by Wally De La Fuente

“The Marvels,” directed by Nia DaCosta, is a film that dances on the edge of brilliance and confusion, a tightrope act that is both its strength and downfall.

Nia DaCosta’s direction shows promise, despite her remote completion of the film due to scheduling conflicts. Her departure from traditional on-site direction, though unusual, was not unprecedented in filmmaking. DaCosta adapted to these challenges, finishing post-production in the United Kingdom. This move, while necessary, might have impacted the film’s cohesion, though DaCosta stated that her vision and that of her crew remained clear throughout.

Brie Larson’s portrayal of Captain Marvel reveals a matured and more engaging character than her previous outings. Larson brings a depth to Carol Danvers, indicating a deepened understanding and comfort in the role. This evolution is a refreshing shift, adding layers to a character that previously seemed more monolithic.

Iman Vellani, as Ms. Marvel, is a revelation. Her performance is brimming with energy and charisma, portraying Kamala Khan as a relatable and endearing hero. Vellani’s portrayal stands as a highlight, bringing a much-needed freshness to the MCU.

However, the film’s ambitious nature is its Achilles’ heel. The narrative, cluttered with multiple storylines and characters, struggles under the weight of its own complexity. This clutter is perhaps a consequence of Disney’s influence, aiming to please a wide audience but losing narrative focus in the process.

The singing sequence on the planet Aladna, initially jarring, eventually finds its rhythm. This sequence, initially intended to be longer and more elaborate, was cut down, much to the disappointment of Vellani, a self-proclaimed musical theater enthusiast. The sequence, while at first seeming out of place in the MCU, eventually adds a unique charm to the film, showcasing a willingness to experiment with genre conventions.

Not to be overlooked are the film’s feline elements. Goose, the adorable cat from “Captain Marvel,” returns, adding a light-hearted and whimsical touch to the narrative. His presence, though seemingly minor, contributes to the film’s charm and appeal, resonating with audiences who enjoyed his antics in the previous film.

In conclusion, “The Marvels” is a film of contrasts. It excels in character development, particularly with Larson’s and Vellani’s performances, and dares to experiment with musical elements. Yet, it stumbles in its convoluted plot and tonal inconsistencies, likely a result of external studio influences. It’s a film that will entertain and perplex in equal measure, a testament to the ever-evolving nature of the MCU.

Be sure to watch the original 1941 serial Captain Marvel on ReDiscover Television!

by Tyler Smith

Few things are more frustrating for a film critic than having to review a movie that is “for the fans.” While many films made with a built-in fan base try to be accessible enough to bring in a wider audience, some of these films have no such ambition. They are content to appeal only to their pre-existing audience, usually at the expense of coherent storytelling and fully- developed characters. Emma Tammi’s Five Nights at Freddy’s is based on a very popular video game franchise and, it would appear, has no desire to move beyond that. Characters make winking references and the camera will linger over certain images in a way that suggests meaning without ever going to the trouble of actually creating any.

The story begins with world-weary Mike (Josh Hutcherson) struggling to take care of his younger sister Abby (Piper Rubio). With the parents out of the picture, Mike fights against his unsympathetic aunt (Mary Stuart Masterson) to retain custody, which is hanging by a thread after he loses his job.  Now desperate, Mike hastily takes a job as a night watchman at an out-of-business pizza place called Freddy Fazbear’s. Once famous for games, prizes, and, most notably, animatronic creatures that perform for the audience, Freddy’s has been slowly decaying after going under decades earlier. The job seems simple enough but becomes lethally complicated as Mike discovers that the animatronics have a life of their own and have no reservations about brutally killing anybody they deem a threat. Mike’s investigation into this strange situation eventually leads him to a series of unsolved child abductions that occurred years before.

In simply describing the plot, we already run into a fatal flaw of the film: an overly-convoluted storyline.  “Killer robots run amok” is a premise that writes itself.  It hits the basic beats of realization, survival, resistance, and victory.  The specifics may be different, but checking off these simple story points is really all one needs to create a perfectly satisfying horror movie.  Westworld, The Terminator, and even Chopping Mall  understood this, but it apparently eludes Five Nights at Freddy’s which adds a supernatural element that it neither fully grasps nor knows what to do with.  This lack of understanding also applies to the robots themselves, which veer drastically from monstrous to sympathetic based on the needs of the scene, creating a “have its cake and eat it, too” quality that leaves the audience wondering what it’s supposed to feel. 

All of this confusion might well come from the film’s uncertainty about what it’s supposed to be.  It clearly desires to be a frightening horror movie, while simultaneously trying to appeal to a younger audience.  These conflicting goals regularly trip each other up, resulting in a film that is perhaps too intense for kids but far too tame for adults.  It is a classic blunder made by too many mainstream films: trying to do so many things that it eventually accomplishes none.

Of course, for some, the mere existence of the film is accomplishment enough.  To certain Freddy’s fans, inconsistent stories and contradictory tones matter infinitely less than the mere fact that their favorite game has been adapted into a film.  This is the ultimate good that excuses all evils and perhaps this is what the studio was banking on when it decided to produce such a mediocre movie; brand loyalty, lowered expectations, and blind acceptance on the part of the audience.

by Tyler Smith

Most Horror Movies that feature an outlandish story contain heavily-stylized worlds and characters, meant to elicit terror and dread from the audience. Many of the best films in the genre are so drenched in atmosphere that, while undeniably frightening, they clearly don’t take place in a recognizable world. This stylization is so associated with horror, that those few movies that strive for realism can be a little jarring. What might seem impossible can become eerily feasible in these types of films. Such seems to be the organizing principle of William Friedkin’s 1973 classic The Exorcist.

Set in Georgetown, the story revolves around a single mother (Ellen Burstyn) and her young daughter (Linda Blair), who begins to display bizarre and self-destructive behavior. After speaking to several doctors and therapists, it is eventually determined that the little girl is possessed by a demon. To fight this evil entity, the mother calls in a professional exorcist (Max von Sydow) and a younger priest (Jason Miller). The spiritual battle that ensues is as unblinking as it is terrifying.

Normally, a film about demons and devils is made with stylistic flourishes to better capture the surreal nature of the story. Friedkin’s brilliance is in understanding that spiritual explanations are more harrowing when they are earned. The various medical tests that the little girl endures take up a good portion of the film, as if Friedkin is saying “See? I’m doing everything I can to rule out the supernatural.” By the time we arrive at a spiritual conclusion, we do so because, like the characters, we are left with no other explanation. This methodical approach to the problem, both on the part of the director and the protagonist, is what sells the sensationalism required to tell a spiritual story. And the film is much more frightening as a result. Because everything just seems horribly logical.

And indeed the things that we see and hear in this movie are so extremely graphic, they border on the obscene. Christians certainly think so. Ever since the film’s release, people have been warning viewers about the potential demonic influence that The Exorcist can have. Young and old alike have kept their distance from this movie, to avoid any risk to their spiritual and mental health.

While I do understand that demonic possession films – and horror movies in general – are not for everybody, I think it is unfortunate that so many have completely dismissed this movie as having no redeeming value, often without even seeing it. Yes, this may be a film that depicts some of the most blasphemous interactions in the history of film, but it doesn’t do so lightly. Far from being exploitative, the movie is a thoughtful – if not downright meditative – exploration of good and evil. And this is no bland, generic, non-committal version of either one, but is very specifically Christian in its concepts and terminology. The demon is not compelled by some vague sense of goodness; it is compelled by the power of Christ. This carries on to the film’s climax, which some might view as a loss, but astute viewers can easily associate with the nature of Christ’s sacrifice.

In the end, The Exorcist is an uncompromising film, just as memorable for its drama as it’s horror. It desires to be sincerely engaged with the spiritual concepts it contains. This is why the film has remained a staple in the world of horror – and indeed the world of cinema – for decades. It manages to successfully be what so many horror movies have no interest in. It is both terrifying and meaningful.

Watch The Exorcist for a limited time on www.rediscovertelevision.com or search for ReDiscover Television on your Roku device!

by Tyler Smith

Few things are more heartbreaking for film fans than when a bold, exciting director starts to phone it in, at which point their once-innovative work loses its novelty and becomes “by-the-numbers”. A prime example of this is Tim Burton, whose early film can only be described as visionary but eventually became perfunctory. For the last twenty years, Burton’s films have lacked the mischievous tone, inspired world-building, and heartfelt compassion of his earlier work. There was once a time when the announcement of a Tim Burton film would be met with giddy anticipation instead of an apathetic shrug. And rightfully so. These early films were made with the manic joy of a director who can’t believe how much he is getting away with. And indeed, in retrospect, it is mind-blowing to think that any studio gave him the opportunity to make films of such grotesque beauty, off-kilter melancholy, and disconcerting tone. 

No movie better encapsulates the go-for-broke, kitchen sink nature of Burton’s earlier work than Beetlejuice. While he would go on to explore sentimentality in films like Edward Scissorhands and Ed Wood, he had no such aspirations with Beetlejuice. This film is Burton at his most gleefully unhinged. The story begins with a young couple, Adam and Barbara (Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis), getting in a tragic car accident and returning to their home as ghosts, unable to escape. Their situation might not be so awful if not for the family that moves into the house, unaware that it is essentially haunted. Though the family would seem to be postmodern yuppies, the daughter (Winona Ryder) has such a morose outlook on life that not only does she feel distant from her parents, but she also is the only one that can see the ghostly couple. Adam and Barbara make several attempts to drive the living family from their home, but find that scaring people is not their fortè. Desperate, they turn to a self-proclaimed “bio-exorcist” named Beetlejuice (Michael Keaton), whose wacky hijinks disguise a much more malevolent personality. 

In what would become commonplace in Burton’s films, the story is less important than the atmosphere and visuals. Inspired heavily by the German Expressionism of the 1920s, Burton’s movies have always contained a deeply skewed vision of the world. Sort of like a nightmarish Doctor Seuss. In this film Burton creates an afterlife that is both hilarious and disturbing. A bureaucratic office filled with ghoulish creatures and mangled bodies, this world would not seem to contain a single straight line or right angle. Instead there is a swirling, surreal quality to it all. This place may be absurdly funny, but to spend any time there is to soon feel uneasy. 

The overall tone of the film is one that can only be described as madness. Just like our main characters, we are abruptly moved from one crazy situation to another, trying and failing to keep up. There is an overwhelming element to the film that makes it all seem… unsafe. The recklessness of the film’s pace creates a nervous energy that is enhanced (or made worse, depending how you look at it) by Michael Keaton’s mile-a-minute line delivery, non-existent attention span, and lascivious looks. Think of Robin Williams’ Genie from Aladdin, except he hates you. 

When considering all of this, it becomes clear that Beetlejuice is a young man’s film. It feels as though it were made by someone who isn’t sure they’ll ever be allowed near a camera again, so they throw as much onto the screen as they can. Burton makes several risky choices in this film; the same types of choices that he would avoid later in his career. As with so many other quirky filmmakers, the audience eventually got used to Burton’s style. By the mid-2000s, the novelty had worn off, and Burton made no attempts to challenge himself. Rather than make choices that he was passionate about, he instead made those that were expected of him. It’s always sad to see for a film fan. Thankfully, though, we will always have those early films, with their sincere melancholy, delightful chaos, and horrendous beauty; three things that Beetlejuice has in abundance.

You can watch Beetlejuice for a limited time, here on ReDiscover Television.!

by Tyler Smith

Of all the pop culture trends of the last twenty years, few have been more pervasive than zombies. These shambling, decaying creatures with a hunger for human flesh have been featured in movies, TV shows, and games. Zombies are so iconic it feels as though they’ve been around forever, as integral to the horror genre as vampires and werewolves. And those certain versions of zombies have indeed been around for over a century – usually related to voodoo lore- the idea of corpses coming to life and desomating the population is relatively new, beginning in earnest with George Romero’s groundbreaking 1968 film Night of the Living Dead.

The story is as simple as it is terrifying. A brother and sister visit their mother’s grave, only to be attacked by a mindless zombie that they mistook for a normal person. The sister gets away and runs to a nearby farmhouse, where she encounters other people who have had their own experiences with the walking dead. As more and more zombies begin to close in on the farm house, tensions between survivors rise and tempers flare, to the point that there are just as many threats inside the house as outside.

If this dynamic sounds familiar to you, it is because every single zombie movie or TV show has featured a story that is a slight variation of it. Romero’s film not only introduced us to the idea of modern zombies, but it arrived with its narrative structure and thematic elements fully formed. So much so, in fact, that future zombie stories would deviate from this formula at their own peril. The film also established the iconography that we still see in zombie movies to this day. Rotting flesh, boarded up buildings, and grasping hands are such common images in these movies that it would feel wrong if one did not incorporate them.

The film not only set the standard for future films in the genre, it also firmly established the zombie movie as fertile ground for political commentary and social satire. The idea of inner conflict, when there should be unity, in the midst of a global scourge is an evergreen concept, as we have learned in the last few years as reactions to the COVID pandemic quickly lead to worldwide hostility. Add to that subtle explorations of ingrained societal racism, and you have a film that is ripe for in depth analysis by film critics and social scientists alike.

Even deeper than these themes though is the universal underlying fear of death. Our main characters are terrorized by walking corpses, a none-too-vague metaphor for death itself. And like death, there is a feeling of inevitability in zombie movies. The zombies are slow moving, but patient. And no matter how fast we run, or how effectively we hide, the dead eventually catch up to us and we soon join their ranks; just one more corpse among billions.

It would be easy to write off a film as thematically robust as this as more interested in provocation than horror. But Romero wisely understands that the more truly frightening the film is, the more potent its themes. The ever present threat, along with its unknown origin, set an oppressive tone that any viewer of the film will not soon forget. That is the sign of a true horror masterpiece, which Night of the Living Dead undeniably is.

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The Universal Classic Monsters Review

The term “cinematic icon” can refer to many different things. It could be a notably impressive set piece or a particularly impactful musical theme. It could be as simple as a prop: a falcon, a sled, a ring. Then there are iconic characters. Those heroes and villains that immediately come to mind when we think of movies. The most memorable of these have the power to move beyond the world of cinema to then become a part of the culture at large.

Perhaps the most successful examples of this are in the Universal Monsters of the 1930s and 40s. These characters are so ingrained in the collective consciousness, that even those who have never watched the films can immediately tell you intricate details about them. When we think of Frankenstein, odds are that we are picturing a tall, lumbering figure with a flat head and bolts coming out of his neck. When we refer to Dracula, we’re not talking about Max Schreck, Gary Oldman, or even Christopher Lee. We are talking about Bela Lugosi with slicked back hair and long, flowing cape.

Along with the characters themselves are the worlds they inhabit, which are long on atmosphere and short on logic. Reason and realism do not apply here. These places exist outside of time, where crumbling castles can be accessed by automobile. They are meant to stick with us long after the movie is over. Decrepit windmills, insane laboratories, and ancient tombs set a delightful tone of dread and suspicion. Heavily informed – but not completely – by the shadowy films of German expressionism, these are places we feel like we could step inside (even though we wouldn’t want to).

The stories are deceptively simple, but thematically complex. They explore concepts like the darkness of human nature, the desire to play God, and the desperate loneliness that comes with being an outsider. These ideas had been tackled before, but doing so with vampires, werewolves, and invisible men could actually allow these filmmakers to address them in a more straightforward way.

It also allowed the audience to engage with tragedies every bit as heartbreaking as those of William Shakespeare. Were these monsters to be merely scary, they would be rendered two dimensional. And I frankly doubt they would have had such a cultural impact, if that were the case. Instead, these are fully developed characters who are deeply aware of their own unfortunate circumstances. It is a very sad thing to be a monster. Frankenstein seeks companionship, the Mummy seeks his lost love, and poor Larry Talbot – the Wolfman – just wants to die. Doctor Griffin may have gained invisibility, but he lost his mind. It would seem that Dracula stands alone in the pleasure that he takes from being evil. But even then, there are scenes where Dracula reveals his longing for an actual death.

This is what makes these movies truly iconic: their exploration of the darker elements of life. They don’t stop at fear, but instead show us the entire range of the more difficult human emotions. Anger, greed, selfishness, loneliness, obsession. These and more are what we are faced with when we watch these movies, forcing us to look at the parallels in our own lives. That we are able to engage with such complexities while enjoying the sensational stories and fantastical worlds of these films speaks to their power as true works of art and indeed genuine American icons.

Watch now on rediscovertelevision.com

Few film genres have been as maligned, as mocked, as thoroughly dismissed, as the romantic comedy. Perhaps it’s the facile nature of the stories, or that they are seen as appealing exclusively to women. No matter the reason, to mention romantic comedy is to be met with an instant, and intense eye roll. It is somewhat understandable, as any film that has a built in audience can fall victim to laziness and complacency. But the same could be said for every other genre, as well. And like those, there are the romantic comedies that both epitomize and elevate the genre, spurring on genuine cinematic discussion. Films like It Happened One Night, Annie Hall, and When Harry Met Sally. Similarly, Nora Ephron’s You’ve Got Mail may tell a familiar story, but it is told with such an effortless flair and acted so beautifully that it feels just as fresh as any other great film made within one of the more “respectable” genres.

The story – which easily qualifies as “simple but not simplistic” – revolves around Joe (Tom Hanks) and Kathleen (Meg Ryan), two lonely people who, despite both being in relationships, are becoming increasingly enamored with each other, albeit through the anonymity of the internet. In the real world, however, they are bitter rivals, with Joe’s successful chain of bookstores threatening to put Kathleen’s boutique children’s bookstore out of business. Of course, formula dictates that they will eventually discover each other’s identity. And as satisfying as that will inevitably be, it is the characters’ personal journeys that keep us interested. In a fun twist, the antagonism of their real world relationship causes them to be more and more cruel to each other, while their impersonal internet relationship brings out their humanity. This sense of duality is, at times, funny and at other times, tragic. Lesser actors would be unable to find consistency between these two elements, but Hanks and Ryan create fully-developed characters and have such natural chemistry, that everything flows along organically. It is this dynamic that redeems even the most obvious of cliches, to such a degree that even a line as earnest as “Oh, how I wish you would” is rendered not only acceptable, but actually quite touching.

Our two likable leads are given solid support by an impressive cast of heavy hitters, such as Greg Kinnear, Steve Zhan, Dave Chappelle, Jean Stapleton, and the always-reliable Parker Posey. These actors manage to take very familiar characters – from the clueless boyfriend, to the eccentric coworker- and breathe new life into them, in keeping with one of the film’s larger goals, which is to tell a very human and relatable story. All of this against the backdrop of New York City during the holidays, shot with such depth and texture that we feel as though we could step right into the frame.

One of the unintended pleasures of revisiting the film is as a fascinating snapshot of the era in which it was made. The film, now twenty-five years old, was made at a time when the internet was still relatively new. Characters regularly dismiss it as a fun novelty with very little practical use. It also begins to hint at the addictive nature of being online, as our main characters can’t wait to be left alone so that they can indulge their email habit. Given how vital the internet has become in our lives – and the various studies decrying this – the film serves as a cautionary tale that it never meant to be. Add to that the role of bookstores, which would soon become extinct at the hands of the internet, as well as the characters’ disdain for a still-new-but-growing company called Starbucks, and the film takes on a quality that many would view as dated, but I call quaint.

In the end, You’ve Got Mail contains all sorts of little treasures for those that are open to it. From engaging characters, to complex relationships, this film is everything a good romantic comedy should be. And more than that – though some would be reluctant to admit it – it’s everything a good movie should be.

Considering director Wes Andersons’s penchant for whimsical story telling, off-kilter dialog, and heavily stylized world building, it seemed only a matter of time before he would arrive at the works of Roald Dahl. Dahl, perhaps best know for his books “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and “James and the Giant Peach”, managed to capture in his writings the swirling blend of imagination, energy, silliness, and fear that children experience everyday.

So when it was announced that Anderson’s first ever adaptation would be Dahl’s “Fantastic Mr. Fox”, fans were delighted at the prospect. Even more so when they discovered that the film would be stop motion animation. With Anderson’s realities becoming more and more heightened, as in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, this seemed like the next logical step, as he would no longer be hemmed in by the limitations of the nature world. And with Anderson’s meticulous eye for detail kicked into high gear, his resulting Fantastic Mr. Fox is a masterpiece of creativity, humor, and no small amount of melancholy. Not merely one of Wes Anderson’s best films but also among the best animated movies of the last thirty years.

Despite the film’s stylistic flourishes, the story is a relatively simple one, seen in various film genres (including animation, with Pixar’s The Incredibles being a prime example). The story involves the wily Mr. Fox (voiced with a wink by George Clooney), a former chicken thief now settled into domestic life, living with his wife (Meryl Streep) and son (Jason Schwartzman). Unhappily employed as a columnist for the local paper, Fox yearns for the dangerous exhilaration of his old life. Eventually, he gives into temptation and begins thieving again, setting off a

war between three malicious farmers and the local animal population. While these battles are often ridiculous to the point of farcical, the sobering fact remains that Mr. Fox has put his family and friends in harm’s way as he attempted to recapture his glory days.

Soon, Fox realizes his error, having become so focused on his previous adventures that he failed to recognize those that were right in front of him. Humbled by this new realization, Fox comes to embrace the rewards of being a husband, father, and friend. However, lest we begin to think the moral of the story is too simplistic, Fox also discovers the true value of the skills he honed in his old life, not in the indulgence of his own insecurity and ego, but in the protection of those he loves.

This balance of personal passion and selfless love is one that we all struggle with sooner or later, usually through a series of unfortunate mistakes. That Fantastic Mr. Fox explores this very human problem through the experiences of animals makes it almost allegorical, in the same vein as Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. Unlike that work however, this film, while exploring very adult concepts, is something that kids can heartily enjoy. And what’s more, with its delightful visual realization of Dahl’s story the film invites even the most jaded adult to join in the lively fun of this amazing film.