#but the urge to become a screenwriter has never been more compelling :')

[lit-in-thy-heart]

lit i hear they are ruining my fav Austen heroine 😭😭😭

don't worry mumble they're ruining mine too 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[epistolizer]

Hit and Run Commentary #125

When liberals insist that there needs to be a conversation, what they really mean is that they intend to browbeat and  berate the general public until they surrender ideologically just to be allowed a semblance of peace and where the prevailing conventional wisdom is allegedly altered to such an extent that disenfranchisement and even potential violence against the few remaining stalwart critics is viewed as a viable option.  

Of conditions at facilities warehousing urchins dragged across the border, a Southern Baptist theologian lamented,  “Those created in the image of God should be treated with dignity and compassion, especially those seeking refuge from violence back home. We can do better than this.” But at no time did he offer to board these individuals in posh and palatial Southern Baptist Convention properties. If we as a nation weren’t concerned about the dignity of these souls, wouldn’t they be disposed of at the border crossing? One notices at no time did he urge parents to remain with their children in their respective homelands or for the regimes from which these individuals originated to improve conditions for their citizens. 

For Boo Beep failing to consent to being Woody’s breeding sow and for Jessie The Cowgirl taking over as the new sheriff in Toy Story, homeschool activist Kevin Swanson invoked I Corinthians 11:11, stating that man is not independent of woman nor woman independent of man. But that only applies to those that are married. For no one else has right to control you in that sort of manner. As much as aspiring cultists might want to, you can’t make someone marry someone else.  

The same homeschool elites jacked out of shape that characters at the end of Toy Story aren't married off would probably toss a bigger fit if these pairings were formed in a manner other than the parents selecting the mate with the decision subject to approval by pastoral authorities.

It was said in a homily on SermonAudio that one will not find the right relationship until one has found satisfaction in Christ. Given that we still endure results of a sin nature until we depart this world, such never fully happens. Ironically, these hardline exegetes are usually of the sorts that toss fits if people aren’t married by the time they are 23 years old. Second, if one has found satisfaction and completeness in Christ, why bother getting married? Solely for increasing the size of the herd as the brainwashed girl remarked in the South Park episode on homeschooling?  

In analyzing the Avengers films on Issues Etc,  columnist Terry Mattingly referenced in what seemed an almost condescending tone   “Evangelicals and their minivans.” So exactly how else is one supposed to get around if one spawns the requisite number to be categorized as sufficiently pious? It’s not like there is a variety of station wagons on the market to select from these days.  

Instead of condemning singles that stay to themselves, perhaps Southern Baptist elites should have gotten after those for the most part married that can’t seem to keep their hands off the underaged.  

The media is outraged at the existence of a secret social media group where border agents are alleged to have used vulgar terminology. So apparently the media can teach us to say these naughty sorts of things. We apparently just aren’t allowed to repeat them.

If the government is not allowed to ask how many residing within the nation’s borders are actually citizens, by what right can it ask how many flush toilets are in my house when I am the one paying for the amount of water that flows through both?  

Pastor Mark Dever and his herald theologian Jonathan Leeman of the Capitol Hill Baptist network of churches insist that one is in a state of sin if a believer does not hold formalized membership in a church. But aren’t their membership contracts (or “covenants” laying over the vernacular a hyperpious coating most will lack the courage to question) terminable only upon death or membership transferred not to a congregation holding to the fundamentals of the Christian faith but rather one within their particular network of churches themselves sinful? How is this appreciably different than the billion year contracts aspiring Scientologists are compelled to sign before induction into the sect?  

In remarks about church membership in a Ligionier Ministries podcast, theologian Jonathan Leeman remarked that those leery of such commitment are doing so to avoid accountability. But aren’t such individuals in a sense justified to be skeptical of such intrusion into their lives when a number of congregations that look to this particular thinker as one of their leading theological beacons stipulate in their membership covenants that such an arrangement is terminable only upon death or one sidedly when those in authority rather than the mere pewfiller decides that their walk with Christ might best be cultivated elsewhere? Contrary to Dr. Leeman’s flippant dismissal, there is more to this reluctance than not “wanting to live in the light”. It is about reticence over being compelled to live by pastoral preferences spelled out nowhere indisputably in the pages of Scripture and about the perdition it sounds like some churches might put an individual through if they come to the conclusion that they just have got to leave a miserable situation.  

Elder Jonathan Leeman of Cheverly Baptist Church in an oration on church membership at Southeastern Theological Seminary admonished that great care must be taken to keep the line between world and church clear. Has he brought this up with his 9Marks colleague Isaac Adams who affiliates with a group of Christian hip hop artists advocating recreational cannabis? In this same oration, Jonathan Leeman pointed out the dangers of allowing non-Christian musicians to play in church. Perhaps he could similarly clarify his position regarding Christians extolling the delights of recreational cannabis or do they get a free pass when they are not White?  

In an oration at Southeastern Theological Seminary,  Elder Jonathan Leeman says that he likes to drive along Embassy Row in Washington, DC to see the flags of the various nations. Many of these represent nations engaged in outright tyranny and oppression. Others subtly restrict freedom of expression in the name of tolerance and diversity. Yet to this theologian, the flag of the United States is so vile that it must be removed from the nation’s churches for fear of upsetting foreigners often from these repressive lands happening to visit an American church in America.  

In an oration at Southeastern Seminary, theologian Jonathan Leeman said that there needs to be a conversation about the requirements of church membership. Usually when someone says that there needs to be a conversation than means that they will be the ones doing the talking which will likely consist of a lengthy list of demands and you will be seriously berated if you raise any objections, questions, or calls for clarification.  

In an oration on membership at Southeastern Theological Seminary, theologian Jonathan Leeman joked that the first membership interview was Jesus asking Peter who do you say that I am. But nowhere in that did Jesus strongarm Peter into signing a contract stipulating that the Apostle was bound to a single congregation for life or that he could only transfer with permission to another within a particular network of specified churches. Secondly, nowhere in the interview was Peter required to elaborate a serious of raunchy past escapades that would make a soap opera screenwriter blush.

In a Capitol Hill Baptist podcast discussing race, it was remarked that Black South Africans have a remarkably forgiving ethic. So are tires filled with gasoline placed around the necks of victims set ablaze and land seized from farmers for little reason other than that they are White the sort of social justice policies these New Wave churches would like to see implemented?  

In a Capitol Hill Baptist podcast discussion about race, theologian Jonathan Leeman remarked that some have been hurting for months and some have been hurting for several hundred years.  So wouldn’t one of these individuals have to be an immortal like Duncan McCloud born 400 years ago in the Highlands of Scotland?  

In the new wave Baptist circles out there, the American flag and patriotic anthems are out. In apparently are hip hop albums where on the cover the artists appear to be puffing weed with insignias resembling three intertwined  sixes bringing to mind the Mark of the Beast. But what do i know? I apparently just stoke unfounded fear.  

If the party line is that an elder of a church no more represents a church than any other church member when the name of the particular elder is among the first things that pops up when researching a particular church, those about to have their church manipulated out from under them are hopelessly naive regarding about what is on the verge of rolling over them.  

In discussing race in a podcast, Pastor Mark Dever and Dr. Jonathan Leeman discuss how they wished more racial minorities would take part in the pastoral internship program of Capitol Hill Baptist Church. You will note that at no time did the duo ever articulate their willingness to resign their own lucrative, prestigious positions to toil in manual labor and obscurity for the purposes of giving life to the utopian vision that they not only want imposed upon everybody else but also demand you celebrate enthusiastically if you wish to retain the church-bestowed designation of acceptable Christian.  

I was verbally upbraided that I am obligated to “set my prejudices aside” and “to be open minded” in regards to two pastors discussing things as Christians when the perspective being addressed might end up becoming the preferential interpretation among the potential leadership of an unspecified in these posts congregation. So, in other words, I am apparently obligated to set aside the Biblical admonition to be a Berean in a church that claims to adhere to sola scriptura. So what other Biblical injunctions am I to also set aside for the time being? So why am I obligated to open my mind to new interpretative winds blowing into a church when apparently other minds are as closed regarding cautions I have raised?  

In a sermon on church membership, theologian Jonathan Leeman rhetorically asked do you hang with those that do not look like you? Other than my father and brother, I don’t “hang” with anyone. Is family interaction also now to be verboten in New Wave Baptist Churches that don’t simply impart to you knowledge regarding God’s word but seek to take control of those aspects of your life over which the church once offered teaching but left you to yourself to implement?  

It was remarked that, if a church member skipped several Sundays during the summer to go fishing, they ought to be disciplined. But in such an instance wouldn’t the church run the risk of the individual leaving altogether?

By Frederick Meekins

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: MOVIE REVIEW: End of Sentence

(Image courtesy of Gravita Ventures)

END OF SENTENCE— 4 STARS

LESSON #1: THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SHORT-TERM AND LONG-TERM DECISIONS OF LOVE— There is a kindly and uplifting pair of lines delivered around the halfway point of the mournful road movie End of Sentence that sensationally encompass the different romantic crossroads people encounter throughout their lives. A young single woman with much of her life ahead of her turns to an upper-middle-aged widower who has learned new misgivings about the wife he lost and says “You might go on rides with the rebels. It’s the kindhearted ones we spend our lives with.” 

Gosh, that is such a smooth and stirring way to express something profound. Rarely veering to hardest of hard or the ugliest of ugly, there is much more of that homely wisdom to be had in Elfar Adalsteins’ debut feature film. Identifying the “rebels” from the “kind-hearted” is relatively easy. The challenges become to what degree agitation within the malcontent can be healed and where strength can develop next to grace in the kindly. End of Sentence is available on VOD from Gravitas Ventures and it is a worthy dramatic experience.

The tender and considerate core of this film is Frank Fogle played by Oscar nominee John Hawkes. Towering with slightness, he is the embodiment of old school courtliness despite coming from a hard southern background. With calm courage, Frank is bringing his cancer-stricken wife Anna (Andrea Irvine, in a short yet poignant role) to an Alabama correctional facility to not merely visit her incarcerated son Sean (the co-headlining Logan Lerman), but to say goodbye. It is not an easy meeting, even with hugs.

LESSON #2: “DON’T LET THE PAST CONTROL YOU”— Anna’s parting words to Sean couldn’t be simpler. A final embrace and a “be kind to yourself” add more to her plea for rehabilitated purity. Months later when Frank arrives to pick up the released Sean, the testy indignation Anna feared within her son becomes clear. Every gnarled posture from Sean being around the father he calls by his first name instead displays discomfort and conflicted history. The body language of one patient and one restless says it all.

Sean is dead set on a warehouse job out west in Oakland that starts in five days when Frank implores him to travel to Anna’s native Ireland to spread her ashes on a special lake from her youth. It’s a releasing request framed by “do this trip and you never have to see me again.” In an uncomfortable clash of modesty and brashness, they agree to this trip. Their rented car for two grows to three if you include the urn and four if you count the hateful distance shared by father and son.

A head-turner that lifts this car and sweetens the occupied air is the fetching Jewel, an attractive roamer played by Sara Bolger (The Tudors). She is intrigued by the Fogle pilgrimage and offers to help them through the country and piece together some of the unearthed mysteries of Anna’s past. Past loves echo past mistakes and possibly new ones. Jewel is the woman feeling dignified enough to drop that dynamite profundity mentioned early while stepping forward in a pub to sing a lovely take on The Pogues’ “Dirty Old Town” with the locals not long after. 

LESSON #3: WISHES VERSUS PROMISES— Dying wishes are passed from the departed to the surviving as necessary new promises. Their details compel people, sometimes legally and more emotionally than anything, to overcome any hurdle towards their completion. The trouble becomes the old adage of making promises you can’t keep. There are spoken and unspoken wishes and promises being conquered in End of Sentence that go far beyond those of the late matriarch.

LESSON #4: SHOW RESPECT TO GET RESPECT— The gulf between Sean and Frank is one of respect, among the other lessons above. The elder Frank urges earning respect with actions whereas the harder Sean refuses to grant respect to just about anyone he meets. Even with Sean’s ticking clock of impatience, this trip is a test for him to re-learn respect. Still, true to life and less movie convenience, no one is ever mended of that kind of flaw in a few days. What we watch play out from first-time feature screenwriter Michael Armbruster is merely a start. 

Karl Oskarsson’s camera loves these subjects and their quiet quest. His well-placed wide shots embrace and establish the Emerald Isle with off-the-beaten path locations selected by Rossa O’Neill. None of End of Sentence is a Guinness commercial or a chipper travelogue. Karl’s lenses are also drawn to the loosening nerves and released constriction that came with the proximity of characters and attitudes that did not want to be around each other. As their growth swells, so does the film. A meaningful beat of that rises as well from a choice soundtrack of Irish ballads, including the one serenaded by Bolger.

The two lead actors accomplish the ever-present anguish wonderfully and honestly. Logan Lerman displays a twitchy toughness against the soothing chivalry countered by John Hawkes. These are excellent changes of pace from both performers showing the width of their ranges. End of Sentence is a mellow addition to Hawkes’ sizable resume that has not been shy about trying evil too. Similarly, this also counts as new, unforced grit from the rapidly maturing Lerman who has had a plentiful span of playing earnest before this. If their ages were reversed, each could play the other’s part with equal power and character immersion.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#881)

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[letterboxd]

Zwick.

“I believe in social engineering in many forms but not when it conflicts with artistic integrity.”

Jack Moulton speaks with director Edward Zwick about his latest film Trial by Fire, based on an influential piece of New Yorker journalism that questioned whether Texas had executed an innocent man.

American film director, writer and producer Zwick is noted for his work in the war drama category (Glory, Legends of the Fall, The Last Samurai, Blood Diamond). He has also helmed intimate dramas such as Love & Other Drugs and the eighties Demi Moore-Rob Lowe romance About Last Night.

Trial by Fire is a search-for-justice two-hander starring English actor Jack O’Connell as death row inmate Cameron Todd Willingham, and Laura Dern as Elizabeth Gilbert. Not that Elizabeth Gilbert; Dern’s Gilbert is a Houston mother of two who becomes Willingham’s ally, uncovering questionable methods in his case. Though mixed, Letterboxd reviews have noted the film’s “damn fine acting” and “genuinely affecting” story, as well as praising Zwick, who “clearly knows what he’s doing behind the camera”.

Letterboxd: When did you first hear the story of Cameron Todd Willingham and in what ways did you connect to it personally? Edward Zwick: I read David Grann’s article in The New Yorker when it was published 10 years ago and I was very moved by it. I inquired as to the rights with my friend, Allyn Stewart, and we were able to acquire it and begin the process of developing the film.

Obviously the story’s very compelling in its own regard. I was really moved by the relationship between Elizabeth Gilbert and Willingham and then what developed in the worst of circumstances. But I also felt that it was a catalog of everything wrong with the criminal justice system now. Most of all, how poverty and class are the determining factors in whether a man gets a fair trial.

You’re a writer, but you enlisted Precious screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher to write this film. What qualities made his perspective the right fit? I knew that Geoffrey was a collaborative writer and that he would invite me to that process so we would do this together. We would have the benefit of his best ideas and mine as well. That often makes a happy working relationship.

What did you discover in your research on prisoners and death row? There was a lot I was surprised about. I didn’t know that for many years they used solid doors rather than bars to keep prisoners even more isolated. I didn’t know how little time they allowed them to exercise nor that their letters were subjected to being read from the inside and outside.

Laura Dern, Edward Zwick and Jack O’Connell on set.

Jack O’Connell is always reliable but this is a particularly powerful performance. What preparations for the role did you assign to him? We spent some time in jails and read all of Willingham’s letters. We did exercises in a very small cell where he was able to be there for hours to contemplate what that experience might be like.

Willingham is, for the most part, an off-putting character. Even when he meets Gilbert and he’s been through his transformation he’s still a misogynist. How did you want to balance the way the audience could invest in him as a person with the commentary on how society judges the accused? That was deliberate. I was very intent on having Willingham be unsympathetic, and Jack was very willing to portray him that way. I felt that I wanted the audience to condemn him the same way that people had also unfairly done so in the courts of Texas.

Even if someone is a representative of toxic masculinity and whatever else he was interested in, he still deserves equal treatment under the law and so we embraced that part of him. We trusted that his circumstances, and Jack’s ability to portray that transformation, that that would earn him the compassion of the audience who had been complicit in condemning him.

How did you decide the way you wanted to portray the lethal injection in order to make your political statement? I spoke to a lot of people who had been in those rooms and we read a lot about it. I felt that it had to be real. It was actually an exact replica of the room and the process from everything that we had learned about it.

Ultimately, the film’s hopelessness overrides the sense of hope it conjures. It’s a tone that has been appearing more and more in contemporary cinema, particularly with new mainstream interest in “true crime”. What do you think is driving this focus on a more downbeat realism? It’s funny, I think there’s an appetite for authenticity. I think we’re full of superheroes and sequels and there’s some urge to have a real mirror to be held up to the world.

How do you weigh the importance of the work of The Innocence Project for those currently on death row, versus those—such as Willingham—who were executed before any hope of exoneration? The Innocence Project is a godsend to those people and not everyone has had the benefit of it yet. By the way, it’s not alone, The Marshall Project is there, so there are so many opportunities, but they are remarkable people doing remarkable work.

You conclude the film with searing footage of [former Texas Governor] Rick Perry expressing pride in his death-penalty record. Did you intend to call him out specifically when you started the project? The more I learned about what had happened and what he had done in abolishing the review board even after the fact, I felt that he deserved to be held accountable.

Do you know if his team has responded? They have not. I hope that they will.

What do you think needs to change about Hollywood to grant mid-sized budget films like yours a pathway to be made again? Exhibitors need to keep the films in theaters for more than a week so audiences can see them. But I don’t know, the major studios have abandoned them because they don’t make enough money to move their stock price for multinational corporations. There has to be an economic model or a sweet spot where the films can exist and exhibitors can be happy enough to run them for audiences. All of these things have not lined up yet.

Any chance we’ll see you back for another Jack Reacher? [Zwick directed the 2016 sequel Never Go Back.] Nope.

Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman and other cast members in a scene from ‘Glory’ (1989).

If Glory had to be made today, what would you want to change and what do you feel you would have to change about it? [The 1989 film about the U.S. Civil War’s first all-black volunteer company focused the story around white general Robert Gould Shaw; problematic, as many Letterboxd reviewers have noted, because it “centers a white character in a story about black soldiers fighting the people who enslaved them”.] The problem would be that they wouldn’t give me the money to do it properly today. The film has to be about an entire regiment, and a studio now would just give me a dozen guys and a forest. It would’ve been fun to have some of the tools of CG to have a few things a little bit more realistic than I feel they come across in the movie, but that’s perhaps just my harsh judgement on myself.

Ideally your social issue films can break through and make a difference in the world. Do you know if Blood Diamond has had a tangible effect on the diamond industry? I believe there are some statistics to that fact but I certainly know anecdotally from people who’ve told me they always try to source fair-trade diamonds, or chosen another stone, or chosen a zirconia, which are pretty good-looking in my experience.

While it’s tough to get the larger-budget films you make made without the likes of Tom Cruise or Leonardo DiCaprio in the lead, in light of a big push for diversity in the past few years, how has your opinion shaped on the responsibilities of representation? I want to cast who’s appropriate for each film and I am in the business of trying to be authentic. I believe in social engineering in many forms but not when it conflicts with artistic integrity.

‘Trial by Fire’ is in US cinemas now.

[theconservativebrief]

We’re currently in a Stephen King renaissance that shows no sign of stopping. Thanks to the record-breaking success of last year’s remake of It, Hollywood is lining up to dig into the horror master’s massive literary output — starting with a long overdue remake of Pet Sematary, the uneven yet hypnotic 1989 treatment of one of King’s scariest novels.

In the wake of It’s massive success, it’s easy to see why directors (like Guillermo del Toro) are interested in improving upon older King adaptations that may not have lived up to their source material. But there are also plenty of King gems that have yet to be unearthed for movie audiences — some of which have long been stuck in development hell, to hopefully be rescued by this new cultural craving for King adaptations.

Although King stories have traditionally found recurring success as television miniseries, the tremendous payoff to Hollywood’s gamble of releasing It as two separate feature film installments has paved the way for more big-screen adaptations that take similar chances. With that newfound cinematic appetite in mind, here are 10 King novels and short stories, ranging through horror, suspense-thriller, science fiction, and fantasy, that are just waiting to be transformed (or remade) into films for the next generation of moviegoers.

Darek Kocurek

King wrote this story while he was still in college and later compiled it in the 1978 story collection Night Shift. One of his earliest published works, it has all the earmarks of King at his finest: an engrossing plot featuring psychological suspense, a deep sense of nostalgia for a specific time and place, and a complex villain — in this case, a serial killer nicknamed Springheel Jack.

Why it would work: King’s writing throughout this popular story is lush and evocative, just begging for graceful, ever-moodier cinematography that mirrors the story’s encroaching sinister subtext.

The biggest pitfall in adapting “Strawberry Spring” is that the ending, undoubtedly a serious shocker in 1968, would probably be instantly guessed by savvy modern audiences. Still, given audiences’ love for King and his ability to ground his stories in a deep sense of place, this isn’t an insurmountable obstacle, and in the hands of a solid screenwriter, this story could be well-told.

gfpeck/Flickr

Another Night Shift short story, “The Boogeyman” tells the classic demon/poltergeist tale of a family pursued by a horrifying supernatural entity that may or may not be murdering children. The tense psychological ambiguity of King’s writing and the grim, terrifying certainty that no child is safe sets this tale apart from innumerable “scary thing in the closet” stories, as the protagonist fights to keep his kids away from the clutches of the Boogeyman. What makes this story stand out from other similar tales is that King’s Boogeyman is corporeal and dangerous, with the kill count to prove it.

Why it could work: Despite being part of King’s most popular short story collection, this story has only ever been adapted into short films. (In fact, a 1982 adaptation was the first of King’s famous “dollar baby” short films.) But there’s a lot of potential for this story to be absolutely terrifying as a feature film in the right writer’s hands. Like Pet Sematary, there are themes of grieving and parenthood, and like many other King stories, the protagonist’s psychological breakdown muddies the waters. Above all, there’s lots of potential to expand the world of King’s short story into something truly complicated and memorable.

King’s beloved novel of Lovecraftian horror infesting a small modern-day New England town succeeds on multiple levels, serving up memorable characters, loads of action, and a central haunted house setting as creepy as they come. It’s also an analogue for dying rural ways and steadily encroaching sociopolitical shifts that go unnoticed for years until suddenly all hell breaks loose. And you thought it was just about vampires.

Why it could work: Though it’s been made into two television miniseries — a 1979 miniseries directed by Tobe Hooper that hasn’t aged well, and a forgotten 2004 remake — Salem’s Lot has never been given a big-screen adaptation. This is undoubtedly because, like many of King’s best works, it’s sprawling and epic. (A Dracula-esque short story prequel, “Jerusalem’s Lot,” and a sequel, “One for the Road,” add even more background context.)

But as Muschietti’s adaptation of It showed, a somewhat scaled-down version of the story could work elegantly on the big screen. And with its emphasis on nostalgia and the terrors of childhood, it shares many themes with It that could make it a hit with new audiences. Plus, the vampires, easily the most popular part of Hooper’s adaptation, could be made even scarier through modern effects — and we all know, the vampires are the main draw.

King’s most popular novel under the Richard Bachman pseudonym is set in an alternate history in which Germany won World War II. The modern US under fascist rule is a deeply disturbing dystopia where boys compete in a grueling pedestrian marathon — think Speed meets The Hunger Games — that ends in death for all but one winner.

Why it could work: The power of this novel rests in its explication of the deep emotional and physical toll taken on the walk’s participants, all of whom come into the race shouldering the broader social effects of a deeply oppressive government. The book features memorable characters and even more memorable moments along the route of the walk, in which no one is allowed to slow to a speed below 4 miles an hour. It’s tricky, but in the hands of a thoughtful screenwriter and director, an adaptation of this novel could be a brutal, suspenseful, thrilling anti-fascist takedown.

Cujo is a jaunt into two subjects King loves: non-human killers and terrible forces of nature. A story about a St. Bernard that goes rabid and becomes nigh unstoppable in his urge to kill, Cujo brought us one of horror’s most memorable titular villains and is constantly being brought up by King fans as one of his scariest books.

Why it could work: As terrifying as Cujo the book remains, the lackluster 1983 film adaptation suffered from a fatal flaw, which is that it’s hard to make a real dog into a convincing actor, let alone a convincing arbiter of terror. This is one area where modern special effects could be a significant assist — think of Life of Pi’s entirely computer-generated yet terrifying tiger. It helps that dogs are currently enjoying something of a moment in an internet culture long dominated by cats; in an environment where all dogs are good doggos, a new spin on Cujo — who, as noted in a famous line from the novel, had always tried to be a good dog — could easily take the populace by scary surprise.

Full of mythical symbolism and beautiful imagery, Rose Madder is one of King’s many attempts to tackle the subject of domestic violence. It tells the story of a woman who leaves her intensely violent husband and attempts to start over in a new place, with a policeman hell-bent on tracking her down.

Yes, that is the exact plot of Nicholas Sparks’s Safe Haven, but here’s where things get distinctly King-ian: In her new town, Rose impulsively buys a portrait of a woman in a rose madder gown that leads her into an incredible other world, where she meets and befriends a woman named Dorcas. Dorcas sends Rose on a quest in that other world, and through it, Rose becomes a warrior and a fighter and a slayer of minotaurs. Whether any of that will help her free herself from her real-life stalker husband, though, is a more complicated question.

Why it could work: Rose Madder is teeming with solid roles for women, particularly the leads of Rose and Dorcas, whose friendship is the book’s greatest asset. In addition to delivering more of the complex fantasy world building that fans of King’s Dark Tower crave, its interweaving of fantasy and reality is bait for sumptuous cinematography and artistic direction.

Plus, its unusual combination of fantasy and suspense thriller tropes makes it rife for a high-art treatment — a feature that could actually make it an improvement over the book, which, as Grady Hendrix at Tor notes, fails to truly capture the compelling essence of the gorgeous painting at its center. There’s room for a treatment of this story that’s both nuanced and evocative. Please can we have this one yesterday?

lockthedoors / Deviantart

Like both Rose Madder and Duma Key, this short story involves a painting with supernatural or magical properties. And like a multitude of King’s works, it features a writer who could be a stand-in for King himself, this time a famous but weary horror writer who stumbles across a demented painting at a yard sale. Intrigued by the weirdly titled painting and the tragic death of its creator, he buys it, only to discover the details in the painting are subtly changing. The painting, it seems, has a life of its own and is impossible to leave behind or destroy. Things escalate quickly, and while this is all standard horror fare, the combination of weird details, the King traits, and a gripping climax make it one of his more memorable short stories.

Why it could work: This story was already adapted for the small screen, in a 2005 episode of Nightmares and Dreamscapes starring Tom Berenger as Richard Kinnell. With the proper treatment, however, this could be an excellent fun horror flick. While the “object in the picture is moving” plot is clichéd, it could be easily juiced up with a lot of world building, an infusion of jump scares, and opportunities for hammy acting. In short, this could be a perfectly enjoyable bit of mainstream horror with the King brand attached.

This short story received critical acclaim when it was published due to its harrowing and exhausting depiction of a woman’s struggle to escape a violent serial killer. The story plays out as a slow-build tale of a woman empowering herself after a traumatic event (think every ’90s Ashley Judd movie). Emily is a grieving mother who finds solace in a grueling physical regimen — which proves to be her only defense when she runs, literally, into the clutches of a serial killer one day on the beach. What follows is a classic cat-and-mouse horror story with plenty of twists and turns.

Why it could work: Emily, the titular Gingerbread Girl, is a juicy role for any actress. No waiflike Final Girl, she’s an adult woman who spends the first part of King’s story reinventing herself mentally and physically — rare stuff for any horror film. Like many of the best horror narratives, this one sets itself up to be about one thing and then abruptly proves to be about something completely different. A good director could easily lull an audience with the seductive beach setting and our empathy with Emily’s quest to rebuild her life — all to make the abrupt about-face and the sudden switch to a grueling slasher/stalker narrative that much more terrifying.

One of King’s most successful “post-sobriety” novels, Duma Key is a rich tapestry of myth, artwork, and terror splayed across a sunny Floridian landscape. After a near-fatal injury, a still-recuperating man moves to a remote Florida Key island, where he and his daughter are soon engulfed in a local mystery involving old secrets, psychics, and strange paintings that seem to have the power to predict and change the future. This is a story that’s bursting with plot, with a powerful and enigmatic villain at its center.

Why it could work: Duma Key is easily one of King’s most unusual and interesting stories. Who doesn’t love a movie set in a sumptuous coastal paradise — especially with an element of horror lurking amid all the local color? Add in the parade of intricate paintings that play key roles in an equally intricate plot, and Duma Key could easily make for a highly successful film adaptation.

(Yes, several of these suggestions involve paintings that exert power over the viewer — but that theme could be a refreshing break from Hollywood’s typical interest in King stories that focus on writing as a creative metaphor, rather than visual arts.)

This underread King novella is a tribute to his love of baseball — but it’s also got an ominous undertone not typically paired with this kind of Americana. Set in 1950s New Jersey, the story focuses on an initially unimposing Rube Waddell-type figure, a quixotic, mysterious new player up from the minor league whose powerful playing style quickly endears him to fans and fellow teammates. But “Blockade Billy” has a secret, and things get dark fast. For a short work of fiction, this story manages to pack in a lot, from rumination on identity to fan mania and the maintenance of cultural rituals at all costs. Oh, and death.

Why it could work: A movie adaptation of Blockade Billy could easily sell itself as a baseball story for fans of baseball — with a twist. It takes a while for the cracks to show through in this entertaining novella, and there’s plenty of room for a good screenwriter to play on the conventions of the baseball movie genre to surprise and upend the audience’s expectations just as King does. Plus, like all of King’s best works, there are plenty of characters here to love and hate, which makes this perfect movie fodder.

Original Source -> 10 great Stephen King stories that are ripe for film adaptation

via The Conservative Brief

[legalroll]

FICTION vs. FACT: Real Law in To Kill a Mockingbird

"Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy . . . but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird"*

Warning: When referring to the movie, the blog below refers to the sensitive language used in the movie. This includes racial slurs and allusions to sexual and non-sexual violence.

Classic courtroom dramas engage us all. These movies portray the courtroom as a fascinating place where skilled lawyers never ask meandering questions or stumble over their words. The characters of the lawyers are often highly developed and is usually what drives the movie forward to an often dramatic conclusion. Who can forget the climactic scene in A Few Good Men,1 in which Colonel Jessup, played brilliantly by Jack Nicholson, shouts back to the Military defence lawyer, Lt Kaffe, played by Tom Cruise: “You can’t handle the truth!”?

Unfortunately, though, if the “real world law”2 were superimposed over the fascinating court scenes, the modified movie would be much less compelling and even a bit dull. Thank goodness that creative licence is taken to keep the court room scenes as thrilling as they would otherwise not be. Take for example, the movie To Kill a Mockingbird.3

The film follows the days of Atticus Finch, a lawyer, and his two children, Jem and Scout. The movie is set in Alabama during the depression, when racism was endemic. Not so for Atticus. One evening while he was sitting on the outdoor swing, the judge came and asked him whether he, the judge, could appoint him to represent Tom Robinson, a black man charged with raping a white girl. He agrees without a second thought. When his daughter asks him how he can defend a n-----, he replies, with his chest uplifted, “I was appointed to represent this man and that is what I am going to do.”

Later at school, some children taunt Scout about her father’s client (remembering, of course, this is Alabama during the depression.) Atticus, as a good father and a good lawyer, subsequently has this exchange with Scout:

“There’s been some high talk around town to the effect that I shouldn’t do much about defending this man. It’s a peculiar case – it won’t come to trial until summer session. John Taylor was kind enough to give us a postponement…”

“If you shouldn’t be defendin’ him, then why are you doin’ it?”

“For a number of reasons,” said Atticus. “The main one is if I didn’t, I couldn’t hold my head up in town …. and I couldn’t even tell you or Jem not to do something again.”

On a good day, criminal defence lawyers similarly feel pride in what they do, which is often difficult after being a called a crook or a shark or bottom feeder. Many lawyers, in fact, feel it is an honour to defend the downtrodden – just as Atticus Finch does.

Half of the film (the first hour) elapses before the courtroom part of the film, but that part is, not surprisingly, the most interesting to lawyers. Of course, the screenwriter takes creative licence; for example, all of the witnesses are sitting in the front row, and the girl’s father testifies first, followed by the complainant, whereas in the real world, there would be an order excluding witnesses, which means the witnesses would be asked to leave the courtroom so they can’t hear each other’s testimony before theirs are given. This is, however, a minor deviation from what would be true in a real court situation. As we shall see, there are far more significant differences as the film proceeds.

Throughout the film, one is struck by the sheer elegance of Atticus’s cross- examinations. He draws out evidence gently, but doesn’t connect it with the other parts of the case, leaving that part to argument or for the jurors to make the connection together in the jury room. For example, in an attempt to undermine the father’s contention that his daughter’s physical injuries were caused by the accused, Atticus imperceptibly moves the father to confirm that, yes, his daughter was indeed hit on her right side, and she had fingertip bruises all around her throat, facts that Atticus ultimately uses to suggest the father’s culpability.

It’s at the end of his cross examination where Atticus is at his best. He asks the father whether he can read and write. When the father replies yes, he is handed a pad of paper and is asked to write his name on it, which he does. It first appears that whether he is literate or not is significant in some way, but it isn’t. Rather, it is significant for another reason. With this exercise, Atticus, in a sleight-of-hand way, demonstrates that the father is left-handed. Atticus could have just asked, but the cleverness of his examination would be lost.

Atticus resists the almost irresistible urge to point out that injuries on the right side of someone’s face, just like those on his daughter’s face, are usually caused by a left-handed person. As tempting as that would be, he might get an answer that he doesn’t expect.

The best example of the danger of asking that one question too many is often attributed to Clarence Darrow, an American criminal lawyer. Whether it was Darrow or not, the anecdote goes like this: His client was charged with biting the complainant’s nose off. The defence counsel carefully developed his approach and without emotion had the complainant agree that the witness was far away from the accused and his victim and that the lighting was poor, thereby confirming that the witness’s opportunity to observe was limited. Now, unable to leave the matter alone, just as Atticus would have, the defence lawyer asked, with much aplomb, “So how on earth were you able to see my client bite off the victim’s nose?” The witness replied, “I didn’t see him bite it off, I saw him spit it out.”

But Atticus never makes that mistake. There is so much elegance and subtlety in the way Atticus builds his case, revealing no emotions at all. He gracefully lets the evidence float from the witness. He deliberately leaves the dots unconnected.

When it becomes time for Atticus’s cross examination of the complainant, he asks her whether her father ever hit her. “No,” she replies. “Not even when he has been drunk?” She denies it. Despite the complainant’s negative answers, the impression that her father has done so remains. Atticus then appeals to her sense of propriety, and she agrees that the accused had only been inside her gate once, to chop tinder or fix a door. Later on in her cross-examination, however, he lures her into agreeing with him that, in fact, the accused had been inside the gate many times. The complainant becomes flustered and confused about what she had just agreed to: a southern white woman, of this era, allowing this black man into her home...her credibility now left in pieces.

At the start of the accused’s examination, Atticus throws a glass to him, asking him to catch it, which he does with his right hand. Atticus asks him whether he could catch it with his left hand. “No,” the accused replies – because of a farming accident, his left arm is not functional. Atticus leaves alone the connection between this evidence and the contention of the complainant and her father that the assailant had left fingertip bruises all around her neck, which would be impossible with only one hand; a lesser lawyer wouldn’t be able to resist drawing the straight line between those two facts. To describe Atticus’s style as subtle would be a gross understatement.

Atticus necessarily brings out two ultimately damaging pieces of evidence. First, he asks the accused how he felt about the complainant, and he replied that he pitied her, without a family and alone in the house. The courtroom reacts with sheer indignation that a black man would ever pity a white woman. Of course, it only gets worse when Atticus asks the accused what happened just before he was accused of rape. He testifies that the complainant asked him to reach up to get a box, which the accused couldn’t see. He then describes how the complainant grabbed him around his legs, asking him to kiss her. The courtroom reacts with shock and incredulity, as does the jury. Both pieces of evidence support Atticus’s narrative, but the town cannot accept it because of their prejudice.

At the conclusion of the trial, belying his calm demeanor during the proceedings, Atticus passionately addresses the jury, including the plea, “For the love of God, do your duty.” After the recess, the jury returns, predictably, with a guilty verdict. Atticus is certain that they would win on appeal, but the appeal never takes place. All that it left is Atticus’s grief.

The trial proceedings in the movie present an elegant demonstration of nearly perfect examinations; the viewer is left spell bound. In the real world, however, this trial would have proceeded in an entirely different way.

First off, regarding Atticus’s appointment, a judge would never have spoken about a case outside of the courtroom and certainly not without the presence of the prosecutor. There are never “off the record” conversations between the judge and counsel. Not properly at least.

The biggest “real world” problem in the movie, however, can be defined by looking at an old English case: Browne v Dunn.4 This rule that emerged from this case compels a cross-examiner to put all of their known facts and theory to the witness before the defence calls its own evidence, allowing the witness to react to the suggestion and explain themselves. The purpose of this rule is to produce a fairer result, but if it had been applied to a movie like To Kill A Mockingbird all the drama and suspense would be lost.

For instance, in that movie the theory of the defence is that the victim attempted to seduce the accused and the father walked in and found out about it. In his rage, the father, perhaps drunk, beat his daughter on the right side of her face, with his dominant left hand. Also, the father leaves a ring of fingertip bruises around the victim’s throat, which we know could not have been left by the accused, who had only one functioning arm. Perhaps to explain the victim’s injuries, and to restore propriety, the victim and her father allege rape.

Also, when Atticus is cross-examining the father, he would not, in a real courtroom, have been able to leave the impression that the father beat his daughter, perhaps after finding out about his daughter’s attempted seduction. He would have had to put the allegations directly to the father in such a way as, “I suggest to you, witness, that drunk or sober, you have beaten your daughter in the past and on this occasion you beat her again and you caused her injuries.” The father would then deny it incredulously, assuring the jury that he did not.

Additionally, Atticus would have had to suggest to the father that the reason he beat his daughter, something the father had already denied, was because he found out about his daughter’s behaviour with the accused. Again, likely his response would be loud and emphatic…and convincing.

If the real law were superimposed on the film, then, Atticus would not be able to insinuate conclusions; he would have to put the conclusion to the witness directly. The courtroom watchers might complain that by accusing the father of wrongdoing, he was on trial, not the accused.

Now Atticus’s cross-examination of the victim would have led to a similar observation by the courtroom watchers: who is on trial anyway? In a real trial, Atticus would have had to suggest to her that in her testimony, she had lied about the number of times the accused was inside her gate and, in fact, was in her home. She would also be confronted with the fact that she lured the accused into her house to reach up to get a box that wasn’t there. Atticus would then have had to suggest to her that she was the one who had tried to seduce the accused and that he never raped her, no doubt astonishing the courtroom that such a suggestion could be made.

Finally, Atticus would have had to accuse her directly of lying about the rape and making up the story to explain the injuries her father had left on her body. One could only imagine what her emotional responses would be in the context of the film: admitting the truth of her dishonesty would be impossible because she then would be forced to admit to attempting to seduce a black man.

Thus, by the time Atticus called the accused to the stand, the jury would have had already heard the story and heard it denied passionately by the prosecution’s witnesses, if Browne v Dunn was in effect. Atticus’s examination would have be bereft of any subtlety and, instead of being elegant, he would appear clumsy and awkward.

Of course there is one last thing that would be different if this was real life: although in the movie we heard Atticus’ final address, since he called the accused, the prosecutor would have addressed the jury last, which meant that the prosecutor could say almost anything he wanted about Atticus and the accused, without Atticus having the right to reply.

So in the real world, the verdict would likely be the same, but the trial would be duller than the movie is, and the elements of Atticus’ conduct during the trial, his elegance and subtlety, would have been swept away. But fortunately for the audience, we don’t have to superimpose real world law on it, and we can enjoy it as the masterpiece it is.

* Chapter 10 in Lee, Harper. (2006). To kill a mockingbird. New York :Harper Perennial Modern Classics,

Endnotes

1 Reiner, Rob et al. A Few Good Men, ed (United States: Columbia Pictures, 1992).

2 By “real world law” I mean that I will only be applying Canadian law.

3 Harper Lee & Horton Foote. To Kill a Mockingbird, ed (United States: Universal International Pictures, 1962).

4 Browne v Dunn (1893) 6 R 67 (HL).

FICTION vs. FACT: Real Law in To Kill a Mockingbird published first on https://medium.com/@SanAntonioAttorney

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: REWIND REVIEW: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

(Image: hollywoodreporter.com)

For an occasional new segment, Every Movie Has a Lesson will cover upcoming home media releases combining an “overdue” or “rewind” film review, complete with life lessons, and an unboxed look at special features.

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER

Big as a billboard in some places and as small as a mobile ad in others, the marketing imagery of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker touts the tagline “The Saga Will End.” There’s something to be said for finality, especially with a 42-year-old franchise as venerated and cherished as this one. The virtues of remembrance, culmination, gratification, and other such lofty notions loom so much larger when an entity is billed to be the last of something important. The movie in disc form hits store shelves everywhere today.

LESSON #1: THE DEFINITION OF “FINALITY” — Diving deeper beyond the basic “something that is final” meaning, the dictionary of this galaxy describes “finality” as “conclusiveness,” “decisiveness,” or “an ultimate act, utterance, or belief.” J.J. Abrams’ massive space opera follows his own The Force Awakens and Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi to aim so very badly for those traits. In many peaks of scope and emotion, his movie achieves such finality. In others, overindulgence and disarray put question marks on the value or vindication of all this promised fulfillment.

Going back to the tagline, the key word out of that poster’s sentence becomes “will.” As grand of a finale as The Rise of Skywalker builds itself to be, the likelihood of its stewarding studio turning off this cash cow is zip, zilch, and zero. This saga had an ending already in 1983 and another in 2005. Those had legitimate finality. Time will tell if this one, and its willy-nilly trajectories, will resonate strong enough or long enough to be of honored and revered significance.

ANTICIPATORY SET AND PRIOR KNOWLEDGE:

.Announcing his presence to the galaxy (and to us immediately in the yellow title scroll), a resurrected Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) has elevated the First Order into the Final Order with his Sith influence and the manufactured might of a colossal new fleet of Star Destroyers. His orders to his acolyte, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), are simply to “kill the girl.” That embattled female target remains Rey (Daisy Ridley), who has spent the undetermined amount of time since the Battle of Crait on the sidelines away from Resistance efforts to continue her Jedi training under the tutelage of General Leia Organa (the late Carrie Fisher).

LESSON #2: CONFRONTING FEARS— As she continues to grow in immeasurable power and skill, Rey endures visions abound of possible future fates that hinge on an eventual rubber match with the former Ben Solo. Matching a quintessential Star Wars motif, Rey has become the next emerging hero obligated to stare down the opposition with a will strengthened by summoned bravery. With “never be afraid of who you are” encouragement, Rey’s fears are hefty emotional obstacles made thoroughly compelling by Daisy Ridley’s lead performance, her best in the series. She may not be given the best scripted material (more on that later), but the actress squeezes every drop of rooting vulnerability out of this crucial plight.

Meanwhile, Rey’s supportive comrades and Resistance operatives, including Poe (Oscar Isaac), Finn (John Boyega), and Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), help her stay a step ahead of Kylo Ren and his masked squad of weaponized knights. Flanked by their handy droids, the tight crew zealously join Rey’s pursuit of items and information deemed vital for the fledgling revolutionaries being able to bring the fight to Palpatine instead of awaiting overwhelming decimation. The invisible ticking clock urgency to blow enemies away and prevent “all for nothing” disappointment sets the plot off on numerous (as in too many) busy-bodied and lightspeed races and chases with weakly-presented MacGuffins in the crosshairs.

LESSON #3: THE VALUE OF PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL SUPPORT— Long has Star Wars been about populating a heightened unity in support of influential individuals. Call it amassing an army or the intimate recruitment of trusted friends. For Rey, her verbalized chant is the powerful wish of “be with me.” It is answered with “we have each other.” Whomever stands behind the lead antagonist or comes to the aid of the lead protagonist does so with fervent dedication and multiplying motivation. True to this now ancient battle of dark versus light, not all assistance entering the fray comes in corporeal form.

MY TAKE:

J.J. Abrams has always been more than capable at delivering sheer adventure for the silver screen. His urge for kinetic energy is answered by the polished production teams. Borrowed from good buddy Steven Spielberg, two-time Oscar-winning production designer Rick Carter teamed with VFX concept artist Kevin Jenkins to create otherworldly arenas of flash and flair. J.J.’s trusty cinematographer Dan Mindel (five previous collaborations between them) captured the accelerated action set to every possible hymn, horn, and hurrah from retiring composer legend John Williams. Merging four decades of cues and themes with impeccable placement and push, Williams earned that 52nd career Oscar nomination. Flying through this fantastical world will always remain a rousing treat. The wonderment and magic is there.

That said, no amount of razzle-dazzle filling eyes and ears can cover up the glaring examples of questionable creativity and incomplete development enacted by Abrams and lead screenwriter Chris Terrio. Even in a third film meant to wrap up storylines, The Rise of Skywalker compels itself to introduce even more tangents and swerves. It has characters that answer questions with more questions and moments ringing with vague parables rather than stamping cemented mythology. The arcs for Ridley and Driver fare the best, but the periphery is scattered with superfluous glaze. The isolation elements of The Last Jedi slowed matters down to create tangible suspense. This overpacked trilogy capper favors sprinting set pieces instead. Moving at a rush does not automatically or always create one in return, magic be damned.

To explain more crosses into spoiler territory, but there are downright mistakes here that expose the distance between forming merely a sense of finality, albeit a forcibly telegraphed one, and garnering a true, earned, and fitting consummation. Gauge all of this ambition straight toward the many synonyms of “finality.” Measure this film for “decisiveness,” “totality,” “resolution,” and even “integrity.” You may find its force more thin than thick.

3 STARS

EXTRA CREDIT: 

(Image courtesy of Disney)

For the first time in quite a while (re: see every Marvel disc release in ten years), Disney has finally put out a stellar disc release worthy of full purchase ahead of merely a digital download of the feature itself. All it took was a legitimate and immersive behind-the-scenes documentary that actually showed the full filmmaking process. Little seven to fifteen minute featurettes can’t do that, no matter how many of them you pretend to pack on a second disc, not when half of them feel like sales pitches instead of documentation. 

The Rancor-sized beast feature in question is the feature-length The Skywalker Legacy documentary.  Running a rich 126 minutes, the documentary follows the film’s production process from pillar to post. The access and observational intimacy into the process is phenomenal. Best all, they merge little flashbacks to the making-of footage of the original trilogy, making that “legacy” in the title the perfect term.

Those callbacks are some of the best moments to savor in the documentary because they each pile on a full circle of reflection and completion. For example, to see and hear Anthony Daniels compare walking onto the Tunisian heat with uncertainty in 1976 to stepping off the set in the same costume for the last time over 40 years later as a legend is beyond a treat. It’s a moment of pure satisfaction. Moments and threads like that are echoed and repeated for Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and the memory of Carrie Fisher, especially how this production had to remember here while finding a way to go on without her.

Probably the best legacy moment captured in The Skywalker Legacy is when director J.J. Abrams brought composer John Williams on the set to film a first-time cameo. After Williams finishes shooting his bit, J.J. has the octogenarian look around the “junk” around his character’s workshop table. Each tarnished prop in view was purposely constructed to represent all 51 of Williams’ Oscar-nominated scores. That’s an incredible display of easter eggs that will drop your jaw and just a taste of the complete devotion and keen respect J.J. Abrams operates with the entire shoot.

The figure to watch (and being watched) the most is Abrams. His insistence, no matter the time, resources, and expense, to shoot with as many physical layers of creation and authenticity as possible is extremely commendable. From black bean quicksand and an alien festival to the wild energy of scene-stealing stunt coordindator Eunice Huthart, the massive volume of sets, costumes, vehicle rigs, and puppetry is off the charts.  The armies of people who train and put their heart, soul, and sweat into work that may only be seen mere seconds or minutes on-screen is dizzying. All the while, his skillful focus and constant smile make the pressures and expectations and returns look invisible.

Outside of the feature-length centerpiece, there are few more samples of blockbuster dessert. They come in the form of five smaller featurettes.  Even these still beat the Disney/Marvel entries of talking schills and put their focus on the stories behind the movie. 

One of the best of them is “Aliens on the Desert.” It’s a quick six minutes, but it outlines all of the set-up work in Jordan, where the visiting humans are the foreigners to the rugged vistas, that happens even before the circus-level main unit arrives. The scale of teamwork and practicality from the gear-loaded teams is something not normally shown for behind-the-scenes material that more often loves their headliners. The 14-minute “Pasaana Pursuit” feature is similar in its background focus.

If artistry gets you awestruck, you will enjoy the “Cast of Creatures” featurette. Like their shining moments in The Skywalker Legacy, the merger of makeup, engineering design, and puppetry have long made the fictional living things in Star Wars more tangible than any CGI power. This short is a tribute to the folks underneath the heavy gyros, foam, and rubber shells. The new droid D-O also gets a quick five-minute-and-change video on its character genesis of the more mechanical nature.

The final featurette is “Warwick & Son” and it’s the smile-inducing parting glance to the special features and nine-film saga. This snippet chronicles actor Warwick Davis returning to the Ewok role of Wicket and the chance to bring his aspiring actor son Harrison in to play his Ewok kin. Like the legacy circles earlier, to hear and see Warwick’s journey and sage maturity being celebrated is delightful. This caps a truly fantastic disc of special features.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#867)

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: MOVIE REVIEW: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

(Image courtesy of Walt Disney)

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER— 3 STARS

Big as a billboard in some places and as small as a mobile ad in others, the marketing imagery of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker touts the tagline “The Saga Will End.”  There’s something to be said for finality, especially with a 42-year-old franchise as venerated and cherished as this one. The virtues of remembrance, culmination, gratification, and other such lofty notions loom so much larger when an entity is billed to be the last of something important.

LESSON #1: THE DEFINITION OF “FINALITY”— Diving deeper beyond the basic “something that is final” meaning, the dictionary of this galaxy describes “finality” as “conclusiveness,” “decisiveness,” or “an ultimate act, utterance, or belief.” J.J. Abrams’ massive space opera follows his own The Force Awakens and Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi to aim so very badly for those traits. In many peaks of scope and emotion, his movie achieves such finality.  In others, overindulgence and disarray put question marks on the value or vindication of all this promised fulfillment.

Going back to the tagline, the key word out of that poster’s sentence becomes “will.”  As grand of a finale as The Rise of Skywalker builds itself to be, the likelihood of its stewarding studio turning off this cash cow is zip, zilch, and zero.  This saga had an ending already in 1983 and another in 2005. Those had legitimate finality. Time will tell if this one, and its willy-nilly trajectories, will resonate strong enough or long enough to be of honored and revered significance.

Announcing his presence to the galaxy (and to us immediately in the yellow title scroll), a resurrected Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) has elevated the First Order into the Final Order with his Sith influence and the manufactured might of a colossal new fleet of Star Destroyers.  His orders to his acolyte, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), are simply to “kill the girl.” That embattled female target remains Rey (Daisy Ridley), who has spent the undetermined amount of time since the Battle of Crait on the sidelines away from Resistance efforts to continue her Jedi training under the tutelage of General Leia Organa (the late Carrie Fisher).

LESSON #2: CONFRONTING FEARS— As she continues to grow in immeasurable power and skill, Rey endures visions abound of possible future fates that hinge on an eventual rubber match with the former Ben Solo.  Matching a quintessential Star Wars motif, Rey has become the next emerging hero obligated to stare down the opposition with a will strengthened by summoned bravery.  With “never be afraid of who you are” encouragement, Rey’s fears are hefty emotional obstacles made thoroughly compelling by Daisy Ridley’s lead performance, her best in the series.  She may not be given the best scripted material (more on that later), but the actress squeezes every drop of rooting vulnerability out of this crucial plight.

Meanwhile, Rey’s supportive comrades and Resistance operatives, including Poe (Oscar Isaac), Finn (John Boyega), and Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), help her stay a step ahead of Kylo Ren and his masked squad of weaponized knights. Flanked by their handy droids, the tight crew zealously join Rey’s pursuit of items and information deemed vital for the fledgling revolutionaries being able to bring the fight to Palpatine instead of awaiting overwhelming decimation.  The invisible ticking clock urgency to blow enemies away and prevent “all for nothing” disappointment sets the plot off on numerous (as in too many) busy-bodied and lightspeed races and chases with weakly-presented MacGuffins in the crosshairs.  

LESSON #3: THE VALUE OF PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL SUPPORT— Long has Star Wars been about populating a heightened unity in support of influential individuals.  Call it amassing an army or the intimate recruitment of trusted friends. For Rey, her verbalized chant is the powerful wish of “be with me.” It is answered with “we have each other.”  Whomever stands behind the lead antagonist or comes to the aid of the lead protagonist does so with fervent dedication and multiplying motivation. True to this now ancient battle of dark versus light, not all assistance entering the fray comes in corporeal form.

J.J. Abrams has always been more than capable at delivering sheer adventure for the silver screen.  His urge for kinetic energy is answered by the polished production teams. Borrowed from good buddy Steven Spielberg, two-time Oscar-winning production designer Rick Carter teamed with VFX concept artist Kevin Jenkins to create otherworldly arenas of flash and flair.  J.J.’s trusty cinematographer Dan Mindel (five previous collaborations between them) captured the accelerated action set to every possible hymn, horn, and hurrah from retiring composer legend John Williams. Merging four decades of cues and themes with impeccable placement and push, Williams deserves that 52nd career Oscar nomination without reservation. Flying through this fantastical world will always remain a rousing treat.  The wonderment and magic is there.  

That said, no amount of razzle-dazzle filling eyes and ears can cover up the glaring examples of questionable creativity and incomplete development enacted by Abrams and lead screenwriter Chris Terrio.  Even in a third film meant to wrap up storylines, The Rise of Skywalker compels itself to introduce even more tangents and swerves.  It has characters that answer questions with more questions and moments ringing with vague parable rather than stamping cemented mythology.  The arcs for Ridley and Driver fare the best, but the periphery is scattered with superfluous glaze. The isolation elements of The Last Jedi slowed matters down to create tangible suspense.  This over-packed trilogy capper favors sprinting set pieces instead.  Moving at a rush does not automatically or always create one in return, magic be damned.

To explain more crosses into spoiler territory, but there are downright mistakes here that expose the distance between forming merely a sense of finality, albeit a forcibly telegraphed one, and garnering a true, earned, and fitting consummation. Gauge all of this ambition straight toward the many synonyms of “finality.” Measure this film for “decisiveness,” “totality,” “resolution,” and even “integrity.”  You may find its force more thin than thick. 

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#845)

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