"The Lighthouse"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

There are all sorts of ways to scare someone. You could jump out at them. You could gross them out. You could make them feel unsafe. Or you could give them an itchy, eerie, creepy feeling—make it a skin-crawling spook fest.

Or you could strip away all that—all the gore, the goons and ghosts and goblins; the fog and cobwebs and blood—and do something more basic, more primal. You could give them a snapshot of people in isolation. Of the inherent frailty of the human mind. Of what it is like to be unhappy, lonely, guilty, angry, resentful. All you have to do, really, is show them what it is like to be a human when things aren’t going so well.

That’s “The Lighthouse.” It’s two men getting stuck at a lighthouse. That pretty much sums up this move. Just two grumpy, crusty, sailor-looking dudes, who’ve got no money or education or dentists (apparently), and who can’t really stand each other, get stranded on a remote little lighthouse island somewhere in the cold, blustery New England sea.

And yes, absolutely, this is a horror movie.

The first crusty dude—the younger of the two—is Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson). He arrives on the island to make a little money as an assistant operating a lighthouse for four weeks. That’s the contract. Winslow isn’t wedded to the sea or anything. He just needs some cash to set himself up when he goes home.

The second crusty dude—an old salt if there ever was one—is Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe). He’s straight from Moby Dick. When not barking orders, guzzling liquor, and farting, he tells poetic tales and recites oceanic mythology in a thick, lyrical Irish accent. He has wild, bushy hair, a full beard, a limp, and a ship tattooed on his chest.

Right from the get-go, things suck. Particularly for Winslow. Although he is not too much of a talker, he seems to have hoped for a more-or-less congenial four weeks sharing duties at the lighthouse. No such luck. Wake immediately makes it clear that he’s in charge, that he’s not to be questioned, and that Winslow is to do all of the menial tasks—real grunt work—while he looks after the lantern atop the lighthouse.

So Winslow carts coal, clears out the (absolutely disgusting) cistern, patches the roof, oils the gears, and takes out the bed pans. Then Wake barks more orders, criticizes Winslow, and farts. Over and over. Day in, day out.

Then things get weird (as if they weren’t already). Winslow starts having these crazy dreams that include, among other things, dead bodies, logs, and a super creepy mermaid. And Wake, for his part, has some kind of mystical regard for the lighthouse lantern. God only knows what he’s doing up there while on watch.

Things get even weirder. The line between reality and … well, I don’t know … dreams? Hallucinations? Mere thought? At any rate, it all becomes very blurry. They’re going crazy, each in their own way. It’s kind of like “The Shining,” nautical edition. And at no point in the movie does it feel like things are going to end any better for Winslow and Wake.

Part of that feeling has to do with a pounding fog horn that batters your psyche like relentless waves harassing the seashore. I’m not sure whether the fog horn is supposed to be coming from the lighthouse or passing ships, but, at any rate, it’s a super effective way to communicate pure, inescapable doom.

The rest of the sound editing in “The Lighthouse” is equally effective. As is the bleak, harsh black-and-white cinematography. Just in general, the look and feel of this movie is as striking as it is a perfect fit for what is going on in the movie. It’s beautifully done—and horrific.

“The Lighthouse” is, like the lives of the island’s two inhabitants, elemental. It doesn’t get its “horror” designation via anything too fancy, or jumpy, or gory. It’s more basic—images, facial expressions, thoughts, and feelings that, in other context, might not be that scary. But, on that lonesome rock, they chill to the bone.

Director Robert Eggers pulls off a real feat of storytelling. He taps into the deepest human anxieties and fears without any of the frills. And the other major players in this film also do a fantastic job. The actors—all two of them—are great.

“The Lighthouse” is, if nothing else, a cinematic achievement. It is scary, unsettling, disturbing, shocking, bewildering, gripping—and all with relatively simple tools. It doesn’t take a blood-soaked, ghoul-infested fright fest. Just two dudes stuck at a lighthouse.

"Ad Astra"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Major Roy McBride of the United States Space Command is a cool customer. He's got ice in his veins. Strap him to a rocket, knock him off his footing thousands of feet in the air, shoot at him, yell at him, punch him, bite him, claw at him—he won't blink. One of McBride's claims to fame is that his heart rate has never gone above 80. I just took my pulse while writing this review. 83.

Yup, he’s cool as a cucumber.

Even so, the mission he’s given in "Ad Astra" would flap even the most unflappable of heart rates. You see, McBride's second claim to fame—besides having the most even keel in the shipyard—is that his dad, H. Clifford McBride (Tommy Lee Jones), was a super famous astronaut/space explorer. Unfortunately, his dad's most famous mission ended in apparent disaster. It was called “The Lima Project” and the mission was to travel all the way to Neptune in the search of extra-terrestrial life. But when the Lima Project suddenly lost contact with mission control, everyone assumed the worst.

Indeed, they—including Roy, who, to be honest, was straight up abandoned by his father—assumed the worst for the next 30 years. Until, that is, super destructive cosmic rays started being emitted from around Neptune. Then, who knows? The Space Command top brass think it's McBride Sr. They think he's still alive, maybe disgruntled, and is sending the angry, civilization-threatening rays toward Earth as some kind of revenge or attack or something.

That's where McBride Jr. comes in. They want him to travel to Mars, where they can send a signal to Neptune, to try to get in contact with his dad. He placidly accepts the mission in the same way you or I would agree to pass the ketchup. 

But cracks in his visage begin to emerge. It's not the travel, first to the moon then on to Mars. Nor is it the space combat, terrifying mayday calls, or other near-misses. It's his dad. The man who abandoned him and his mother. The man who didn't care enough to give them a second thought. The man who he nonetheless loves and admires and in so many ways is just like. That's who and what is breaking him down, causing him to doubt and worry and rage, and finally, for the first time, to unveil his humanity.

Just a little bit. Roy McBride demeanor is still mostly calm, his affect flat. And it’s the same with the movie. It is intentionally subdued. It has the serenity of the steadiest of astronauts. Epic, cosmic scenery is accompanied by stillness, quiet. Dramatic action sequences are dulled by an understated score. Dead bodies are floated out into space as a matter of course. McBride presses a button, pulls a lever, does his duty.

However, like McBride, while the film is calm, even remote, it is also, importantly, not emotionless. Quite the opposite. In movies like this, epic scenes from space—as a character speeds past Jupiter or enters Mars’ atmosphere—are typically accompanied by dramatic, soaring music, or a church organ witnessing to the grandiosity of the galactic cathedral. But imagine floating nearby Neptune—cold, dark, vast, hauntingly blue—in utter, complete silence. Imagine what that would feel like. It would have to be otherworldly, surreal, lonely, and terrifying.

One of the things “Ad Astra” does so well, besides imagining and delivering on a well-composed vision of the future, is reveal the intense, powerful emotions that underlie McBride’s placid demeanor and, perhaps more to the point, his deep, dark depression.

“Ad Astra” could have benefited from more time to develop these subtleties—it could have been a miniseries, for example. Still, the film is an emotional accomplishment—a tribute to Pitt’s acting and James Gray’s directing. It’s not all rocket blasts, explosions, and fiery destruction. It’s cold, dark, icy, lonely space—the vast haunting, dwarfing unknown.

"Good Boys"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

The joke about “Good Boys” is that none of the main characters are old enough to see the movie. There’s lots of cussing. It’s crude. There’s sex and drugs and alcohol, and plenty more talk about these for-mature-audiences-only topics. It has a well-earned R-rating.

But how else is one to give an unvarnished portrayal of a gaggle of 6^th-grade boys? They cuss because it’s new, and cool, and what big kids do … though, hilariously, they don’t really know how to cuss, and they don’t know how to pronounce the more salacious words they use, and they hardly even understand their racy topics of conversation. Like a pubescent boy’s overgrown feet, their minds are coming of age a little more quickly than they can handle with any kind of coordination.

Max (Jacob Tremblay) is a tad more mature than the others. The other two members of the friend group—Lucas (Keith L. Williams) and Thor (Brady Noon)—are mostly posers. The biggest difference is that, while they all talk a lot about sex, only Max actually has the raging hormones to back it up.

And the object of those hormones, and Max’s undying affection, is Brixlee (Millie Davis). He doesn’t really know her. But he’s way into her. So, naturally, he makes her something in art class, consults with the necessary intermediaries, and works the middle-school back channels to set up an all-important rendezvous with Brixlee.

Luckily, a “kissing party” is coming up. So Max sees his opening.

Meanwhile Lucas and Thor have their own stuff to deal with. Lucas’ parents are getting divorced. Thor, despite his rough exterior, is hardly winning the admiration of school bullies, and he feels that all-too-common pressure to be something other than what he wants to be (which is a Broadway-type singer).

Still, despite their mix of pre-teen woes, they all end up getting wrapped up in Max’s plot. Max realizes he doesn’t know how to kiss. Which, you know, is basically essential to kissing parties. But instead of just Googling the dang thing, the three boys use Max’s dad’s drone to spy on some teenagers who, they figure, must be kissing.

They aren’t. But the teens do notice the drone. And then things spiral out of control (including the drone). Now Max and Co. have a new problem—getting busted by Max’s dad for quasi-larceny and full-on destruction of property.

So they have to get a drone. Which means they have to somehow get to the mall on their own. While also avoiding the pissed off teens. And while still making the necessary preparations for the kissing party. Oh, and also while being cool—they have to be cool as well.

“Good Boys” delivers a minor miracle. For it portrays middle school boys in a way that more-or-less rings true, and yet also, somehow, makes them endearing—even, dare I say it, loveable. What really is the worst demographic in the known universe comes out looking, not just human, or understandably vulnerable, but also kind of sweet.

The movie is funny, too. And smartly funny. It’s not just “That little kid just said the F-word, oh my,” funny. It has an extra layer of wit and biting sarcasm, which, coupled with the fun (if not groundbreakingly innovative) situational humor, makes for a smile-inducing 90 minutes.

“Good Boys” does not have grand ambitions. It tries to be charming—and succeeds—but not sappy, overly sweet, or even particularly emotionally punchy. It takes the kids, but not itself, seriously. And it succeeds within these limits.

So if you’re at least five years older than the kids in this movie, or have a parent or guardian lax enough to take you, it’s worth a good time.

"Once Upon A Time in Hollywood"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Two men, one woman—one real-life, two fictional. One at the beginning of a career, one at the end, and one without much of a career at any point. Seemingly disparate stories intertwined by fateful history. Or, rather, they could have been intertwined, if only in the “what if?” part of our imaginations.

Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a famous TV cowboy. Or, he was. Now his career is faltering and he’s stuck with short-lived appearances as a villain whose inevitable fate is to be quickly offed by the good guys. He’s stressed about it.

One thing Dalton has maintained, if not his stardom, is his friendship with his longtime stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). Booth doesn’t double much anymore—mostly just drives Dalton around after the latter’s license was suspended due to one too many DUIs. Booth also does handyman work for Dalton. As Booth blithely admits, he is Dalton’s “gopher”. He’s fine with it.

Then there’s Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie). THE Sharon Tate. Roman Polanski’s ethereal, hippie wife. Unlike Dalton, she’s just getting going in Hollywood—playing major, if not starring, roles in some of the biggest movies of the era. She’s pretty excited.

“Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is almost three hours long. So you might think there would be plenty more, plot-wise to fill in here. But not really. This movie saunters along at a leisurely pace. It’s not a quick-cut, high-octane bloodbath like many of Tarantino’s movies. Nor is it a showdown-at-the-O.K.-Corral movie like Dalton’s westerns. There are some of these things. But it’s more like Polanski’s “Rosemarie’s Baby”—a slow burn if there ever was one—only with a hint of lighthearted, playful zest.

Dalton continues to stress over his sputtering career. Tate goes to her own movie to soak up the audience’s reaction. Booth feeds his dog.

Gradually, though, these stories begin to come together. On a random trip to a commune, Booth discovers a potentially sinister side to hippie culture. Dalton and Tate discover that they are next-door neighbors. For those who remember the gruesome events of late-summer 1969, with Tate, her friends, and Charlies Manson’s freaky “family”, there is a foreboding, a tension, an inevitability lurking in the shadows.

Except Tarantino does what he wants with historical details (remember, for example, when the Inglorious Basterds assassinated Hitler?). So there’s no telling how this one will end.

“Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is part charm, part tedium—which is perfectly encapsulated by Brad Pitt’s feeding his dog, or driving around, or walking, or just looking pretty for sizeable swaths of the movie. In this movie, things just kind of happen. A little bit here, a little bit there. No pushing the story along too fast. The movie just wants to show you around a bit—to let you say hello, and get to know, some interesting characters.

Until the end, of course. But that’s a whole other thing.

That “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood” is a slow burn isn’t, in itself, damning, or even particularly problematic. I’ve got nothing against slow, methodical character development. But slightly more worrisome is that a lot of this cinematic scenery begs the question, “What for?” Like, why do we need to spend four minutes watching Pitt make Mac n’ Cheese? What’s the point? Were these scenes—their length, in particular—supposed to be amusing? Or informative? Or useful to the plot?

This isn’t a very tight movie. There are loose ends, and diversions, and side stories that don’t really go anywhere. And a lot of seemingly superfluous action.

But it is also a charming movie, with charming characters, and funny little vignettes, and real human feelings and emotions. And, oddly, the ending—which is only like a 20^th of the movie—may just make the whole thing worth it.

"Toy Story 4"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Try to think of an original movie franchise where the fourth movie was any good. Go ahead, try. No, “Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope” doesn’t count—that was the first to come out; plus, it wasn’t original source material. I know people liked the fourth “Mission: Impossible” movie, but, meh, whatever … I don’t even remember what that one was about. “Rocky IV” was good. But, other than that, it’s pretty slim pickins.

So Pixar took some long odds with “Toy Story 4”. And this was an especially risky move, because Toy Stories 1-3 were pure gold. That’s a lot to live up to. Plus, the series seemed all wrapped up. It ended so well! So it’s natural to be a little concerned (as I was) that this was going to be an especially grave instance of not leaving well enough alone. I mean, what could they add to the story? What could “Toy Story 4” even be about?

Flash back nine years to a stormy night at Andy’s house. That’s where “Toy Story 4” begins—with Woody (Tom Hanks) trying to rescue RC and Bo Peep (Annie Potts). Woody manages to recoup RC, who was about to be washed away by heavy rains. But Bo is another story. She wasn’t caught in the rain, or stuck, or lost. She was about to be taken away. She was about to be given to a new family.

To Woody, that’s just as bad. Woody is loyal to the core. So he sees Bo’s plight as akin to an abduction—a terrible, unnatural, misguided tragedy. And since Wood is loyal, not just to Andy, but also to his friends, he is willing to risk life and limb to get Bo back home.

The thing is, Bo is ready to move on. She realizes she can’t stay with the same kid forever. Things just don’t work that way. So she asks Woody to let her go.

Woody is dumfounded. He doesn’t get it. And it’s not just that he does not comprehend Bo’s choice for her life. This strikes right to the core of what Woody believes is good for his, or any other toy’s, life.

Fast forward nine years and, deep down, Woody is still lost. As we know from “Toy Story 3”, he has a new kid—Bonnie (Madeleine McGraw). And he loves her dearly. But already Woody is seeing the same signs as before—Bonnie is growing up, moving on, moving past Woody.

Still, as Woody says, the noblest thing a toy can do is be there for a kid. And Bonnie needs it. She is going to kindergarten! On her first day of school, Bonnie comforts herself by making Forky (Tony Hale), a little toy made out of a plastic spork, pipe cleaner, clay, and googly eyes. For a moment, Forky is everything to Bonnie—a sort of bendy, pokey safety blanket.

The trouble is, Forky doesn’t think he is a toy, or doesn’t want to be a toy—he thinks he is trash (that is, after all, where he came from). So he keeps trying to escape to join the other rubbish in the bin.

That’s where Woody comes in. He more-or-less babysits Forky to make sure he stays put in the loving arms of Bonnie. The question, which becomes ever more pressing as the movie goes on, is whether Woody will be able to do that. It also becomes unclear whether he ought to, and what Woody sees as the long game—where he should end up, who he should be, and for whom.

“Toy Story 4” currently has a 97% on Rotten Tomatoes. When I first saw this after watching the movie, my immediate (and enduring) reaction was, “Whoa! 97%!? … Only 97%? What were the other 3% thinking!?” 358 reviewers have reviewed “Toy Story 4”. That means that 11 critics—11 living, breathing human beings who presumably have hearts beating in their chests—gave this movie a “rotten” rating. Who are these people? What’s their deal? What happened in their childhood? Is everything O.K.? Should we call someone? I’m concerned, and at a total loss.

Because “Toy Story 4” is a treasure. It is beautiful in so many ways: The Randy Newman music, the goofy and also touching humor, the lively animation, and the introduction of great new characters like Forky—who is perfectly voiced by the ever-delightful Tony Hale (aka Buster from “Arrested Development” aka Gary from “Veep”)—and Duke Caboom (Keanu Reeves), Canada’s most famous daredevil.

But, to my mind, the real marvel of “Toy Story 4” is in how, just as Andy grows and develops and matures throughout the movies, so too do the characters and themes. The first “Toy Story” was a fairly straightforward story about loss, envy, regret, loyalty, and redemption, though even there the sparks of something greater were present. But these themes have been so richly developed in the rest of the movies, including “Toy Story 4”.

Woody learns the meaning of sacrifice. He learns about letting go—its necessity, its importance, its value. This movie, more so than the others in the series, really is all about Woody. And we see him grow, mature, and learn.

And we, the audience, learn and see and understand and oh-so-poignantly feel that the noblest thing any person—whether toy or person—can do is be there, and comfort, and love, another person. “Toy Story 4” packs a brilliant, emotionally vibrant punch. It is one of the rare movies made for kids—or, really, anyone—that is worth watching and re-watching just to see empathy, and to learn from the struggle, the joy and sadness, and the humanness of its characters.

“Toy Story 4” was a risk. It paid off bigtime.

"Pokemon Detective Pikachu"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

I play “Pokémon Go” with my six- and three-year-old sons. Yeah that’s right. We play it. Laugh it up. We like it. It’s fun. I’d never played or watched anything Pokémon related before that, so I never developed any particularly deep love for the franchise. Still, when I recently took my six-year-old son to see “Pokémon Detective Pikachu”, we were undeniably excited to see live-action renditions of Charizard, Gyrados, Snorlax, Mew …

… and Cubone, Slakoth, Psyduck, and, of course, Pikachu. Sure enough, there they were. So many of them! Seriously, it was like taking a tram ride through the zoo—“Ooh, look, there’s a Charmander! And Aipom! And, wow, cool, there’s Mr. Mime!”

Aside from all the sightseeing so clearly aimed at the Pokémon faithful, this installment in the Pokémon franchise follows, not the beloved Ash, but Tim Goodman (Justice Smith)—a 21-year-old insurance salesman … who looks and acts and surely must be closer to 15 years old. Goodman has been summoned to Ryme City after the apparent death of his estranged father, who was a detective.

When he arrives in Ryme City—which is distinctive because humans and Pokémon live side-by-side as equals—and after he does the whole “whoa, look at all the Pokémon” thing for a while (which, again, makes no sense as anything other than Pokémon-nerd eye candy, since Goodman has surely seen these Pokémon before), Goodman visits the police station (his dad’s workplace) and his dad’s apartment to collect his belongings.

But when he gets to his dad’s apartment, Goodman realizes something isn't right. Not only are there suspicious materials lying around, but a suspiciously aloof Pikachu (Ryan Reynolds) in a Sherlock Holmes hat shows up as well. Then Aipoms, who are high on some kind of Hulk-ifying anger juice, start going after them.

After they escape, Goodman learns that this Pikachu was once his dad's partner. Except the Pikachu doesn't really remember much because he has amnesia. With the help of Lucy Stevens (Kathryn Newton)—a tabloid writer who aspires to be a more serious journalist—they get on the case.

It turns out that Goodman's dad may not be dead after all. And there may have been some funny business involved—something having to do with a Mew. And the seemingly-benevolent financier of Ryme City (Bill Nighy) might have had something to do with it.

Plus, look at all the Pokémon!

As I said, my son and I came to see this movie in part to see some Pokémon. We got our fill of that (thus, my son was pleased). But we also went to, well, see a movie. And that part of the excursion was less satisfying.

For “Pokémon Detective Pikachu” isn’t a very good movie. It is corny, hackneyed, melodramatic and/or sentimental at the wrong moments, predictable, and just so clearly taking advantage of the fact that millions of people are in love with Pokémon and so will ravenously consume anything the franchise dishes up.

Indeed, part of the problem with the movie is that so much time—and so much of the gravitational pull on the plot—centers on our seeing Pokémon, identifying Pokémon, watching Pokémon do cute and funny things, and so on. This rarefies and cheapens any genuine plot the movie may purport to offer.

"Pokémon Detective Pikachu" is supposed to be some sort of detective mystery, I guess. But it doesn't feel like it. Sure, Goodman, Pikachu, and Lucy Stevens do scamper around chasing leads. But it's all too easy to just not really care about these uninspired (and predictable, and uncompelling) plot machinations. I, at least, didn't care. I doubt my son did either.

On the other hand, we saw a lot of Pokémon. So my six-year-old was happy.

"Shazam!"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

For this review, I was planning to watch “Avengers: Endgame”, because it is a big deal and everyone is going crazy about it. But then I thought maybe I shouldn’t, because I haven’t seen all of the “Avengers” movies (I only have so many hours set aside for this series that is reproducing with rabbit-like rapidity) and so I probably wouldn’t do it the justice its avid fans would like, or demand, of a review.

So I saw a different superhero movie. You might be thinking, “Oh, you saw ‘Captain Marvel’.” I did not. “Hellboy?” Nope. “Is ‘Black Panther’ still in the theater?” No … or, I don’t know … But, anyway, the movie I saw was “Shazam!” Now you might be thinking, “Huh, you mean that Shaq movie from the 90s?” No, that was “Kazaam” (though, I admit, I flirted with this mistake too).

“Shazam!” is not a kids’ movie featuring Shaq as a genie. But it does feature kids and magic. One such kid is Thaddeus Sivana (Ethan Pugiotto). He’s got a mean dad and brother, and, on one cold night in 1974, they are having a fight in the car when, magically, Sivana gets whisked away to another realm where a wizard (Djimon Hounsou) tells Sivana he is looking for a new champion to help round up the Seven Deadly Sins, which were released on Earth awhile back.

But Sivana is a bad boy who is tempted by the Sins, so Wizard sends him back to the car, where Thaddeus makes a ruckus, distracts his dad, and causes a car crash.

Zoom ahead to present day and another bad boy, Billy Batson (Asher Angel), is making his own ruckus around town. Like Sivana, he’s got some parental issues—namely, his parents abandoned him and so he was forced to bounce around various foster families. However, unlike Sivana, Billy finally ends up with a cool foster family (an impossibly cool foster family), including parents who care and foster siblings who are polite and caring (again, impossibly polite and caring). Billy’s roommate, Freddy Freeman (Jack Dylan Grazer)—not to be confused with the Atlanta Braves first baseman—is all into superheroes and is especially cool.

Another way that Billy is not like Sivana is that Billy is deemed worthy to be the wizard’s champion. So the wizard makes him a superhero—i.e., Shazam (Zachary Levi). Shazam is super fast and strong, bulletproof, and can shoot electricity out of his body.

At first Billy/Shazam just plays around with his powers, like any kid would, and doesn’t really use them for good. But then Freddy, who, again, knows all about superheroes and so knows how they ought to act, calls him out on it (basically: “With great power comes … yada yada yada”).

And then, also, Sivana—now Dr. Sivana (Mark Strong)—reemerges as a super villain and, after killing his mean dad and brother, comes after Shazam. So Billy/Shazam kind of has to kick it into gear and play the superhero.

So there’s a fight, and it’s like kids vs. adults, and it looks hopeless, then not, and then … well, I’ll let you guess. If your guess is based on your knowledge of some very standard, unoriginal superhero plot, your guess is probably completely right.

So, yeah, “Shazam!” is unoriginal. I guess the foster-kid thing, and the parent problems in general, are supposed to be a different angle. (Though, don’t most superheroes have parent problems?) But it’s all like flat soda: No fizz. No pop.

And insofar as you like epic superhero battles, “Shazam!” is likely to disappoint you. That’s only the last little bit of the movie. The bulk of the time is spent on uncompelling backstory and adolescent hijinks.

Now, I didn’t loathe “Shazam!”—and, to be fair, it seems like a lot of other people liked it. I just didn’t know why I should care about it or its characters, or why I should be interested in it, or, indeed, why I should want to watch it.

I guess I should have seen “Avengers: Endgame”. Alas.