, Zawe Ashton
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 62% Fresh

PLOT: Captain Marvel, Monica Rambeau, and the fledgling Ms. Marvel get their powers “entangled” with each other, forcing them to work together to save the universe.


I’ll get to the actual review in a minute, but first:

The MCU is now so vast – and it’s only getting vaster – that even diehard fans are starting to experience what I’ll call MFS: Marvel Fatigue Syndrome.  The newest entry, The Marvels, is the thirty-third film in a franchise that began in 2008 with Jon Favreau’s Iron Man, not to mention the nineteen streaming and broadcast TV series, starting with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. in 2013, with more on the way.  With those hundreds or even thousands of hours of viewing time that are required (more or less) to keep up with current events within the franchise, it’s no surprise that some members of the Marvel fandom are already blogging and writing op eds proclaiming that The Marvels may be the movie that finally sends the MCU into a death spiral, due to its relatively low box-office grosses in its opening weekend.  Enough already, they’re saying.  The people have spoken.

My opinion?  Well, if you were to ask me which two movies were the least fun of the franchise in recent years, I’d have to go with Black Panther: Wakanda Forever and Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania.  That one-two punch of mediocrity would have been my choice of theoretical MCU-killers.  And yet here we are.

I say all this because I think we should all give the MCU a break.  They have no fewer than eleven films in development through 2027 and beyond.  The Marvel Cinematic Universe will be remembered as THE most profitable film franchise in the history of franchises.  They’re gonna keep cranking them out as long as we keep plunking down the money for tickets.  So, if you’re experiencing Marvel Fatigue Syndrome, allow Dr. Rodriguez to offer his expert advice: Don’t go.  Save the hate-watching for the new Aquaman movie in December.  (God knows he’ll need all the help he can get.)

Now, with that in mind:

The Marvels does indeed depend PARTLY on your knowledge of the events in the TV series WandaVision and Ms. Marvel, so if you haven’t watched either of those series, you may want to consider setting aside some binge time before heading to the movie theater.  Otherwise, yes, you may be a little lost.

Given how some of the movies in Phase Four were not exactly sensational (looking at you, Eternals and Thor: Love and Thunder), my expectations were toned down a bit.  However, speaking as someone who did his homework and watched all of the required TV, The Marvels turned out to be far more entertaining and fun than I expected.

Most of the unexpected fun comes from the “entanglement” of powers experienced by three powered individuals: Captain Marvel (Brie Larson), Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris), and 16-year-old Kamala Khan, aka Ms. Marvel (Iman Vellani).  For reasons that have something to do with the “cosmic bangle” worn by Ms. Marvel, they switch places whenever one of them (or only two of them?) use their powers at the same time.  I’m at a loss to explain it logically, but the movie deftly handles the transitions visually, so we’re never confused about who is where and why.

No superhero movie is complete without a villain.  In this case, it’s a Kree warrior, Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton) who has somehow come into possession of the giant hammer first wielded by Ronan the Accuser way back in the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie.  Building on the ancient civil war between her race and the shape-shifting Skrulls, she intends to do whatever it takes to bring her desolate homeworld back to life, even if it destroys a Skrull planet/refugee camp or two in the process.  To do this, she’ll need two quantum bands.  She finds one near the beginning of the film, but where’s the other one?  Why, wrapped around Kamala Khan’s wrist, of course.

(One might wonder how Dar-Benn’s planet was desolated in the first place, and the movie does answer that question, but I’m not saying.)

There is great chemistry among the three leads, although I must confess it felt a little forced near the beginning.  However, they definitely clicked in two sequences: when they start to figure out how to work together and make their “entanglement” an asset instead of a liability, and when they visit a beautiful, almost water-covered planet to warn the population of an impending attack.

If I had my way, this world would be called “Planet Bollywood” forever and ever, amen.  The inhabitants can only communicate through song; plain old atonal speech is indecipherable to them.  Thus, when the Marvels arrive, they are greeted by an elaborate song and dance number with mundane lyrics accompanied by the most dizzying array of dance and colorful costumes outside of a Julie Taymor film.  I’ve never seen a Bollywood movie, but I have to believe this is what they’re like.

Other developments take place involving Nick Fury, Kamala’s family, a giant space station in Earth orbit, and Chewie/Goose, the Flerken cat introduced in Captain Marvel (2019).  There is a scene onboard the space station that absolutely must be seen to be believed involving Chewie, an emergency evacuation, and…Broadway.  ‘Nuff said.

I laughed a lot during The Marvels, and that’s a good thing.  With entangled powers, Bollywood, a sixteen-year-old girl with a bad case of hero worship, and an entirely unexpected “marriage of convenience” …with all that bizarre subject matter, striking a humorous tone works for the film.  Plus, it was, I must admit, refreshing that, with only one minor exception, the story didn’t include any of the three female leads dealing with a crush or a boyfriend or kids back home.  These were just three women kicking ass and taking names.  (The final battle with the villain was amazing, setting up a cliffhanger I didn’t see coming…make sure you stick around for the credit cookie!)

Am I experiencing MFS myself?  Not yet.  Sure, I groan with everyone else when a film doesn’t quite live up to expectations, going all the way back to Iron Man 2 and 3, but for every mediocre sequel, there’s a Black Panther, or an Avengers: Endgame, or…The Marvels.  Movies like this one keep me coming back to the MCU, for better or worse.  It was fun, witty, exciting, and pretty damn smart.  What more could I ask for?

GLADIATOR

By Marc S. Sanders

Ridley Scott’s Gladiator is a terrifically sweeping sword and sandal epic adventure.  It contains well drawn characterizations of its heroes and its one tyrannical villain, along with superbly bloody hack n chop violence and action that live up to its title. 

Rome has finally finished its campaign of conquer throughout at least one quarter of the world.  General Maximus (Russell Crowe) is ready to return to his wife and son to live out the rest of his days as a farmer and family man.  However, the dying Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris) begs him to take over his position so the Roman Empire may carry forth with prosperity.  If Maximus does not take over, the empire is at risk of being inherited by Marcus’ spoiled son Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix).  While Maximus ponders the request, Marcus dies and Commodus quickly takes over, and orders the immediate deaths of the celebrated General and his family.  Maximus and Commodus will eventually circle back with one another, however.

Gladiator feels like an epic film in the vein of a David Lean picture that would require time and work to follow through its various developments.  Maximus certainly goes through a widespread arc.  One of the advertising bylines described it as the man who was General, who became a slave, who became a gladiator. Russell Crowe is right for this role.  Not only is he lean and built for the part, but he brings a empathetic approach to the character.  Maximus is loyal to his country, but he also carries pain and longing for his family and when he is wronged, Crowe does very well at displaying his character’s plot of  vengeance against Commodus with strategy and skill.

Joaquin Phoenix rightly earned his first Oscar nomination as a wonderful villain.  The screenplay from David Franzoni, John Logan and William Nicholson offer memorable pieces of dialogue for the bratty son.  “I feel vexed. I am very vexed.”  – a line that sounds so minimal and yet when Phoenix delivers it, it’s only more terrifying.  This little monster captured in an adult body can respond to anything that slightly irks him.

The battle between Commodus and Maximus is hardly physical.  Maximus realizes through his companions that a better and wiser form of revenge is to win Rome’s admiration away from its ruler.  Commodus lives off his ego.  So, when Maximus is encouraged by his slave owner to “win the crowd” amid the games performed in the famed coliseum, it not only lends to the gladiator’s ongoing survival, but it tears away at Commodus’ rule.  A great subplot is included focusing on the ruler’s nephew, Lucius (Spencer Treat Clark).  The expression on Joaquin Phoenix’ face when young Lucius role plays as the great Maximus works like a frozen moment in time.  Imagine a famed quarterback’s child cheering for the defensemen who performs an unforgivable sack during the final ten seconds of a game.  It’s terribly bruising.

When Gladiator was first released in theaters, I found the CGI to lack texture and it appeared very dark like a bad 3D film.  It looked too animated.  This most recent viewing was on a restored 4K transfer and the picture quality is astounding.  Every element of the broad landscapes within the battlefields and especially in the gold sheen photography of the coliseum battles blend perfectly.  If you still don’t understand the importance of 4K, turn to this film to uphold the argument. 

Ridley Scott does not waste a shot in this picture.  Reactionary sequences are just as effective as the cuts to the action.  Blades and barbaric weapons shed gorgeous splashes of blood. Every thrust and parry are easy to see. I’ve never forgotten when a chariot rider is cut in half at the torso from an oncoming blade attached to rolling wheel.  The choreography and editing of the battles are thrilling with sound editing that compliments the moments. 

Beyond Russell Crowe and Joaquin Phoenix, the cast is wonderful.  I’ve always admired Richard Harris’ quiet approach in the twilight years of his career.  He never had to do much to offer a presence.  Connie Nielsen portrays Lucilla, Commodus’ sister who he has affections for.  Her subtle resistance allows Joaquin Phoenix more opportunities to feel “vexed.”  Oliver Reed passed away during the making of this film. Fortunately, Ridley Scott and company did not opt to cut out his role as the gladiator/slave trader, Proximo.  He works well as a kind of mentor to Maximus and the band of other warriors, coaching them on how to stay alive and rise above Commodus’ monarchy.  “Win the crowd and you win your freedom.”  Djimon Hounsou is a loyal sidekick to Crowe’s character. Derek Jacobi is once again that guy you have seen before allowing his expert craft in Shakespearean performance to flesh out the political angle of the story among the Senators.  Every actor serves a valuable purpose in the film.  None of these performances feel like walk on roles.  So, the overall casting of the picture must be commended.

Gladiator is a crowd-pleasing film. Though it is based in ancient history, there remains a fantasy element to the movie when you look at grand designs of the settings, costumes, and dialogue.  Storylines of politics and tyranny hold relatable to modern current events.  What can occur when one man takes over everything for his selfish purposes?  Pointless displays of theatrics can occur at the behest of others who were once heroes, instrumental in placing a despot atop a throne.  I presume Ridley Scott’s film is just one more example of the inherent nature found in humans.  Some of us are destined to rule and control.  That alone is cruel and selfish.  It is even worse when this totalitarian mindset is unleased upon those that put these rulers in their place.  History and especially modern times demonstrate that loyalty is only fleeting.  The ability to possess totalitarian control, however, is hopefully even more short-lived.

THE MEAN SEASON

By Marc S. Sanders

I get caught up in movies focused on serial killers.  As an actor, I imagine it must be fun to portray a deranged psychopath like Norman Bates or Hannibal Lector, or maybe even John Doe from Seven.  On the other hand, maybe not because an effective screenplay needs to be nearby.

The Mean Season from 1985 has an effective premise but that’s where the positives of the picture stop.  Kurt Russell portrays Malcolm Anderson, a burnt-out reporter for the The Miami Journal.  He is the paper’s most reputable writer but just as he is ready to resign and move to Colorado with his loving girlfriend, Christine (Mariel Hemingway), he’s tasked with writing an article about the murder of a teenage girl on the beach.  Soon after, he’s getting phone calls from the killer himself, played by Richard Jordan whose face is concealed through most of the film by his hand holding a telephone.  The killer insists on only maintaining communication with Malcolm and no one else, especially not the cops.  He relays that the city of Miami can expect four more murders.

The title of the film stems from south Florida’s well known weather variations that occur at the start of hurricane season, primarily in July.  That does nothing for me, but the title alone sounds marketable enough for a thriller.  Almost sounds like a Stephen King novel.  The Mean Season!!!!!  Unfortunately, that’s all that this movie has to rely on, even if Kurt Russell is doing his best like he always does in better suspense movies like Unlawful Entry and Breakdown.

The fault with The Mean Season resides with the director’s amateurish approaches.  Fifteen minutes into the film, with the story hardly in motion, a nude Christine is taking a shower.  The haunting music begins and suddenly the shower curtain is pulled for Malcolm to deliberately startle his girlfriend.  So, we have the Psycho salute.  Check!  Later, following an argument between the two lovers, Malcolm gets in his car and is startled by Christine coming up from behind in the backseat. Ha!!!! Okay and there’s the Halloween nod.  Another check!  I bet these cheap tactics were not even written in the script.  Director Phillip Borsos (never heard of this guy before; doesn’t surprise me) must be so insecure in his skills behind a camera that he just goes for duplicative tripe.

Threats to the couple elevate as the film moves on and when Malcolm gets wind of Christine being in danger, he’s in his Mustang racing to her.  The cops (Andy Garcia, Richard Bradford) are right behind him, and no one thinks of summoning a squad car to where Christine is expected to be?  Of course not.  If they did, then we wouldn’t be treated to a clumsy sequence where an elevated bridge gets in Kurt Russell’s way forcing him to make a leap across the gap and come down on the steep other side and continue his foot race.  Kurt Russell really looks stupid in this moment, and I’m sure he was thinking I can not believe I agreed to this.

As with any of these movies, there is a just when you think the bad guy is dead, there he is again.  No wonder we didn’t get a long enough closeup on the corpse found in the dense Everglades.  However, we get treated to seeing a long, meaningless sequence of Kurt Russell being a passenger on a swamp buggy.  Big deal.  Does this enhance any kind of suspense?  Does it move the story along?  The director got access to a couple of swamp buggies and a day of shooting in the Everglades and said we gotta get this in here.

The final fight is as moronic as the rest of the picture.  Richard Jordan and Kurt Russell are going at it in the living room while a hurricane rages outside.  Mariel Hemingway just sits on the sofa and watches.  She just watches.  She doesn’t reach for a kitchen knife or a vase to smash on the bad guy’s head and help her poor boyfriend.  We just get a sad excuse of a damsel who is not in distress. 

Thankfully, Kurt Russell’s career survived this junk of standard jump scares and shortness on intellect. 

As I’ve said before in other columns, there was a better movie here.  There could have been a movie that explored the endless hours that an investigative reporter must endure.  His editor and photographer (Richard Masur, Joe Pantoliano) could have shared the heightened fear and suspense.  The cops on the case could have applied more pressure and/or assistance to the reporter.  They don’t even tap his phone to trace where the calls are coming from.  In 1985, I think they already had the technology to do that.  A tape recorder was used though, and the audience not only gets to listen to the conversations once as they are happening but then again as the characters listen to the tape.  Why?  Is there something I missed the first time I heard Kurt Russell say hello?  This is filler crap. 

A better movie would have pursued what motivates this killer we hardly get to know.  We should have learned more about this guy because he’s the one making the phone calls.  So, it is obvious he wants to be heard.  However, the guy has nothing to say of any significance.  Even a psychologist who’s recruited for one scene doesn’t make any observation that gives me, or the characters in the film, pause. 

The Mean Season is an “I got it!” film.  It’s where the director gets his big break and declares “I’ve got it!!!!  We’ll do Psycho and then we’ll do Halloween.  Gotta make sure we see Marial Hemingway topless.  That’s definitely at the top of the list. Oh yeah, and then we’ll get swamp buggies and can we get some wind and rain machines for a really, really, really mean—I mean very mean—season!”

THE LEGEND OF BILLIE JEAN

By Marc S. Sanders

Growing up as a teenager, in the dog days of summer, and living in a new town with few friends at the time allowed a lot of binge watching of movies on Showtime.  Top Gun must have been shown twelve times a day.  So was Back To School.  The other movie on constant repeat was The Legend Of Billie Jean – a movie of few merits and yet the heroic sweep of the fugitive rebel on the run with her trailer park gal pals and her little brother was addicting.  It’s a brisk ninety-minute film, but each time I’d watch the movie it felt like the title character raised even more awareness and support for her cause than the last time I watched, which was likely four hours earlier in the day, during breakfast.

Helen Slater is Billie Jean.  Her younger brother is Binx played by Christian Slater, in his first film.  NO RELATION!!!! 

Under a hot sun-drenched setting in Corpus Christie, Texas, the siblings are bullied by Hubie (Barry Tubb).  Binx gets beat up.  Even worse, his shiny maroon motor scooter is stolen and trashed.  When Billie Jean approaches the bully’s father, Mr. Pyatt (Richard Bradford), to collect the six hundred dollars for the cost of the bike, she narrowly escapes a rape after Binx shoots the scumbag in the shoulder.  Now the kids are on the run with Ophelia and Putter (Martha Gehman and Yeardley Smith – eventual voice of Lisa Simpson).

A firestorm starts to spread with a loyal underground following for Billie Jean and her band, and they receive assistance from the District Attorney’s (Dean Stockwell) son Lloyd, played by Keith Gordon.  The cop on their trail is played by Peter Coyote.  Wait!  I’m not being fair.  This cop is never on their trail.  Somehow every kid in the state of Texas can find and help Billie Jean, except the cops.  Even with the DA’s son in tow, these fugitives cannot be located by one single, solitary police cruiser.  Yet, the kids on the playgrounds make no effort to find Billie Jean, Binx and the others.  Yes.  You shake your head at the whole thing.  When you are age fourteen though, you get caught up with Helen Slater, one of your first celebrity crushes, and the accompanying soundtrack of Pat Benatar’s rebellious anthem “Invincible.”

The Legend Of Billie Jean is a stupid movie.  I don’t think anyone can argue with me.  I mean think about this for a second.  Peter Coyote’s cop finds their getaway car with Putter and Ophelia.  Still, he doesn’t choose to search the vehicle for a significant clue to the hero’s whereabouts until the next day.  Isn’t this sloppy investigative fieldwork?  As well, during the climax a brushfire is started by Billie Jean and no one runs or calls for a firetruck.  The DA, the cops, the kids – they all just stand there watching in deep thought like they were directed.  I can only imagine the director with his megaphone yelling out the command to stare straight ahead at the growing flames.  Mind you, this isn’t a control burn firepit.  This is a BRUSH FIRE with hay and wood and clothes as accelerants.

Nevertheless, the movie is an only slightly embarrassing guilty pleasure.  It’s not as hokey as it looks on the surface.  The acting isn’t terrible because the young cast is embracing the absurdity of the whole situation.  It stands, albeit wobbly, on the same plotline of an eventual and exceedingly better film called Thelma & Louise.  More importantly, Helen Slater makes for a good lead role and heroine.  When she tells Mr. Pyatt “No,” and cries her anthem of “Fair is fair” you root for her.  Slater’s performance is far grander than the script she is working with. 

The Legend Of Billie Jean performs like an afterschool special without dubbing out the cursing. The cause of these kids’ plight enhances as the film progresses.  What starts out as a simple bullying story and a demand for monetary damages of only six hundred dollars turns into a fight for respect and honor from the adult males within a small, southern local community.  However, there is little to feel inspired by, and I’m afraid Billie Jean’s supposed legend unfolds into only a slightly miniscule smidgen of Legendary. 

MISHIMA: A LIFE IN FOUR CHAPTERS (1985)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Paul Schrader
CAST: Ken Ogata, and a host of Japanese actors unknown to me
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 79% Fresh

PLOT: Director Paul Schrader and executive producers George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola present a fictionalized account of the life and shocking death of celebrated Japanese writer Yukio Mishima.


It’s hard for me to know where to start with this review.  I had heard of Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters by reputation for years, mostly because of Roger Ebert’s rave review and also the film’s inclusion in the Criterion Collection AND in the invaluable compendium 1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die (ed. Steven Jay Schneider).  I finally got a chance to watch Mishima recently, and in my opinion, if it does not quite succeed as Entertainment, I believe it is worthy of consideration as a genuinely artistic achievement.  Mishima is an elegant rebuttal to anyone who doesn’t believe cinema can be Art.

The lives of artists are notoriously difficult to translate to film, especially when it comes to the life of a writer.  Who wants to watch two hours of an author typing, in a fit of inspiration?  Paul Schrader came up with a rather brilliant method of getting over that hurdle by breaking up Mishima’s life story into four distinct acts, with each act featuring three separate storylines that coil around each other: the last day of Mishima’s life, flashbacks to Mishima’s earlier years, and scenes from his semi-autobiographical books that parallel events from those flashbacks.

If that sounds confusing, it’s not.  Each story thread has its own easily distinguishable color scheme.  If it’s black-and-white, it’s a flashback to Mishima’s real life.  If there is muted color and a mostly hand-held camera, we’re watching the events of his last day on earth.  If the colors are brilliant and saturated, we’re watching a scene from one his books.

What sets Mishima apart are those sequences featuring scenes from his books…and right about here is where my powers of description may fail me, but I’ll try anyway.)  It would be easy to just call them dreamlike, but that’s both true and reductive.  To me, they look like a cross-between highly stylized opera and a David Lynch film.  In the first segment, based on Mishima’s Temple of the Golden Pavilion, the set was built with lavish golden walls and accented with green lily pads, while the temple itself is a detailed miniature that at one point splits down the middle.  The second segment, based on Kyoko’s House, is awash in garish pink lights and walls (production designer and Oscar winner Eiko Ishioka describes the scene as being highly informed by American “bad taste”…trust me, she means it in a good way).  The third segment is only slightly more realistic than the first two, with breakaway walls, representational jail cells, and a ritual act that is echoed in Mishima’s real life.

Each segment is not just visually cool to look at; they are also extremely theatrical.  In one scene, we watch a wall get pulled away from a character lying on the ground, and we can clearly see the tracks on which the wall is rolling.  In another scene, a conversation at a roadside noodle stand is staged – literally on a stage – with the restaurant on a turntable turning clockwise, while groups of actors walk in a circle around the restaurant counter-clockwise.  The effect is both simple and convincing, despite its obvious theatricality. (In fact, the visual aspects of the film are solely responsible for taking this movie up from a “7” to an “8.”)

Those scenes by themselves are reason enough for me to recommend the film to viewers.  I am an unabashed fan of superhero films (the GOOD ones), but it seems as if we’re living in an age where, instead of finding different ways to tell the same story (which is bad enough), filmmakers are telling different stories, but doing it all the same way.  For example, I know, intellectually, that Black Widow and Shang-Chi were made by different directors, but is there anything in either movie that bears the imprint of their respective directors?  Nothing springs immediately to mind.  However, here is Mishima, a film that is nearly 40 years old, which may not feature countless CGI battles, but which gave me more visual surprises than any two Iron Man movies combined.  I don’t mean to pick on the MCU (which I do love, full disclosure), but you see what I’m saying.  It’s refreshing to come across a truly original work of art.

The film also asks some serious philosophical questions.  Throughout his life, Mishima believed in and advocated the bushido, which literally translates as “the way of the warrior.”  He was unashamedly right-wing, advocating the restoration of the Japanese Emperor to power, as opposed to Japan’s governmental policies of democracy and globalism.  In the film, he several times mentions “Harmony of Pen and Sword,” a philosophy in which one’s writings are nothing unless they are backed up by action.  Mishima espouses this belief so fiercely that he ruthlessly follows it to its logical conclusion in the closing passages of the film.

What is director Paul Schrader trying to tell us here?  Should we consider Mishima as a hero?  He is certainly one of Japan’s most famous and celebrated writers, but he remains controversial for his right-wing views.  (If you’re wondering how right-wing he was, in 1968 he wrote a play called “My Friend Hitler,” an event omitted from the film.)  Does Schrader consider him heroic for following through on his beliefs, even when it became, shall we say, EXTREMELY inconvenient for him to do so?

That could be one interpretation, but I don’t see it that way.  I came away from Mishima with the knowledge that, once, there lived a man who lived and died by a code.  I did not agree with his beliefs, but they were defiantly his, and no one could take that away from him.  I was reminded of one of my favorite lines from A Man for All Seasons: “But what matters to me is not whether it’s true or not, but that I believe it to be true, or rather not that I believe it, but that I believe it.”

At the end of the day, while I think Mishima’s moral stance was questionable, and while Mishima itself is less entertainment and more museum piece, the experience of watching Mishima was nevertheless time well spent, especially when considering the astonishing visuals.

(Oh, crap, I’ve gotten to the end of the review and just realized I never mentioned the phenomenal score by Philip Glass, parts of which are quoted at the finale of The Truman Show…if you’re a fan of the movie, you’ll know which parts I’m talking about.)