The Batman

There are two types of long movies: those that feel long, and those that run long. The Batman belongs in the second category, its mystery getting better with each passing minute.

Watching the first few scenes had me thinking other thoughts, though. Cross-cuts of a city living distrustfully; baddies doing bad with tortured smiles on their faces . . . we’ve seen this before, I thought. Even our lead’s entrance was more silly-comical than comic-comical. As the camera finally settled down to focus on something—you guessed it, shadow—only footsteps were discernible. Affecting for sure, but after so many seconds, surely their maker would’ve entered the light by now? By now??

The rest of this movie, however, is a marvel. Its writing respects us, providing a complex story that we must wrestle with alongside our hero. Its characters, motivated by emotions that each one of us has felt. And the dilemma it presents goes to our social core: What should we do with animals who are capable of both greatest evil and greatest good?

Spoiler: Even Batman isn’t sure. Indeed, our pale, eye-make-up’ed hero is more emo than anything else. After working by night to stop crime, he drags himself home to write in his diary. Does a people which chooses to eat itself deserve saving? Rather than filling this movie with fight scenes (though the few are heart-pumping), he prefers to observe. To ask questions. Especially about the fame-killings.

Civic leaders are being murdered, folks! Perhaps even worse, the culprit(s?) are doing this to spotlight terrible hypocrisies committed by those figureheads of justice. And we thought the city was bad before . . .

As you can imagine, Batman races desperately against time to figure out what’s going on—with these crimes, with their messages, and with his complicated past (all of which could be connected). Together, the crimes and his reactions create a dialogue. And wow is it suspenseful.

Darkness is the word to describe this one. From its lighting to its themes (and really, every technical aspect in between), it is measured, expert. I never once looked away from the screen to check the time.

Squid Game (오징어 게임)

How did you fare on the playground? Be honest with yourself.

OK, good. Now that you have an answer, it doesn’t matter. Squid Game will chew you up and spit you out regardless.

It’s a jarring, violent story—but one so inventive and compelling that you’ll see yourself in the characters even as you’re repulsed by them.

Gi-hun introduces us to it all ever so innocently. He appears to be a degenerate gambler like any other, stealing from his elderly mother here, letting down his daughter there. But then a strange thing happens.

The man is given an offer: play on a grand scale. Play a game that, with debts like yours, it would be foolish to turn down . . .

To those of us with impulse control, this would appear too good to be true. And it is.

After Gi-hun accepts, a complex mystery is presented. This game has severe rules, in a severe setting. And Gi-hun is not alone. Not at all alone.

Each episode illustrates a bit more about the game’s players and creators, but devilishly leaves us wanting more. And the game itself? Disturbingly compelling. Our playground pastimes, adultified. Nine episodes of binge-worthy, nail-biting entertainment await you.

The winner will take home a prize that does something to our animal brains. All of them. Even us viewers safely watching outside the screen know this is crazy; we know this is unfair and violent and impractical, and yet we ponder it anyway. Watch it anyway.

It’s the kind of show you desperately want to talk about with someone else. Not necessarily because it’s good, but because it taps into something universal, illustrating and examining our human strategies to this game of life.

I watched every episode of Squid Game like an addict: always high, never satisfied. Am I happy about it?

I Care a Lot

r e v i e w

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Well, who cares? These days, we can chomp on popcorn and watch superhero movies, comfortably knowing that the good guys will win. Forces and objects are gonna clash in flashy ways. Awesome. But the methods come second to the outcome. Second to the good guys winning.

Again and again, we go into superhero movies assuming this ending, and yet we still have an exciting, fun, even exhilarating time. How?

One reason is that these stories contain conflicts so difficult that we truly question whether the good guys will win. We start thinking about how we would win. About each character’s approach to winning. In other words, good writing makes us think about the process as much as the outcome. Makes us question what those unstoppable forces and immovable objects really are, and whether it would be OK to use them, or be them.

So it turns out we do care about the winner of that clash. I Care a Lot is a savage, delicious study on this. It moves our burning question out of superhero space and into the real world, and adds a twist: What happens when there are no good guys?

It’s subtle about it, and it’s not. Our lead, Marla, asks us the question as soon as the movie begins. As a legal guardian unashamed of taking advantage of her elderly wards, she has no qualms putting it all out there.

Watching Marla string a web to catch her prey, slowly tying up their living situation, their finances—their life—is a deeply disturbing and interesting watch. Costume design, editing, camerawork, and acting of the highest level highlight how high this makes Marla feel, and how confusing and terrifying it is for the people she traps. It is compelling watching on its own, but it is just the half of things.

At some point, it becomes clear Marla shouldn’t be messing with one of her wards. A powerful, dangerous person is connected with this ward, and will do whatever it takes to save the ward. Marla becomes our immovable object; the most determined, stubborn, capable being. The dangerous person is our unstoppable force; no single entity could possibly withstand its attack. So who wins?

We do. This movie is beautifully paced, shot, acted, directed, edited, sound-tracked, costumed, cast, set, color-schemed. Sure we’re watching bad guys, but clever writing makes it impossible not to empathize with them. It creates a tug of war in our hearts, as we constantly change who we want to win; who we think deserves what treatment; who we hate or admire.

This is not an easy thing to do to us. Many movies have tried, but many have glamorized the bad guy as much as demonized. (Looking at you, Scorsese, anche se ti rispetto tanto.) I Care a Lot does no such thing. With a heart-pounding, realistic story, it makes us grapple with what we are willing to do to get ahead, and reminds us how to think about others who use different methods—but share our very same goal.

It makes clear that taking advantage of others is, at no point along the line, glamorous. It is simply delusion. But it happens. This makes the movie ambitious and important, scary and real.

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s t a n d o u t s — **spoiler alert**

Some things will catch your eye here.

(1) c o l o r

The movie uses color in beautiful ways. Yes, color can be pretty on its own, but it can also be a tool that carries meaning.

One example of color as meaning here is Marla’s outfits.

When we meet her, she is in her prime. Capable, determined, and winning. Her outfits do business in striking primary colors. Solid reds and yellows.

As she is introduced to dilemmas, the colors become darker, less flashy. Maybe she is less sure of herself. Less OK with being loud. Or maybe, the darkness means she is more serious. Stepping up her game.

So what would black mean? Or white?

(2) a l l e g o r y

The movie preaches, but is only outwardly preachy for a few seconds over its two-hour runtime. Most of the time, it relies on allegory.

(a) n u t s h e l l

The opening scene blends the two. It is an introduction to, and summary of, the movie.

“Look at you. Sitting there. You think you’re good people. You’re not good people . . . there’s no such thing as good people . . . Playing fair is a joke invented by rich people to keep the rest of us poor.” How many movies begin by calling the viewer out as a bad person? A stooge? This is as preachy as it gets.

As Marla preaches to us over a grungy, minor-chord riff, we watch elderly people being fed pills. They swallow it; we swallow it. That lie we tell ourselves about doing the right thing, as we languish, as Marla and others get rich off of us.

Gulp.

(b) ’m u r i c a

Marla also lets us know that she was once like us, and that she didn’t enjoy it. She doesn’t dwell on this as the story continues, but we do see glimpses of her motivations and life-choices in movie imagery.

We come to realize that Marla actually appreciates this conception of the world, of predator and prey, because it empowers her. If there are only two choices, then she can choose to be a predator. A simple enough path to leave a life of fear, no? We also learn that Marla believes the United States is a blessing, because it provides fair ground to become a predator—if one works hard enough and plays by the rules.

As stretched a conception as that may be, play by the rules Marla does. She takes advantage of the elderly by the books. See below where she fights for what she thinks is right, appealing to justice, and the American flag? (This makes the conflict of the movie even more interesting, as she believes herself better than her antagonist, who doesn’t follow the American legal playbook, but who is trying to prevent a wrong.)

Much later, when Marla is in the depths, losing ground to the unstoppable force, she clings to this American promise. And it saves her. When her tooth is knocked loose, a gas station and its cheap milk rescue it. When Marla is cold, a hot dog machine provides a hearth to warm up on. Red ketchup and yellow mustard sit like a dog by her side; reminders of the comfort and stability the United States has to offer. As long as she and this country are alive, she can do anything. It is no surprise that Marla finds a new resolve after this scene.

The Night is Short, Walk On Girl

Remember that best night ever? When somehow, everyone out was tapped into the same line of electricity in the air?

This movie is that night, thanks to The Girl with the Black Hair. She knows life is short, so she’s going to take a hit of that new drink; to chat up that stranger. Though her positivity is irresistible, so is her appetite.

Her quest for more lights up the entire city. Each place she visits, each character she meets, brings its own charming quirks.

The movie is a drunken delight. A poem to serendipity, with exaggerated animation that’ll change the way you take in the world, if just for one night.

Enola Holmes

Enola Holmes was raised to be independent. At least, Mother tried. When this her best friend and teacher goes missing, we’ll see if Enola is truly ready to walk her own path.

Unexpected situations seem to be around its every bend. It’s hard to say whether those, or Enola’s problem-solving, are more fun to watch.

One thing is for sure: This movie has energy. Good music and writing chug us along, with lead actress as conductor. Sitting with her, the ride flies by.

She Dies Tomorrow

Amy can’t explain why. She just knows. So, she spends her last day doing things that make her happy.

She also tells people. And that’s when the movie gets interesting. Her conviction spreads like a virus, with each new host reacting in its own way.

The slow start and choppy timeline make this movie feel a bit too intellectual (in part because it’s more thoughts and discussions than actions). But good acting feeds off a great premise. Colorful close-ups infect us with a feeling: There are powerful things going on that we cannot see.

It’s a weird, eerie one.

Vivarium

Vivarium is life . . . if you can call this living.

Gemma and Tom are looking for a house. An eager, if strange realtor knows just the place for them: A perfect place to live forever.

Anyways, the young couple doesn’t need perfect, and this one-note neighborhood is far from it. Things turn queasy when Gemma and Tom try to leave.

This movie is just spectacular. From beginning to end, every aspect (set design, coloration, editing, cinematography, writing, acting, directing, music, and so on!) creates a plastic, unsettling world that tells a story about ours. Humans can aspire, making perfect little things to use in our perfect little homes. But we’re deluding ourselves. Nature is one, scary thing, and we all know it.

El Hoyo (The Platform)

The Platform is a whole ’nother world.

We don’t know why it exists, who’s in charge . . . or how many people it tortures. Goreng doesn’t either, but he may be the first to explore enough to find out. As the only person to voluntarily enter this place, he’s either its savior or biggest stooge.

From the first moment, our world shrinks to the size of this vertical prison. Trapped with Goreng, his hopes and despairs become ours. Earworm music captures our unease, reminding us that truly, this very moment is all there is.

It is a thought-provoking, exciting, and twisted piece.

Blow the Man Down

Aye, it will.

It’s tough times in small town Maine, especially since Mary Beth and Priscilla’s mom died. Could their lives be over, before they really began?

The situation gets bleaker after Mary Beth is put in a compromising situation. From then on, each decision the sisters make seems to spiral things further out of control. Wise old townswomen offer to help. But not just the sisters have secrets.

This movie is a work of art: cheeky, haunting, beautiful. Sights and sounds hook you, the story reels you in, and the ending guts you good.