"Coco"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

This movie is about a silly little snowman who lives in a castle with two princesses and who tries to save the day by coming up with a Christmas tradition for his castle-mates.

Oh wait no that’s the 20 minute monstrosity of a Disney “short” that drones on and on and on before “Coco”—a “Frozen” spinoff that’s so trite and sentimental that I’m sure even the people at Hallmark are going to blush. I guess it’s not fair to knock “Coco” for this. But it really did kill the vibe—for me, at least.

But now “Coco”. “Coco” is about a Mexican boy—Miguel (Anthon Gonzalez)—who desperately wants to be a musician but whose family won’t let him. His family won’t let him because way way way back—generations ago—his great, great grandmother was abandoned by a musician who apparently thought his career was more important than hanging out with his wife and young daughter.

Nowadays Miguel’s family makes shoes. No music. Just shoes. The only one who even remembers the old music man with whom everyone is so pissed is Miguel’s great grandmother, Coco—who is also the musician’s daughter. Still, no music. Just shoes.

But Miguel isn’t having it. On the day of the Mexican holiday Dia de Muertos (“Day of the Dead”), Miguel concludes that his great, great grandfather (the musician) is none other than “the greatest living musician of all time”, Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt). So it turns out music is in Miguel’s blood! Forget shoes. Music is his fate!

So Miguel figures it’s all right to steal Ernesto de la Cruz’s famous guitar from his tomb in order to enter into a music competition. But it turns out it’s not all right. Apparently you are not supposed to steal from the dead on Dia de Muertos. Miguel is instantly transported to the realm of the dead. All of the sudden he is walking among a bunch of skeletons. Luckily, these skeletons are harmless and, for the most part, rather pleasant. They’re just walking around enjoying their special day.

But Miguel is no skeleton. So he needs to get back to the land of the living. To do this, he has to go to the Land of the Dead and get a blessing from one of his dead family members. That would be easy enough, except remember everyone in his family hates music. So they’ll only give Miguel a blessing on the condition that he never plays music again. Bummer.

However, Miguel figures there’s at least one dead family member who will bless his passion for music …

He doesn’t have much time. But Miguel figures it’s worth the risk, since, for him, a life without music is no life at all.

“Coco” is vibrant. Its colors and shapes and music and dancing and characters and traditions all dazzle the senses. This movie is, at every turn, charismatic. It is, for example, easy to see why Ernesto de la Cruz might be so beloved, and it is even easier to see why Miguel is Cruz’s heir in at least that regard. Miguel’s expressiveness—the subtle mannerisms and gentle, nuanced emotive responses he conveys—is a feat for all involved … from the voice actor, to the animators, to the writers, and on down the line.

I suppose it is a little risky making a kids’ movie about a bunch of dead people—rickety old skeletons who talk all about how they kicked the bucket. But it works. The way “Coco” folds in the tradition of Dia de Muertos is rich, interesting, and just a ton of fun.

The story itself is a throwback to older Pixar movies. But as long as they keep taking risks like these, and cashing in big time, this studio will continue to thrive.

"Blade Runner 2049"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Times have changed. They’ve changed in reality between 1982, when “Blade Runner” first came out, and the present. And they’ve also changed in the fictional world of the movie between 2019, when “Blade Runner” takes place, and 2049, when the more recent tale is set.

Times have changed. But some things are the same. The people of Earth are still crowded into cities, bombarded with salacious advertising, manipulated by rich overlords, and, to a large extent, have no idea who they are or why they are doing what they are doing.

I’m talking about the movie, of course. And, just like the last movie, the current installment focuses on one particular “blade runner”—a cop (LAPD) whose job it is to “retire” (i.e., blow to bits) bioengineered, human-looking beings called “replicants”. The thing is, a certain generation of replicants wasn’t too great at taking marching orders. They didn’t always obey their overlords. So they needed to go bye-bye.

K (Ryan Gosling) is the man for the job. He himself is a replicant (“K” is short for “KD6.somethingorother”). But he obeys. Replicants were once outlawed because of their slight propensity for not-so-civil unrest. But a new corporate bigwig—Niander Wallace (Jared Leto), who figured out a new way to farm despite a recent ecological collapse—is in charge. And he managed to design a new generation of replicants, like K, who do as they are told.

And K, for one, is good at what he does. Take, for instance, the giant, hulking man of a replicant he has to take down in the beginning of the movie. Pretty shortly after they say their hellos and get other pleasantries out of the way, K is punched in the face, bashed through a wall, choked, and stabbed in the arm. No problem. Pop back up. And … replicant retired.

But, as we’ve learned, some replicants are more curious than others. And when K notices a tree outside his latest victim’s farm (trees are rare these days), he becomes fixated. He ends up discovering a coffin filled with bones buried under the tree. Now, lots of people die, especially the apocalyptic wasteland K inhabits. But, in this case, the deceased had some particularly striking features. She was a mother. In fact, she died in childbirth. But here is the real kicker: She was also a replicant.

Not possible, they say. Replicants cannot reproduce. So everyone—not just the police—wants to know more. Why? Well, the police—and the authorities more generally—are worried about a replicant uprising. So they don’t want replicants reproducing, and they don’t want replicants thinking they are on a par with humans.

The replicants also want to know about the mystery mother (and child). Why? Well, because they want to rise up and be more fully human.

K is caught in the middle. He is a replicant. But he is also LAPD. His instincts push him in one direction, but his “programming”, so to speak, pushes him in another. You might think this is about the human/replicant divide. But it isn’t. Not really. For we all fight these battles from within. We feel the power of emotion, intuition, and reason, but are also pulled by baser, hard-wired biological urges. We see the value of freedom and know the wrongness of oppression, but we also dislike unruliness, messiness, and anarchy. Our better angels want to help others; our demons desire only self-satisfaction. We’re all of mixed race here.

So the real question of this movie, and that which came before it, is: What is it that makes a being human? The capacity for reason or reflection? Or free will? Is it the capacity to feel love, or some other social/relational trait? Or maybe it’s something to do with morality—with our ability to do the right thing, even if it costs us something?

“Blade Runner 2049” meditates on these themes with patience and gravity. It’s a slow burn. This movie isn’t fast paced or action packed. It is methodical and atmospheric. Each formal element—from cinematography to music to staging—presses the point with such persistence and clarity. The drama unfolds, not just as a series of events, but as something closing in on you, weighing on you, and pursuing you.

This, in short, is a beautifully done movie.

"American Made"

Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Being a pilot for a major American airline isn’t a terrible job. It offers good pay, great benefits, and an opportunity to see the world.

But it also has to be tiring, and pretty dull at times. Plus, all that time away from family can take its toll. So if you were in Barry Seal’s (Tom Cruise) position, maybe you would do what he did.

And he really did it. This is a true story. It all started in the late 1970s with a little cigar smuggling—a victimless crime. Unfortunately Seal gets caught. But the CIA is looking for a little help. So they step in and, naturally, they turn the situation to their advantage. All Seal has to do is, you know, fly a bunch of machine guns to rebels in Central America.

Seal likes adventure. So he jumps at the opportunity.

So far so good. But then, during a mission, a drug cartel—the infamous Madellin Cartel, no less—nabs Seal and says, hey, why not fly some drugs (i.e., cocaine) back to the U.S.—you’re heading that way anyway.

Seal likes money. So, again, he jumps at the opportunity.

Seal is good. He always delivers. This is his chief virtue, and it is unquestioned. Hard work pays off, you see. It’s the American dream! Right? So it’s guns by day, drugs by night.

But then yet another agency gets involved. The DEA catches on to Seal’s drug operation. He’s caught again! But, again, the CIA has a deal. They’ll bail him out—they’ll even relocate him to a huge ranch in Arkansas—but now Seal has to do a special job for one Ronald Reagan. He has to run guns to Nicaraguan Contras.

Now Seal is in pretty deep. So he doesn’t really have a choice. Plus, he still likes adventure and money. So he goes all in.

Things get more and more complicated, as they are prone to do. Drug lords, DEA agents, contras, CIA and FBI agents, The White House, and mooching in-laws are all in the mix. Seal always delivers. But this, his signal virtue, can’t keep him out of hot water—in fact, it’s what got him in it. But if not his character—or his wholesome southern drawl—what can save this two-faced American?

“American Made” is a perfect title for this movie. Despite the fact that all of the products that Seal transports are made elsewhere—the guns are from Russia and the drugs are from South and Central America—this whole sordid affair is distinctively American. The affair is American, and so are the traits that produced it: greed, arrogance, an overblown sense of moral invincibility, and the conviction that might (plus money) makes right.

So this is a clever title for a true American tale. Still, unlike its main character, “American Made” plays it safe. Almost by its very nature, there is nothing special about this movie. On the other hand, there isn’t anything especially obnoxious about it either.

Fantasy football enthusiasts often talk about low ceiling players, who will never get you a ton of points. There are also high floor players, who, at a minimum, will do all right. “American Made” is high floor, low ceiling. Its subject material virtually guarantees that it won’t be a total disaster. But then there’s only so much you can do to make a movie like this special.

Tom Cruise is fine, the other actors are fine, the writing and directing is fine, as are the cinematography, music, wardrobe, and so on. Nothing groundbreaking. But “American Made” is fine.

"The Big Sick"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Kumail (Kumail Nanjiani) is a Pakistani comedian. You wouldn’t know that he is Pakistani except for the fact that he typically brings it up within 20 second of meeting someone, it is what his whole comedy routine is about, what his (separate) one-man show is about, and what most of this movie is about.

But Kumail’s nationality is not just relevant because it is a centerpiece of the movie; it is also relevant because it bears directly on his options in life, and indeed, in this story. For example, it is understood that Kumail will pray five times a day (like a good Muslim). It is also understood—really, really deeply understood—that Kumail will marry a Pakistani woman (perhaps even of his parents’ choosing).

Sure, Kumail could do otherwise—free country and all that. But then he’d have to deal with annoying little detail of being completely ousted, ostracized, shunned, and abandoned by his whole family.

So when Kumail falls for Emily (Zoe Kazan)—a white girl he meets at a bar—an “uh oh” is lurking. At first it was just a one-night stand, so no big deal as far as his none-the-wiser family goes. But as Kumail and Emily “accidentally” bump into each other with increasing frequency (each promised to be uninterested in a serious relationship … oops), the looming threat of their dueling backgrounds inches its way to the fore.

And yet Emily and Kumail are so adorable. They are both sort of dorky, have a similar witty, sarcastic sense of humor, don’t abide a lot of nonsense, and have just the right number of quirks to make them human yet not annoying.

But Kumail still hasn’t told his family. Emily does not like this. Kumail does not like that Emily does not like this. Emily really does not like that Kumail does not like that she does not like this. Kumail really does not understand. Uh oh.

Now, despite the unconventional-seeming relationship, and despite it being urged upon us that This Is An Unconventional Relationship!, the story up to this point is pretty conventional. When it really comes down to it, the Pakistani-background aspect of the story is pretty superficial. We don’t get any really deep insights into Pakistani culture, or into how it fundamentally shapes Kumail’s life or relationships. We mostly just hear about arranged marriages, naan, Islam, and a few other bits of trivia. So the movie just feels like a conventional “two worlds collide” type story that happens to be of the Pakistani variety.

But then the movie takes a turn for the unconventional. And a dark turn at that. Emily gets sick. Really sick. And a (now estranged) Kumail wants to be there. But he has to deal with Emily’s understandably defensive parents. And then of course there are his own parents in the mix. Ugh. As Emily’s dad (Ray Romano) says, “Love isn’t easy.” No joke, dad.

By the end, the story veers back toward conventional. But not necessarily in a bad way—the execution is solid. Plus, I guess it turns out to be a true (-ish) story. So I suppose there is only so much that creative license can license.

Still, this movie is at its best when it is on the edgier side. There are some nice, complex moments littered throughout the movie. For example, whilst having a man-to-man, heart-to-heart one night, Emily’s dad tells Kumail that you don’t really know who your true love is until you’ve cheated on him/her. Sounds like an awful thing to say, especially to your daughter’s boyfriend. But maybe there’s a point in there (not about cheating, but about hurt and loss more generally).

Morals aside, “The Big Sick” is distinctively pleasant. The story is interesting, and the characters are infectious. Kumail is understated and funny (though his stand-up is wanting, in my opinion). Emily is kooky in the best sort of way. And Emily’s parents add some flavor, too.

“The Big Sick” does feel a bit like a big studio movie dressed up like an indy movie. But who cares? It’s easy to watch.

"Dunkirk"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

First a bit of history. Toward the beginning of WWII—mid-1940—the Allies were in a bad way. British and French forces in France had been outmaneuvered—schooled, really—by invading Nazi forces and, as a result, were pinned against the English Channel at Dunkirk.

They—hundreds of thousands of soldiers—were surrounded with naught at their backs but the sea. The Nazis were hoping to trap the Allied armies there and leave them without any defenses in Britain. Dire stuff. In fact, the British were even thinking of surrendering to the Germans! Short of a miracle, the Allies were in for defeat.

But everyone knows the British didn’t surrender to the Germans. So there must have been some glorious defense—some heroic military battle—that repelled the Nazi army.

Not exactly. The “miracle” of Dunkirk wasn’t a charge. It was a retreat—an evacuation.

In “Dunkirk”, the scene is surreal. With the crackle of gunfire in the background, hordes of Allied soldiers are lined up on the beach waiting for boats that don’t seem to be coming. All they can do is wait and wonder what’s next.

A couple of the more restless soldiers flit about from potential exit to potential exit. They get in line, then they try bearing a stretcher onto a ship, then they try manning an abandoned tug boat … but, mere miles from home, getting off that beach proves daunting. The tide keeps bringing them back in.

Meanwhile, captains and admirals are trying to piece together an evacuation, RAF pilots are struggling to hold off Nazi war planes, and ordinary English citizens are organizing a massive, heroic effort to bring their boys home. There are something like 400,000 soldiers on the beach. Churchill is hoping to save about a tenth of that to defend England from invasion. So the mission—what seems impossible—is just getting out of Dunkirk.

“Dunkirk” is inventive. The sense of narrative is not achieved through character development (the movie bounces among various characters, who are mostly silent and unknown) or plot (there are three timelines covering varying spans that are spliced together such that the scenes often appear out of order). Rather, it parallels the unrelenting and uncontrolled ebb and flow of tides—of dread and relief, hope and despair, meaninglessness and purpose—and is marked by total immersion in the sight, sound, and feel of an army desperately trying to get away.

The score and cinematography of “Dunkirk” are beautifully interwoven with the glare of the sun, the darkness of the underwater abyss, the harassing roar of a jet engine, and the deafening silence of what’s next. The experience of this movie is very basic and elemental. We aren’t given much by way of high-minded, moralistic dialogue—we aren’t give much dialogue at all—or explanations, or reflections. We get faces, and wordless vocalizations, and frenzy.

I appreciate Christopher Nolan’s adventurous, experimental spirit when it comes to filmmaking, though I think he only succeeds about half the time. Fortunately, this is one of those times. Instead of giving us a typical war movie focused on conquest and violence, with an emphasis on beating that bad guy (though we see Nazi airplanes, we don’t really see “enemy” combatants in this movie) or blowing up that tank or overcoming that army (we don’t see these things at all), we get a thoughtful, well-crafted movie about escaping.

The triumph at Dunkirk was living to fight another day. The triumph of “Dunkirk” is depicting that story—and the feel of war, and the rawest, most basic emotions—with hardly a word.

"Baby Driver"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Baby is a very good driver. ‘Baby’ is his name (though, yes, he is quite young—maybe a teenager), and getaway driving is his business. He drives fast and creatively, getting his criminal cohort out of jam after jam by spinning out, dodging into alleys, riding up on embankments, and driving 90 in reverse. His driving is like art—like music.

Which makes sense because Baby listens to music pretty much 24/7. He has tinnitus from a car accident way back, and so listens to music to drown out the ringing. He also just likes music, makes music, and treats us (the audience) to his own personal “bank robbing” Spotify station throughout the movie.

Baby works for Doc (Kevin Spacey), who is a sort of crime boss. Doc sets up heists with various different crews, but Baby is always his driver.

Baby is a nice guy, though, and a kid. So you might wonder how he got mixed up with a character like Doc. Turns out Baby once stole a car loaded with some of Doc’s especially valuable merchandise, and instead of just killing him or breaking his knees, Doc decides to make Baby his indentured servant.

So Baby whips around town with hardened criminals in his back seat and carefully selected tracks on his iPod. There’s an oddly light touch with this soundtrack, and more generally with the mood of the movie, given how hard some of these criminals are—they are thieves, yes, but also cruel, unrepentant murderers. But I guess you’ve gotta pay the bills somehow.

And Baby is almost square with Doc. So, although Baby’s chosen profession is less than savory, he’s just about out, and he promises to become a new man (or I guess just a man, since it’ll be the first time).

And Baby really wants to be out. Some of that I suppose has to do with him being a “good” person. But it also has to do with a budding romance with Debora (Lily James), a waitress who gets Baby’s quirks and who is also eager to start anew.

So Baby is counting down the days. The problem is, as you might have guessed, Doc isn’t exactly keen on Baby leaving. Baby is Doc’s driver. And he’s good. Doc needs a good driver. And Doc always does what it takes to get what he needs.

So Doc makes all the usual threats—knee-breaking, family hurting, girlfriend harassing, etc. And so Baby appears to be stuck.

But, when you think about it, getting unstuck is sort of Baby’s specialty.

“Baby Driver” is in many ways—perhaps even at its core—a bad movie. Its plot is painfully unoriginal. Its characters are (mostly) irritating. Its acting is spotty (Ansel Elgort is an exception on each of the last two counts). And its screenplay is cliché and way too talky/telly. You know there’s a problem when you wish the deaf/mute character would just wrap it up already.

All signs point to a flop. And yet, somehow, the movie is … I hesitate to say it, but: It’s enjoyable. There’s no denying it. This hollowed-out hulk of a movie has some other ingredient—something like style—that sort of saves it. Over its rust-ravaged frame is some magical glittery paint that makes it watchable, even likable. Baby’s driving is a ton of fun to watch. The soundtrack is good. And Baby himself has charisma. The love story, which is really dumb in a lot of ways, is nonetheless easy to get into.

I suppose it’s sort of like the cool kid in class—he’s got no depth or personality and really is pretty unbearable when you think about it, but he’s handsome and just has some kind of watchable way about him. “Baby Driver” is like that. I don’t condone it. But, ya know, I did kinda like watching it.

"Wonder Woman"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Recently some dude in Austin, Texas sent an email to the mayor of Austin complaining about a women-only screening of “Wonder Woman”. This dude said all this Neanderthal stuff about women not being as good at doing things as men are, or some nonsense like that. The mayor (thankfully) tore him a new one. It’s all very hilarious.

My Facebook feed hasn’t told me yet what I am supposed to think about the politics in “Wonder Woman”—seemed to me like a mixed bag (empowerment, yah!, objectification, boo!)—so I’ll steer clear of all that. But what I am sure of is that Wonder Woman—or Diana (Gal Gadot), as she’s called—is much better at doing things than I am.

She lives on this island with a bunch of other Amazonian women—all women—who are also better at doing things than any of us. They are faster and stronger than us, know over a hundred languages, and are also just more advanced and civilized than any group of people I’ve ever met. Zeus gave them this isolated island as a gift, allegedly, and, whether or not that’s gods’ honest truth, they sure are putting the gift to good use.

But then a man comes in a plane. It’s Steve Trevor (Chris Pine), a spy for British Intelligence. After Diana saves him from his smoldering wreck of a plain, he relates—more like confesses—to her that there is a war going on out there (WWI, to be precise). This comes as a surprise to everyone on the island, because they all assumed that Zeus killed Ares, the god of war, and thus, that there was no war.

So the way Diana thinks of it is she has to go to the Western Front, find Ares—that’s right, find Ares, god of war—and finish what Zeus started. Trevor is a little perplexed, naturally, but he is happy to go along with the story, because that means he gets to go back home … and with Wonder Woman no less.

Then there’s Wonder Woman in London, trying to fit in, buying clothes at a fancy boutique, but still tripping over the culture shock left and right. What a riot.

At any rate, Diana is less than enthusiastic about traipsing around London when she’s supposed to be ending the War to End All Wars. Luckily, she is a persuasive woman. So she convinces Trevor to take her to the front. Trevor has independent motivation, anyway, because he has unearthed a plot by one General Ludendorff (Danny Huston) and one Dr. Maru (Elena Anaya) of the German army to release a terrible poison on both military and civilian targets, a deed which promises to kill millions.

So off to battle they go. Diana’s approach to everything is so mythical and otherworldly. She can’t help but see every event as a struggle between Good and Evil, and, in particular, herself and Ares. She thinks humans are mere victims—entranced by Ares for the moment, but otherwise good, peaceful, and innocent by nature.

Trevor has a more practical—realistic, you might say—approach to things. Not only does he think war is more complicated than a mano-a-mano brawl, he also realizes that humans are not mere victims—they are, in fact, part of the problem.

For a super hero movie, this is a nice bit of complexity. There’s this idea that there are forces of good and evil greater than us, and a contrasting idea that, nope, we just did this to ourselves. “Wonder Woman” does a nice job of not just raising these competing ideas, but also of weaving them together and resolving their apparent conflict.

But, let’s be real, this movie has one mission: To entertain. And boy does it. “Wonder Woman” is thoroughly enjoyable at every turn. Two of the main contributors to this enjoyment are Gal Gadot and Chris Pine. They nail it. They are engaging, and compelling, and funny (and good looking, of course).

But this movie also has a lot of other flavors, too. It of course has all the bold flavors of a superhero saga. And yet these spices are less overpowering than in less subtle fare. This movie also has the gritty yet zesty zing of fast-paced, very well-choreographed violence—kind of like “300”. And, sure, it also has some rather cheesy moments, as well as some cornball, “Indiana Jones”-esque notes that aren’t my taste. But overall, these flavors balanced nicely. This movie is sometimes funny (thanks mostly to Chris Pine), sometimes sad, often exhilarating, and always entertaining.

Whether or not this is fine dining, I think you’ll find that “Wonder Woman” goes down plenty easy.

"The Lost City of Z"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“The Lost City of Z” is an adventure tale, and a true(-ish) one at that. The exploits it tells of easily rival those of Magellan, Earhart, Cousteau, Lewis and Clark, and Ahab. It’s the stuff of old, crackly, black-and-white newsreels about men in safari hats finding hidden temples in the jungle, with the exciting voiceover spinning yarns of exotic intrigue, ceaseless peril, and the almost unbearable titillation of what’s next—what’s out there.

In this episode, our hero is Percy Fawcett (Charlie Hunnam). You wouldn’t have guessed it, but this magnificent specimen started off as an ordinary British army officer in the early 20^th century, with no medals on his lapel and no obvious paths to greatness.

Until, that is, he is commanded to report to the Royal Geographical Society for an assignment. There they tell Fawcett that he is to go on an expedition to South America—Bolivia, to be precise—to help resolve a border dispute and (ahem) maybe even make England a little coin in the rubber trade.

Fawcett doesn’t love the idea at first—especially because he has a wife and young son—but the siren song of adventure soon bends his ear, and the decision is made.

So he sets off for the Amazon. Unfortunately it’s not a very pleasant place. What was billed as a vigorous romp through the jungle turns out to be malarial hell.

Fawcett seems to regret the change of lifestyle, but like a good Englishman, he keeps calm and carries on. Snakes, piranhas, panthers, and poison arrows vie to expel him from the jungle, but Fawcett soldiers on.

Just as he and his team (as well as us viewers) are at their wits end, they stumble across some evidence of a mysterious lost civilization—one that looks to be far more advanced than anyone thought possible. This is intriguing, to be sure, but since at this point priority number one is not dying, the lost civilization remains undiscovered.

Quick cut and they’re back home (And, yes, I do mean quick cut … there are a bunch of these abrupt, continents-spanning jumps between the jungle and the English countryside in the movie). Big sigh of relief, right? Well, actually, as much as he likes his wife and (now) two kids, it does not take long before Fawcett is itching to get back out there. He wants to find—nay, he needs to find—that lost civilization, which he calls “Z” (“Zed” if you’re British).

Z thus becomes his white whale. Fawcett says he wants to rewrite the history books; he aims to show that white men are not the sole bearers of dignity; he hopes to upend the dogma and bigotry of Western colonialism. That’s all very noble, of course. But it’s hard not to see all that bluster as cover for his thirst for the unknown—for his magnetic attraction to discovering new things and enduring hardships in naught but the name of adventure.

But, as with all white whales, there are obstacles. Skeptics, governments, wars, economies, bigots, and even families all stand between Fawcett and his lost city of Z.

As I said, this is the stuff of legend—of yarns spun in old newsreels.

Yet this yarn is spun a bit differently. Whereas those old newsreels gleam of Classic Hollywood—of romance, hope, optimism and a world full of goodness—“The Lost City of Z” takes on a decidedly more realist tone. The peril isn’t reducible to mere excitement; it isn’t cartoonish and unimposing ala “Indiana Jones”. The aches, pains and conflicts in this movie feel real, and at times, unbearable.

This actually had me worried in terms of the tone of the movie. The question is: Does realism pair well with an adventure tale of this sort? One could make the case that by portraying the horrors of nature, and by complicating the virtue of our hero’s motives with the fact that he abandoned his family, and by showing how nasty people, governments, and other organizations can be, this movie yields a more complex, nuanced version of an adventure story. Fine. But these features necessarily dilute so much of what is appealing about Earhart, Cousteau, and yes, even Indiana Jones, which is their pure spiritedness—their simple, totally uncomplicated and completely unencumbered drive to get out there and discover.

So I was worried about “The Lost City of Z”. I thought, “This movie can’t have it both ways—it can’t be both a crackly-newsreel adventure tale and a hyper realistic drama.” But, by the end, I got on board. Partly that’s because the movie ends up shedding its realist yoke. But also, realistic or not, the last quarter of the movie just does a really nice job of striking that pleasing chord of great adventures. It makes you get it. It makes you see the point of setting sail. It makes you feel like it’s worth getting out there and doing it, whatever “it” may be.

"Beauty and the Beast"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“Beauty and the Beast” is a strange story when you think about it. It self-advertises as a tale as old as time. But what part of it? People falling in love with animals? Or does its narrative pedigree have more to do with the fact that a good-looking person ends up with a not-so-good-looking person? But, wait, the prince turns out to be really handsome! It must be that the tale as old as time—the song as old as rhyme—is the bit about how people can change. With enough prodding, we can become better.

At any rate, in case you lacked a childhood, here’s how the story goes. Once upon a time, there was a handsome French prince who was a real jerk (totally unrealistic, I know). While his people suffered, he partied in his mansion—in fact, he partied in his mansion on their dime! They were starving, he was living large and not caring.

Then one night an ugly old beggar comes to the prince’s and asks for help. With disdain on his face and hate in his heart, the prince rejects the beggar. But it turns out she is a super powerful enchantress. So she goes, “All right fine, I’ll show this guy,” and turns him into an ugly beast. She adds that he will stay that way forever unless he gets someone to fall in love with him in the near-ish future.

Meanwhile, on the more modest side of the France, Belle (Emma Watson) is walking around, singing, reading, and having a gay old time. Aside from people making fun of her kooky dad (Kevin Kline) and some unwanted advances from that burly dolt, Gaston (Luke Evans), all is well with Belle.

But then her dad goes missing. Belle searches after him and finds out that the beast—or just “Beast” (Dan Stevens) for short—has captured him. She pleads with Beast to let her take her dad’s place as prisoner. Beast seems to think that trading an old, scraggly dude for a pretty girl is an all right deal, so he goes with it.

The upside for Belle is that the furniture in Beast’s mansion is pretty nice. The candlestick, Lumiere (Ewan McGregor), the clock, Cogsworth (Ian McKellan), the tea pot, Mrs. Potts (Emma Thompson), and the cutest tea cup this side of the Seine, Chip (Nathan Mack), welcome Belle with open arms. They seem like genuinely nice people.

But they also have an ulterior motive: They want Belle to fall in love with Beast and thereby lift the enchantment (which applies to them, too, for some reason … the enchantress making the staff suffer does seem kind of ironic, now that I think about it).

But who could love a beast? Well, Belle. She starts to warm up just as the rest of the town cools to the idea of a monstrous beast in their backyard. So, once his prisoner, Belle finds herself Beast’s prime defender. She ends up being his only means of salvation.

Again, this story is strange. And yet, it’s not like it’s hard to get into “Beauty and the Beast”. In fact, somehow it seems like the really weird—really perverted—reaction would be to not root for the Belle-Beast connection … even though he is, yes, ugly, but also mean, prone to bouts of violence and rage, condescending, demanding, possessive, and indeed, he is some species of animal.

Regardless, I applaud this movie’s effort. I like the original Disney “Beauty and the Beast” (though for a really good version, see the 1946 “La Belle et la Bete”). And this movie sticks very closely to the Disney version (including the music, story, script, etc.). So although this movie doesn’t get too many points for originality, it does score high in reflected glory.

Is that enough? I don’t know. I wouldn’t say this version of “Beauty and the Beast” is an improvement on the Disney version. Still, it’s hard not to like Emma Watson, Ewan McGregor, Ian McKellan, and Emma Thompson. And this is also a very pretty movie, which is a plus.

So this “Beauty and the Beast” is kind of like another copy of your favorite novel, perhaps with different cover art and a new introduction. It’s not something you need, or covet, or even something you would’ve asked for. But, hey, why not?

"The LEGO Batman Movie"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

“Everything is awesome … Everything is cool when you’re part of a team.” To be sure, everything is awesome, and cool, when you’re part of the LEGO-movie-watchers team. “The LEGO Batman Movie” may not compete with this past weekend’s Oscar picks, but it’s plenty awesome, and, as all the nerds will agree, it’s way cool.

Every moment of the movie is a shotgun blast of fast-paced action, dialogue, plot, and character development. It’s like a normal Batman movie put on fast-forward.

It starts with the Joker (Zack Galifianakis) once again threatening Gotham City. Oh, and he’s joined by Bane, Two Face, the Riddler, Cat Woman, the Penguin, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, and a bunch of other guys I’d never ever heard of before but that I’ve come to learn really have been Batman villains at some point (Condiment King? Seriously?). It is intense.

But just as quickly as these baddies come on the scene, Batman (Will Arnett) wipes them out. A few kicks here, a couple punches there … a dazzling array of explosions, jumps, flips, crashes, falls, etc., and it’s done. Batman is the hero once again. Everyone adores him.

But then just as quickly as the celebration erupts—which, really, is just an extension of the over-the-top action sequence—everything stops. Batman goes home, alone. He quietly changes his clothes, moseys on up to the kitchen, microwaves a plate of lobster thermidor that Alfred (Ralph Fiennes) left him in the fridge, and eats his dinner … alone, in silence.

Batman repeatedly insists that his greatest fear is snake clowns. But that’s just a cover. His greatest fear is new relationships—it is opening himself up to new bonds of affection, and thereby risking further loss and pain (remember, his parents died). Even the Joker is miffed at how Batman doesn’t consider their adversarial relationship special.

So when orphan Dick Grayson (Michael Cera)—who becomes Robin—gets a very distracted Batman to agree to adopt him, Batman’s frail psychological constitution—a constitution that is masked by his gruff exterior, nine-pack abs, raspy voice, and, yes, a literal mask—is put at risk.

But, hey, Robin turns out to be all right. He does everything Batman tells him to do, and ends up being pretty good at the whole crime-fighting thing. The only question is whether Batman—who cannot hide his approval of Robin’s performance—can let Robin in, so to speak.

Indeed, that’s the big question. Batman is a solitary warrior. It’s in his DNA. But complete solitude isn’t good for anyone, even Batman … especially when you are trying to fight roughly 10,000 baddies at once. So Batman can go it alone, as he always has, and risk the complete destruction of Gotham (which, of course, is built on a couple of those flimsy LEGO panels, and so is primed to snap apart). Or Batman can work with his friends and newfound family, and risk losing them.

OK, there’s not a ton to “The LEGO Batman Movie”. What do you expect? But there is still plenty to love. It is quick, witty, and super funny. You know when you read that Will Arnett is the voice of Batman and Michael Cera is the voice of Robin, you were already cracking up. They are perfect.

And I say there’s not a ton to the movie, but that’s not quite right. Its relentless sendups of the Batman franchise—and superhero movies in general—are pretty sophisticated. Even the insanely fast pace of the movie scratches the action movie itch while also cleverly making you aware that it is, perhaps to an embarrassing extent, scratching that itch.

And, as I’ve said, the dialogue and jokes (some of which are quite subtle) come at you with such blistering speed, that a lot of this movie is more for adults. It’s hard to imagine kids getting it all. They will still enjoy it, of course—there is enough stimulation to guarantee that. It’s like a fine chocolate truffle. Kids won’t appreciate the complex flavors cascading over their undiscriminating palates, but, no worries, they’ll still scarf it down.

There is also a nice little moral that is accessible to kids. What ends up being really noble about Batman (I won’t really ruin anything here, I promise), is not that he beats everyone up, or that he learns to let others into his life; it is rather that Batman recognized one of his flaws, and made a change. That’s a rather simple message, but a good one.

Anyway, go see the movie. It’s great.

"Silence"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

26 years. That’s how long Martin Scorsese was working on “Silence” before it came out this year. Who knows what took him so long, or why, exactly, he felt compelled to make it. After all, Scorsese is known for mafia movies, not religious dramas set in 17^th-century Japan (which is what “Silence” is).

Maybe Scorsese was looking for the right angle—a certain perspective on this gripping story of two Jesuit missionaries to Japan. Or maybe he was conflicted about which themes to draw out, which emotions to evoke, or which message to communicate. There is something deeply personal in this movie, and something deeply pious—it’s hard to compare it (or anything) to Dostoevsky’s The Brother Karamazov or Donne’s Sonnet 14, but it clearly tries to do something along those lines, as in the tradition of Bergman’s Winter Light or Tarkovsky’s Andrei Rublev.

The story is, after all, ripe for it. Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) are Jesuit missionaries to Japan. Their long-term goal is to bring Christianity to Japan. Or, rather, it is to bring it back to Japan. Not long before they arrived in 1639, there were hundreds of thousands of Christians. But a Japanese inquisition brought a brutal crackdown. Thousands and thousands of priests and laity were tortured and killed—beheaded, scalded with boiling water, hung upside down, drowned, burned alive, etc.

But that didn’t stop the Christians. They went underground. They worshiped in secret. Jesuit missionaries continued to sneak in.

That’s not exactly why Rodrigues and Garupe come to Japan, however. Their mission is rather to find a priest, Ferreira (Liam Neeson), who was the most devout among them, but who was reported to have renounced his faith under pressure. In a way, this is the first of many tests of their faith. Could it really be that Ferreira buckled? Is even the strongest among them too weak to withstand temptation? They had to know.

And yet when Rodrigues and Garupe arrive in Japan, they are immediately met with an overwhelming thirst for leadership among the Christian faithful. These people need their guidance. So they stick around.

And then their second test. The inquisitor, Inoue (Issei Ogata), comes to town and, suspecting that there are Christians among them, brutally tortures and kills three men, just to make a point. Rodrigues and Garupe watch from afar, asking themselves if they can bear it—or whether it’s worth it!—to watch innocent lives destroyed for the sake of proclaiming their faith.

Inoue sees Christianity as a nuisance, and Christians as trouble makers. He compares Christianity to a barren woman who relentlessly loves someone, but who is unfit to be a wife. Thus he tries every awful trick in the book to get Christians to recant, and to stamp out Christianity. Rodrigues and Garupe are tested again and again, right to their breaking points.

Rodrigues, in particular, is at a loss for what to do. He cannot hear God. He does not know what God would have him do. Rodrigues is willing to sacrifice himself. But others? What’s the point of causing all this grief just to refuse to comply with the inquisitor’s wishes?

I’m not quite sure Scorsese ever found it—that angle, that perspective, that theme, that emotion, that message he was looking for. It’s not that this movie lacks vision, or fails to pack an emotional punch. Not at all. It is compelling, heart wrenching, challenging, tragic, thought provoking—all of that. I just can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.

In Andrei Tarkovsky’s masterpiece, Andrei Rublev, there’s this one scene of profound religiosity, in which the iconographer Rublev cradles a young man whose darkest hour has just come. Without any special effects or explicit nods to the camera, we see that Rublev is himself the image of God, akin to those he paints—an icon through whom God has broken his silence, revealed himself, and given comfort to those who seek it. It’s a sublime aha moment. It’s like, “This Is It”.

There’s nothing quite like that in “Silence”. There’s plenty to struggle with in the movie. In many ways it’s an admirable meditation on the demands of faith. But there is no epiphany. The main characters are generally sympathetic, and there is a vague sense that their steadfastness is somehow worthwhile, but there is no “This Is It” moment where we really get the point—the point of what Rodrigues and Garupe are up to, the point of retelling their story, and indeed, the point of the movie. The why of it all hangs out there unanswered and unaddressed, as if, even after three decades, the movie wasn’t ready to be made yet.

“Silence” is, in many ways, a very fine movie. It is well written, directed, acted, shot, composed, and so on. But, like me, you may leave feeling cold, and in the dark.