#she just goes off on her tangent so easily it's the funniest thing

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

"Oh, that's right. Dorothy, I swear, you snore worse than a sailor passed out at an adult motel after a night of unbridled passion while I had to call a cab to take me ho..."

"..."

"Never mind, the point is: you snore."

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Inuyasha, Episodes 85-88

In which the playing field is reshuffled, we get our funniest crop of episodes yet, and the romance finally gets moving again.

The Dam Bursts

We’re officially in the back half of Inuyasha now, and in continuing with recent tradition, it seems like the show has decided to stick with its reshuffling of the structure moving forward. After sixty episodes looming in the background of pretty much every misadventure and miniboss, Naraku is now nowhere to be found, and as a result, the world of Inuyasha has become a lot less predictable. Sure, our heroes are still trying to hunt him down in order to destroy him, but the specifics of how they’re going to accomplish that are far less clear. And in the meantime, all sorts of lesser evils are feeling emboldened to creep out of the shadows and lay their claim to the world. Where once there was a single, pressing central threat to account for, now our heroes are faced with a world full of unpredictable dangers on every side, demons that may not be as powerful as their ultimate goal, but pose a threat nevertheless. On the bright side, now that Naraku’s goddamn poison wasps are no longer a threat, Miroku can finally start whipping his wind tunnel out more regularly. There’s a new vibe in the air now, a sense of a journey that just grew simultaneously much looser and much more worrying. And I think I’m going to enjoy this new era of Inuyasha quite a bit.

All in Good Fun

Because as I’ve argued many times in the past, Inuyasha is really at its best outside the confines of its main plot. It’s in the countless side stories and offbeat moments that its heart shines through, far more so than the mechanics of tracking down a (still interesting and intimidating) single random villain. And now that said villain is out of the picture for the moment, the show is able to let out some stress and truly come into its own. Put simply, this crop of episodes may well be the most consistently entertaining stretch in Inuyasha’s run thus far, spiraling off in a dozen goofy tangents that all play to the kind of exaggerated character comedy this show does best. Just that one old lady who joins the gang for their assault on Demon Head Palace is easily the best one-off character of the show so far, and I pray to god we see more of her in time. She’s like a grumpier version of Reigen Arataka’s self-assured faux-exorcist bullshit artist act, complete with a goddamn Salt Splash attack. She captures that same “Somehow coming out ahead despite having no goddamn clue what I’m doing” charm that defines Mob Psycho’s best character, saving the day through sheer ignorance of the fact that she should be affected by a spiritual power she can’t sense. Bottom line, she’s amazing, and I hope this isn’t the last time she shows up.

And that same kind of self-assured goofiness runs throughout these episodes like a pleasant summer breeze. The episode where a trio of mischievous monkeys bind Inuyasha’s hand to a magic expanding stone may well be the funniest episode yet, with the best comedic editing I’ve seen from this show. The speed with which every conceivable thing goes wrong for Inuyasha- failing to recognize the stone growing on his hand, Shippo’s nonchalant ”Well, maybe it’s too late”, the unexpected second rock that smashes him flat out of fucking nowhere, a momentary relaxation sending him tumbling down the mountainside from the momentum in such a beautifully understated “oh shit” realization- had me in a constant state of barely repressed (and sometimes not repressed at all) cackling. By easing up on the necessity of the central plot, Inuyasha is able to let its characters breathe like never before, resulting in their more charming interactions yet. Hell, even goddamn Sango and Miroku are more likable together now than they’ve ever been, with the show playing into the idea of them as the conspiratorial upperclassmen sharing gossip about their rowdy juniors (see their mutual amusement over the idea of Inuyasha having to use the rock as a weapon from now on). And that’s a really damn good sign. If Inuyasha can even manage to make my least favorite aspect of it work in this new paradigm, then there’s no telling how good it can get.

What Really Matters

But even more promising than all that nonsense is that it looks like we’re finally- finally- going to get back to exploring Kagome and Inuyasha as a couple. There has been shamefully little development on their front ever since their last massive realization a while back, and considering their complex love triangle with Kikyo is far and away the best part of the show, that’s a damn shame. Hell, maybe that’s the reason Sango and Miroku were so particularly irksome; not only was I missing out on the show’s best romance, but it’s place had been usurped by the complete inverse. Well, thankfully, that seems like it’d being remedied as we speak, because at long last, Inuyasha is returning to portraying the level of closeness these two have developed over time, and it’s an utter delight. Seriously, can we appreciate that whenever Inuyasha is scared of the old lady exorcist, he ducks behind Kagome to hide? He’s so used to protecting her, but now he’s relying on her for protection as well. Or how about when Inuyasha is stuck outside with a magic rock on his arm and Kagome sits there with him throughout the night, teasing him when he tries to brush her off and knocking his defenses down like putty (”Well, if I’m a bother...” “N-no, you’re not!”)? And then there’s that wonderful moment when he give his her his coat in the dead of night to help her shake off a cold, and they just lean into each other, taking comfort in each other’s warmth, obviously flustered but at ease all the same, and... aaaaaaah, it’s so cute! These two are really damn adorable, and it’s high time they returned to the spotlight like they deserve (not to mention all their companions watching them out of the corner of their eye; dear lord, that was a hilarious reveal). Hell, even Kikyo’s starting to step back into the picture with a haunting episode about her giving peace to Onigumo’s former partner, cleansing the sins of a dying man in a way she’s never been able to do for herself. As fun as it is to watch this show go off on tangents, it’s with these three characters that it’s heart truly belongs, and I hope their focus here is indicative of much more to come.

Odds and Ends

-”But my heart belongs to you.” akjsdhsa well at least he’s not beating around the bush about it

-OH CHRIST ALWAYS WITH THE PENANGELLAN HEADS

-”That means I was number 101!” Granny, you’re the best.

-This new ED song is already my favorite.

-”What if Kagome’s butt gets deformed?” You brought this on yourself, dear.

-You ever just... make a giant turtle explode with a single arrow?

-”Don’t tell me you eat mist to survive?” “Well, something like that.” pfft

-”Appeal to Inuyasha? They must be very desperate.” It’s true, but you shouldn’t say it.

-”Oh, what’s a little monkey business?” Miroku. Honey. Stop.

-”Okay, time for a snack!” Kagome is just, like, the biggest mom, isn’t she?

-”We forgot how to undo it.” THEY’RE SO PROUD OF IT AKSJDHAKJSD

And so we press on. See you next time!

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2018, Part IV

Scroll down for Parts I, II, and III. VERY GOOD MOVIES THAT STILL AREN’T TECHNICALLY GREAT--SEE, I LIED, NEW CATEGORY, WHICH REALLY SAYS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS TIER IN 2018 AND MAYBE HINTS THAT THERE WEREN’T MANY MOVIES THAT I GENUINELY LOVED

44. Hotel Artemis (Drew Pearce)- It should be illegal to watch this movie before midnight because it is an exploitation flick to its core. Is it a problem that it's shaped like a triangle, that it starts wrapping up its answers the minute we understand what the questions were? Yes. Is that a problem that Jeff Goldblum, playing the Wolf King, wearing a double-breasted camel's hair coat like a shawl, can't fix? No.

43. Sicario: Day of the Soldado (Stefano Sollima)- Considering how much I liked Sicario, I'm impressed by how close its sequel came to its chilly hardness. Strangely enough, the craft suffers more from the absence of Jóhann Jóhannsson than it does from the absence of Denis Villeneuve. Aside from a lull at the two-thirds mark and the pulling of exactly one punch, this entry feels as vital and astute as the last one.

Which means the real auteur must be Taylor Sheridan. His script mimics the structure of the original while twisting its characters just askew enough to breathe new life into the material. His screenplays just sort of unfold in a way that I find organic--it's hard to even say what the conflict is until halfway through most of the time. And if he wants to write five more of these, I'll gladly take them.

42. The Other Side of the Wind (Orson Welles)- Like almost anyone else, I'm grateful that The Other Side of the Wind exists at all. The fact that it's so more personal and experimental than I expected is a bonus. It's kind of a mess until it congeals at the drive-in, but every choice still seems labored over. (The claustrophobic nature of the party versus the wide open spaces of the film-within-the-film, for example.) Nonetheless, it's hard to go to bat for a movie whose backstory is more captivating than the final product.

41. The Mule (Clint Eastwood)- Besides the breezy glide of the pacing, the performances stand out. Eastwood's is the type that we haven't seen from him in a while. He smiles a lot. He sings and dances and flirts. He's generally carefree and loopy. And he's contrasted with* a nervy Bradley Cooper in one of those humongous-star-taking-the-back-seat performances, sprinkling charisma the way Sean Connery did in The Untouchables.

But there is no elegance at all. Besides Chekhov's cough and the cheesy elbowing of "If only somebody had $25,000 to save the VFW Hall," we get the messy racial politics of Eastwood once again. Whereas Gran Torino worked for me because it's aware of its own racism, this one thinks that it's doing some good. The subtext is that an old White man would never catch trouble from police, but the text is a Hispanic man getting pulled over and nearly pissing himself for laughs. Hard to argue this isn't a fun time at the movies though, despite the fact that it's almost entirely about regret.

40. If Beale Street Could Talk (Barry Jenkins)- Too theatrical and outre for my taste, but it's easy to get lost in its cosmetic pleasures: the lush colors, the lavish costumes, the immaculate close-ups, the best score of the year. I liked it, especially the Brian Tyree Henry tangent, but as the movie is swooning over itself, it's easy to catch yourself thinking, "What is this even about?"

39. Can You Ever Forgive Me? (Marielle Heller)- Can You Ever Forgive Me? hits every beat you would expect from an "in over her head" crime movie, but the time that the film dedicates to the central relationship creates a rare intimacy. If you stopwatched it, I imagine the majority of the film would be McCarthy and Grant talking to each other. That focus, along with a resistance to smoothing over the characters' rougher edges, elevates a kind of boilerplate story.

38. Blockers (Kay Cannon)- Even if the ending is kind of exhausting, desperate to give each character his or her moment, this is hilarious. Not so much in the setpieces showcased in the commercials but frequently in an expression or line reading. The Blu-Ray has a line-o-rama gag reel that is funnier than some entire movies. It's pretty progressive and fair in its portrayal of young female sexuality too.

37. Game Night (John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein)- It gets a little tidy and full circle for my taste, but this movie has some great laughs while being a good example of a film that nails both the characters' "want" and the characters' "need." Rachel McAdams is winning, and Jesse Plemons steals all of his scenes.

Game Night also has way more of a filmic identity than one might expect, since it doubles as a sort of Fincher parody. Besides Cliff Martinez's insistent electronic score and some CGI-for-no-reason establishing shots, Daley and Goldstein borrow the auteur's desaturated palette, locked-down camera, and narrow light range. There's even an elaborate one-r. The visuals elevated a premise that had the potential to be really dopey.

36. First Man (Damien Chazzelle)- I think this is exactly the movie Chazelle wanted to make, but, to match my expectations or his filmography, it's not quite good enough. Cool to the touch, though anything else would be antithetical to who Armstrong was. In the shape of suspense, but with an outcome that is obviously never in doubt. Flipping to the IMAX ratio the second the crew docks onto the moon is a cool trick, but it's as innovative as things get.

The cast is game. Gosling's fastidious brooding resists any of his Movie Star charm but still holds every scene, and the framing of Armstrong's motivation works very well. Foy's reading of "a bunch of boys" is about to become a t-shirt. Kyle Chandler and Jason Clarke and the suddenly mature Patrick Fugit all get their moments. The final scene places the film into the Chazelle tradition of people whose calling is greater than even their most transcendent relationships, and a protest sequence is a welcome break from the eraser-streaked perfectionism.

I'm sorry that I wanted Apollo 13 instead of a hipper Apollo 13.

35. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Bob Perischetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman)- Within the course of one year, we got two possible solutions for the "problem" of inspiring but self-serious origin stories. At the beginning of the year, Black Panther mastered the form and presented it so solidly that it couldn't be argued against. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse goes the other way, so impressionistic that the final sequence is people flying through abstract shapes and colors, so irreverent that a character cuts someone off mid-sentence as he says, "With great power comes..." Though I would have trouble explaining the film, all of the dimensional comings-and-goings make sense in the moment, and it's easily the funniest Marvel movie ever made.

Maybe purposefully, it is overstuffed though. Six different iterations of Spider-Man is enough to juggle; I definitely didn't need a cadre of villains that was even less defined. I have to admit, even though I couldn't tell you what to cut, I was exhausted by the end, even if I was huffing and puffing fresh air.

34. Boy Erased (Joel Edgerton)- Many characters do bad things in this movie, but they're people trying to help and doing their best, justifying the pain that they're causing. This is a film that easily could have been drawn in caricature, and it never is. It does, however, draw the characters as fairly as they deserve, so the Joel Edgerton gay conversion therapist does wear bad ties and pronounce some words incorrectly. The Russell Crowe character, especially in the powerhouse final scene, is more complex and real, at least if I'm to judge by my own father, who has disturbingly similar moral authority and power moves k thx bai.

33. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Morgan Neville)- This one is more cohesive than 30 Feet From Stardom, but these Morgan Neville docs are sometimes too slick for their own good. If you've never made the "jerking-off motion" with your hand, then you'll be tested when he asks his subjects to close their eyes and imagine someone special to them.

That's not to say that the nearly pornographic reverence of Fred Rogers is not deserved or effective. And one of the most daring notes of the film is the suggestion that, in our hostile times, Rogers's message might not have stuck. The jabs at Trump aren't overplayed, but the president is sort of a pall over the entire film. When Rogers says, "The most essential things in life are invisible," it's hard not to imagine the person on our TV daily who is the antithesis of that idea.

32. Hearts Beat Loud (Brett Haley)- This is a heartwarming movie that ends on a high note with solid music. (Important because, if the music that the father and daughter made had been bad, the whole thing would have fallen apart.) Occasionally, it falls into that ensemble problem of "Good news: We got Ted Danson. Bad news: We have to find something for him to do." And it's a weird sideways ad for Spotify. But if I gave Begin Again three stars, then I have to kick this Once-core entry up to three-and-a-half.

If I may, though, I would like to analyze a recommendation that Offerman's record store owner makes to Collette's character. Since she's buying Dig Me Out by Sleater-Kinney, he puts her on to Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion, an album she has not heard of. Which is absurd. Forget that Animal Collective should not be recommended to any woman ever. Any person who knows Sleater-Kinney also knows Animal Collective. She would have heard of them if only because they would be a bad match for someone who likes Sleater-Kinney. But here he is all like, "Check out 'My Girls'--killer song." You're going to recommend the lead single, fam? You're not even going to go out on a limb and push "Bluish"? No wonder your store is shutting down if you're pushing free folk/art-punk onto riot grrls.

31. Western (Valesta Grisebach)- While I was watching Western, I can't say I was having too much fun. It seemed like an adequate story told in a patient, austere way. But in the days since then, I haven't been able to get it out of my head. The way that Grisebach gets so much out of non-professional actors, the way that each character seems to exist not so much as a person but as a totem for something like aggression or labor or exploitation or occupation. Like few other movies--though Beau Travail comes to mind--it's a portrait of masculinity that seems really resigned about its conclusions. 30. American Animals (Bart Layton)- I worry about the potential Boondock Saints effect of this movie: Do I want to be in the same number as the college dorm crew attracted to it only for its style? Is it only style? I don't think it adds up to much ultimately.

But it does have style, and it's way too fun of a caper flick to resist. It presents an interesting bridge in Bart Layton's career, from non-fiction that is a bit too fictional to fiction that is a bit too factual. The segments with the real people involved in the heist serve as decisive punctuation to the florid sentences of the narrative. I also appreciated that the film didn't dwell too much on the trial, since we know exactly where the boys faltered and what evidence did them in.

29. The Land of Steady Habits (Nicole Holofcener)- I loved the rich characterization of the first half, which resists hand-holding as it plops the viewer into a post-divorce setting that is familiar but specific. The film bounces off into tangents from there, some of which are great, but Edie Falco seems to draw the short straw. There are three actors on the poster--weird-voiced Ben Mendelsohn, Thomas Mann, and Falco--but her character is left undeveloped, a bit unfairly, as the proceedings favor the men. The film is still another ground-rule double for Holofcener, a filmmaker who gives the impression that she has no idea what a ground-rule double is.

28. Private Life (Tamara Jenkins)- I don't know anything about Tamara Jenkins's personal life, but there's no way that the details and emotion of the central couple's infertility don't come from her own pain. That frustration and obsession take center stage, and we get filled in with the rest of the details patiently as the film goes on. I don't think we even know what Giamatti's character does for a living until forty-five minutes in, and that's okay. The movie cares more about the supporting characters than I did, but I appreciated the lived-in realism of an apartment with books filling up the fireplace.

27. Flower (Max Winkler)- Although I didn't believe Zoey Deutch as a seventeen-year-old, I was impressed by this script, which moves slowly until it doesn't. I guess "Flower" is good branding since there doesn't appear to be a movie called that already, but I kind of wish this had just been called "Erica." It builds that character carefully, plants her in an impossible situation, then unleashes hell upon her.

An advantage of a movie with teenage characters is that they don't necessarily have to make the most logical decision in a given moment, so even when these characters are being dumb, they're being true to themselves. As the most prominent Zoey Deutch stockholder in North America, I actually thought about bumping this up an extra half-star.

26. Leave No Trace (Debra Granik)- Leave No Trace is partly about how existing outside of society can be as much of a contrivance as buying in, but the way the movie delivers that message is less ham-fisted than my description due to the intense performances at the center. Ben Foster, uncharacteristically restrained here, reportedly worked with Debra Granik to excise 40% of his dialogue, and that choice speaks volumes about the trust the film has for the audience in limiting the exposition.

The only thing holding me back was how exclusively internal the father-daughter story is. Unlike Granik's Winter's Bone, which functions as both a (similarly compassionate) coming-of-age story and a race-against-the-clock thriller, Leave No Trace is tracking only emotional growth. Will and Tom aren't headed anywhere in particular, which is part of the survival-versus-living point. But, you know, get you a Debra Granik movie that can do both.

25. Eighth Grade (Bo Burnham)- Socially terrifying when it isn't being effortlessly funny. Sometimes the protagonist is downright frustrating, which the film doesn't shy away from, but the vulnerability of Elsie Fisher's performance grounds everything around it. Besides nailing adult condescension, Burnham's script works because the big social disaster is always averted until it suddenly isn't, and that's when the moment hits the hardest. Somewhere in the back of my mind though, I kept thinking that perceptive realism is easy to do if that's your only goal. To quote the kids: "Some shade."

I spent most of the movie thanking God that YouTube channels didn't exist when I was thirteen.

24. Three Identical Strangers (Tim Wardle)- I'll be the millionth person to write "truth is stranger than fiction" with regard to this movie. And sometimes having no idea where a movie will go is enough. 23. Green Book (Peter Farrelly)- When a dramatic director makes a comedy, it often feels self-conscious and overt. I'm thinking about Von Trier's The Boss of It All, in which the technique is more important than any audience joy or release. Or Michael Haneke explaining tirelessly why he thinks Happy End is "actually a comedy." Unsurprisingly, the results work a lot better when a comedy director of twenty years decides to go more serious. He knows what audiences want, he already understands how to wring tension out of each scene, and all he needs is the right subject.

The last item is where Green Book suffers. In the end, this is still a movie in which a White guy learns not to be racist. The first third, there seemingly to insist that Tony is the main character, is shaggy. I would wager the men don't get into the car inside of forty minutes. But once we're on the tour? Man, is this a crowd pleaser. The men's respect for each other grows gracefully, and the film's proud sentimentality powers its best moments as they fly by at a clipped pace. I had given up on Farrelly after Hall Pass, which felt amateurish, so a work of such professionally manicured (manufactured?) emotion was a shock.

On a different note, are any of you interested in a thousand words on Linda Cardellini's posture?

22. Den of Thieves (Christian Gudegast)- Despite the February release date, a director with no track record, and the most #basic studio lead there is, Den of Thieves is a caper film as sprawling as it is humane. Even Potato-face Butler is perfect for his role.

I watched the unrated version, which should be called the "depressing version," since I know exactly what was cut. (Hint: The wordless scene of Butler's jilted family ignoring him when he sees them in the grocery store, not anything from the shoot-out.) There's a spot where I would end the movie, and it's way before the Keyser Soze epilogue, but this was a welcome surprise for me. The movie seems to find its star in O'Shea Jackson, Jr. as it goes, and I completely agree. Many more like this please.

21. The Front Runner (Jason Reitman)- Reitman starts with a complicated oner that cranes up and down, zooms in and out of new characters, and times itself perfectly to catch snatches of conversations about "how can you even lay this much cable?" And in all of its Altman-esque indulgence, it's kind of the movie in a nutshell. Something simple--a scene shot with one take--commenting on how damned hard it is. What seems like a straightforward thesis moves at a breakneck pace with a game ensemble until you realize that it was all more complicated than it seemed.

Hugh Jackman has the challenge of playing someone essentially unknowable, but he has an amazing moment in the first third. On the chartered boat called Monkey Business--such a bad look, dude--Gary Hart is composed and dignified until a woman we don't see* sits down across from him, and his whole affect changes. His guard drops, and he seems absorbed by her, giggly. We can't hear what he's saying, but he's asking her about herself and joking about himself. Both or one or neither of those personalities is the real guy. The Front Runner is a movie about a tragic Great Man, and they're always described as if they can't help themselves, as if they're fighting their demons until the magic moment when they aren't. Jackman made that magic real for me when Hart's personality fell out.

20. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (Joel Coen and Ethan Coen)- Patently uneven and bizarrely sequenced, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs doesn't stack up to the Coens' major works--though it demands another viewing. I did think, in all of its bleak absurdism, that it belongs in their neighborhood. To me, there's a dichotomy that most of the brothers' films trace. We're all doomed, but the force that does us in is sometimes fate (A Serious Man, Inside Llewyn Davis, The Hudsucker Proxy, No Country for Old Men) and sometimes the stupidity of other people (The Big Lebowski, Blood Simple, Burn After Reading, Miller's Crossing). This new movie seems to start with the latter, waver sometimes in the more interesting middle stories when Zoe Kazan and Tom Waits break my heart, then end up at the former. Tracking such a thing in miniature can be really instructive.

19. The Tale (Jennifer Fox)- If you can look past Common's goofy voice and the more afterschool special aspects of this movie, then you can realize that it should actually, as disturbing as it is, be an afterschool special. It spins its wheels sometimes, but the questions that this movie asks about memory and abuse are invaluable. Presenting a downright shocking portrayal of grooming and secrecy, it avoids easy answers and over-sympathizing with the protagonist all the way through. (Especially notable because the character is "Jennifer Fox," and the director is Jennifer Fox.)

Laura Dern remains Laura Dern, but I loved Jason Ritter in this. Exactly because he has been in a hundred failed sitcoms, he is terrifying here as a devilish knock-off of the type of guy approachable enough to be on TV.

18. Paddington 2 (Paul King)- At first, during the extended introduction, I was worried that Paddington 2 was falling prey to the curse of the sequel: more, not better. But as each family member pays off what we learned about him or her in the introduction during a sprightly train setpiece that owes more than a little to Keaton, I realized that I shouldn't have doubted the Paddington empathy machine. This one carries over the humor and sweetness but goes even harder on the pathos in its attempt to convince us to have good manners and care about the people around us. I'm not sure any other movie this year hit me harder than when the Browns don't show up for their weekly meeting at the jail.

Hugh Grant, an actor who always seems to be having fun, has never seemed as if he is having more fun.

17. Set It Up (Claire Scanlon)- I guess I believe in true love now.

16. Blindspotting (Carlos Lopez Estrada)- The stylized climax is going to be polarizing, but I thought it was a heightened, artful moment whose seeds had been sown throughout. The film meanders, but its angles on subjects like gentrification and probation and identity show tenderness and openness, and Estrada's visual energy recalls early Spike Lee or Jarmusch or Aronofsky. It's worth seeing if only for its fresh sense of place.

The two leads play off each other especially well. If Daveed Diggs is the fourth lead or whatever of Hamilton, then I guess I finally have to see it.

15. Incredibles 2 (Brad Bird)- Incredibles 2 is a good example of a sequel rhyming with the original in a way that doesn’t feel like a retread. Accidentally topical in its subtext about just rule of law, the film hits upon some of Brad Bird’s ideas of exceptionalism and hope for the future while being slightly more cogent in that messaging than the original. (Slightly. The villain problem is still there. If superheroes are already illegal, then why employ and promote them at all if your goal is to make them even more illegal?)

This entry is a bit more overstuffed, less timeless, and less funny than the original. There’s nothing on the level of “Honey, where is my super suit?” which I still say to my wife fourteen years later. But the fight choreography and the textural animation take advantage of the gap in between films. The Paar family dynamic is altered only slightly, but it’s enough to re-invent the proceedings. Violet has more confidence in herself, Dash is more in control of his powers, and it’s the, yes, thicc Elastigirl who is working solo this time. Especially in the opening sequence, we see how each character’s skills complement the others’. If Finding Dory is the bar for “sequels to Pixar movies that didn’t need sequels,” then Incredibles 2 leaps over that bar.

14. Chappaquiddick (John Curran)- "We need to tell the truth. Or at least our version of it."

After the Kennedy Curse claimed JFK Jr., it seemed as if the culture reached a saturation point with Kennedy coverage. Aside from the occasional "Look who's dating Taylor Swift," we gave them their space. Who would have thought that twenty years later would be the perfect time to dust off the coldest case in the dossier?

See, now that we're having a national conversation about who gets the breaks, there's a little bit of extra weight lent to a scene of Ted Kennedy waiting for a sheriff he summoned as he drafts a statement at that absent sheriff's desk. A sheriff who then helps Kennedy to escape through a backdoor lest he answer any untoward question about his manslaughter. The film is delivered with an even pitch--especially the Jason Clarke performance that could have been overdone--but it makes no mistake about its real subject: privilege.

The attempts to keep Kennedy safe become more brazen as the film goes on, and each dodged consequence--getting Teddy's driver's license renewed on the low, for example--is balanced by Ed Helms's desperate performance as a voice of integrity. In all of the best tragedies, we know what's going to happen in the end. All along, the Kennedy Curse was that they are not like the rest of us.

13. Love, Simon (Greg Berlanti)- Can we all agree that an anonymous gossip web site for a high school is a bad idea? And that, though the film doesn't pursue this angle, the vice principal is the one maintaining it?

This propulsive, observant, and witty movie is an outright pleasure from beginning to end. Hocking spitballs at its PG-13 rating, its greatest strengths are having the courage to get dark and having the wisdom to give every supporting character his or her own moment.

[nate-walsh]

cyrano / panda breeder

Last night, I met some coworkers out, moderately drunk, and coworker C––, exuberantly drunk, started lamenting her lack of progress with a particular boy crush of hers. No stranger to horrible crushes – and, as I said, not remotely sober – I quickly inserted myself into the proceedings to see if I could help. And boy did they need it.

So, she and the fellow in question met on Twitter (no judgment there – I’ve mined weirder depths), and while they eventually moved their conversations from @s to email @s, it had now been a YEAR since they started talking, without any additional forward progress.

“No, we’ve made progress,” C–– argued. “Check this out!” And she showed me an email:

Did you know that sneeze is 1/4 and orgasm? 

[ sic sic sic sic sic ]

“That really stepped things up for us,” she said proudly.

“He understood that?” 

(I read his reply. He did not.)

“OK, so where are you now?” I asked.

“Now I’m trying to make the switch from emailing to texting.”

“How’s that going?”

“That’s the problem! I totally put it out there in my last email, and he hasn’t responded!”

At which point she showed me a rambly paragraph where, yes, indeed she did sort of drop a hint by wondering aloud what it would take for them to start texting. But then, she immediately canceled said hint out by a) not providing her phone number and b) burying the lede within this whole long tangent about how she was a 75-year-old black paraplegic woman who only uses landlines.

“I don’t know what I would take away from this message,” I said. “It’s vague to the point of madness. Also insane to the point of madness. This will not achieve any of your objectives.”

So, then I asked if I could read back in their email history a little, get some context. A few messages in, and I started to get the read on things: They both liked each other, I could see that right away. They were just awkward. Like. Hellllllla awkward.

Like 2 horrible cage fighters perpetually circling each other, feigning shitty leg kicks, they were doing everything in the most roundabout, passive-aggressive, self-protective way possible, everything all cloaked in weirdness and humor, both afraid to make the first move. 

And, you know, obviously I have some familiarity with all of this, but never on the scale I was seeing here. A YEAR without anyone making a move? How is that even possible?

Luckily, it was also an imminently solvable problem, as far as I was concerned.

“You’ve gotta draw first blood, girl. Straightforward and earnest.”

“But I can’t,” she said.

“Do you want me to do it,” I asked.

“Yes.”

So I dashed off a quick thing, basically saying, “Yo, sorry, that last message was kind of vague. You should text me, was my point. Here’s my number.” And I thought that’d be it, they’d be off-and-running, makeouts on the horizon. C–– was panicking, of course, like, “He’s going to run off forever,” to which I responded, “No man in the history of the universe has ever responded negatively to an entreaty from a cute woman he likes. That doesn’t even make sense.”

OH.

LITTLE DID I KNOW.

In response to her explicit entreaty to text, dude EMAILS her back, giving HER HIS NUMBER INSTEAD, along with some half-joke of little importance I guess to soften the blow.

Now needing to rapidly revise my estimation of this dude’s lack of game exponentially upward, I try to stave off C––‘s panic by getting some background info. 

He is 33 years old.

He is a writer for a popular television cartoon that many people watch.

OK, WHAT

Now I am like actively offended. For all intents and purposes, he and I are the same person, in terms of years of potential dating experience and background skillset. You could very easily argue that he’s even better suited for this sort of thing, as he literally gets paid to be funny and charming for millions of people. I am not unsympathetic to his neuroses – I have many of the same ones: Fear of rejection, fear of overextending one’s self and bothering other humans (particularly women). But the scale we’re operating on right now is like nothing I’ve ever seen. HE DIDN’T JUST FUCKING TEXT? WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING?

All right, drastic measures now.

“C––, I have some bad news. You’re going to have to be the boy in this relationship.”

“What!”

“I’m sorry, but this dude is like a black hole of flirtation ability, so you’re going to have to take on the role of the aggressor.”

“Oh God!”

“Here, I’ll just do it.”

So, for the rest of the evening, I am C––’s Cyrano, trying to establish a flow of conversation for the two of them, that they will be able to carry on in my absence. But this dude! Oh my fucking god. This man – this paid professional television comedy writer – sent the most boring texts I’ve ever seen in my life:

Just doing my dishes.

JESUS CHRIST HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WORK WITH THAT

HAVE YOU EVER EVEN HAD A CONVERSATION WITH A HUMAN ORGANISM

And, like, OK. I know what’s going on. Dude’s petrified. So much so that his brain is in total flight-or-fight mode, and it can’t remember how to be funny or interesting. I understand. That’s how it is with me and small talk. My brain freezes up, and all I can remember are boring pleasantries. BUT ALSO. Dude is a writer. This is the one place where he is supposed to shine, where he can take a little bit of extra time to think things through and craft the best, funniest, most flirty response. Just doing my dishes. What the fuck are you even doing.

“Um. Does this guy suck, C––? I don’t have a lot of data points yet, but it seems like he might suck.”

(He last boyfriend kind of actively sucked, so I’m wondering if she doesn’t have a type.)

But I keep soldiering on all the same, writing encouraging, flirty things for her that will hopefully get him out of his shell.

He goes to bed (those dishes and this incredible intellectual discourse really having worn him out), and I’m like, “It’s OK – tomorrow you’ll get into a flow, and things will start progressing. You just need to keep at it.”

Yeah, NOPE.

So, today, C–– IMs, because he texted, and I’m guiding her through their conversation, response by response, because she keeps not knowing how to respond to things, and he keeps saying weird, boring shit, and I’m seriously wishing I could just take over both sides of the conversation. (“I’ll let you know when it’s time to make out.”)

I feel like I’m trying to get 2 pandas to mate. I worry I’m going to have to speak through an earpiece on their first date, shout advice through the bedroom door (“OK, DUDE, MOVE TO SECOND BASE!”), write their damn vows for them. But now I’m invested. I will get these 2 lovable awktards together. I can do this.

So, dude asks her how she thinks their transition from email to text is going. And I’m like, “Oh, that’s a good sign! He is maybe trying to move toward a more straightforward, emotionally honest place. You should reward that!” So I have her say something a little confiding and conspiratorial and cute:

Oh, you know, a little awkward, but what isn’t for the two of us? I think it was time, though, and I’m glad we did! :)

She asks him the same question. His response?

It’s too early for me to tell.

lolololol

K I’M OUT

I am soooo fucking out

“Are you sure this guy doesn’t suck, C––? That is like THE rudest possible response.”

“Well, he did add lasers to the message.”

(Which, if you’re not familiar, in the iPhone text app, you can add different animated backgrounds to your message. And there is one that is kind of like rave-y lasers.)

Yeah. So. Now I have actively moved him onto the autism spectrum, and kind of completely give up hope.

“You’re on your own, girl. Maybe in like 80 years you’ll meet up, if you’re not dead.”

I feel for those panda breeders, man. They’re just trying and trying and those dopey-ass pandas keep not getting the picture and tumbling down hills adorably. And at a certain point, you’re kind of like, “Well, maybe some organisms deserve to be extinct. Maybe we just let this one go.” Boom. Naturally deselected.