A Quiet Place (2018)

You know, I think I've put my finger even harder on the true reason that modern horror films have been so stodgy. Now, for the record, I do feel that horror films have seen a minor shift of improvement, particularly with films such as Don't Breathe and Get Out. However, the positive reception of these films, in retrospect, seems less like mere surprise for such solid pieces of filmmaking and more like a desperately relieved expression of gratitude. It's as if one were trapped on a desert island for weeks and starving, then some random deus-ex-machina arrived with three years worth of Thanksgiving dinners, complete with apple pies.

However, to me, there is one element crucial to a strong, effective, palpable horror film: surprise. Now, this sounds relatively basic, but think about it. The feeling of horror stems from uncertainty, the unknown. Yes, shock can play into a horror film's appeal and strengths and it often does, but what filmmakers forget is that the shock is the aftermath, never the forethought. When a victim is about to be killed in a slasher film, the horror lies not particularly in the killing, but the lack of knowing beforehand as to whether they will be OK or not. The best supernatural horror films worked because (a) the uncertainty of the supernatural force or its source and (b) whether or not anyone will survive. Hell, even jump scares, at their core, can be scary because they deceived you into a false sense of comfort. You surrendered your conflicting thoughts of uncertainty and built a trust in the moment, only to have it be bludgeoned directly after.

The problem is that Hollywood typically thinks, plans, and executes according to trends. So, once a trend is spotted, there goes the surprise. So long were the days of shocking slasher films, because once it was all about being shocking, there went the initial, identifiable appeal that made them stand out. Gone were the days of scary supernatural horror films of the unknown because...shit, it wasn't unknown anymore! Everything was telegraphed and as easily marketable as possible.

And with A Quiet Place, it does seem to have an aura in the advertisements as a more marketable version of Don't Breathe. This could, possibly, be in part due to it being centered around a family, having slightly more prominent actors, and it seems to use word-of-mouth more to its cunning avail. So, seeing how it comes across as a more marketable version of one of the most unique, tense horror films of this decade, surely there's nothing more that could be added to a film with a similar premise, right?

Well...all I'll say is that A Quiet Place is actually quite an uncomfortable place, in ways better than its competition.

The films begins in a quasi-I Am Legend fashion. The year is 2020 and many places have been virtually evacuated. Stores are derelict and practically overturned and there's an unsettling serenity that lingers over these areas. Well, that's because sightless creatures are lurking about and when they detect a noise, they're ready to kill. In one town, Lee and Evelyn are married with three children and one on the way, trying to survive from these creatures. It's made harder on them when one of their three children, the youngest of the three, is killed by one of these creatures. Through it all, they valiantly do everything in their power to survive, with Lee trying to send a distress signal for them to be rescued.

I think it's revealing that Don't Breathe is a really good film and yet, this film manages to be 10 times better, specifically for two reasons. One: the situation and atmosphere are more dire. In Don't Breathe, there were brief pauses in the suspense to whisper and formulate. Plus, the last third kinda turned into a Human Centipede-esque, quasi-gross out film, albeit very muted and very well-done. Here, sound is virtually abolished and the creatures aren't some manipulative, cunning creeps. They're spry, bloodthirsty monsters, who will strike at even an ioda of recognizable sound. So, there is very sparse time to regroup and out-think them. If they catch you, there's no turning back.

This film really is scarier than Don't Breathe. It is the first horror film where I actually had to cover my eyes, because I was that horrified for these characters. Director/co-writer John Krasinski (yes, "Jim from The Office" John Krasinski) plays around so much more with the idea of sound being your worst enemy. In this film, though, it seems to dive into more about the need for liberation; the need for release. You pray for sound, just so they don't have to feel confined, yet you dread any sound because it could indicate their swift, fatal downfall.

And that need for liberation slightly plays into the other reason why this film is better than Don't Breathe: the emotional investment. In Don't Breathe, there was some substantial, shrewd character development, but it wasn't exactly bloated with transcendent, heartfelt emotion. Now, this isn't a disadvantage on Don't Breathe's side. It probably wouldn't have been as good if it did try to be heartfelt or emotionally raw. This film tries for that and it works extraordinarily well to its advantage. Not only are the characters adequately developed, but they all have a sweet, damaged core to them, seeing how they are all reeling from the loss of a family member.

The emotion of the film is firmly established and explored with before the tense scenes, making the characters more identifiable. The most gripping scenes were, obviously, the horror scenes. However, the most powerful scenes, the ones that lingered the heaviest, were the emotional scenes. One specific scene is straightforward in execution, oblique in meaning, and poignant in feeling. It's a scene that occurs between Lee and his son. They have experienced some liberation, as they are able to talk and yell at a waterfall where the creatures can't hear them. Eventually, they have a talk relating to the events that killed his younger brother. Lee says, "It's no one's fault," then it immediately cuts to Evelyn back at the house, crying.

In this scene, Lee and the son are able to relieve some stress and anguish, but she is unable to. She needed to hear that, too, to feel, again, some liberation, but in that moment, she is still carrying that pain, that emotional baggage, in addition to the horror of anybody leaving the house not returning. The potency of this scene makes it one of the strongest emotional moments of this or any other horror film. Another scene that stood out in the emotional department is during the morning after Evelyn gives birth. They both say, "It's a boy," but monotonously, with no joy, no verve, and undistracted by the situation at hand. They have not been put in any position to revel in this moment or enjoy it and given their environment, you can hear the mature, controlled level of not guilt, but moreso fear that strikes them in the soul. They have another body that could be gone as swiftly as it came. It's astounding how a horror film can pack an emotional punch on a human level, not just a visceral, self-inserting level.

On a technical level, this film excels at well. In a film focused on sound, they certainly use it in hauntingly effective ways. When any mere sound occurs, it's punctuated with all the bombast of a Transformers battle. To be fair, it could've just been me seeing it in Dolby in a reverberant, interactive chair, but given how the sound editors also worked on Transformers films, I'm going to just assume they know what they're doing. Even further, specific moments have no diagenic sound at all, in order to reflect the perspective of the daughter, who is deaf. A certain sound from hers does play into the climax and while I did go back and forth on whether I thought it was satisfactory or too simplistic, I feel that, in the end, it's clever how it's utilized.

The score, composed by former Wes Craven collaborator Marco Beltrami, has a specific motif to it, which adds to the ambiance. It's as if he, too, is aware of the character's limitations of sounds and uses the repetitiveness of the music as a way to keep everything in balance and safe. Wise work, Mr. Beltrami. The cinematography by Charlotte Bruus Christensen is beautifully brutal and dour. What's surprising is that for a film based on taut limitations, the shots are vast and wide and aren't claustrophobic in the slightest, which adds more seclusion and pain. Sure, the shots of the forest look gorgeous, but it is all imbued with that debasing feeling of separation and loneliness. Granted, there are some tight shots, but only when the tensions mounts up. Whatever the tone, Christensen uses the camera deftly and impeccably. The creatures themselves, while CGI, are actually some of the most realistic creatures I've seen in a horror film. They are actually crafted with a lot of detail and grotesque personality, particularly when the film hones it on the creatures' ear canals.

And of course, seeing how the emotion of the film is so powerful, the performances are all excellent. John Krasinski and Emily Blunt are married in real life, so it makes the chemistry and closeness of their characters of Lee and Evelyn all the more tangible, believable, and moving. Krasinski has a contemplative, emotionally intuitive, warmly thoughtful vibe that I've ever seen from him and Emily Blunt probably gives her best performance yet, being naturally sycophantic to fit the moment, which seeing how the director's her husband...yeah, I guess that's kind of a given. Her performance balances a humble pluckiness and a searing vulnerability, particularly in a scene where she has to hide from the creatures, all the while struggling with an injury. Oh, and while giving birth, too.

The performances are all great because they don't exaggerate or indicate the emotions. To complement the minimal audio, they play their characters simply and gently, only ratcheting up the emotion when it's fitting. The best student of this technique of raw naturalism is young up-and-comer Millicent Simmonds, playing the deaf daughter (while being deaf in real life) with a relatable defiance, a controlled sense of pathos, and a mild sneer.

You know, in an era where most, if not all forms of entertainment, are fighting to be symbolic, or outspoken, or trying to be complimentary with current, topical issues and climates, it's refreshing to see a film that's just a straightforward, scary film with a mildly subversive twist. I hear John Kransinski himself trying to preach that this film is supposed to be both a metaphor for parenthood and for our political situation. While I understand what he's trying to say, can't we all just enjoy entertainment for being entertainment, like we used to, every now and then? Just this once? However, I'm not upset or mad at him for this. I think this stems from something that actually is an enlightening thing to witness: we're getting bored with merely entertainment. Millennials, Generation Z, whomever you want to label, we want to progress, we're working towards progression, and we want our entertainment to reflect that. While I'm pleased to see creators of any form of media play around with satire or with complex social commentary, I choose to view this film as entertainment that manages to be horrifying, heartfelt, and technically adroit.

Wow, Michael Bay! You actually can be subtle. All you need is to keep letting other people direct movies for you. Sounds like a plan to me!

RATING: Three-and-three-quarters stars out of four

Love, Simon (2018)

I can only describe it, assumedly, as being preternaturally complementary, mildly annoying, and a lethargic default when a really solid, critically-acclaimed, emotionally accurate teenage film is compared to the works of John Hughes. We've all seen it happen more than once and at first glance, it doesn't particularly seem to make sense. While of course it's easier, albeit less artistically nor personally fulfilling, to make a bad teen film, as opposed to a good one, and we suffered through an epoch of pretty juvenile, insufferable ones, typically relying on crude humor rather than crude truths, the good teen films we have received lately aren't exactly scant in supply.

However, what those good teen films have now that the good John Hughes teen films had then were an unfiltered perceptiveness of teenage sensibilities, legitimate humor that bridged the generational gap of the audience, an affectionate identifiability for their characters, and a variously executed, yet primordial feeling of isolated anguish.

I could create a post comprised solely of the names of these modern teenage films that possess these attributes, but today, we're talking about love...

Simon.

The film centers around our aforementioned protagonist. On the surface, he has a happy life with a warm, sweet-natured family and very dear friends. However, he has a deep secret: he is a closeted homosexual. The pressure to maintain this secret becomes slightly more bearable, in the wake of becoming online pen-pals with a secret admirer, who happens to go to his school and is also in the closet. In the midst of strengthening this developing relationship and trying to find the man behind the messages, he also must help a fellow schoolmate try and get with one of his friends or else his secret will be revealed to the entire school.

I could begin by merely reiterating the obvious cultural significance and emotional, moral bravura of having the homosexual identity of a character be the narrative focus of a film, but I'd rather discuss what makes it so strong in the context of this film and other teenage coming-of-age films, because much like Simon, there's more beneath the surface. Most coming-of-age films are about exhibiting the psychological and emotional metamorphosis of a character (hence the term, coming-of-age), but in most of those, it's usually facilitated and affiliated with a love relationship between the character and another, typically of the opposite sex, or it's linked with an incipient friendship and all its peaks, valleys, and revelations. 

In this film, yes, the plot revolves around Simon trying to figure out his mystery lover, but the main atmosphere of his story can be described with an adjective I just used: isolation. It's not the simplistic trope of one character bringing another character out of his shell or making him think more maturely. Most teen films rely on rapport, but this film is first and foremost about Simon discovering himself as a gay man. It's not about someone else necessarily making him grow, but about him growing on his own. The interactions with his mystery lover, while they do give him some valor and motivation, don't bring him totally out of his comfort zone. Because the other person involved is anonymous, the mood of the film is still taut, anxious, and once again, isolated, which mirrors the tangible feeling of dealing with your sexuality.

One specific feat of the film is that Simon's plight for concealing his sexuality doesn't center around intolerance, ostracization, or derision per se. Hell, he describes his family as "progressive." It's merely based around his contentedness on when he chooses to come out. One of the most emotionally effective scenes is when Simon berates a character for putting him into an awkward position, simply stating, "I wanted to come out on my own time and you took that away from me."

It's not always about the environment or about self-doubt, but rather a matter of specific, desired timing. Teenagers don't typically get to choose their schedules for anything. Their sexuality and when they choose to disclose it is usually (emphasis on usually) the one thing they can control. Kudos to screenwriters Issac Aptaker and Elizabeth Berger for being able to comment on this, giving the gay-identity narrative a more heartfelt, honest, stripped-down angle to it.

Also, kudos to the screenwriters and for director Greg Berlanti for crafting a film this riotously funny. Not only is it funny, not only is it penetratingly funny, not only is it skeweringly funny, but it gives the opportunity for all of the characters to be funny. There are a lot of teen films that disproportionately allocate the humor, giving big laughs to some characters and mere cutesy, kitschy jokes for others.

This film is refreshingly inclusive, not only giving us big laughs from the teen characters, but from the parents, the principal (played with sheer, awkward virtuosity by Tony Hale), and even from the black drama teacher, who gets some real gut-busters. One example being when she confiscates a mini audio speaker from two troublemaking students and states she's going to sell it and use the money to get her tubes tied.

The performances are also uniformly, specifically precise. Nick Robinson has all the courage, vulnerability, and angst needed for the role of Simon, Jennifer Garner gives one of her most inviting, natural performances in years as Simon's mother, Josh Duhamel is stunningly, complexly fragile as Simon's dad, Logan Miller has a helplessly awkward gusto that he lends to the role of Martin, the schoolmate who blackmails Simon, and this film also managed to rope in two actors from Thirteen Reasons Why (Miles Heizer as Cal and Katherine Langford as Leah, one of Simon's closest friends). Given the themes of that show, they basically are legally required to give good performances, which they do.

HOWEVER...I do have one gripe with this film and I will do my best to explain without the use of spoilers, but it involves a fallout with Simon and his friends. For a film that's so meditative and insightful about gay identity and coming out and what not, I felt that this particular scene needed to be more thoughtful. There were so many more nuances and quiet, profound, emotionally consummate beats that could've been tapped into had they chosen a more warm, empathetic, and mature approach to this moment, instead of focusing on, in the grand scheme of things, mild errors on Simon's part and trying to penalize him at his most emotionally fragile state of being, without realizing the root cause.

Despite this, I commend this film. I commend this film for being able to make sexual identity both a hardship and a normalcy. I commend this film for being biting with its humor and with its truths. To me, this is the Same Love of "gay movies." It's not the first example of this kind of film. It's not the most harrowing example of this kind of film, but it's a universal breakthrough; that one step closer for the term "gay movie" to be not some simplistic appellation, but merely a component that doesn't define, but complements a film. And for that, I thank you.

Love, Stephen.

RATING: Three-and-a-half stars out of four

Black Panther (2018)

Foreword: "Oh, Stephen! Great timing! Way to get on this on the dregs of its popularity." I...well...eh.

So, I think it's official now. Sorry to all the milquetoast, simple-film-palate-possessing, sappy, romance-yearning, middle-aged, suburban white women of America, but black people have officially claimed and annexed the month of February, as far as movies go. The full-on invasion came last year with Get Out, a horror film that not only confronted the shrillness of white oblivion and ignorance and the ugliness of white, pseudo-bleeding heart passivity and sanctimony, but also delivered on its own as an eccentric, dark, penetrating comedy and an engrossing, visually unique horror film with a pro-black twist. Seriously, the black guys survived in the end. If that isn't iconoclastic of horror tropes, I don't know what is.

This year, we have...well, you've seen the title of the review, the box office returns, the impact it's had on the audience, the mystifying amount of toy revenue, which has since been stalled due to short supply, and you're still listening to Pray for Me on the radio, either voluntarily because it's rad or involuntarily because...fuck it, it's either this or Post Malone.

I can only purport that this is an ancillary cultural riposte to the Trump presidency; an effort by African-American filmmakers to rebut his notion of making America great again by making February at the movies great again. This is Black Panther! Hear it roar!

The film takes place in Wakanda, formed ions ago when four of five African tribes united after a war over a meteorite containing vibranium. When a warrior ingested an herb containing the material, he became the Black Panther. Vibranium is used in Wakanda to produce advanced technology and sustain their world, which is subterranean beneath a Third World country. T'Challa becomes the Black Panther after his father's death. When Erik Killmonger and Ulysses Klaue steal a Wakandan artifact, T'Challa, along with fellow Wakandian native, Okoye, and his former lover, Nakia head off to find and arraign them.

However, it is soon discovered there is more to Killmonger. He actually is the cousin of T'Challa, whose father killed Kilmonger's for spreading the secret of vibranium outside of the secure parameters of Wakanda. When Killmonger confronts what he sees as sheer betrayal to his fellow brothers and a disgustingly selfish refusal to help the world outside of Wakanda, he fights to seize the throne and become the Black Panther.

It's one thing for a superhero movie to excel due to a grand vision, a cult of personality, and visually striking, enthralling entertainment, but this is the first superhero film I see that is purely, unmitigatedly driven through vicious emotion and provocative, searing content. This film has so many cogent statements and allegories of black power, black culture, and black progression, sometimes expressed in straightforward, bold lines or through scraping, biting humor.

Consider a scene where Okoye dons a wig to look casual when on the trail to find Klaue. She says to Nakia, "I can't wait to get this thing off my head," celebrating black hair, or in her case, no hair, and attacking not just the stigma of black hair, but those who actively attempt to smother, forcibly conceal, and outwardly sublimate their natural style for cultural acceptance and to abscond ridicule. Or how about another scene where Erik Stevens, a white CIA officer who ends up allying with T'Challa, is barked at by an African tribe, identically to how blacks were barked at by...you see where I'm going with this. That specific moment is one of the most brazenly brilliant scenes I've seen in the MCU, in black cinema, and in all of cinema.

It's also enlightening, albeit completely applicable, that the superheroism of this universe is not a gross, lucky error or some horrid permutation, but actual power; a standard to strive and aspire for. It's not something to conceal or employ as a gimmick for an alter ego, but something to embrace and exhibit loudly and proudly and also is embedded intrinsically.  However, there is one theme that is conveyed both naturally and allegorically: black loyalty. This film seems to abhor betrayal on all parts: Killmonger's betrayal toward the protocol and structure of Wakanda, T'Chaka and N'Jobu's betrayals toward each other as brothers, and T'Challa's betrayal to the outside, indigent world. 

The film doesn't impugn radicalism, nor it is solely about finger-wagging at T'Challa for its seclusion and excessively stringent preservation of Wakanda, but it is moreso about finding the middle ground that preserves our bond. Destruction in the name of black grievances isn't inherently wrong, nor is a self-aggrandizing appreciation of black power, but either way, it is imperative to understand the source; the source of the destruction and the source of your acquisition of power, and determine whether or not you're justifying either. It's the ones who stand with our black brothers and sisters unconditionally that contribute to our progression and our incipient, ferocious strength.

The notion of understanding the source is, in my opinion, best conveyed in the first scene involving the Ancestral Place, which is, oddly enough, my favorite scene of the film. T'Challa enters the gorgeously, serenely dark Ancestral Place and is first confronted by the ancestors existing as black panthers. Again, how evocative and symbolic! Standing awestruck, face-to-face with black panthers who have to confront and fight the same struggles for generations and possess an almost melancholic, watchful alacrity for the next Black Panther to carry the torch. He then converses with his recently deceased father, who states, "A father's job is to prepare his child for his death. Have I failed you?" I've never cried at a movie before the half-hour mark and I still haven't, but this was the closest I've come to it. It is the apex of this film's masterful integration of content, emotion, and visual marvel.

On that note, let's talk about what keeps those butts into those seats. The visuals and action sequences are some of the most sprightly, rousing, and vivacious to ever exist in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The universe of Wakanda is one of the most vivid, captivating, and awesome settings ever portrayed on screen. When Wakanda shows any portion of its universe, you are locked in, continually impressed by this self-sufficient universe, crammed with surprises, yet always functioning and portrayed as a world filled with culture, nobility, and veneration. It's the most embracing, congratulatory, stately expression of Africa in pop culture since...shit, The Lion King?

The battle scenes are all marvelous, as well. While it's easy to immediately draw attention to the climactic battle scene or the stakes-driven, motive-fueled duels, my favorite is the casino fight, solely because a portion of it is done in ostensibly one continuous shot. This could seem dull and dissonant if done incorrectly, but the way the camera glides, rotates, and swerves up, down, and around is utterly immaculate. I feel that several Oscars should be in order for this film, obviously in visual design, but also for set design, costume design, lighting (why not), and for cinematography.

I personally would also give an Oscar nod to the score, a.k.a. the greatest superhero movie score ever! Move over, Williams! Take notes, Elfman! Hear it and weep, Silvestri! Ludwig Goransson has crafted, as of writing this, the most sweeping score of 2018, marrying a standard orchestral score with beautiful, percussive African soundscapes and hip-hop sensibilities. Of course, at the marketing center of this film is a pulpable soundtrack produced by hip-hop's Black Panther, Kendrick Lamar.

Kudos to director/writer Ryan Coogler, for not merely having a knack for timing and for effective storytelling, but also for talent. Not only does he reunite with Goransson, but also with Michael B. Jordan, portraying Killmonger. He and all the actors deliver potent, gripping, gut-wrenchingly nuanced performances. I honestly loathe that Killmonger is being marketed as the villain, because Jordan portrays him not as villainous, but as lost and as sincerely ardent for change; as someone who wants to repair, which he was not given the luxury of. Chadwick Boseman owns this role as Black Panther, being flexible and malleable to handle the nuances and gravitas, but also genteel and confident enough that he typifies what power is, in more ways than one.

Lupita Nyong'o plays it straight more-or-less as Nakia, but her presence is one with ripe with bonhomie and a sweet nature that you can't help but admire her. She exhibits enough valorous hope to inspire change, yet never intrudes on anyone else's sensibilities because she doesn't need to. She singularly empowers herself. Danai Gurira is ferally effective as Okoye, display doughty, steadfast, warrior sensibilities and a pitch-perfect comic timing. Oh, and remember when I discussed Get Out? Well, I'll be damned if this film and Get Out share an actor: Sir Daniel Kaluuya. I recall stating in my Get Out review that I was uncertain as to whether his performance was star-making. I guess I was right, but hell, if it means seeing his chill, charismatic smile in more movies, that's all I really need.

This film is not escapism. Escapism is just that: an escape; a means of circumventing the wretched realities of the modern world. This film is here, forcing us to confront the ugliness and inescapable blemishes of our world. What begins as a superhero film unveils as a story of hope, but with an undercurrent of pessimism. It states that we can and should use power to forward and ameliorate the conditions of mankind, but as long as the need to sustain power exists, it'll truly never be without its kinks.

I honestly get ebullient, thinking about a child of today growing up with this film yearly. As is, he'll see the visual flair, the epic narrative, and he'll hunger for that extra action figure, but I can't wait for that boy/girl to become a man/woman and can finally comprehend it. I don't know if we'll have another Black Panther or not, but to me, it's crucial that we don't. Let's not undermine the importance of this film, a film that manages to both conform to and evade the confines of being a sheer popcorn flick with numerous marketing potential. Once the magic of those toys are relocated elsewhere, the magic of this film will stick around. It sure has for me, earning the ranking of being my favorite superhero film of all time and being my favorite film of 2018 so far.

So yeah, Marvel. On behalf of all black people, you're welcome.

RATING: Four out of four stars!