"Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice" Review

This week belongs to Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice - the hype, the box office, the slew of bad reviews and the memes that follow (sad Ben Affleck is heartbreaking).

The discrepancy between the critics and audience is staggering: 29 vs. 73 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. It seems fitting, considering Man of Steel's rocky relationship with the public. They either loved it or hated it, and there was no middle ground. Dawn of Justice seems to be following footsteps.

So where do I stand?

It's ok. It's all right. It's adequate, the very definition of middle-of-the-road. Why not put that quote on the DVD?

Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) was in Metropolis during General Zod's attack. He blames Zod and Superman (Henry Cavill) for the murder of thousands, especially his employees in the collapsed Wayne Tower. Clark Kent is investigating the Batman, and is appalled. Batman tramples on civil liberties, he says, acting as a loose-cannon vigilante.

When a string of crimes linked to Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg) gets the attention of both heroes, they clash, fueled by differing ideologies, in a grudge match the likes the world has never seen. 

Except you have seen it, and what's worse, you have to wait to see it. The movie is two and a half hours long, and neither Batman nor Superman throw a punch until an hour and forty minutes in. Until then, we're given drawn-out speeches, dream sequences, and morsels of insight into next year's Justice League.

Dawn of Justice is a counterpart to Avengers: Age of Ultron. Both feature a gallery of new characters, conflicts between heroes, and the arduous task of setting up sequels. What makes Ultron work over Justice is its foundation. The Avengers was exhilarating, focusing on character and spectacle. Man of Steel liked to talk about Superman, rather than show him. Muted colors complemented the film's joylessness, and when mixed with Zach Snyder's manic direction, produced a tangled mess of CGI and exposition. For all of Ultron's faults, the fact remains: the foundation is strong. Dawn of Justice? Not so much.

Snyder returns to direct, and again has a hard time with balancing tones. In some ways, the film is darker than its predecessor - Batman brands criminals; Superman plows a man through several concrete walls; henchmen are stabbed, gunned down, and set on fire. This is juxtaposed with Eisenberg's Lex galloping and twittering like a buffoon; a random caveat in Bruce's origin where the swarm of bats whips up enough wind to get him airborne. Dawn of Justice, in essence, is an R-rated film that's forced to market to kids. (At the 10:00 screening Saturday night, I saw a toddler watching Winnie the Pooh videos on her dad's phone.) It's nonsense.

I mentioned "different ideologies" as the reason for conflict, but that's not entirely accurate. The basis of the fight comes from Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns. The comic plays on the fear of power unchecked. Both heroes deliver justice without the legitimacy of the law. There's no external body overseeing them, so the only force we can rely on to understand how they operate is their morality.

Superman's values are instilled by his Midwestern parents; his primary understanding comes from what's right. To deter injustice, he uses an example of righteousness. Batman learns morality through the murder of his parents. His experience stems from learning what's wrong. As a result, he fights evil with fear.

Gone unchecked, Batman's vigilante justice tramples on civil liberties, a guilty-until-proven-innocent mindset.

Superman's doomsday scenario is more complex. His moral code is ingrained, so we only see justice through his (ideally perfect) worldview. If Superman is corrupted (by magic, Red Kryptonite, or grief, as in the Injustice series), justice is corrupted. And the worst part? Superman has the powers of a god. A corrupt Superman becomes an unstoppable fascist dictator.

The comic keeps the fight strictly on ideology, and because time has made both men grizzled and battle-worn, their lines of morality are tested and frayed.

This story belongs near the end of a movie series, not the beginning. This conflict needs to grow and develop, naturally, to its breaking point. Instead, Dawn of Justice adds extraneous material that dilutes the conflict and character development, making the heroes seem petty. Because Justice League is next, Batman and Superman are allowed to fight, but not TOO much.

While most of my problems lie with characters, I'm satisfied with the cast. Eisenberg gives the best trainwreck of a performance since Eddie Redmayne in Jupiter Ascending. Gal Gadot, while underutilized as Wonder Woman (to the point where the only way she's integrated in a scene is by watching the action on a news broadcast), does well, capturing the spirit of the character. To relieve some fan fears, she's best when in the fight.

Speaking of fan fears, let's address the elephant in the room. Ben Affleck as Batman...is the best part of the movie. The movie's fun when Batman's around: he builds gadgets; tears through Gotham in the Batmobile; and makes mincemeat of twenty thugs in the time it takes me to take a leak. It's nice to have a Batman who's also great as Bruce Wayne. Affleck's Wayne borrows from Michael Keaton (still the king) in that he's non-assuming. For a playboy billionaire, he's got a low profile. Doesn't fit the type of guy who gets in costume and beats up punks, huh?

There's a skeleton for a great Batman movie here, and judging by Affleck's directing skills and passion for the project, his upcoming solo film shows promise.

My only strong disappointment is with Cavill's Superman, and this particularly breaks my heart. The Man From U.N.C.L.E. was my second-favorite film of last year, and there, Cavill brought swagger and cool in spades. It's not really his fault; Superman has few modes besides "fight" and "brood." While Clark arguing with Perry White (Laurence Fishburne) over the Batman story is fun, for the most part, his character feels like an afterthought. After all, look who's got top billing.

Your enjoyment of Dawn of Justice will ultimately depend on three things: how much you liked Man of Steel; how much you know about DC Comics (beyond the two leads); and how much hype you go in with. The Dark Knight, this is not. Avengers, this is not. This is extra credit. Marvel has made A's and B's for years. Dawn of Justice is the flunking DC's Hail Mary, cramming as much as possible to pass.

Well, DC, you barely made it, but you passed. Enjoy the "C."

Thank you all for reading. I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"The Divergent Series: Allegiant" Review

The official title of this film is The Divergent Series: Allegiant. Originally, there was supposed to be a Part 1 in there, but last September, Summit Entertainment and Lionsgate changed the titles, renaming part two, The Divergent Series: Ascendant.

The Hollywood Reporter said it was "likely" the change was because the films would expand on Veronica Roth's novel. Be honest. The Hunger Games: Mockingjay as a two-parter didn't bring in the profit Lionsgate wanted, so by changing the name, moviegoers are to think Allegiant is a stand-alone installment.

Don't be fooled. Not only isn't this its own story, it's barely half of one.

Jeanine (Kate Winslet) is dead, and Evelyn (Naomi Watts) has taken over. She orders the gates closed, to the dismay of Four (Theo James) and Tris (Shailene Woodley), who wish to find the Founders who set up the Chicago experiment. Evelyn holds trials for Jeanine's supporters, which devolve into mob-mandated executions (I got some chuckles out of the more enthusiastic extras, who screamed everything but "Give us Barrabbas!")

Tris and Four rescue Caleb, and along with Peter (Miles Teller), Christina (Zoe Kravitz), and Tori (Maggie Q) make a break for the gate, escaping to the Fringe, a radioactive wasteland so polluted, the rain is colored red (Raining Blood!)

They find the Founders, named the Bureau of Genetic Welfare. Their leader, David (Jeff Daniels), says Chicago's been monitored for centuries - the local kids ogle Four like a TV star - and finally, the experiment has produced a genetically "Pure" divergent person, a.k.a. Tris. 

So Chicagoans were divided into groups based on arbitrarily chosen moral traits. The hope was the factions would keep order (dubious at best), and they'd cross-breed to produce a perfectly divergent person. How does one empirically measure bravery or honesty to know if someone's a perfect blend? According to Allegiant, it's in the genes. Never mind that David doesn't explain any of this beyond his assertion. With all the pointless action, subplots, and characters, one would think this could be addressed. Guess we really had to find out if Four was going to get along with his new hard-ass commanding officer.

Where Jennifer Lawrence looks bored in The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2, Shailene Woodley's still energized. It's just a shame she has little to do. Most of her scenes consist of awkward, one-sided conversations with Four or David. There's barely any development outside of her being "the only one" who can fulfill the experiment/goal/prophecy.

Allegiant feels like busy work. We're watching characters run from soldiers, trek through desert, hack surveillance, hunt down rogues - a plethora of plot with little impact. The movie differs from other "Part Ones"in that it's filled with action, but is somehow more dull. It's not a matter of turning Allegiant and Ascendant into one two-hour movie, but boiling the plot to its essentials. With an Alex Garland or David Cronenberg - storytellers who've explored technology's relationship with sociology (Ex Machina and Videodrome, respectively) - at the helm, we'd have a tighter, more focused film.

As it stands, the movie's bogged down by a cluttered script, and Schwentke's direction, while glossy at times, reminds me too much of last year's Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials or Transformers (the cinematography, especially) to feel fresh.

This film's two hours, and it's a slog to sit through. This, and Hollywood's continued resistance to tell a trilogy in three movies leaves me unwilling to stick around for Ascendant. Consider this my jump-off point. If you're only a fan of the movies, just pick up the last book.

It'll be less expensive and less disappointing.

Thank you all for reading. I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Hardcore Henry" ADVANCE Review

We tout this word like candy, but Hardcore Henry is a game-changer, emphasis on "game."

Since 1993, the best video game movie is still Mortal Kombat. Doom and The House of the Dead fail to reach a 25 percent on Rotten Tomatoes, combined. Bioshock struggles to get green-lit, and the less we mention Super Mario Bros, the better.

Hardcore Henry, while not based on a game, takes what's great about gaming - its immersion and momentum - and adapts it to film. The result is a gleeful orchestra of cars, shotguns, grenades, knives, and relentless, pulse-pounding action.

Henry is a man-turned-cyborg whose scientist wife is kidnapped by a telekinetic madman (Danila Koslovsky behaving like a cross of Dante from Devil May Cry and Vaas from Far Cry 3). Helping Henry is tech wizard and master of disguise Jimmy (Sharlto Copley), who somehow has the uncanny ability to survive any explosion or flamethrower to the face. (Don't ask. It's funnier if you don't.)

Henry's body is occupied by a team of stuntmen, but for the purpose of this review, let's say Henry (Daniel Berrios) <--- is me. The movie's shot entirely in first-person, so when Henry ducks, I duck. He shoots, I shoot. If he jumps up ledges, Assassin's Creed style, I swallow my fear of heights and do it.

Immersion is the name of the game here, even to the point where Henry is a mute protagonist (his voice modulator's broken). The movie doesn't cheat; we're only privy to the information Henry is. The only "cheats" are in the editing, and if you enjoyed finding the cuts in Birdman, you'll have similar fun. This plays out like one of the virtual reality "roller coasters" at Chuck E. Cheese and I promise you, that's a compliment.

Before I continue, a disclaimer: those with epilepsy, sensitive eyesight, or migraines beware. With first-person view comes an abundance of shaky-cam and if that doesn't give you a headache, the flashes of gunfire and quick editing will.

If your reasons for avoiding shaky-cam aren't medical, fret not. It isn't a blight on the movie; after the first 30 minutes, my eyes adjusted surprisingly well. The action's clear among the tremors, never confusion as to what's going on.

Hardcore Henry is visceral, loose, and spontaneous - everything I wanted Deadpool to be. No off-screen headshots here: the blood splatters everywhere (often with chunks of brain), even onto the screen. Through Henry's eyes, we slice, shoot, crash, tear, and blow holes into everything, in ways that'll make Mortal Kombat fanatics drop their jaws.

While the movie isn’t about videogames, director Ilya Naishuller was inspired by first-person shooters, integrating some of that style in the film. The nods are everywhere, from Call of Duty and Gears of War, to Max Payne and Bioshock Infinite. A henchman will close a gate, and Henry, instead of opening it, will wall-jump over. Guns and ammo are littered about like cigarette butts. Henry jams two syringes of adrenaline in his thighs and goes berserk, like Mario touching a star.

Sharlto Copley is a comic tour-de-force. This is my favorite role of his, eclipsing District 9. Think if Jim Varney from Ernest Goes to Camp starred in Ichi the Killer. At times, Copley’s Jimmy is a mohawk-wearing punk, bouncing off the walls; a prim and proper WWII-era British officer; a coked-out party animal; and a guerrilla soldier camouflaged as a shrub (who happens to skulk around exclusively gray environments). Each disguise is funnier than the last, and Copley’s manic energy brings it to life.

All in all, it's a blast. My grin reached from ear to ear for most of the movie, and for a good hour after. If you're a gamer, if you're a fan of ballistic insanity, if you're a fan of ridiculous comedy, this hits all the right notes. This is the kind of movie that we should say "pushes the boundaries," because it pushes the genre forward. Hardcore Henry comes out on April 8th.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"10 Cloverfield Lane" Review

10 Cloverfield Lane is the sequel/spinoff/unfortunately-titled-follow-up to 2008’s Cloverfield. Both were releases with minimal marketing, revealing next to no information as to what the movie’s about. And that’s where the comparison ends.

The Cloverfield series has gone the American Horror Story route and become a sci-fi anthology. Cloverfield is a found-footage monster movie; 10 Cloverfield Lane is a boiler-room thriller. 

I rarely say this, but there’s absolutely no need to watch the original to understand the sequel. However (and I do say this often), it’s not a very good film.

Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) leaves her jerk of a boyfriend in search of a new start. She’s driving on a country road at night when she’s blindsided by a truck, run off the road. She wakes up in The Blair Witch Project basement, her leg braced and chained to the wall. It’s there she meets Howard (John Goodman), a conspiracy theorist who saved her from the wreck and brought her to his underground bunker.

Howard tells Michelle there’s been an attack. Nuclear fallout has polluted the atmosphere and killed everyone – they, along with Howard’s friend Emmett (John Gallagher Jr.), are the only survivors.

Goodman is great here. He's unpredictable, jumping into a fit of rage just as quickly as he flashes a warm grin. We're never certain of what's a lie or just the ramblings of a maniac. He can be a host, a patriarchal figure; at times, he hints at desire for Michelle. Howard's a character whose masculinity is always threatened, and it takes only the slightest of "disobedience" to set him off. Goodman is volatile, and his physical presence helps keep Michelle (and us) on edge; if he wants to, he can probably do some damage with ease.

Winstead plays Michelle as a quick thinker, someone who's always piecing an escape plan in the back of her head. It's fun to see her makeshift solutions come to life. I'm reminded of Saw, situations like where Michelle needs to reach her phone while chained, and only has a smattering of items to use.

Claustrophobic thrillers run the risk of turning stale. They’re restrictive in nature, limiting the amount of characters, location, and action. When a thriller stays one step ahead of its audience, turning the screw on their expectations, it builds unrest. However, 10 Cloverfield Lane is predictable. Will two characters have an awkwardly-place heart-to-heart about how they run away from their problems? Check. Will a clue fall out of the random book Michelle decides to grab from the bookcase? Absolutely. Will the ominous music force itself on every scene, even when Michelle puts on pants? It wouldn’t be a PG-13 thriller without it.

I was bored, and even when the third act rolls around, the story wraps up so quickly it feels like an afterthought. Makes sense considering Bad Robot bought the script, originally titled The Cellar and later hired Damien Chazelle (writer/director of Whiplash) to make it fit the Cloverfield universe.

The movie sequel-baits, and at the end, I feel like I've seen the pilot to a TV show. Maybe that's where Cloverfield belongs. Perhaps a Netflix deal can be reached? Or maybe I could watch The Twilight Zone instead.

Thank you all for reading. I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.

"Zootopia" Review

Forgive me Shrek, if I borrow your metaphor. Zootopia is like an onion: it has layers, and I think it’s important to talk about it in that sequence.

For those who have neither the time nor patience, however, here’s your headline. Zootopia is the best Pixar film that Pixar never made.

Zootopia is a city where a bevy of anthropomorphic animals, from the biggest giraffe to the smallest suit-wearing hamster, live. The city’s center is a concrete jungle, surrounded by districts of varied climate – Tundra Town, Sahara Square, Rainforest District. A neighborhood called “Little Rodentia” is about as literal as you think: everything is rodent-sized, from the buildings and cars to the pnuematic tubes hamsters and gerbils use to get from office to home. Advertisements for “Hoof Locker”, “Catsio”, and “Targoat” are everywhere, and it’ll take you a couple viewings to catch them all. (To be honest, I’m sure I’m still missing some.)

In Zootopia, predator and prey live in harmony, the product of generations of evolution. As explained to us by rabbit Judy Hopps (Ginnifer Goodwin) in her school play, the city is built on the idea that “anyone can be anything.” A sheep can become an astronaut; a leopard can become an actuary; a rabbit named Judy can become a police officer…the first rabbit police officer.

Fifteen years later, Judy has graduated, top of her class, from the police academy, and through the Mayor’s “Animal Inclusion Initiative”, is assigned to Precinct 1, in the city’s center. She’s relegated to parking duty, but when an otter goes missing, she teams up with Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman), a con-artist fox, to crack the case.

The missing persons (so to speak) plot is a smart thrill, involving Judy and Nick in a cross-district caper where they come across a series of colorful characters, including a sloth who works at the DMV (of course), a hippie yak who oversees a “nudist” colony, and my favorite, a mafioso, Brando-lookalike shrew named Mr. Big (played by Maurice LaMarche of Pinky and the Brain fame). In classic noir fashion, the plot provides enough twists and turns to keep an audience guessing, developing them well to where they don’t feel cheap. Clues are sprinkled in the background, so keep your eyes peeled.

Judy and Nick are destined to become a classic Disney pair, like Timon and Pumbaa, Tod and Copper, Marlin and Dory. Watching by-the-book, naive Judy getting punked by sly Nick is hilarious (his smug grin is half the fun). Judy wises up quick, though, making for a good back-and-forth. Goodwin and Bateman have infectious chemistry; they balance each other so well that any other actors in the roles would be an overall detriment to the film.

Peel back the layers of talking animals and noir, and in Zootopia resides one of the most comprehensive, enlightened critiques of race relations and prejudice I've ever seen. From the small-scale (upon their first meeting, Judy praises Nick on how articulate he speaks, to which Nick sarcastically retorts he's never been so patronized before) to the large-scale (predators are often placed in positions of power, discriminating against prey, despite making up only 10 percent of the population), the movie explores multiple levels of racism.

And it's not just predators oppressing prey. Everyone involved is guilty of stereotyping. Judy's parents try to equip her with a myriad of anti-fox protection before she leaves for the city, including repellent, pepper spray, and a taser (which sounds like a laser rifle, dear god). The media plays a role; they perpetuate the stereotype of the "savage predator," tying crime stories to the narrative, to the point where a rabbit mother, upon seeing a tiger sit next to her on the tram, moves her young son closer.

Zootopia doesn't outline a solution in institutional terms (because nothing gets a kid more excited than the sound of "systemic racism"), but boils it down to a simple component: the individual. You can call for all the affirmative action and PC watchdogs in the world, but you can't force a change of opinion. The individual has to be receptive. We learn prejudice from our environment, and it's going to take effort to push back against them. When we think about racism, the first thought stems from our upbringing. What matters are the second and third thoughts, because they show how we truly feel and shape how we act. 

To change the world for the better, Zootopia urges us to simply try. If you get enough people (or animals) to try, you'll start to see a shift. That goes beyond talking animals and buddy cops, and cements Zootopia as not only one of Disney's best, but an essential film in its own right.

Thank you all for reading. I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.