My problem with the Zelda franchise can be seen right from its first entry: you start in the middle of a field, then head through the cave opening above to acquire your first sword. You immediately leave the cave and begin searching for the first of the game’s dungeons. Except…it’s not so easy to find. Veterans will no doubt locate it with their eyes shut, but to the uninitiated it’s a trial-by-error of scouring the overworld, all-the-while avoiding enemies that overpower you.
And the game's consistently like this, with each of the objectives as a series of guesses and puzzles that have multiple wrong answers, but only one right. Sometimes the puzzles are simple and straight-forward, clear the area of enemies, but many aren’t. Who could’ve guessed that pushing the right block in the right direction would open up that blocked passageway? And who could’ve figured out that traversing the overworld in the right way would allow access to the next dungeon? Again, a veteran could do it blindfolded, but for a novice, which we all were in 1986, this is insanely frustrating!
This is the pattern that The Legend of Zelda, as well as its sequels, is guilty of: the game is meant to pick your brain, as no doubt it should, but there’s a fine line between thinking and guessing. The former stimulates the logical side of the brain, the one that works in patterns and comprehension, while the latter…frustrates you to no end. You can argue limitations all you want, or that most adventure games on the NES were this way, but if a game isn’t accessible to newcomers decades later, well…what’s the point?
Unfortunately, future games would rely on this formula for years to come. In fact, it’d only get worse with each entry, as advances in technology would create greater possibilities to redo a well-worn formula that wouldn’t see improvements or changes until The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Which begs the question: if the Zelda franchise is meant to be accessible to newcomers, then why does each one employ franchise history for its puzzles and boss fights? Why must each game have the same solution to an obstacle from 20+ years prior? How is that fun?
And here-in lies my fundamental issue with the Zelda franchise: it’s more tedious than enjoyable. I’m of the generation of gamers old enough to remember when the franchise was becoming mainstream, but while I had plenty of old material to reference, I still found that the core mechanics refused to evolve. Games have changed a lot since the 80’s, so there was no need to keep using a formula that may have worked then, but feels archaic now. Besides, aren’t video games supposed to be fun? Because being chained to walkthroughs and speed-runs isn’t fun!
I’m not kidding: I’ve played through over a half-a-dozen Zelda games, and all of them required a walkthrough to complete. Even then, not all entries were successfully completed. If I’m resorting to someone else’s cliff-notes in order to finish a Water Temple, then there’s a problem. I don’t care how highly-praised your game is, I shouldn’t have to do that to properly enjoy a video game. Because that’s homework, not entertainment.
Each game also has its own gimmick that adds to the challenge. Except that they also feel like a chore, which is doubly-annoying: love The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time? Better get used to constantly visiting The Temple of Time in the second-half! Adore The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask? Hope you like time-limits! Enamoured by The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker? If that adoration includes lengthy sailing and hunting tirelessly for pieces of an ancient relic, then good for you!
Let’s not forget the in-game help! It seems like practically every 3D Zelda game has had an annoying companion that’s supposed to be helpful, yet isn’t. Whether it's Navi, Saria, Tatl, Midna or Fii, “help” in a Zelda game means interrupting you at awkward times with suggestions that break your focus and frustrate you. Even The Red Lion from The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker, a talking boat you use to sail throughout the overworld, isn’t immune to this, and he’s actually helpful! And God forbid they say anything you don’t already know, right?
I know I’m being harsh on the Zelda franchise, but it’s only because so many people hand-wave my frustrations whenever I mention them. It’s not like these are badly-made games, either. Nintendo clearly cares about each entry, or they wouldn’t spend 3-4 years on average making them. But I can’t keep my mouth shut about what bothers me any longer, especially when they’ve been part of the public consciousness for so long.
I guess that also makes them reliably-predictable. It’s that predictability that lets me know that the item you acquire after each mini-boss will play a role in fighting the main boss. It’s that predictability that also lets me know that each main boss drops a full Heart Container when you beat them. But it’s also that predictability that lets me know that what I’m getting into will often be tedious and rely on past franchise knowledge and guesswork in order to appreciate. Some might call that fun, and I respect that, but for me it’s more of a hassle than it’s worth.
Not long ago, I had the pleasure of watching this lovely little video on YouTube:
Why 80’s film fans drive me crazy: a case study. (Courtesy of Pop Culture Detective.)
Ignoring that there's a lot to unpack about Jonathan McIntosh as a person, I actually found the video quite interesting. The voiceover could use work, but Jonathan’s decision to shed light on the toxicity of Harrison Ford’s screen persona and why it embodies rape culture is something you’d never stop and think about unless it was pointed out that his most-iconic characters were kinda creepy. Granted, I think Han Solo’s relationship with Princess Leia got better and less-awkward over time, but…yeah, Indiana Jones will forever be disturbing.
This got me thinking, yet again, about the problematic nature of art. For those of you who’ve read my piece on why I hate the term “problematic”, you’ll know that it’s often used as a short-hand to dismiss a piece of narrative art’s function. By labelling something “problematic”, you overlook its merits, especially when said merits flip the material on their head.
This is noticeable in film especially because it’s a universal and broad-reaching medium that appeals to even those who aren’t fully-literate. Books or text narratives require basic fluency in written language, but while movies might have some textual components, especially when subtitled, for the most part a well-written film can make some sort of sense if muted and reliant solely on the visuals. The language of film is show-don’t-tell, after all, so even the most-complicated of narratives are streamlined in relation to books.
That doesn’t mean a film narrative can’t be discussed via a problematic lens of interpretation, because it can. One of the beauties of good cinema is that it lends itself well to interpretation on various levels: there’s the base, surface level, i.e. what you see, there’s the thematic level, i.e. what the film’s purpose is, and there’s the subtextual level, i.e. what the film’s really about. And even subtext-wise, there are different levels of analysis, how they function, and whether or not they convey positive or negative themes and lessons. Add in that film is the easiest medium to convey ideas to the largest group of people in the shortest amount of time, and you have a recipe for dense talking points compacted into 2+ hours.
So yeah, of course film can be discussed as “problematic”! But that “problematic” analysis should be tempered with expectations that, at the end of the day, it isn’t the only valid reading. It’s how The Matrix, a film that’s inspired white supremacists to “rebel against the system”, gets by as a classic despite being problematic: the white-lash was unintended. Like Fight Club and toxic masculinity, it wasn’t made to perpetuate evil.
The issue of intent VS consequence is also important when discussing the problematic nature of adaptations. Biblical epics, for example, have to frequently wrestle with their source material coming off as uncomfortable in the modern age, hence being problematic by default. However, by focusing on the problematic content only, you miss out on their intention, hence being more problematic. Plus, in the event where the story is “updated”, you risk the end result being even more problematic by alienating audiences. That a work is problematic shouldn’t be the end-game for shutting down discourse, especially when intent is key.
This extends to production history and/or the politics of filmmaking. Titanic is a revered film, even earning multiple Oscars, but its production history highlights how problematic a director James Cameron really is. I enjoy the MCU, but most of its big-name stars lead incredibly problematic lives. Even Hollywood’s constant spotlighting of certain groups over others is problematic, and it can lead to outright backlash when not fully-thought through until it’s too late. Everything about film, even down its inception, is problematic, hence why the word is so problematic to begin with.
Besides, I think there are bigger issues in a film that are worth discussing than their unintentionally-problematic components. Like how Ghost in the Shell, a film with problematic casting, made its whitewashing a major component of the overarching narrative. Or how Birth of a Nation, despite being a landmark achievement in filmmaking, is blatantly racist. Or how The Triumph of the Will, despite being problematic as a representation of Nazism in the early 30’s, is also praising Nazism. Being problematic isn’t the problem, framing the problematic material the wrong way is.
And that’s what really needs to be understood when discussing film. Is it problematic? In many ways, yes. But that’s to be expected. It doesn’t mean you should ignore the parts that are worrisome, but that also doesn’t mean that you should only focus on them exclusively. Because that’s even more problematic.
I still think that Harrison Ford’s characterizations in the 80’s were toxic, however.
I sometimes feel watching a movie’s like making a Faustian bargain: I give my time and money, and in exchange I expect the end result to woo me. This goes doubly-so for films from franchises with little-to-no expectations of quality, and even triply-so when said films end up good. The skepticism levels are too high, so either the film has to have some semblance of quality, or it fails. In the case of Wonder Woman, this couldn’t be more true.
It’s not like the film doesn’t already have a lot going against it: it’s the fourth entry in a series of films that haven’t been well-received thus far. It’s said franchise’s token entry about “the girl”. Said “girl” happens to be one of comics’ biggest feminist icons. The movie is also helmed by a female director, which is huge considering that Hollywood, let-alone the superhero genre, has yet to have any serious stand-outs there. On top of that, it’s the first time we’ve seen a superheroine film with a big-budget that looks like real time and effort went into it, as opposed to being a side-venture (Supergirl, Elektra) or a joke with money tossed at it (Catwoman). So yeah, no pressure.
When I first heard that Wonder Woman was getting good reviews, I was skeptical; after all, early feedback for Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice was also positive, and look how that turned out. Hearing the usual accolades at this point was tiring. It didn't matter that this was Wonder Woman, and that her official debut on the big-screen was quite significant for superheroines, I wasn’t ready to take the praise at full-value. It’s not unlike having your abusive, alcoholic ex-boyfriend go to rehab and come out clean: even if he’s being serious this time, past experience insists that you not trust him immediately. If Wonder Woman was really that good, I needed to see the results with my own eyes.
Then the review embargo went down, and my whole perception changed. For once, even if only once, the hype was matching the reviews! It was a miracle! It was unexpected! That a superheroine film could wow people no longer seemed like a fantasy, it was actually happening! For the first time, the DCEU, normally the bastion of awfulness, had done something right! But how?
Well, being a competently-made film definitely helps. One of the big issues gripping past superheroine films was their lack of competency. Either by relying on brand name to a fault, or simply putting a third-rate script together, past superheroines couldn’t be taken seriously in their own movies, especially compared to their male counterparts. This led to audiences not caring, thus causing them to tank, thus perpetuating the myth that audiences “didn’t want to see female-led superhero films”. It’s a shame because, honestly, a good chunk of superhero fans are women, so not catering to them means shutting out characters they can relate to.
All the more reason why Wonder Woman being a good movie is a big deal. It’s proof that not only can superheroines be worth writing about, but that they can do so without relying on brand name or tag-a-longs. Because Wonder Woman is a compelling character, and stories focused around her are worth exploring and telling. Especially in 2017, where women are accepted in almost every field out there.
What helps is that the director’s a woman. You’d think it wouldn’t matter, but most superheroines are thrown under the bus that is the “male gaze”. That’s not to say it’s impossible to be good anyway, see the original run of Jessica Jones, but there’s the issue of not having the right clarity to think like a woman if you’re a man. Patty Jenkins directed Monster, so having her tackle one of the greatest women in comics for the big-screen is seemingly ideal. That she pulls it off is no small miracle, especially in-light of previous DCEU films.
I’m not kidding. I may have avoided the DCEU up until now, but even as an outsider I knew people weren’t so hot on Man of Steel, Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice and Suicide Squad. These three movies propped up a filmic dumpster fire, so having a superheroine origin story be tossed into there was asking for trouble. That Wonder Woman ended up being good, let-alone great, is a testament to how even the biggest messes can be fixed with the right clean-up crew. It also reinforces how much more competent women are than men.
There’s really so much this movie does well that can’t be taken for granted. It still has that rough, dirty, realistic feel first established by Man of Steel, but where as that film suffered from sloppy pacing, disjointed writing, chaotic action and weak characterizations, this film is well-paced, well-written, has clear action and has characters that act and think believably. There’s no dialogue or logic that contradicts its grounded tone, it’s all cohesive. Bless it for that.
That’s not to say it doesn’t adhere to previous institutions of DCEU films. The atmosphere’s still grey. The colour’s still desaturated. And the costume designs are “edgier” than your typical affair. But Wonder Woman makes it work, and by the time the big finale happens, it’s excusable because the spectacle is earned.
There are other details that make it stand out from other comic book properties. The grainy quality of the film makes it look beautiful. The action scenes are clear to see, and the editing is tight. The music has recurring motifs, making its score more memorable than the MCU. Even its use of slow-motion, no doubt a contribution of Zack Snyder, feels artsy in the right way, being used to elevate tension or show off Wonder Woman’s prowess.
But above all else, it works. It, honestly, works better than most of the MCU, further proving that while I like Marvel, DC on their best day still blows them out of the water. Does this mean the DCEU's Faustian bargain is over? I’m not sure. This could be the start of a new leaf, but it could also be a one-off knowing the DCEU thus far. Regardless, Wonder Woman is a worthwhile endeavour that anyone can enjoy, and proves that superheroine films are viable cash-cows. So congratulations, DC, and your move, Marvel.
Superhero films share many common themes: the tragic origin story gives the hero or heroine a motivation. Teamwork is an efficient way of saving the day. You can’t save everybody. Even jerks deserve redemption. However, the one that drives home in many of these movies is collateral damage. Ignoring that these are often big-budget spectacles, hence destroying stuff comes with the territory, the recurring motif of accountability has played a role in the disbanding of supers in The Incredibles and Batman’s driving ethos in The Dark Knight Trilogy.
However, the place where this theme gets brought up most is in the MCU. You’d think that after 9 years there’d be an attempt to sell-out on this front, but the MCU hasn’t lost sight of that quite yet. Which is good, because collateral damage and the accountability that comes from that has played a big role in at least 4 of the movies. So let’s see why that is. Be warned: spoilers ahead.
The first of the movies is The Avengers,a film that's about conquering Earth and the fight to defend it. But while accountability for damage is mentioned throughout the first two acts, it’s in the third-act that everything hits the fan. Buildings crumble, windows break, debris flies everywhere and people die. Yet even amidst the chaos, The Avengers try their best to keep the fighting contained to a small part of the city.
Early on, for example, Captain America co-ordinates with his teammates to limit the fighting to the immediate area. He also demands that the police, in a humorous moment, section off the nearby blocks. In addition, he even takes one for a group of civilians by blocking an exploding bomb with his shield. And, lest we forget, Iron Man drives a missile launched by SHIELD operatives into space to end the war, risking his life in the process. These are as much a part of the film as the fighting, and they’re one of the reasons The Avengers, despite its flaws, works so well.
The issue of collateral damage resurfaces in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. In the highway fight, Black Widow openly yells at civilians to “get out of the way” before she’s shot in the shoulder. It’d have been easy to “screw the civilians”, but Captain America and his team limit the number of deaths to approximately zero. This comes back in the climax when Captain America and The Falcon override Project Insight’s “kill a million to save a billion” programming. They succeed, and Project Insight crashes to the sea.
In The Avengers: Age of Ultron, collateral damage takes frontal stage. The opening scene has Iron Man keeping the casualties to an actual zero. He sends out The Iron Legion, aka an army of robotic peacekeepers, to make a barricade and keep civilians at bay. Said civilians aren’t happy by this, one even throws acid at the robots, but mission accomplished.
Where it becomes more complicated is in the Hulkbuster VS The Hulk fight. The objective is to subdue a brainwashed The Hulk long enough to get him out of harm’s way, but seeing as The Hulk is an invincible monster with rage issues it ends up being difficult. Iron Man tries to knock him out by repeatedly punching him at first, but that doesn’t work. He then tries to take him outside of town, but that doesn’t work either. Eventually, Iron Man has no choice but to plunge him into a semi-demolished building, creating a shockwave that hurts many civilians. The Hulk is finally subdued, but not before seeing the aftermath of their fight.
Fortunately, the final battle in Sokovia, against Ultron’s minions, fares better. Oh, there’s still a lot of destruction, don’t get me wrong, but up until Ultron’s final attempt at carnage, in which a few police officers, as well as Quicksilver, die, no one gets hurt. There are many fake-outs, including a woman nearly falling to her doom when her car skids off a cliff, but the objective of the fight is to minimize deaths. It proves successful, a stark contrast to the New York City battle of the first film.
The final example of collateral damage is in Captain America: Civil War. The entire film is the build-up of previous battles in the MCU, as shown through both the opening fight where Crossbones blows himself up in an attempt to get back at Captain America and the introduction of Sokovia Accords. In one of the early scenes, General Ross shows The Avengers clips of four of their major battles from an outsider’s perspective. In each one, said recorder either died or was badly wounded. Regardless of how The Avengers react, the situation is clear: how responsible are they for indirect casualties? Captain America argues that “you can’t save everyone”, but Iron Man’s concerns are indication that it’s not so simple.
The situation gets worse when, in an ironic twist, the building where the Sokovia Accords is signed gets blown up by an impersonator of The Winter Soldier. Said impersonator, Zemo, has a vendetta against The Avengers for “murdering his family” in Sokovia, and he’s using this as revenge. He hopes that the Sokovia Accords would split the team apart and force them to destroy one-another. He, ultimately, both succeeds and fails, as while he gets caught, the damage is done.
It also sets the stage for the big set piece, in which The Avengers duke it out in a vacated airport in Leipzig, Germany. It’s easy to call this fight inconsequential, seeing as Iron Patriot’s injuries are the worst of what happens, but that misses the point. The fight was never about killing anyone, it was about the clash of ideals. Both sides understood that civilian casualties were inevitable, but government chains versus complete freedom to do as they please was what was at stake. It’s a more personal conflict, essentially.
In the end, collateral damage being a running theme in the MCU is tackled with tact and maturity. True, collateral damage is also a theme in the DCEU, see Batman VS Superman: Dawn of Justice, but there it’s more of an afterthought. And this is why the MCU stands out so much. Because while you can argue technical prowess, this is one area where it really shines.
Also, it leads to some interesting discussion. But you can do that on your own.
There’s a debate in Infinite Rainy Day's Discord chat over whether or not I actually like pure action films. The answer is "yes…but only when the characters are compelling enough to excuse or overlook lacklustre storytelling". There are three films that fit this criteria that I absolutely adore, and they comprise what I often call “The Holy Trio of Dessert Blockbusters”. In other words, much like desserts, I can pop them in occasionally and enjoy them despite not being meaty.
One of these movies is The Avengers, aka “The Orange Sherbet Blockbuster”. Unlike Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, “The Cherry Pie Blockbuster”, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallow Part 2, “The Chocolate Cake Blockbuster”, The Avengers, despite correlating in my mind with my favourite dessert, is also the least-interesting character-wise. It’s fun to watch, don’t get me wrong, but like the MCU proper it’s got much of that corporate vibe that makes it less of an instant classic. There’s a lot about it that I love, the climax particularly, but the context leading up to it is equally as important to its enjoyment. In other words, I can’t fully enjoy it on its own terms because it screams “franchise film”.
But these semantics aren’t all that important. I simply needed context for the film’s direct sequel, The Avengers: Age of Ultron, and why it’s not as good. I actually re-watched the movie on Netflix for this piece as well. I initially dreaded doing so because my first impression was unenthusiastic, and I was worried that that’d hamper my enjoyment. Rewatching it ended up making me appreciate it more, so I’m happy for that, but its flaws are ever-present.
Before I elaborate about what did and didn’t work, I want to stress that my goal isn’t to say that you’re right or wrong for liking or disliking this film. I’m not gonna spend thousands of pages on that, as it’d be boring and disingenuous. I’m also not gonna play CinemaSins or channel Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, as both would be me shamelessly nitpicking a universe where a green monster lives in-tandem with a demigod and a super soldier. Rather, this is me giving my thoughts, what I liked and disliked, and whether or not it holds up two years later. And yes, there’ll be spoilers.
The premise here's a "saving the Earth story". In The Avengers, Loki, the adopted brother of Thor, uses a magical staff given to him by a warlord alien to open a portal to Earth so it can be conquered, and The Avengers fight to stop him. In this movie it’s a little more detailed: instead of an external force, the premise revolves around Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, creating an AI program to stop an apocalyptic vision. Said AI goes rogue and decides to wipe out humanity, so it’s up to the heroes to save the day. The stories of these films are really secondary to the action, but here it’s also needlessly complicated. In an attempt to make the premise bigger and more weighty, The Avengers: Age of Ultron has also made itself bloated. Factor in the set-ups to future films, and you have a movie that’s doing both too much and not enough.
Take, for example, the scene with Ultron and Ulysses Klaue. Klaue is a main antagonist to Black Panther. Except that Black Panther wasn’t introduced here, so his purpose is to act as a checkpoint for Ultron. Even the moment where his hand gets chopped off, a clear wink to comic fans, feels inconsequential because he feels inconsequential. I guess it’s an attempt to build a motivation for him come Black Panther, but given how the MCU’s rogues gallery is pretty one-dimensional…
Another example is Thor’s dip into a mysterious lake in the second-half of the film. This is now supposed to build on his vision of Asgard being destroyed in Thor Ragnarok, yet all it does is recap the grander plan of the MCU via a montage foreshadowing The Avengers: Infinity War. It’s a needlessly complicated Mystery Box moment, one that didn’t need to be there. And yet, because the movie is so heavily tied to the MCU, it also has to exist. This inherent contradiction is one of many that bog down the plot, making a movie that’s a few minutes shorter than its predecessor feel much longer.
Then there’s the controversial moment involving Black Widow and Bruce Banner/The Hulk. Ignoring how this movie introduces a romance that was never fully established prior, it also fleshes-out Black Widow by making her desperate for children. In theory, this idea isn’t an inherently bad one, and it can make for an interesting story with proper context. But this is the MCU, a universe where Drax called Gamora “a whore” as a joke, so I doubt that’ll happen. Black Widow has also never been consistent, so it reeks of sexism.
On the subject of bogged down, there’s also Tony Stark not learning from his Ultron fiasco when he attempts to download JARVIS into Ultron’s replacement body. I didn’t understand this the first time I saw it, and I don’t understand it now. The film made a huge deal of Ultron going rogue, so…why does the film then reward him for repeating that? Shouldn’t he have learned his mistake? I guess it’d negate the franchise’s running motif of how Tony Stark never learns anything, but it’s still a missed opportunity.
Speaking of which, Ultron. The MCU’s not known for compelling villains (Loki and Zemo are probably the only film exceptions,) and this was something Joss Whedon promised he’d try to address. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Oh sure, Ultron’s funny and charming, even having some great lines, but for the most part he’s yet another baddie for the heroes to take down. Plus, his characterization, basically a combination of Iron Man and 4chan, is wickedly inconsistent, with him switching from funny to threatening without much transition.
Finally, and this is through no fault of the film, The Avengers: Age of Ultron is guilty of collapsing under the weight of its own legacy. This wasn’t helped by both Joss Whedon frequently butting heads with Kevin Feige constantly and Marvel’s obnoxious hype train. Factor in that it was released during a period in the Jewish calendar where I couldn’t see films in theatres, and expectations were pumped too high. It’s a shame because there was no way this could’ve topped its predecessor even without its problems. The Avengers was far from perfect, Black Widow’s conversation with Loki proves that, but its streamlined storytelling and lack of expectations blew everyone’s minds in 2012. By the time The Avengers: Age of Ultron came out, the novelty had worn off. The film would’ve had to up the gambit qualitatively, and instead we got a 2.0 with even more story problems.
It’s a shame because the parts that work, i.e. when it’s focused, work as well, if not better, than its predecessor. There’s a scene involving The Avengers gathered around Thor’s hammer that’s as exciting as watching Iron Man and Thor duke it out in The Avengers. The Hulk VS. Hulkbuster fight is one of the highlights, even if we never find out what The Hulk’s seeing in his head. Getting more backstory on Hawkeye this time around, even remedying a plot-hole in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, is welcomed, giving us some needed downtime halfway through the film. And, lest we forget, the fight in Sokovia contains as many memorable moments, if not more, than the New York City fight in the first film.
One last detail that I have to mention is that, unlike the first movie, The Avengers: Age of Ultron also managed to get me to tear up. Not a lot, mind you, but seeing Quicksilver die to save an injured kid, as well as the muffled screams of his sister, was heartbreaking. I presume Quicksilver’s death was a workaround with 20th Century Fox so that they both could use the Maximoff twins (the X-Men movies killed off Scarlet Witch in X-Men: Apocalypse, after all,) but even with the internet having ruined that detail prior it still caught me off guard. That’s something Iron Man saving New York City and almost dying for it couldn’t do.
Would I still recommend The Avengers: Age of Ultron? I guess. It’s no sherbet, but even amidst its problems and disappointment there’s a lot that works. It’s amazing that, at least on the movie end, we’ve gotten this far into the MCU without a dud. But even outside of that, this movie delivers. It doesn’t overdeliver, mind you, but it delivers.
That said, that running joke involving profanity? It didn’t click.
Confession time: I don’t like Renegade Cut. I know the video series has a passionate fan-following, and I respect that, but there’s something about Leon Thomas that doesn’t sit well: perhaps it’s his voice? The fact that he constantly sounds bored? The fact that he speaks like a frustrated professor who keeps getting rejected from a tenure position?
I’m sure he’s a sweet guy, but my concerns over Leon Thomas’s Renegade Cut videos are also based around the content. I, for example, thought his solution for “fixing modern Pixar”, i.e. to “make more movies like WALL-E”, was over-simplifying the issue, especially since I’ve always considered that one of Pixar’s weaker offerings during their heyday. Conversely, and this is partly because of my own experience, I found his episode on Perfect Blue to be completely oblivious to the film’s problems. So that Leon’s voice is also grating to listen to is an additional quibble. But enough of that, it’s time for why I mentioned him in the first place:
I recognize that La La Land is a weird movie. It’s basically a modern musical that pays homage, successfully, to a dead genre. It’s also a vanity project for director Damien Chazelle, being a movie that combines jazz, a genre of music that he loves, with the musical, a genre of film that he admires, for the 21st Century. I also want to state that while I did really enjoy this movie, I admit that it’s not perfect. My goal isn’t to trash Leon for criticizing the film, that’s what Reddit and IMDb are for, but to provide a response to a rather misleading analysis of an admittedly-flawed movie.
Also, there’ll be spoilers.
Leon begins by saying that his intent isn’t to disrespect people who like La La Land. His conclusion betrays that, but it’s a nice sentiment. I find that people who dislike popular movies/books/shows/whatever will immediately attack the fans by calling them “sheep” or “ignorant”, so to hear that is a nice change of pace. It’s too bad that, like I said, it ends up contradicting his conclusion. Additionally, since Leon’s video is chopped up into three sections, it’s only fair that I respond in like fashion:
The Non-Musical Musical-Leon begins his piece with his most easily-understandable critique: Ryan Gosling’s singing voice. There’s been a recent trend in Hollywood to cast non-singers in singing roles to appeal to the masses. Leon uses two examples, Moana and Beauty and the Beast, to prove that. The former had Dwayne Johnson as Maui singing “You’re Welcome”, which he argues wasn’t sung well, but had enough charisma to work. Conversely, Emma Watson’s Belle wasn’t “an opera singer”, but she was lovely enough hat she, too, fit the role fine. I’m unsure why he didn’t include the late-Robin Williams in Aladdin, as he didn’t have a good singing voice either and both examples are Disney-related, but whatever. Neither of the aforementioned were great singers.
But then he goes on to match this with Ryan Gosling in La La Land, and I immediately winced. Firstly, as someone who can sing, Gosling’s voice isn’t really that bad. It’s not great, but it carries and has a pleasant, soothing tone. He’s definitely quiet, but bad? There’s subjectivity to singing, but bad he’s not.
Secondly, Sebastian being a “bad singer” is part of his character, let-alone the movie. Emma Stone isn’t a great singer either. Her voice isn’t as “bad” as Gosling, but it’s nothing to write home about. But that neither Gosling or Stone are great singers is why they were cast: because they’re meant to be the every-people in Hollywood. Believe it or not, a lot of actors and actresses in Hollywood are passable, be it acting, writing, directing, and yes, singing. We see them all the time, so making them the centre-stage is praise in a good way.
And thirdly, the alternatives Leon gives for Gosling also misses the point. Damien Chazelle didn’t choose Neil Patrick Harris, Robert Downey Jr. or Jeremy Renner for a reason: they’re too old. Neil Patrick Harris is 43 years old, well into his career and doesn’t fit the role of a “young, struggling artist”. Robert Downey Jr. is 52 years old, well into his career and doesn’t fit the role of a “young, struggling artist”. Jeremy Renner is 46 years old, well into his career and, you guessed it, doesn’t fit the role of a “young, struggling artist”. Ryan Gosling, despite not being new, is 36 years old, still early in his career (he only took off a few years ago in popularity), and fits the role of a “young, struggling artist” more easily.
Leon mentions that there aren’t a lot of noteworthy songs to keep the pace after the openingtwo numbers to help “drown out Gosling”, but I don’t think La La Land was intending to be an uppity musical constantly. It’s a modern movie with modern sensibilities, and while the “it’s jazz” argument might not be a good enough excuse, it’s not trying to be bombastic or overly-flashy. La La Land isn’t trying to be the next Singing in the Rain, or any of the musicals of Hollywood’s Golden Age, but rather a simple homage. That needs to be factored into the critique of the film.
Finally, Leon ends this section with a complaint about “sound mixing problems”, using the pool sequence in “Someone in the the Crowd” to justify his complaint. For one, the splashing overlapping with the dancing and music is intentional. And two, I could hear the lyrics perfectly fine without Googling them. Because they’re audible, even if he thinks otherwise. If you want proof, I watched this movie in theatres in February, before I went to an ENT to have over a decade’s worth of wax removed from my right ear. If I could hear it fine, then there’s nothing wrong with the sound mixing.
The White Saviour of Jazz-This next section is trickier to really deconstruct, since it deals with the complicated issue of racist casting and character writing. I’ll say that for as much as Sebastian is a struggling artist who prides himself on pure jazz and refuses to pay his bills or “sell out”, I think that’s kind of the point. Sebastian’s supposed to be stuck-up and overly-proud, because it’s part of what makes him appealing. Is it racist to be a white saviour? I suppose. But that’s less to do with Gosling and more to do with Hollywood’s flawed casting system.
See, Hollywood’s afraid of taking risks. Because almost 2/3 of the US is white, Hollywood wants to cater to that. It nets them the most money, so why not? It’s wrong, and it leads to instances like the tone deaf controversy of Scarlett Johansson in Ghost in the Shell, but it’s a long-time bias built-in to the system of Hollywood. Much like being queer or a woman, if you’re not white in Hollywood, your odds of getting anywhere are, sadly, more limited.
And yes, this needs to be changed. But in the same breath, I also think art can function even with its problematic aspects. Because it doesn’t exist in a vacuum, so ignoring something like La La Land because it’s not “ideally cast” is ignorance. But then again, I’m an Ashkenazi Jewish male, so what do I know?
Going back to the film, I don’t agree that Keith is inherently a villain because he’s the “New Age Jazzist”. Despite the “framing” that Leon suggests, Keith’s a guy making a living by seeing jazz as an evolving art form. He sees life differently than Sebastian, and that Sebastian decides to play for him is him realizing that he needs the money for his relationship with Mia. The movie might portray it as “selling out”, and on some level it is, but it’s Sebastian also sucking up his pride because he’s starting to realize what really matters. It’s something he didn’t get in the beginning of the movie when he refused to pay rent.
I won’t delve into the whole “whitesplaining jazz” critique, because there’s some truth to it, but the infantilization complaint is unfair for two reasons: one, Mia displayed her ignorance by complaining that all jazz music was “elevator music” and, therefore, boring. I love classical music, but the classical pieces played in elevators are also pretty boring. And two, that Sebastian is somewhat condescending to Mia is part of why their relationship ends up failing. Because while champagne love seems sweet initially, once the bubbles dissipate you’re left wanting more.
Also, since it was so eloquently explained, let’s talk about that Christmas scene: I disagree. Damien Chazelle might have characters in his films that act snobbish about jazz, but it’s never portrayed positively (Andrew’s conversation at the dinner table in Whiplash was him being arrogant.) And for as much as the movie may not have delved into the head of the restaurant owner, at the same time the movie shows that the dinner guests are bored by the traditional tunes that Sebastian’s playing. Sebastian’s not be the greatest piano player, but he’s clearly above playing boring songs that no one likes. So when he breaks his promise, which the guests actually like, and gets fired, the movie makes it a sympathetic-yet-presumably-impulsive decision.
I’ll end this section by touching on Mia, since Leon briefly criticizes her by arguing that she has no characteristics outside of her passion to be a successful actress. I don’t agree: Mia’s stubborn, argumentative, insecure about her hopes and dreams and constantly feeling like she’s falling behind. This is all explicitly stated in-film. And as for why nothing is shown about her one-act play? It’s because it’s less important than digging into her character growth. If Birdman can get away with barely showing Riggan Thomson’s stage play, then why can’t La La Land?
Obnoxiousness Is Not Romantic-Leon makes a clever transition to this point through his ending statement on Sebastian in the last section. Sebastian, according to him, is a mansplaining, egotistical artist with a white saviour complex. This makes his relationship with Mia one of obnoxiousness and romanticism, the latter of which he argues is necessary to an extent in storytelling, but is over-played. Ignoring that I’ve already tackled my thoughts on Sebastian, I don’t think that him and Mia being in an over-romanticized relationship is accidental. The movie makes it abundantly clear that their relationship is flowery and somewhat toxic. You end up caring anyway, but their inevitable break-up is apparent right from when Sebastian “sells out” for money.
I want to point out an inherent critique that I think Leon should know: characters in storytelling need not have arcs, nor do they need to have arcs that progress them in a positive direction. I say this because he doesn't. Lou Bloom in Nightcrawler, for example, doesn’t change. But even if he did, it’s not for the better. Having a negative character arc/no arc at all is harder to do right, but it’s not impossible.
Besides, I do think that Sebastian, and to a lesser-extent Mia, grow as characters. Sebastian learns how to become successful, but at the cost of giving up his ego and pursuing hard work. Mia learns how to become successful too, but only once she stops being so insecure. And both of them learn that true happiness and success means not always being with “your ideal other”, something the movie shows was for the best anyway.
There are several aspects to this point that really irk me. One of them is how Sebastian’s line to Mia about not caring what others think of her play is the director’s ham-fisted critique of La La Land’s detractors. Much like Princess Nausicaä in Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind telling Prince Abel that the Pejites and the Tolmekkians are “exactly alike”, the line from La La Land wasn’t intended to be that way. It was a reminder that your biggest critic is yourself, and that you only have control of your own actions at the end of the day. Given how many people have told me that I’d never make it anywhere, that hit me hard.
Which is all-the-more reason why Leon’s assumption that Sebastian and Mia think they’re the only ones that matter was so odd. Ignoring that this is a movie, and that they’re the protagonists of the story, I don’t think they’re being egotistical at all. They’re being young and careless, and the film spends two hours giving them a heaping dose of reality. Is it over-sentimental? Perhaps, particularly during Mia’s audition solo. But it’s like Leon said: movies need a little romanticism.
The Verdict-Leon ends this analysis with a rather obnoxious proposition, hence my claim in the opening: according to him, critics were so starved to see a good musical that they over-praised this one, which he claims wasn’t all that good, as a masterpiece. I hate this remark, because it reeks of laziness and insensitivity. Movie reviews aren’t a science, they’re subjective. Critics are allowed to disagree with the masses, and vice-versa. This shouldn’t be some kind of pissing match, nor should it be a game of “critics are stupid”. And yet, I see this so often that I’m sick and tired of letting it slide.
I’m not a big fan Mad Max: Fury Road, for example. I think it’s a shallowly-written, plodding film with two-dimensional characters and ideas that go nowhere. And yet, people loved it. But while I was quick to explain why I’m not a fan, I never once insulted critics. Because that’s petty. The second you resort to that behaviour, I immediately disregard what you have to say.
Critiques like that also mislead your audience into thinking that you’re the be-all-end-all of the debate on quality. I can’t find it anymore, but there was a comment from someone who’d never seen the film, yet was glad they hadn’t based on Leon’s review. That’s some CinemaSins nonsense right there, taking misleading critiques as fact and missing out on forming your own opinion. You don’t have to agree with the praise, but you shouldn’t be so quick to write it off either.
By the way, I liked La La Land a lot, but next to its musical numbers and ending montage it didn’t blow me away. It was shallowly written on a surface level, the general story was predictable and it didn’t do much to innovate a genre it clearly loved. But that’s beside the point, because while La La Land might not be deep, it did one element really well: it showed the millennial struggle as being one of the everyman trying to survive. And yeah, “movie stars” and all that jazz. But that struggle was still present with Sebastian and Mia’s character-arcs.
I don’t want people to think that Leon Thomas’s analysis is automatically trash. He’s entitled to think what he wants, something he’s clearly acknowledged in his disclaimer. But the sword is double-edged, and with that comes a transparency for rebuke or response. Bottom line: I’m unimpressed with this analysis.
This year marks the 40th anniversary of the Star Wars franchise. Initially the passion project of George Lucas, the franchise-to date-has spanned almost nine movies (one of them a spin-off), three TV shows and dozens upon dozens of video games, books, comics, audio recordings and web-shorts, to name a few. It’s even gained new life in recent years following the acquisition of the IP by Disney in 2012 and the promise to keep it going until, as of now, 2030. There’s much to discuss with the movies specifically, but it’s almost unanimously agreed on that the era of films from 1999-2005, known as “The Prequels”, are the worst aspect. And with Disney trying to please fans, there’s been demand to remake them from scratch, this time the “right” way. But is that necessarily a good idea?
I’ll be the first to admit that The Prequels aren't “great”. I don’t despise them like so many, especially since all three have moments of brilliance, but time hasn’t been kind to my perceptions of their quality. I also know that many die-hard fans have pitched their thoughts and ideas on how to “improve” the trilogy, most-notably Belated Media, but I’m not so sure that going back and fixing these films would be so great. I, honestly, think it’d be a terrible idea, for one reason: continuity.
See, Star Wars thrives on continuity. It might not seem so initially, especially since the universe is so vast, but it absolutely has connecting themes and plot-threads. The Prequels, for example, tie directly into The Original Trilogy through inter-connected world building, as does The Original Trilogy to the newer films. In the same breath, The Prequels also tie into the new films, as do they to the two cartoons considered canon. And, of course, said shows tie directly into the movies, including the spin-off film that, you guessed it, ties directly into everything in the Star Wars chronology.
To give an example, let’s use Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker. Considered one of modern-Hollywood’s greatest characters, his presence is felt in every canon film and show. In the original films, he was the looming baddie that shifted from a nasty villain, to a villain with depth, to a redeemed villain. The Prequels added context by showing his descent into villainy, transforming him into a tragic hero. Star Wars: The Clone Wars, both the pilot film and the 6 Season TV series, then further fleshed him out, while Star Wars Rebels showed the time period between his downfall and his initial reveal in the original film. And finally, the newer trilogy, if everything is playing out the way it has been, is building on the aftermath of the character’s death by showing how the galaxy has progressed. Everything Star Wars that’s canon has built on this one character.
But even outside of that, and this is delving into spoiler territory, Star Wars canon still fits together via easter eggs and/or callbacks. One of the best examples is the franchise’s first side-film, Star Wars: Rogue One. The movie’s littered with details that fit into the grander universe: Saw Gerrera is a character from one of the story-arcs in Star Wars: The Clone Wars, and his character-arc is completed via his death at the hands of The Death Star. Conversely, this is the last canonical appearance of Senator Bail Organa, a character featured heavily in The Prequels and TV shows, before his death on Alderaan in Star Wars Ep. IV: A New Hope when it’s blown up. The movie also has The Ghost, a ship that takes centre-stage in Star Wars Rebels, and an indirect mention of Mustafar from Star Wars Ep. III: Revenge of the Sith in the second-act. And, lest we forget, it ends seconds before Star Wars Ep. IV: A New Hope, with its last shot being of the same ship we see in the latter film’s opening scene.
The canon is so meticulously woven together at this point that if Disney were to remake even a tiny detail of The Prequels, it could throw everything off. It’s not impossible, but it’s tricky. Because you’d risk messing up everything, and that’s not what people want either. I know it’s tempting to take the gamble anyway, but in the long-term it’s better not to. Especially considering how the newer films and shows are working with a trilogy that’s already messy anyway.
I get it: The Prequels are embarrassing. They’re a reminder that Star Wars isn’t flawless. They bum out fans by the sheer fact that, yes, everything in them is canon. It seems like such an easy remedy in the hands of talented individuals who respect the collaborative process of film, something George Lucas didn’t. But “fixing” them would do so much damage that it’s not worth the chance.
And honestly, it reeks of entitlement. A good artist learns more from their failures than their successes, while a great artist learns from others’ failures. If the current holders of the Star Wars franchise are the “great artists”, they’ll take that to heart. Especially since The Prequels are a valuable learning experience, and instead of erasing them, Disney has an opportunity to incorporate their best ideas effectively in future movies and shows.
But ultimately, fans need to let it go already. So what if The Prequels were “bad”? So what if you think you can do better? There’s a time for do-overs, and a time for restraint. This is one of those times for restraint. If fans can accept the good with the bad, instead of ignoring the bad, then perhaps we can move on and focus on the future of the franchise.
