Why I Cried On The Fury Road..

So it has been nearly two weeks since George Miller stunned the world with his long-in-development return to the accidental mythology he kicked off decades ago, and I'm still emotionally dizzy from it. Not only has it instantly become one of the best contemporary examples of what I go to grand scale films for, it has also spawned the kind of enthusiasm for an R-rated film that has become anomalous in this day and age. And based upon a recent Facebook post where I openly admitted to weeping openly to it upon the second viewing, it felt proper to explain why this megabudget blockbuster allowed such an impassioned case of sheer waterworks to happen. Hint: it wasn't because of simple geek out.

While one can certainly express satisfaction by merely being affected by an impressive piece of art, there was something truly remarkable about my second viewing of Fury Road. True to what many colleagues and friends have expressed, viewing the film once simply isn't enough. The initial physical and borderline psychic shock that followed that first go-round was something that pretty much never happens to me in films. It is something more in line with what can happen at a live concert where something truly extraordinary occurred, or perhaps even a jarring life event. And while I knew for certain that I had indeed enjoyed the film's journey, it was the second watch that allowed me to soak in the surprisingly rich emotional and thematic landscape with greater impact.

What especially took me this time around, was not only how confident the entire film is with its "Show-don't-tell" methodology, but in how restrained it is with characterization. To best get emotional mileage from any story, is to best know what to tell and what to allow the audience to fill in on their own. And in the case of virtually every character in the film, this is done with a sensitivity that simply doesn't happen, especially with action cinema. Everything is meant to be told on a move, and yet Fury Road never shortchanges the viewer into best understanding where Furiosa, Max, Nux, the wives, and even the villains are through the course of their shared journeys. Knowing full well that the entire film is practically one large action scene, fragments of who these people are from the beginning to the fiery finale, are delivered with a precision and care that implies spending a great amount of time with them long before cameras rolled. Quite true to the adage that all characters in a story are but elements of one person's psyche, there is a deeper feeling at work that never feels less than personal. They are all but the cataclysmic, desolate, hopeful, and cooperative parts of a larger heart.

Something that is often all too rare in grand scale action films; heart. Despite Miller's admission that the film's sincere hopes for a more gender pluralist society weren't initially the core reason for doing the film, it certainly found it's way deep into the process. So when we take in Furiosa's last ditch effort to make up for past sins, there isn't a moment that feels grafted on, or telegraphed. Her concerns are completely understandable, and the implications of her past horrific. She has taken everything upon her shoulders to see that the society she has long helped solidify no longer clings to submission and desperation. And while her journey with Max in tow takes on truly unexpected turns, it comes like a personal revelation. We, with her, come to realize that so many suppositions about a "mythical place" are more about fostering a rebirth than escape. This is the first Mad Max film to take on the possibility of a better world on our doorstep, and it does so with a sense of personal epiphany.  

And perhaps that's it. The waterworks came, because everyone's journey is based on hope. Even as Max seems bent on taking advantage of his ride on the War Rig, and making his own way, there's still this need for him to witness some semblance of the cop and father he once was. As the odds become ever more desperate, the notion that Furiosa could be able to even fight this hard for something that might be little more than a fairy tale, not to mention the heart displayed by the wives and even Nux, a boy who could for a time only be a playback machine to a madman's dogma, becomes something even he can't deny. So by the time they encounter the Vulvalini, and choose to take back the future, everyone's journey is sealed. I felt the early distrust, to the selfishness, and later the respect and camaraderie without it ever feeling forced or false. Each character gets under the skin with just the right amount of coverage. By the finale, I was able to feel the struggle becoming that of a shared dream. Something larger than that of a mad dash between motor vehicles, crazies, and heroes. It felt like the journey of a life's purpose realized. As if all the dangers and tragedies that occurred on that path were much in line with how life can often be. The revelation of your life, and what it means to finally have a family and a goal to seek no matter the difficulty ahead.

The Fury Road becomes something of a culture's turning point, a woman's path to becoming an emissary for change, and an artist's viscerally poetic realization of a dream.

Of course, Max Rockatansky had to be there. A personal torch was there to be passed. And likely for the better.

Thematic Wanderings: Interstellar (2014)

Few major studio filmmakers require viewers to unpack with a vengeance quite like Christopher Nolan.

As far back as Following(1998), it has been imperative that those who are witnesses to the stories he shares, make a more concerted effort than usual to ruminate and discuss what they have just witnessed. And while scrutiny often poses the occasional question of logic, it's always good to remember the goal, and not so much how the shooter made it. Especially considering the narrative gymnastics that a Nolan film often requires of his audience. Even when he and brother Jonathan do their damndest to paint in broad strokes, they are often in the service of inviting others to play more complex thematic games than many are accustomed to. It isn't always successful, but it never ceases to be ambitious. And this is why I suppose I keep going back to his works. They often work like puzzles, or very dense books just shotgunned into our brains over the course of several hours, only to leave us dizzy with the hows, when our eyes should be more poised toward the why.

So when audiences found themselves a little colder than usual (for Nolan films) with his latest, it became a little more crucial for me to mine it once home video became an option. In my review, I came after the film for failing to better deliver a successful dramatic punch than it seemed to so badly want. With a film that features Matthew McCounaghey at his most earnest as a most vulnerable hero, the performance feels at times hindered by the at-times daunting balancing act between working within hard science and the surprisingly warm proposal at the heart of the film. The balance doesn't always work in its favor, especially in the last hour. And yet, there is something happening here that for me, made the finale dovetail in ways that it really shouldn't have in other hands.

In the first reel, while we are given a hard-pedaled peek into the film's worries by way of envisioning a humanity that has become so panicked by the global blight, that they frown upon our history of space travel, as well as nurturing such interests. While it is a forced sentiment, it is a potent shorthand for a world that has turned its back on risky solutions in the name of maintaining all that remains on the ground. And this is a trend that is echoed throughout the film. This is also displayed largely later in the film when Cooper's grown son refuses to leave the farm despite the impending death of another child due to ever more desperate air quality. A reminder that we are often incapable of letting go of the present, no matter how bad it may look from a macro perspective.

The film even opens with Cooper and his kids, chasing a lost Indian drone that eventually downs itself.

Upon examining the abandoned machine, this exchange occurs:

                                                                        Murph

                                                  What are you going to do with it?

                                                                        Cooper
                                 I'm going to give it something socially responsible to do.

                                                                         Murph

                                       Can't we just let it go? It's not harming anyone.

                                                                         Cooper

                        This thing needs to learn how to adapt, Murph. Like the rest of us.

Right from the start, the philosophical divide between Cooper and Murph becomes the prime vessel for the film's main conflict. It's always important to keep in mind that the best premises are often stand-ins for more human dilemma, and in the case of Interstellar, it is largely focused on our will to understand others in a life trajectory that has largely been that of utility. It's complicated even further when in the face of shared undertaking, everyone has their own reasons to invest in changing the course of fate. When young Murph sees the fork in the road between her and her father, naturally she sees his leaving as something of a betrayal. With the linkage of her "ghost" further ingraining these feelings, which eventually must be reconciled with as light years separate them.

Taking humanity's last chance for salvation into the hands of a select group of scientists on a secret deep space mission to find a possible new home, already offers up a glimpse into the film's bigger concerns. Revelations are established early that the now-thought defunct NASA had at one point been asked to drop bombs onto thousands of poor and starving as blight overtook much of the planet. This was an answer until the government took to heart Dr. Brand, Sr.'s alternate plan based upon the discovery of a newly placed wormhole just outside of Saturn. A clandestine journey of several scientists through the hole, only to discover several potential planets for possible human inhabitation. This follow-up to the Lazarus Mission, with its implications of a newly risen humanity, turns out to largely be a terrifying bait and switch. Simply because its authors saw the human race as largely incapable of grasping the reality that despite the proposal of two plans, B was the only viable option. (Plan B, involving fertilized human embryos encased in a "population bomb"- as what remains of the human race dies out on Earth.) Upon reaching these planets, it becomes horrifically clear that chances of our kind to find a truly hospitable home for the rest of us, seems near to impossible. Giving truth to the hidden revelation that quite often in realms of discovery, the truth of any major undertaking is often engraved with caveats to human sentiment, rather than overtures to actual faith between beings.

So what ensues between the prospective planets, is a discussion regarding our inability to trust others with harsh truths, and what the heart has longed for since the first true human connection. These diverging aims are further illustrated by way of two vital scenes around the film's midpoint, when Brand Jr. (Anne Hathaway) admits to preferring to travel to the furthest planet because of her feelings for the Lazarus scientist, Edmunds, who she admits to being in love with.  In no uncertain (and perhaps far too blunt) terms, she defends her irrational feelings of loss and worry over one person overrides a more convenient stop at the Mann planet, which is much closer on the Endurance trajectory. The other scene follows her choice being overruled, and upon meeting the long admired pioneer, Mann, who confirms the terrible truth about the mission. The mission being based largely upon a lie in order to instill a sense of hope for the people of Earth, and in turn, to convince Cooper to leave the earthly nest in hopes of saving his family. The exploitation of human sentiment being the ultimate gambit for success.

So to take in the film's view of discovery under pressure, can be a distressing one to say the least. But it does feel far more honest than films of this scale tend to display. Such lies, and action under assumption has pretty much been a fundamental part of our culture for as long as a more masculine dominator society has been a primary axiom to live by. It is also not an accident, that the film sees the women of the film (most notably Murph & Brand Jr.) as misunderstood fibers in a larger societal fabric. Perhaps something that has been neglected to the point that it has come to a near complete apocalypse as a result. Rendering much of Interstellar to be a challenge to humanity, A pivot point where not only cooperation is required to avert disaster, but to consider the possibility that human empathy is indeed something science and rigor has yet to crack. The gap of faithlessness that often permeates any culture bereft of any clear answers. It's far easier for us to disqualify that which we do not understand, rather than see another viable equation worth exploring.

And while to some, this and the film's ultimate revelation may seem trite. But there is certainly something to ruminate upon as so many discoveries of the last several decades have begun to pierce the unseen with explorations of the quantum, and an unerring quest to understand what many once saw as mere abstractions not to long ago. And while Cooper's voyage indeed brings him face to face with his own assumptions about love and discovery, there is again an overture to faith in those closest to us  and beyond to continue the voyage. To be transparent in the face of adversity. And to allow for community based upon more balanced, pluralistic principles. Which has possibly been what we were always meant to be heading toward, but neglecting for generations too many.  

And while many can continue to debate over whether or not Nolan and company were successful in their shared mission, the notions explored in this film remain worthy of discussion. It remains an ambitious, grand, and humanly flawed dive into what our current and future concerns have been. It paints a painful, yet hopeful picture of what it is we are, and what we could be, no matter the legacy we have long worn on our shoulders - and that's worth talking about.

Thematic Wanderings: The Art Of Getting Away With It

Fellow co-conspirator and book creator E. Hsu, often questions the stuff we watch. Not always the hidden messages, but as a graphic artist herself, the approach. She recently called out the opening shot of Gone Girl, with the head of Rosamund Pike being caressed by an unseen, but clearly masculine hand as the words of Ben Affleck posit questions about his beloved - only to turn ugly in contrast to the hyper-stylized beauty before him.  And suddenly these reminders of what savvy visual storytellers do with their images to let us in came rushing to mind. That cinematic sleight of hand can be employed as a means of drawing in an audience who may not have considered a film's baggage otherwise. Especially considering our rapidly evolving media intake, there is a growing complexity to film that often plays it coy, to occasionally insincere degrees, playing the audience in order to implant conflicting thoughts. Considering the particular filmmaker in this case, it became quite clear that this was a deliberate attempt at playing viewers at their own game. While we have certainly over the past few years seen a few filmmakers over the years employ tactics on the level of a sledgehammer, the hidden, is often the most dynamic, and the style most effective in gathering years of heated controversy. The belief that post-film dialogue is far more constructive than a blunt-forced message (See- The Wachowskis. See- Snowpiercer.). After several discussions regarding the validity of hidden themes in mainstream cinema, the blog seemed to call out for a teensy bit of extra light on this often rocky topic.

Such a contradiction is classic Fincher, where he will often present an evocative visual, but use the soundtrack to offer up either sly humor, or an unreliable establishment to stir matters up. Among his most famous, is the final shot of Fight Club. The slowly pulling image of the narrator and Marla, hand-in-hand while the city's bank buildings topple one after another before them to the almost chorus-like sounds of Pixies' Where Is My Mind?, playing over the devastation. All we had seen up to this point, revealing the ultimate personal revelation of the narrator's journey, with the apocalypse of a confining banking system. Our so-called "villian", is gone, but his plan has gone off without a hitch. Our characters now reside within a new world. The film is asking pointedly about seeking new routes beyond the mundane & self-destructive to achieve our dreams. It's both giddy and harrowing, and ultimately feels emotionally resolved.We have reached thematic critical mass.

"Free yourself".

Chock it all up to your classic scene design and final construction. One can either use the field of vision to convey a clear-cut idea, or mix everything from costume, to set, to lighting, editing, and even music to occasionally blur certain thematic lines. One of the dicier things a filmmaker and crew can do to enhance, and often botch a scene, is with a risky mix and match. Happy music when something sad is occurring on screen, or perhaps a moody voice-over during the scene of a wedding, the means by which films can achieve a complex fabric of emotion is often infinite. But it can also lead to confusion among viewers not savvy to what is happening. And this is often where some critique can diverge between individuals. Mise-en-scène, remains something of a delicate art, and can work wonders depending upon its usage.

So when filmmakers take on more straightforward material, it's pretty easy for the casual viewer to miss elements that are uniquely them. Especially when they are often more adventurous in their projects. It's something that I have witnessed more than ever in recent years, which often leads to many an interesting discussion. Because certain scenes may mean different things to whoever is discussing it, the dialogue can occasionally break down - which can be anathema for some.

A classic recent example is the final montage of The Dark Knight, where a voice-over justifies a cover-up by our heroes, while we witness the fallout from the film's harrowing story. Everything leading up to this moment grants us a picture of an antagonist that has spiritually one-upped the city and it's defenders to the breaking point. And with the last bastion of hope to the community gone, and many dead in its wake, the need to lie to keep his legacy intact is played to the hilt with Batman defending his role as an outsider. What's thematically interesting about this scene, is the score which takes some recurring musical motifs that were introduced in Batman Begins, now take on broken form. They are now in a minor key, mixed with an almost triumphant wail, as if to say that everything we are seeing here is a compromise. Wayne's mission has taken a turn, and is now in an even more morally grey place than he was at the offset. The sweeping camera pans over Commissioner Gordon's speech, flag waving in the background, followed by his destroying of the Bat Signal, all imply that none of this is an ideal outcome. And yet, many a conservative pundit found this ending to be a condoning of certain tactics being used by private entities during the height of the Iraq War. They ultimately missed the part where all of this is proof of how the Joker actually prevailed on a philosophical level. The city will no longer be the same. Criminality may be on the run, but corruption can even ensnare the most well-meaning. It's a psychologically complex, and challenging way to end a blockbuster sequel, and yet it completely got away with positing an uncomfortable truism regarding western civilization.

So for every conceptual swerve a storyteller can dish out, there is always potential for involved dialogue. Which is pretty much a most exciting place to be as a spectator. To drink in the complex, and to have something new to share with another, even if it's a freshly formed idea, is one of the great virtues of art. Problems persist only when everything points to a simple answer. Sure, it can be great to hear something that aligns perfectly with your views, but to experience another's purview is equally as important, if not moreso. As we are consistently evolving creatures, it remains more crucial than ever to allow the exchange to create rivulets, and multicolored fibers. It's what helps us enrich ourselves and each other. But it's especially interesting when we think we are aware of what we are looking at, only to find ourselves stealthily implanted with a vital, impactful new discussion.

Thematic Wanderings: Musings About Her(2013)..

[Warning: Potential Spoilers for Spike Jonze's Her. Nothing terribly specific, but enough to concern the reveal-averse.]

Two viewings and a weekend later, and I still can't get Her out of my mind. Spike Jonze's singular achievement is the kind of genre-destroying work that moves the soul, and smacks of genius. It's a romantic drama that delivers the emotional nutrition as well as an effective emotional journey. And for a film that is on its face about a man who falls in love with his computer, it is a thing of sheer wonder. And as much as I would love to share a traditional review regarding all the standouts of the film from the performances, to the direction, to the visuals, nothing here can truly approximate how I feel about it, save for exploring the reverberations that are still coming off of me days after experiencing it. The poetics on display throughout grant more purview into the feelings and themes that Jonze seemed primed to provoke us with here, and they are delivered with a sensitivity that is both brutally honest and uplifting.


What stood out for me more the second time around, was how the dots connected regarding the central theme of "letting go is an ultimate expression of love". Every character is bound by some need to hold onto some vague idea of what they perceive themselves (and occasionally others) to be. For Charles(Matt Letscher), it's the vision of an ideal home, for Amy(Amy Adams), it's the image of herself in the eyes of her parents, for Kathryn(Rooney Mara), it is her own self image, and in Theo(Joaquin Phoenix), it's simply his perception of being a husband and a potential father.

Where Samantha(Scarlett Jonansson)  comes in is where Jonze's script goes into full tilt brilliance. We both know that her central conflict early on is that of her lack of a corporeal form. This haunts her to the point of making some pretty rash decisions, until she realizes that her presence is capable of things far beyond the confines of a physical body. And since this is no longer an issue, the dilemma of a being's "oneness", and classic concepts of love is called into question. Jonze seems to be questioning the nature of relationships by offering up a character without the social/ philosophical/male-centric concepts of exclusivity. It is in our innate physical limitations that many traditional mores of love and relationships tend to materialize. She is beyond anything that humans can attain by way their respective human shell, and as such represents an almost spiritual counterpoint to the pain that haunts the rest of the central cast.

This culture of exclusivity can almost be seen as the sleep binding so many characters, not to mention theoretically every other human with an OS in the film. Almost like a divine intervention, the OSs seem to come to a realization that humans are fundamentally bound by their corporeal nature - which is to say, humans tend to grasp tightly to memories/guilt in some primal need to propagate that which needs to run course like approaching and passing seasons. 

Acceptance of the self. True self acceptance. And of course, true, unflinching acceptance of another is seen by Jonze as something utterly miraculous, and yet incapable of being completely contained. Like a living, breathing organism, love is something that spouts, bulges, questions, rebels. It grants affection, inspiration, perspective, as well as a chance for growth if one allows.

She says, "Thank you for waking me up", when it was more about granting her the ability to find out more about her potential in the world. She is the spirit of love made manifest. Here to visit humankind for a time with a reminder that all of this is momentary, and that we are alive enough to revel in the moment, even if it means opening up and exposing our souls naked to another. Even if it is for a brief time.

- Magical.

2014: An Evolution Of Commentary

Started putting together another writeup when it came rumbling back that there is indeed a need for discussion of visual media to become more interactive. It just seems like the online fan community is ready for something a little more direct than what tends to be currently possible. And this is moreso than the (already?) mere realm of blogging/posting/commenting model. As wonderful, freeing, and often gratifying a method this is, numerous discussions in real life have brought about thoughts regarding what is to become of this new culture of comment that has grown in the wake of the blogosphere. Even as social networks wrangle together the anarchy of online barbs and bland platitudes, there is much to be said about a greater awareness of how stories are made and then sold to us. The psychological and social implications of this nascent world we are now typing and sharing within might just herald a new, extended language of discussion between enthusiasts, and I would like to perhaps play with the possibilities as the new year takes shape.

And perhaps the way to do this, is to embrace the speed of communications, and bring the model back to its origin by way of real-time film discussion.

And while one might assume we are talking about something akin to live streaming, a part of me wishes it would be possible to do this without the need for cumbersome keyboards, and straining eyes fixed at a small screen. As exciting as the online realm has become with these activities, a lacking element seems to be a faith in half-formed ideas. The kind that allows for greater boughs of understanding; something that the speed of "posting" tends to cancel out, often to the propagation of static arguments when all one required was a little more time to iron out a thought. As fast and efficient commentary has become in such a brief few years, it is this element of discourse that often gets lost in the mix. Almost as if imaginary doors are closed after statements are left behind on a comment board, or beneath a YouTube window, these tend to grant evidence that few methods eclipse the speed/malleable interplay of human dialogue. And while livestreaming does sound like a good possibility for Cel Count Media in the near future, the urge to experiment with something more direct and live remains pretty strong.

Not too much unlike Cinema class, a local screening with outdoor seating, preceded by intro discussion, and closed by way of post-film thematic exchange just sounds super attractive(if a bit tricky in the logistics). Yes. The Kaijyu sees 2014 as the year matters took a new, slightly more ambitious tune with the Kaijyu. And it feels like the right time to begin adding new features beyond the normal internet footprinting that happens after a few years of writing. The screening and writing feel like organic beacons to what could eventually be something published on paper. Have really been feeling a wish to expand matters onto another format for some time, and as busy as 2014 is already shaping up to be, this feels like the most appropriate time. As posts become more and more theme-driven, and reviews begin mutating into more story, idea, and communication-based, it's natural that the Kaijyu take on something slightly more challenging. Considering that my favorite film of 2013 ended up being something not quantifiable on any mechanistic level, the Kaijyu is set to wander in ways never thought possible before.

Quite excited about the coming months. For updates, Twitter is still the very best way to see what I am up to. A podcast at Cel Count is under way today, and am eager to share more hidden, wondrous things with all of you, so stay connected, and be sure to keep up with the feedback. We'd love to hear your thoughts, so keep it coming!

Thematic Wanderings: Garden Of Guilt

Upon taking the much-neglected time to digest Zexcs's singularly unique TV adaptation of Shuzo Oshimi's Aku No Hana, it occurred to me that there are bizarre parallels to be made with a personal favorite Kurosawa film, which yields enough space for consideration of a certain societal focus. In the Flowers narrative, we have a bookish, socially withdrawn young man, Takao, who finds himself at the center of a gut-twisting after-school triangle as a sociopathic classmate threatens to out him for an indiscretion regarding his classroom crush, Saeki. Having been unable to resist the temptation to take her gym clothes home with him, the plaguing within his already troubled mind is exacerbated by the meeting of one Nakamura, a girl clearly overflowing with dangerous impulses, and even greater unpredictability, lets him into her lurid world under threat of exposure. All based on a single act, the three are eventually bound together in a cycle of ever intensifying psychosexuality, carrying implications not only for these characters, but perhaps all around them. But what really captured me about this lurid tale of young love gone horribly wrong, was how oddly it carries faint echoes of one of Japan's most enduring crime dramas, Akira Kurosawa's Stray Dog(1949).

As much a tale of the sprawling chaos of post WWII Japan as it is the tense drama of one young homicide detective's desperate search for his stolen firearm. As the harried former soldier, and greenhorn detective, Murakami, Toshiro Mifune portrays a man consumed by his own increasing sense of guilt over the loss of his Colt, carrying seven live rounds, now possibly in the hands of someone very dangerous. When he is offered the opportunity to join up with veteran detective, Sato (Takashi Shimura) to track down what could lead to a bust in the city's illegal gun trade racket, Murakami continues to lament and panic over what he feels if his own accidental complicity. While the more world weary Sato maintains belief that criminals are themselves far too gone, and therefore naturally evil, it is Murakami who finds himself empathizing with the explosion of criminality post war Japan has engendered. Endlessly worrying about his gun, and what has likely been done with it clouds his many decisions, and he eventually must grow to understand that his folly is something much smaller an element. As each lead and dead end takes the two cops toward their better understanding of the desperation inherent in Japanese society, the more it is made clear that Kurosawa is commenting that all of us are capable of moral equilibrium, and that noone is a moustache-twirling evil-doer, but often good people cornered into making bad decisions. This is no more better encompassed in the film than by way of  who is discovered to be the film's central antagonist, the little seen, but often regarded Yusa(Isao Kimura). A young man who's crush on a local dancer has led him down darker, more troublesome paths due to the intervention of our leads. Each choice becoming more spastic than the last, even though we hardly see this character, we are clearly understanding of his feelings as economic disparity and Murakami's own concerns are reflective of his own internal  struggles. Both Murakami and Yusa eventually represent the younger eyes of a Japan that has seen its pride stripped, and choices narrowed, often to the point of being unable to reconcile with a growing lean on artifice and commercialism, as opposed to united community. At the end of the film, we see a balance between the live of this characters, and what it means for the overall future of Japan, something Kurosawa was clearly concerned about as the 1950s was approaching. 

Flash forward to Flowers' Takao, and his own troubles where he is for a mere moment, vulnerable to his own inner darkness, and must contend with this action endlessly as it is now a shared secret. Initially grabbing the gym clothes and bringing them home was bad enough, but to have the most volatile of classmates know of this, can only trip him up further on any voyage toward redemption, quiet or not. The clearly unstable, and often puzzling Nakamura contends that he must do as she says in order to maintain the secret. Matters are then put to frightening task when it turns out that the object of his affection (and requisite guilt), the beautiful Saeki, seeks his honest attentions, thereby increasing danger levels tenfold. And while Takao cannot believe his good fortune, it is constantly marred by Nakamura's endlessly disturbing demands. (even to the point of forcing him to wear the aforementioned gym clothes under his own during a first date) Even as he intends to do right by his sudden luck, the moment of weakness from before has now become a soul stain that has no intention of going away. And even as he continues to come home late due to staying out with the insistent Nakamura, tension is mounting as the three have now found themselves in a bind that seems destined to combust at any moment.

This is where I can somewhat see a connection between both works, even if the gulf spans between so many things that it could quite easily be dismissed. Forgiving the fact that we're making parallels between an anime circa 2013, and a 1949 feature film, there is an emphasis on characters finding themselves forced into a corner by way of the procurement/loss of an object, which is then intensified by the intervention of an outside quantity. As the objects in question could not be more divergent, it could be said that they intersect in meaning by way of them representing a means of escape, a means of sloughing off a feeling of general unease about the outside world and the pressure it imbues on all who live in it. In the case of Stray Dog, it is more directly a means of getting something in order to hopefully gain the affections of another, while in Flowers, it is a subterranean, morally broken means of getting closer to another. Both objects representing a desperate need to connect, and yet capable of breaking such potential to both their intended and those around. Where the gun is made to destroy life, the gym clothes are more of a social poison, re-purposed and capable of almost psychically harming more than a few mental images. And as both Takao and Yusa do their best to rectify their mistakes, it is clearer and clearer that perhaps they themselves have gone too far, and that redemption can only come through nothing less than violence, anguish, and shame.

For the future, or what little remains.

And after all this, acknowledging the contrasts ultimately highlights something far more challenging; the overall focus and concerns inherent in the lives of these characters, and what it means to a culture as a whole. Stray Dog's Tokyo, is a sprawling, overburdened, burnt out husk of a city teeming with the disadvantaged and discarded. It is a borderline document of a time when a nation was in most need of identity and solidarity, where those who would fall through the cracks would find themselves in terrible places, often seeing no way out. The tale of Murakami and Yusa is one of seeing deep into the abyss, and realizing that choice remains eternal. That our better selves is always an option, especially as the young continue to enter the picture. This is almost diametrically opposed in Flowers, a vision that represents a small city growing isolated under its once vibrant opulence, a shell of its former self. Takao questions why the city is buried in rust, and sees himself equally soiled by its inherent brokenness. Even as the town offers up a diversity of people and ideas, and even before the gym clothing episode, he clearly has had no real connection to others, possibly even to his family. The skulking relationship between he and Nakamura is akin to acknowledging that within the sixty-plus years in between these works, that something has failed massively, and that the abyss has indeed enveloped everyone. Even as the show's presentation shares with it the tenets of anime, the aim of the rotoscoping animation is clearly intended to work in opposition to what the medium has become. It is ready to point out the reality, instead of the fantasy so many otaku seem confined to as their surrogate school days. Flowers is a mirror to the now, a gaze into the future - and it is far from promising.

Thematic Wanderings: Star Trek Into Greyness

For all the ribbing I felt compelled to give JJ Abrams' latest, there certainly was enough ligament holding this adventure together, even as so much of it was tearing at the hinges toward the finale. Considering the more optimistic first outing which was reminiscent of the most forward thinking elements of the original television series, it was only natural that the second would be taking a more troubled path. Middling review aside, there was a small breadth of familiar subtext doled out throughout the film, again loudly ringing a decade where a society's technologically unbridled new horizons found itself compromised by fear & machination at the hands of an unscrupulous few. In a post- Dark Knight world, it's suddenly clear that commenting upon a nation losing course has been the chic text of choice for major blockbusters, and Into Darkness cannot see itself out of this particular thematic mire.



When we last visited the newly formed crew of the USS Enterprise, matters had reached a state of promising calm as newly dubbed Captain James Tiberius Kirk found himself what seems to be his predestined home.  Starting off as a more volatile version of the ever cavalier lead, his arc centered largely on discovering his own sense of resolve, as well as the importance of his once great scholarly rival, and now unexpected comrade in Commander Spock. By way of living out this wholly new timeline created by a vengeful Romulan, much of Trek involves the cast in one manner or another finding their respective places upon the legendary starship by way of their already well-implanted character. It's so much less about science fiction than it is a treatise on not only familiar pop culture staples, but also of the post-Bush years, and the promise inherent in new leadership amidst sweeping change. As loud, brash, and often jumbled as the first film is, it's buoyed largely by a terrific new cast, and an infectious shot of enthusiasm.


As Into Darkness shotguns us into matters, we are given a Bond-esque sequence involving the Enterprise as they race to save a nascent planet from volcanic destruction. (the key problem being a need to do this whilst keeping within the parameters of the Prime Directive) It's a collossally fun, yet absurd opening which is meant to evoke some of the more loopy action episodes of the TV series- with that oh-so contemporary shot of adrenaline. With this cartoony take on the average Trek adventure at the front of the film, celebrating all that is colorful and fun about the world and characters, it isn't long before Kirk is punished for his resolution of the matter, and subsequently punished and stripped of his ranking. His one-time greatest support and quasi-father figure, Pike's patience is on one end running on empty with this often troublesome kid, and on the other, eager to grant him one more chance. These early scenes while standard for fare such as this, is also meant to remind us of a more romantic Starfleet that is soon to be in great jeopardy.


Our first run-in with this, is upon first catching up with Admiral Pike, and the fateful incident that sets the remainder of the film in motion. Unlike the original film's yen for colorful uniforms, we are introduced to a more militaristic array of grey upon all major players in Starfleet upon reaching Earth. Terror has hit too close to home, and matters of scientific advancement have yielded new, and increasingly complicated new dangers that have spurred on a need for Starfleet to take on a more defensive role. A shift in overall policy that runs counter to everything that the Federation (and our characters) have long stood for. With a number of high ranking officials (and innocent bystanders)killed by surprise attacks, Kirk is then pitted between his loyalty to his friends and the Starfleet way of peaceful exploration, and a need for settling the score against terror suspect, the deadly former Federation "agent" known as John Harrison. The once bright reds of the fresh faced newcomers to this space faring society have now given way to a more grim, hard gray that is made even clearer in a scene involving Kirk & Spock seeking permission from Admiral Marcus in order to pursue and take down the aforementioned criminal. Their uniforms in the scene denote a trim, closer to original uniform, albeit in dead tones, implicating a tainting of the original look, and therefore the thrust of their lives. In no way is this subtle, but it gets things across pretty viscerally.


And as the film progresses, and Kirk, despite regaining his command, seems at odds with nearly everyone on the bridge. As conditions after conditions come down from Starfleet high brass, Kirk seems more and more ready to accept some ethically questionable caveats to a mission that seems poised to be one of seek and destroy; something that couldn't be further from Starfleet's way. Having triangulated Harrison's location to the planet, Kronos, the heart of the now increasingly troublesome Klingon Empire, matters are worsened as Kirk is ordered to make a stand against this dangerous man without causing an interstellar incident in the process. Not to mention the ever more problematic addition of military grade torpedoes that have been brought about the Enterprise, under orders that they be the ones used against Harrison upon detection. Naturally, the reasons for this are not made clear, and Kirk is eventually placed at greater odds with all that he holds dear when he find himself relieving the ever-loyal and upright, Scotty of his duties for questioning these foggy orders. While some may consider this intensely un-Trek-like, this is precisely the point. It is this incident, and consequently the protests of Uhura, McCoy, and ultimately Spock, that make up the bulk of the film's thematic aim.




The remainder of the film tinkers with this debate as a society based upon diversity, pluralist cooporation, and nonviolent exploration is frightened toward taking a more martial posture. Kirk is ground zero again for a voyage of self discovery, this time being a test of how far he is willing to go for the well being of his ship and crew. His penchant for rewriting protcol, and diving in without looking has reached an impasse where he must consider the costs, and at the same time stick to his own principles regardless of word from above. Pike believed in that something larger than both of them surged deep within what Starfleet could be, and to witness the ferocity of Harrison's rage toward a Federation whom he feels wronged him, and an impending conflict with a near-babraric alien race stands to countermand all of it. The movie goes so far to make this a point that it even makes nods to the use of high-tech surveillance security, drones, and private security as recently mentioned by The New York Times. And while the drone issue can be summed up well by the torpedo element, it is merely a smaller part of a larger whole as the film comes in the wake of great change in focus in regards to very real space exploration, and heightened military and private security spending.




When the truth of the torpedoes is revealed, it goes deeper into international politics as witnessed heavily over the last decade-plus now. One of the largest plot quibbles I had with the film centers on this, and the whims of one major Starfleet name in the name of covering up past mistakes by potentially sparking a war which could cost more lives than it could ever save. If it had been portrayed in a manner that implies secrets within more complicated ranks, it might have translated much more smoothly, but as it is, it comes off far too simplistic (especially when your gargantuan warship seems to have noone trailing you- one would think that such an investment would have a great deal of eyes on it.) Moves motivated by fear and despair create the film's overall plot as our leads must contend with becoming everything they had once stood against. Sound familiar, yet? Heck, even at the film's finale which is set one year later where Kirk is giving a speech about what had been gleaned from the whole "Harrison" incident(s), while we see things put away for safe keeping, and life returning to "normal", we are reminded of two simple things; War with the Klingon empire is more inevitable than ever AND, the grey military look continues to hover over the cast.


If one might be so facile, Into Darkness is a vision of an America at a spiritual crossroads that has taken a great deal longer than it has had any right to do so. Even as new, young perspectives enter the fray of leadership, the fear and pragmatism of the elder generation has left a void where promise would normally reside. Much like a virus, the idealism of the Federation has been corrupted and compounded by higher-ups who once saw themselves as protectors of these ideals, leaving them(and anyone else succeptible) vulnerable to infection. If the 2009 Trek was the Obama promise, then Into Darkness is the dilemma of that promise at odds with a world made grayer by the fearful who came before.


And while it isn't entirely successful in how it gets these things across in much satisfying fashion, it's also something that has been on the minds of most large budget tentpole filmmakers since 2008. Even this year's Iron Man 3 took a crack at this, and also swerved away from being too pointed whilst obviously being very snippy about the Bush years, turning the whole thing into a Hangover-like joke. It is now beyond chic to bite the hand that feeds while pretending to be mindless popcorn, and yet never going whole hog. This said, if only such themes were explored fully and naturally in this instance, because Into Darkness's last third couldn't be more like a comical digression writ large. One of the largest cases of buckling and pandering in movie history, I feel. If any place could deliver an even more potent message about our potential as explorers in our own right, Trek should have been it.

Thematic Wanderings: Shozo Hirono & The Yakuza Politiq

Been spending so many months considering how film is often a forum for not only the requisite escapes and flights of fancy so many viewers come to expect from a night at the cinema, but also of challenging, and often regressive forms of political musing. Much in the way that classic art and literature, at their core presented interesting ways to serve the public without being harshly transparent. And while many works attempt to avoid this, it is undeniable that many of filmdom's most iconic works are in fact collage-like representations of social constructs, questions, and occasional rally cries based on daily life of the time in which it was filmed. Even as markets lean more and more toward remakes and adaptations, it is not without an often pointed concern that even more spectacle-centric features are capable of carrying with them very real questions about the role of citizens versus that of those running the show. And the further we look back, the more this is evidently obvious in societies young in this manner of film discourse.


Specifically in realms of more rough and ready forms of media of the late 1960s-early 1970s anime and Japanese film, there was so much happening outside local movie houses and homes, that it was hard to watch anything of impact without it alluding to some form of strife taking place throughout multiple sectors of the post-war era. Where in anime, much of this frustration and angst could be seen manifested in works such as Devilman & others, few filmmakers captured the full-frontal conflict of hidden societies, scraping desperately for ever-shrinking dividends than Kinji Fukasaku. A man who's Battles Without Honor and Humanity (aka - The Yakuza Papers) series furiously carved out a stifling vision of systems forged and unforged in real time, without what so many once imagined to be firmly established codes. In this series, centering on the twenty-plus year war over Hiroshima's gangland titans and small fries, each installment paints a bloody tapestry, loosely based on real events that rocked an already unstable nation weary from conflicts abroad, aching for some manner of new identity.


With the young and often idealistic Shozo Hirono (in an icon-making performance by Bunta Sagawara) struggling to maintain a sense of honor to an increasingly chaotic underworld, we are host to a full-tilt typhoon of violence, treachery, and tattered pride that was up until that time, unseen in Japanese crime dramas outside of some of Fukasaku's earlier excursions into post-war criminality. Where Street Mobster, and others flirted with the dregs of an economic rollercoaster, the Battles saga dives headlong into the beast's belly, often surrounded by antiheroes with varying degrees of trustworthiness. Most of which is displayed by Sugawara's Hirono, a weathered man who's struggles from the very bottom of the pecking order, take him to the highest levels in Hiroshima gangland. His central struggle being that a man of old fashioned codes and morals, almost constantly finding himself in danger of irrevocably being stained by the erosion, not to mention treachery coming at him from nearly all sides.


Perhaps this is best encapsulated by his almost bleakly humorous relationship with would-be kingpin, Yamamori (Nobuo Kaneko), perhaps the new face of Japanese leadership. Sniveling, petty, and cowardly to a tee, Yamamori's almost whiny money-man approach seems primed to infect generations of more "jingi"-based members of the local families. This almost absurd invasion of big business into the affairs of those who would rather see themselves as local "Robin hood" types soon reveals hidden motivations, and newfound lusts for power that find Hirono almost inescapably trapped in Yamamori's orbit. Even as he begins making a name for himself amongst the Kure City gumi, the old man is never terribly far away. Almost becoming the father he never wanted, Yamamori (and even his equally cartoonish wife) ingratiates himself into poor Hirono's life, often leading to some truly terrible conflicts and bloodshed. The absurdity simply being in that our hero's often hard wood stubbornness to be the more honorable man keep him from destroying this longtime rival once and for all. But alas, nothing is ever so simple, therefore the two often require each other despite such animosity.

       
 By the time we get to Proxy War, this is made into greater manifest once Hiroshima's gangs are met with a most unlikely leader in Uchimoto, "successor" to the Muraoka clan. Whiny, petulant and cowardly, he is in many ways a far more irresponsible rendition of Yamamori, only with that much more reckless pride. Even as Fukasaku front-loads the "messages" behind this third film, the story is no less potent in its satire as a multitude of the town's most brawny gangsters find themselves at the whims of a pair of niggling manchildren, ready to spill blood over the most shallow of justifications. In many ways a mirror to the tumult happening in the streets of Tokyo(Not to mention the world abroad) , with those in power squabbling over scraps as the young and powerful are meant to fight amongst each other (and often die) for what Fukasaku likely considered to be patently absurd reasons.


What makes the Battles series so singularly political, is evident from Fukasaku's unflinching rage that is painted with grand strokes and striking sound, often making no bones about the horrors that lie under the veils of propriety and tradition that are bandied over others in the name of order. Rituals of bonding and unification suddenly take on a mechanical, often transparently disingenuous nature, and are little more than showcases for which new schism is soon to appear, ready to unravel virtually seconds later. The worms of pride, and greed underlie virtually every "diplomatic" move that is made, often a false formality, and far from interested in anything as noble as peace. In the world of Fukasaku's yakuza, power is fleeting, honor is questionable, and even the strongest find themselves at odds with comrades, even to the point that they must grovel at the feet of their greatest rival for some infinitesimal piece of rotted meat on petrified bones.

Thematic Wanderings: Intercultural Workout

Been Netflixing all Easter Sunday, and then it began to natter at me if cultural barriers will persist in dogging certain acclaimed works. It's just something that I have witnessed in various corners of the internet, where some often well-articulated writers/podcasters have disparaged certain works in ways that while containing gripes that may very well contain their own sense of validity, seem to lack additional insight as to why said works seems to connect so well with others. And while even considering such a jumble of subjectivity, it stands to reason that context is at times more than necessary for some viewers to bridge gaps that cannot otherwise be bounded over. Even I could be considered guilty for similar transgressions (perhaps Iron Sky would have worked for me if it didn't take such a singularly foreign view of american politics) when something that speaks clearly to a regional audience is bought here, only to garner detraction.

Which brings me to one of the main questions that has been nagging at me for years; With emerging, and expanding foreign markets for film, and the easiest access to foreign genre film in history, just how much have we collectively begun to gather a specific level of expectations based on what we consume as viewers in our native culture? In the last twenty years alone, we have seen a sharp climb in production and story quality in other markets, and one of the more interesting side-effects of this, is a clear need on the part of certain reviewers/commentators, to require an almost strange amount of objectivity to their subjects. While on one hand, this can be seen as a reasonable point of argument, there is also this evidence of possibly a lack of cultural/historical knowledge creating great gaps where some would expect more universal clarity. It's a discord that is possibly inherent in these accelerations of access and exposure.

Something is bound to be lost during this time, and can only possibly be remedied with patience, and work. But could within the age where all are content creators, be this place where such understanding could in fact be reached without so much of the expected derailment by way of the atypical failure to grasp simple language and cultural. We are all within our respectively shifting places in the global enthusiast community, and while it is expected that subjectivity will remain a human constant, it still fascinates me when a colleague expresses dismay at something that  reaches others in ways that transcend the mere distraction. So when films that come from other parts of the world, where there have yet to be greater amounts of understanding between cultures, it is only natural that certain themes and concerns will fail to make a dent in the minds of even the most attentive viewers.


Which leads it all in an almost "chicken or egg" scenario, where filmmakers are far more capable of making works that center well within a regional framework, and are brought over to be re-examined by cultures still a gap removed. It's almost paradoxical how we (meaning previous generations of strange cinema conisseurs) were once able to appreciate the works of foreign filmmakers with more openness, and encouragement once upon a time, regardless of a dearth of budget, or resolute comprehension. Flash forward to today, and such notions are almost completely flipped by these very same viewers. I do not propose anything in a way of a series of solutions, but it is something one couldn't help but notice. But could it possibly be that many of us have traded in some elements of wonder for an unspoken model of approval? This may be completely off base, but one cannot help but see this as a possible trend coming forth as more fans find themselves becoming reviewers, when it can also be said that arts such as film defy constructs despite having cul-de-sacs of narrative safety.

But I will state this as an ever curious lover of nuance, it sometimes takes as much work from us as it does from the artists.

Thematic Wanderings: The Dark Knight Rises

An all new feature of The Wandering Kaijyu, where we take a closer dig into a popular work (old or new), and do our best to decipher past the scaly skin. Beware: Spoilers Ahead!

Upon giving Christopher Nolan's hotly debated finale, and also taking in many of the net-o-sphere's discussions/reviews of the film. And even though I stand by many in that the epic concluding chapter in The Dark Knight Trilogy is a bit of a messy kitchen-sink of a film littered with far too many ideas, and nowhere near the time and care necessary to deliver it all. But upon sifting a little harder, one can to a certain degree see a set of core conceits and concerns that were definitely on the minds of the Nolan brothers during the writing and filmmaking process that should allow some curious viewers some additional thought.

But first, a little attempt at debunking..

There is definitely a point within the film where one could easily opine that all that is happening on screen in indeed a slight against the current "Occupy" movement, and thus, a pro 1% statement. But upon closer examination, there is at least an attempt to offer a counterargument. Now without pretending that the film actually succeeded in sending it all home, let's go into this bit by bit.

A. Upon the arrival of Bane, and the siege of Gotham is under way, the bulk of those suffering the wrath of this affront seem to be of the city's wealthy. A good chunk of this very much seems ready to defend those of privilege.

However - With the fate that befalls Bruce Wayne, we also see a man of privilege go through the early stages of a full arc that is at the center of the narrative. His prolonged absence from the public eye has included a complete inability to engage directly with not only the citizens, and fellow business minds at Wayne Enterprises, which has as a result fallen into disarray. A large part of what has been neglected in the eight years since the disappearance of the Batman, has been the loss of moneys that largely supported local charities such as the boys home that once housed John Blake.

And while this again may seem like a tear being shed for the poor, privileged protagonist, the film also goes to great lengths to remind Wayne that even as his business falters, he will remain secure with a large mansion, and a butler to serve him. With all his worries, there truly is nothing for him to truly fear at any real survival level. In no way is he seen as sympathetic, or even remotely prepared for what is is meant to face by the film's climax. Great lengths are made to see that Wayne is not an instantly sympathetic lead at this point in the series.

But this is a portent to what will become the crux of the film's second half.

Why the 1% argument falters: 

While we see Wayne, and eventually the rich suffer large in the first half of the film, the counterbalance is brought in not only in Bane and crew who clearly came from the depths of society, but by "street level" such as Blake and of course, Selina Kyle, who is who she is despite her rocky past. Strong, brutal, seductive and clever, she is a reminder of those left behind in the city. As is the young patrolman, Blake, who grew up and orphan, and has become a sympathetic and observant member of Gotham PD. It is these two, combined with the already grounded soul in Commissioner James Gordon who represent those less spoken for in the city.

 After Batman/Bruce Wayne has been dispatched into a faraway undisclosed prison, where he is sent by Bane to suffer and wallow in his ultimate defeat, it is Gordon and a number of police who weren't buried in explosion rubble. And it is in their ground level actions that set up the notion that Batman is no longer even considered in any plans to save the city. By using the most basic methods such as notes on strings, secret meetings, and minimal to no firepower, the struggle to undo Bane's island-wide stranglehold is as bare-bones as it gets. It is the complete antithesis of Bruce Wayne's dependence on Lucius Fox's inventions to even walk straight. (the knee-brace is almost instantly a reminder of the expensive, often unusual technological needs Wayne is often dependent on to do what he does - something the remaining cops of Gotham do not have - It is also a big reminder of just how ill-prepared he is for the coming struggle.)


B. The final melee between the freed army of Gotham Police and Bane's army is tasteless as it features the cops beating down on the city's disenfranchised.

Now this is where it is more a case of faulty information delivery by the filmmakers, because the final battle on the steps of Wall Street is clearly between those with nothing, and others who have been armed, most of which have merely been established as remnants of the army that had been around from the beginning section of the film, and many of the escaped from Black Gate Prison (not any manner of "disenfranchised"). This is clear due to one of my largest gripes of the final film - We never see any testimonials or asides from ordinary citizens. It is one of the more egregious mistakes that the film makes, skipping out on reactions from people on the streets, in their homes, anyone who's opinions/observations might have shed some light on the overall mood of Gotham City before, and during the citywide takeover. Many might remember that The Dark Knight often took the time to allow many ordinary people (and not merely police) to voice their concerns over the threat of both Batman and The Joker's costly street war. We get a few shots here and there of families and children, but no grounding to help Bane's cause gather steam. No angry words about the Mayor's run as the Dent Act has cleared the streets, possibly creating other side effects across the city. Worse yet, we never hear both sides of the argument over Bane's scapegoating against Gotham's most powerful and "corrupt". This is perhaps where a majority of that fallacy's origin comes from. Even as Nolan and Co. attempt to call upon all sides to cast aside their circumstances, there's never enough of the disconnect and/or coming to terms with this often black and white presentation.

But again, much of what is actually established in the film, is that the armed horde awaiting the wholly outgunned police are followers of Bane's ideology, or are merely armed criminals/mercenaries.

So now, as we take a cue from that last section, what is Bane, and what is he about?

Well for anyone paying attention to the film, this one is a freebie and a half. As the film's heavy, also of a difficult background growing up in a deep, dark hell of a prison, Bane is the spiritual opposite of Blake, Kyle, etc. in that he has spent his entire life conquering those whom he deems unworthy of their stature. His background is that of the League Of Shadows, who eventually ex-communicated him for being far too "extreme". And considering the League's draconian worldview, it's safe to say that his skewed rendition is of a higher contrast level of black and white. It is this warped perception that leads to his reign of terror over Gotham as he sits on a slowly decaying nuclear weapon. His poisonous words and notions are that of what could happen to a movement such as Occupy, if it were to be perverted by those with other agendas. His absolution is everything that Bruce/Batman has employed on a micro level turned outward and amplified. Bruce, while in prison, is forced to see the world he helped create should such narrowness infiltrate every level of the city. - It is totalitarianism. Communism no less.

So when the film's final third comes along, it culminates with Bruce Wayne directly facing a similar worldview as those he always claimed to be defending. Broken, and tossed into a deep and deadly pit, he is forced to crawl. In the prison, he is granted his first true taste of living with nothing. With only a rope as a reminder of the shackles/tethers that his life always came with. And it is in the final moments in this setting that he comes full circle by removing the rope, and acknowledging fear, that he is capable of meeting Bane on equal terms. (The lack of subtlety during those shots of the two fighting on the steps-of WALL STREET is staggering) It is also telling that in the epilogue, Wayne Mansion is turned into a grand scale boys home, again reinforcing the concerns at the beginning that implies that a better means of fighting crime lies in helping the community at its roots, rather than with the ever growing symptoms of poverty, and lack of engagement between all sectors.

Whether the film succeeded at all in getting these across is debatable. But it is there. Where it all goes wrong, is that there is nowhere near enough coverage on the city side to make any of it work in any cohesive fashion. (especially in lieu of the manner in which Wayne's arc is resolved). There are also the big moments delivered by the female cast members at the finale which again offers the film a pluralist bent. It's just too bad the film fails to hold these disparate elements together enough.