Movies
It's way too easy to expect every Pixar feature to be a landmark in narrative animation, even a few years out from Inside Out (the last of their features to qualify, I don't think it's too controversial to say), and then be disappointed when they don't deliver that. But increasingly over the past ten years, the studio has instead contented itself with creating technically dazzling but narratively simple movies. And as it's turned out, Pixar is very very good at creating this sort of modest feature. I think it's important we don't lose sight of this, especially in an era where every Disney animated feature has like a thousand narrative inconsistencies and mainstream blockbusters have like ten thousand—it's increasingly rare to see these sort of narratively coherent works of film fiction on a large-budget scale, so when Pixar gives us something like Coco, a movie whose ambitions are about as modest as any Pixar movie's have been since Cars 2, that's still something to celebrate. It isn't a surprising movie, but it is a colorful one; a gorgeously designed one; a technically breathtaking one (these are perhaps the best computer-animated human models in film history); a tender one—one whose emotional through line comes honestly and organically out of every visual and storytelling beat that precedes it. There isn't a false note in the film, and if that means that it's simply a Very Good movie executed to perfection, in lieu of a Great movie, then oh well; at least we got a very good movie. Grade: A-
The look of Loving Vincent, the first-ever oil-painted animated feature (it was filmed in live action and then the frames were given to artists, who painted over the action in the post-impressionist style of Van Gogh), is dazzling. And one gets the idea that this is the only thing the filmmakers are trying to accomplish, because otherwise, there's really not a ton going on. The plot is a Citizen Kane knockoff of a man investigating the death of Vincent Van Gogh, the acting is fine, and even the use of the visuals is decidedly ordinary, with very little of it reaching for anything beyond the strictly realistic/representational within the Van Gogh style. But it's a true marvel seeing these oil paintings come to life. It's the only animated feature I've ever seen where the sheer craft of the animation was so engrossing—I spent the first half hour of the film just watching the brushstrokes dance across the screen—that I couldn't keep up with the plot for a while. And I suppose that's something, though I surely hope this isn't the pinnacle of oil-painted movies. Grade: B-
If a plot featuring a developmentally arrested guy who's lived most of his life kidnapped underground obsessing over the mythology of the educational sci-fi TV series his captors have created for him didn't already give it away, surely the casting of Mark Hamill as one of the captors does: Brigsby Bear is a metaphorical commentary on geek fandom. Which is sort of a relief, because this movie works much better as metaphor than anything approaching realism—its warm, dramedic overtures are far too light a touch for this sort of subject matter (unless it were to go full-on Kimmy Schmidt with its silliness, which it doesn't [and side note: what is it with bunker kidnappings and pop culture these days?]). Even as figurative commentary, the movie softballs its approach a bit more than is helpful. I'm all for assuming the best about human decency (this movie resembles nothing so much as that old indie oddity Lars and the Real Girl in the sense that despite its eyebrow-raising premise, the movie largely consists of people being nice to our protagonist). But given the past few years of GamerGating, Rotten Tomato death threating, and the like, I don't know if "decency" is quite the right part of human nature to be highlighting when online male fandom is concerned. Still, there's something rather endearing about this whole endeavor, even if it's not quite as cutting as it should be. Grade: B
Look, of course modern eating habits tend to be awful, and of course the food industry has a monetary interest in keeping foods fatty, sugary, and addictive. These are real problems that need to be addressed (more so than they already have), and I wholeheartedly side with Super Size Me on this. But you know what's not helpful? Stupid publicity stunts. Experiments with bad methodology. Linking poor eating habits to ignorance of American history. Ironic music cues. Sardonic animations. Fat shaming. There's so much fat shaming in this movie, y'all. I didn't clock it, but I'd be willing to bet that Spurlock spends at least twice the time visually mocking the appearance of the overweight as he does actually discussing the systematic issues that drive poor food consumption. Lord, I hate mid-2000s issue docs. Grade: D+
Good on this movie for making the intersection of Ali's boxing career and his political activism the story's linchpin. Bad on the movie for not making it more interesting. I don't know if I've quite figured out Michael Mann, either—I've never loved one of his movies, and most of them seem, to me, handsomely made but ultimately dry experiences. Such it is here. Grade: C
Television
Netflix's most idiosyncratic comedy returns with that same blend of meta-commentary, zaniness, silliness, and mildly horrifying introspection that made the first season such a strange, strange delight. Season Two isn't nearly so self-referential (it's dialed down the recurring Arrested Development-style music cues, for one), but in its place is a doubling down on the flashback structure of the first season, adding a hallucinatory "Future" timeline that, in its heightened manic sci-fi, is so surreal and off-the-wall that it's a veritable broadcast from a different universe. As always, there's a high-pitched intensity to the show that's not going to work for everyone, and it doesn't always work for me. But when it does, it's something special. Grade: B+
Books
Stephen King is someone who writes great nonfiction but also has kind of questionable taste in movies/television, so in the case of Danse Macabre, a collection of essays he wrote about horror writing and film, your enjoyment of the former is going to hinge on how much you're willing to lean into the latter. As a historical artifact, this book is kind of interesting because it gives us very early takes into King's thoughts on Alien, The Shining, Halloween, and a few other now-classics that had just been released. Per usual, some of his takes are strange, and his ideas about "women's lib" and gender politics, though not, like, "offensive," betray how long ago this was written and that he's a straight male. And he's also weirdly anti-academia, perhaps burned by the Ivory Tower's disdain for his work and his own experiences as a professor. But on the whole, King's a fascinating and thoughtful analyst of horror fiction, and even if you find his taste in movies iffy, his close reading of the social and artistic implications of horror novels and short stories is surely worthwhile. Plus, two lengthy appendixes provide us with lists of King's movie and book recommendations, both of which are goldmines that split nicely between obvious choices like Rosemary's Baby and more obscure B/pulp fare. Grade: B+
Music
Every once in a while, I'll go on Bandcamp and download albums that are cheap and sound interesting. So maybe that's how I got this (Morgan Craft is certainly on Bandcamp). But all I know is that I was looking through my downloads folder a couple weeks ago and saw the ZIP folder with this album in it. I have no memory of putting it there. To my knowledge, it just appeared, which is sort of appropriate for a ghostly record of dark-ambient drones (made entirely, according to the Bandcamp page, with electric guitars). It's an album for late nights and loud speakers, being alone in a house, feeling a little spooked. In other words, good stuff. Grade: B+
