My Own Little World

Sicario has grown on me since I first saw it a couple years ago. It is even more timely now than it was then, casting moral ambiguity onto the War on Drugs and its fallout around the U.S.-Mexico border. With its beautiful yet bleak composition from director Denis Villeneuve and cinematographer/legend Roger Deakins and excellent performances from Emily Blunt, Benicio del Toro, and Josh Brolin, that film asks a lot of questions about grey areas and, due to its construction, lets each individual audience member answer them. That’s the biggest difference between that film and its sequel, Sicario: Day of the Soldado : while in some respects it does keep pace with its predecessor, its treatment of its events’ moral standing leaves a lot to be desired. We view the actions of Alejandro Gillick (del Toro) and Matt Graver (Brolin) through the lens of Blunt’s Kate Macer, an outsider who is seeing all these grisly, gruesome acts for the first time. She bears the emotional weight of the fi

As I have become an adult, the first Incredibles movie has grown on me quite a lot. I began to realize how deep-seated its themes are and how many mature issues it tackles for an animated film; there is something special about how animated films like this can allow one’s guard to drop and communicate some heavy messages to the non-children in the room. A sequel has seemed like a pipe dream for so long that I was almost in disbelief when the announcement was made that Incredibles 2 was entering production and would be released in 2018. I think it is safe to assume that few people were nervous about this film ruining its predecessor; Pixar has done a highly serviceable job with its most beloved properties’ long-awaited sequels ( Toy Story 3 and Finding Dory being prime examples), and the return of nearly every component involved in the original eased my mind that much more. I wanted to see the return of that impeccable family dynamic that was often more enticing than the acti

What is the Jurassic Park franchise, and what should it be? Those two questions are sitting at the front of my mind the morning after watching the fifth installment in this series, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom . Sleeping on this movie was not a good idea; instead of being ambivalent as I was last night, I am now deeply concerned that this franchise is not going to continue being one of my more anticipated summer movie events as it has been for both this film and Jurassic World . The predominant problem with watching Fallen Kingdom is structure and pacing. It appears like two separate movies were put together end to end and played as the final product. The first half revolves around getting the dinosaurs off the island of Isla Nublar, saving the animals from its active volcano, while the second half turns into a gothic horror-esque monster movie that is tonally inconsistent by itself. These distinct aesthetics and tones make the finished film nothing more than a bridge b

There is something about Wes Anderson’s filmmaking that ensnares me. I cannot say if it is his meticulous method, his whimsical and dry humor, or his ability to tell parable-like stories about human nature; whatever the case, his unique technique makes me love every single one of his films – even the lesser ones are still highly enjoyable.  Isle of Dogs is no different in that respect; the film's style has the same overtly charming effect on me as all of Anderson's other works. I reveled in the experience of seeing one of his films in a theater for the first time. My question going into the film was what Isle of Dogs would do to make itself different from the other films in Anderson's catalog and whether those differences would benefit or hinder the   final product. The biggest difference is the setting; Anderson has not set any of his films in the Far East yet, the closest being The Darjeeling Limited in India. Placing the story in Japan with many Japanese char

I was raised in a conservative evangelical Christian household in a suburb-like small city. Currently, I am pursuing a degree at a moderate Christian university for the purpose of pursuing a career in full-time church work and have worked in churches for this summer and the previous two. In the past couple years since going to school, I have experienced several crises of juxtaposition in my faith, pitting beliefs I have had since I was a child against a more “liberal” or “secular” understanding and being surprised when realizing that the two were not contrary but could be complementary. The juxtaposition at the crux of this wrestling has been that between faith and doubt, how the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty (or, more damningly, self-sufficiency). I say this to show why a film like First Reformed resonated with every fiber of my being. It is a treatise on the difference between facades of authenticity and the real thing, and it uses the supposed tension between

Upgrade really, really, really tries to be smart. It knows that it has the confines of a familiar story arc of a man seeking revenge for the killing of his wife. It knows it has a small budget which means it cannot do anything too ambitious. It knows that it needs to have an aesthetic like films much more intelligent and meaningful than itself. Upgrade knows something else, too: it has a get-out-of-jail-free card inside the mind of its protagonist. And that makes it one of the laziest films I have seen this year. STEM, the computer implanted in the protagonist Grey’s spinal cord, can do whatever it wants to with Grey’s body if he gives it permission to do so. We see this happen near the beginning of the second act in a fight scene that caught me by surprise with its tone and fun cinematography, both of which were altered dramatically from the moments before it. As scenes like this began to make a pattern, however, my mind began to see how the script was using STEM as

Horror films have two main ways of scaring their audiences. The more conventional option is to hold the audience in suspense by what they do not see coming, scaring the audience by the surprise factor of the scare itself. This is an easy, no-risk way of building tension that many good mainstream horror films put to frequent but satisfying use. The less-utilized method, and my favorite, is by telegraphing what is going to happen and let the audience fear come from the knowledge of the inevitable or from the danger most likely to come. This requires far more skill to execute properly, but when done so – a la Stanley Kubrick’s immortal classic The Shining – there is an ambiguity to the audience’s fear that makes the whole film creepy and unsettling because there is no indication to whether something should be feared. Hereditary falls firmly into the latter category, and that is why it is the most disturbing horror film I have seen in quite some time. It uses almost no cheap

Solo is the first Star Wars movie where I just don’t care. This isn’t because of franchise fatigue or because it irreparably damages the franchise in any way or because it is a lesser achievement in filmmaking than the other entries in the series: Solo cannot stake any claim of coming close to these faults. No, my apathy towards this film is due to how much it bores me. There is nothing of consequence – either good or bad – to the Star Wars franchise, and there is nothing stunningly good or atrociously bad regarding the filmmaking. Solo takes not one risk in its 135-minute runtime, and it feels just as bland as that statement makes it out to be. The largest contributor to this is the film’s character development. Instead of being an origin story of how Han came to be the scruffy-looking nerf herder to who we are introduced in A New Hope , he shows up already being that character in the first five minutes, taking away any tension or anticipation for the character’s ar