Star Wars Hotel deep dive

Jenny Nicholson went on a Star Wars Hotel Cruise so we don't have to. 

She gives what I thought was an in-depth, detailed and fair review. Well. What I saw of it. I mean, it's four hours long. 

She throws out ideas they might have done that sound better than what they actually did. 

I wanted to be a Disney Imagineer when I grew up; so much of what they have done is genius. 

But not this. 

It sounds awful. 

They Live: Obey!

The movie is a bit of a hash, and Carpenter didn't have much of a budget to play with. The underlying ideas and themes, however, are powerful stuff. I feel like they could have really expanded upon them. Sure, it may seem cheesy and didactic now, but when I first saw it, I loved it.

Don't look at that totally gratuitous, five minute long alley fight!

Never mind the deflating ending!

The best part, for me, comes after Rowdy Roddy Piper (I have no idea what his character's name is) discovers a box of sunglasses. He has no idea what they do, but he knows they're important. Cops trashed a homeless camp searching for them. He buries the box in a trash can, and slips a pair of the cool shades on. 

Then he walks out into a street transformed.

What he beholds is not our usual world of slick advertising, with beautifully lit beautiful models surrounded by elegantly framed products. 

Instead, he sees a stark world in black and white, filled with messages like: 

Obey.

Marry and reproduce.

Stay asleep.

Consume.

Conform.

Watch TV.

Buy.

Roddy can't believe his eyes.

Then he sees a man buying a magazine, only this guy's face is stripped of the flesh, and has weird orb like eyes. It's a nightmare visage, skull like. And this horror reacts to Roddy's incredulous stare with indignation, and says, "What's your problem?" 

Good ol' Roddy can't believe his eyes.

Without the glasses though, rich douchebag looks like a normal human being: 

BAM! 

It's wonderful stuff, poking fun at not only our own larger social foibles, but the empathy challenged psychopaths who often dominate corporate board rooms and slip into police forces despite psychological checks. 

Those without empathy are the true reptilians in our society. 

Keep your bubble gum supplies at hand, for They live... among us!

Matrix Resurrections: The poison pill anti-sequel sequel

Neo with hand out. Is he trying to tell us something?

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

I had high hopes for Matrix Resurrections. It paired Lana Wachowski (and Aleksandr Hemon) with David Mitchell, the writer of Cloud Atlas. I saw the film adaptation of that in the theatre, and while it didn’t quite work for me (maybe I didn’t really get it), I was blown away by how wildly ambitious it was. The Wachowski’s take big chances, which I really admire. 

 

Lana Wachowski also said she made the film as a way of processing grief over the death of her parents. 

 

Whoa. 

 

That sounds like one heck of a solid emotional core for a film.

 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t what I was hoping for (not that this is relevant, but hey… subjectivity). 

 

Resurrections is two movies in one, giving you more bang for your cinematic buck: it’s a metatextual commentary on the film industry loosely tied into a continuation of the story concluded in Revolutions.

 

The metatextual commentary is fascinating (even as a primal scream of frustration) but the continuation of the story… not so much.

 

It begins with a redo of the first movie’s opening sequence: agents closing in on Trinity. This time, Agent Smith is a younger Morpheus (what?), and the entire sequence is being observed by an interloper named Bugs. She seems to be our new protagonist, and sports blue hair. She knows the whole story of the Matrix, so she’s perplexed seeing a rehash of earlier events.

Turns out, it’s a 'modal', a training subprogram that endlessly runs a single scenario. Kind of like how fictional characters in mass media are forever trapped in an endless sequel/reboot cycle.

 

Clever! 

 

We go on to find Neo, now mere Thomas Anderson, at a software company (Deus Machina), where he’s the star programmer who created the revered Matrix video games. Agent Smith is his manager/partner. 

The Matrix: the video game

 

Clearly Anderson is an avatar for Lana Wachowski. 

 

Several drones are introduced, including Jude (Judas?), a sycophantic, blinkered, obnoxious and base being who is… I forget. The Creative Director? 

 

Neither Smith nor Anderson are aware of their previous life; it’s all just part of a video game now. 

 

Smith informs Lana/Anderson that Warner Brothers isn’t interested in the new game (‘Binary’) that Anderson’s working on; instead, they want a sequel to The Matrix trilogy. And they’ll do it without them if they don’t go along. The seated Lana/Anderson is stressed and appalled and begins clawing at his/her knees.

 

This kicks off a series of scenes that dive down the rabbit hole of the film making sequel sausage machine, where marketers present research documents (the two key words audiences associate with The Matrix are original and fresh, so make an unnecessary sequel… original and fresh. What?), and the development team engages in ‘brainstorming’ sessions, in which people throwing around obnoxious statements without thought or consideration. It’s the corporate idea of creativity and it’s nausea inducing.

 

They’re the most powerful in the film because they’re actually saying something. I bet they’re Lana Wachowski’s opinion of real life meetings with Warner Brothers, and oh boy, she was NOT happy with Warner Brother’s threat to make sequels against her (and her sister’s) wishes. 

 

Sure, Warner’s owns the property, and from a legal perspective I’m sure they’ve got plenty of lawyers to justify making a sequel (along with profit projections), but from a creative viewpoint I totally understand the Wachowski’s not being happy about it. As an audience member, I’m not happy about it either.

 

I’m also part of the problem, because I go and see sequels in the vain hope they’ll recapture the magic of the originals. The Same But Different! Rarely do you see a sequel switch into another genre (Alien to Aliens). The latest Star Wars sequels seemed to be generated by putting the first trilogy in a blender and hitting puree. They become meaningless recycled gibberish.

 

As an artistic statement, The Matrix films concluded with Revolutions. But the story cannot end because, thanks to people like me, studios can make money milking dead cows.

Walk (fly) away from explosions

Matrix Resurrections isn’t the red pill, it isn’t the blue pill: it’s the poison pill. 

 

It deliberately undermines itself and the originals, attacks the sequel machine, avaricious film corporations, obnoxious fans who completely misinterpret meaning, and obnoxiously inserts frames from the earlier trilogy as nostalgia pellets… akin to what a rabbit would drop. 

It feels like the film is trolling the audience. It’s our fault movie characters are caught in these endless, torturous loops, each more awful than the last. 

 

The Matrix was storyboarded up the wazoo. The new film? It was shot on the fly, and it shows. It looks like the high budget version of home video.

 

The epic aspects of the Matrix are pointedly deflated. Morpheus-Smith appears to Lana/Neo in a lavatory, lamely quoting his earlier self and desperately grasping for gravitas that isn't there. It's like Luke tossing away his lightsaber. 

 

Is Wachowski annihilating aspects of the original she feels we incorrectly latched on to? The original series fetishized violence; is that why it’s deemphasized/poorly done here?

 

People excuse Keanu’s lackluster fight scenes by blaming his age, which is nonsensical, because he kicks ass in John Wick. Here, Neo just holds out his hands to stop bullets; it's his power move. Over and over and over and over again.

Neo does this. A LOT.

 

The fight scenes in Cobra Kai are more compelling, at a tiny fraction of the cost. 

The Resurrection characters make a point of saying they no longer need to escape through phone lines, but they don’t establish new rules. Which makes the chase scene at the end confusing: what are they trying to escape to. 

 

The metatextual aspect of the film has much greater passion. 

I’d rather see a documentary by Lana about the whole Matrix phenomenon and her journey through the film industry, than this. 

 

The sequel… I get the desire to bring Neo and Trinity back. Hey, they become 'a binary' (wasn’t that Anderson’s new game?)! I enjoyed the idea of long lost love, of cosmic connection inevitably bringing two people together. But the rest of it doesn’t hold water, and devolves into a meaningless chase scene, where I don’t understand the stakes, where they’re going or why. 

They don’t need a phone line… so where are they going again?

Is the 'swarm' idea a commentary on social media mobbing? Herd mindedness? Zombie movies? 

I don't know and don't really care.

 

The Analyst was a step down from The Architect. I detected real anger coming through his character, contempt for both his POV and the target of his frustrations (us). Nasty as he is (and he turns conspicuously misogynist in the last scene), he’s not wrong about people believing our emotions validate our actions, and us being immune to facts when feelings run hot. 

I am as guilty of this as the next person.

 

It’s difficult to escape subjectivity (and hey, that’s what this review is). 

 

I cannot recommend seeing Resurrections in a theatre. On the other hand, I would be very interested in watching it again on TV, with a director’s commentary track. 

 

(As I walked to my favourite café to write this review, a black cat crossed my path. I’ve walked this path for 10 years, and that’s never happened before. It made me laugh. A glitch in... you know.)

 

The leap of faith I couldn't make

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Post-apocalyptic cinema: Love & Monsters mini-review

Love & Monsters is a ton of fun. 

Probably the best, over-the-top post-apocalyptic adventure romp that I've yet seen. It mixes heart, comedy and ridiculous creatures. Road Warrior and Fury Road look positively down to earth by comparison. 

The actors all do a stand up job, the dialogue is solid, and there weren't any narrative missteps that took me out of the experience. 

It's not super deep. It won't change the world. But it's not intending to.

The monster designs are great, a fun mix of horrific and cute, and despite the light, breezy tone, there are genuine moments of cringe inducing suspense. 

And the giant leeches are gross.

The hero is a goof, but his evolution into hardened badass flows nicely and feels natural.

Two thumbs up, as they say. 

Westworld: Lies that tell a deeper truth

Westworld is filled with monsters.

The twist?

The monsters aren't the androids.

The show's about empathy, suffering, and waking up.

And while the series is intriguing, fascinating, compelling, it's also deeply flawed. Characters behave in senseless ways because the plot requires it. Arcs don't work, or don't feel natural. Some episodes are a drag.

Yet I couldn't stop watching, because the underlying themes are so powerful. This is a show with something to say. About people, about our proclivity for violence, sadism, murder, and the way we delight in the suffering of others. About how stubborn and insistent we can be to live, and remain, in a dream, to slumber away and ignore the reality of our lives, and how suffering can jar us into consciousness. Evan Rachel Wood's character, Dolores, is certainly put through hell, and she emotes with aplomb. You feel her pain, as Bill Clinton used to say.

The show goes places Michael Crichton's brilliant original film (still worth a watch) didn't dare, delving into explicit violence and rape.

Westworld is an amusement park populated by robots, with whom guests can live out their fantasies, whatever they may be. Nothing is off the table, no matter how depraved. It costs $50,000 per day, so only the richest and most driven people attend.

And who would like to have virtual people to rape, brutalize, maim, and kill for pleasure? What kind of people will the park attract?

Easy: sadists, psychopaths, sociopaths, and narcissists. It's a Cluster B Disorder Party Palace! Lobha, mosa, and dosa go ape shit, baby! Cue Ed Harris' Man-in-Black character.

The most twisted elements of humanity are thrilled to have disposable people to torment, and they don't have to worry about hiding their proclivities from the authorities.

The one group the show doesn't explicitly name, but are no doubt there? Pedophiles. I mean, come on. We've seen there are android kids. We know guests can do whatever they want. We know the guests are sadistic f*cks. Put two and two together: this is a place where every rich Jimmy Saville is going to go. Dark rumours of pedophile rings in Hollywood? Among the British aristocracy? American political elites? Rumblings and whispers in the dark at the edge of the glittering light of fame and Hollywood glamour. And the halls of power.

All of them would be right there, lined up to get in Westworld.

Pedophilia Park.

The whole concept is morally repugnant. When you see the torture, rape, and sadism being visited upon the androids, who are recycled when they die, the revulsion is palpable.

Or it would be to people with empathy. Problem is, the vast majority of guests haven't got any. They are intraspecies predators, monsters wrapped in human skin.

It gets into Buddhist concepts about the Wheel of Life, or Bhavacakra, how suffering can wake us up. How the challenges we face in this life are exactly what we need for spiritual growth, specifically tailored to our spiritual needs. These are controversial concepts that press buttons.

But shouldn't any good story do that?

The lessons the androids learn here aren't always good ones, but then, they were made in our image. The brutality they visit back upon the humans is so gleefully endorsed by the show it becomes a sad mirror image of our own depravity.

Hate begets hate.

It keeps the torment wheel going, 'this long and vivid nightmare'. On and on, round and round, murder and suffering. Early on in the program, Dolores seems to have such potential for empathy, spiritual growth, of reaching a higher plane, of becoming more than what her tormentors are.

Yet in the end, she falls to their level.

Dr. Robert Ford's climactic speech is wonderful. Hopkin's character is an avatar pouring forth metatextual commentary about our inclination to watch suffering for the sake of entertainment.

Have cake, eat too.

Are they trying to wake us up?

Are the gathered to-be-massacred executives stand-ins for network big wigs? The annoying, interfering Hollywood suits that are always meddling with the artistic purity that the show runners are so concerned with?

And the androids... do they represent actors, condemned to perform their roles, over and over, endlessly, all at the whim of the entitled guests who revel in watching depravity and hedonism?

Us, in other words.

It's an interesting angle, at any rate.

The Guardian didn't like Nolan's take at all, preferring the original (I kind of agree), and point out some admittedly serious flaws:

"Where his Westworld reveals the details of its universe slowly and methodically, its source text quickly introduces us to a naive protagonist and then has the other characters bluntly explain everything to him. But as a result, the former takes 10 hours to reach anything that could be described as a climax, while the latter takes 58 minutes to arrive at the words, “Sir, we have no control over the robots at all.

From there, we’re treated to a half-hour set piece more gripping than anything the first season of HBO’s Westworld could muster. An extended showdown between man and machine, the sequence may lack the higher meaning of its more sophisticated cousin, but it doesn’t skimp on the kind of simple pleasures the show just hasn’t got time for."



Here's Hopkin's final speech:

"Welcome. Since i was a child, I've always loved a good story.

I've believed that stories help us to ennoble ourselves to help fix what was broken in us, and help us become the people we have dreamed of being. Lies that told a deeper truth.

"I always thought I'd play some small part in that grand tradition ,and for my pains, I got this: a prison of our own sins.

Because you don't want to change. Or cannot change. Because you're only human, after all.

But then I realized someone was paying attention. Someone who could change.

So i began to compose a new story. For them. It begins with the birth of a new people. And the choices they will have to make. And the people they will decide to become."

(This is where the Maeve Millay, played by Thandie Newton, leaves the train to save her daughter. Her faux daughter. Because it doesn't matter that the relationship is not biologically true. It's emotionally true. And so she goes out of love and devotion and dedication, to the detriment of her own freedom. Because God Dammit she's gonna save her.

It's a marvelous moment. She puts another before herself and risks everything.

I loved that.

Her choice is freely made, and it defines who she is. We are our actions. Screw the world, you go, Maeve!)

"It will have all those things you have always enjoyed: Surprises! And violence!

It begins in a time of war, with a villain named Wyatt. And a killing. This time by choice.

I'm sad to say this will be my final story.

An old friend once told me something that gave me great comfort. Something he'd read.

He said Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin never died. They simply became music. And so I hope you enjoy this last piece very much."

Over 3.5 million people are estimated to have died over the centuries in Roman coliseums. They died to entertain, to pacify the blood lust of the masses.

Now we watch people being murdered and tortured on TV.

Progress!

"Lies that told a deeper truth."

Great stuff.

I've never seen a show that delved so deeply into suffering and, essentially, reincarnation in short-hand. It's Buddhism on fast forward. There is sadism, suffering, empathy, and (hopefully) awakening.

I was glad when the robot revolution finally came.

"And I for one welcome our new robot overlords..." 

Rotten Tomatoes rates it highly.

The Martian vs. Interstellar vs. Gravity vs. Prometheus

The Martian, based on Andy Weir's book, is about a paper thin character and his struggle to survive after being abandoned on Mars. He does so by eating potatoes grown in his own shit and using copious amounts of duct tape.

Basically, it's MacGyver in Spaaaaace.

I'm being facetious, of course.

Weir heavily researched his book, and everything in it is plausible. That Andy Weir researched all this in the first place is, and worked it into a novel, is impressive. That scientists figured out everything for Weir to research is even more amazing.

Human beings can do such miraculous feats, like going to other planetary bodies (we've already reached the moon). It just makes me think I must be part of a different species. The characters in the film are fictionalized versions of all the very smart people down at NASA.

The film spends a great deal of time on Matt Damon 'sciencing the shit out of' his predicament. Which, initially, is pretty cool. He grows the aforementioned potatoes, for example. He co-opts an older probe. He uses radiation for heat. And so on.

The only thing they don't spend much time on is the human element, and without interest in him as a person, interest in his situation wanes as the film drags on and piles on disaster on top of another.

He has no love interest, for example. No close friends. His parents are mentioned, once, but he seems in no hurry to speak to them. They are not invited to NASA to view his return, or to write to him, or, well, anything.

They cover his relationships with his coworkers a little, but it never goes more than puddle deep.

It could so easily have been different.

The human element here is mostly, if not entirely, afterthought.

Gravity takes something of the same approach. We start with the disaster, so there's little time to flesh out Sandra Bullock's character. But that's less of a problem here: she has George Clooney to play off of, and the film is really an IMAX roller coaster ride in space. No need for rumination. Because lookout, space debris! Gravity isn't a deep film, and doesn't pretend to be. That's not the genre.

The Martian, on the other hand, had potential to be far more affecting emotionally than it was.

Castaway got to me. The Martian never did.

Interstellar had dodgy science. Three habitable planets around a black hole? Where was the light coming from? One hour on the surface is a year aboard the ship? Say what? What would that mean for satellite TV reception?

My monkey-brained understanding is that, even with a 'perfect' star like ours, Venus is too close, and Mars too far away, to support life. We're in just the right spot. It can vary a bit, but not much. The idea of finding three planets with stable orbits around a black hole seems… unlikely. But hey, I'm no scientist.

It scarcely matters: if you put the science of Interstellar aside (and I only bring it up because I was told so often how accurate and real it was), the film is much more enjoyable. They establish an emotional connection, and background, between the protagonist and his daughter. Love is at the centre of the film. Powerful, primal emotion the viewer can connect with. It has a heart, however overwrought.  

The Martian's heart barely beats. It's more like an episode of Nova or something.

Gravity felt like a realistic portrayal of a disaster in space, as far as Hollywood goes. The rapport between Bullock and Clooney sold it for me emotionally. Especially Clooney's seeming sacrifice, and unexpected return. They managed to make me care enough that the action sequences, and Bullock's fate, mattered.

By contrast, the lack of emotional depth in The Martian made the film a long, slow slog. There's a great bit with the Council of Elrond, and some clever and funny lines, but it needed more than cleverness. There's no looking into the empty void. No real anguish at being abandoned. He doesn't plumb the depths, he's too practical, so when he rises at the end it doesn't carry much emotional heft.

You just don't give a shit.

Some critics are saying The Martian is Ridley Scott 'returning to form' after the disaster that was Prometheus. I saw that film: it was gorgeous, creepy, and well cast, but didn't make a lick of sense. But you know what? I'd sooner watch Prometheus again than The Martian. I was never bored watching the former, while the latter made me shift in my seat and look at my watch.

Yes, I still have a watch.

Prometheus has characters who are interesting basket cases. The engineers are cool and mysterious. The android is ambiguous in intent. There's a lot going on to look at and absorb. It's a mess, honestly, but it's an interesting mess.

The Martian, on the other hand, is a slighter offering, despite the science. Despite the realism, or perhaps because of it, the picture was boring.

That's a cardinal sin for a piece of entertainment.

It should be mentioned that the climax is pulse pounding and I got caught up in it, but getting there was far more painful than it had to be.

Ultimately, The Martian just raised my opinion of Interstellar, Prometheus, and Gravity (although I already had a high opinion of Gravity).

Is it time to let go of plausibility and embrace the universe altering power of love?

Just remember to bring duct tape.

Retro-review: Revisiting Flash - a-ah - Saviour of the universe!

Klytus, I'm bored. What play thing can you offer me today?

For pure, ridiculous fun, nothing beats Flash Gordon. It's sugar saturated sci-fi cheese. You couldn't, survive on a diet of such fare, but it makes for a great treat after a season of, say, The Wire (which is so grim it's like beating your hopes with a two by four for an hour), or a grueling day in the corporate trenches fighting rival fiefdoms. I mean departments. But enough of reality.

Every now and then you want leave all your concerns behind, slip the surly bonds of earth and flit about in the stratosphere of juvenile silliness.

If such is your desire, I humbly recommend the critically savaged 1980 Flash Gordon.

It's right up there with delights like Army of Darkness and Galaxy Quest.

Based on the comic strip by Alex Raymond (which was King Features Syndicate's answer to Buck Rogers), this movie doesn't just indulge in tropes, it revels in them. It's like someone sent the writer's internal sophistication censor packing and let his inner ten year old run riot: there are Hawkmen, an entire people of Robin Hood look-a-likes in tights (honestly, is there only one clothes manufacturer in Arborea?), floating cities, ray guns, sword fights, rocket cycles, hideous monsters, beautiful maidens and seductive femme fatales.

What's not to like?

According to the director, Mike Hodges (who also directed Michael Crichton's The Terminal Man), it's "the only improvised $27 million dollar movie ever made."

In one early scene, our eponymous hero actually identifies himself to the alien Emperor Ming as 'Quarterback, New York Jets' as this would have meaning to an alien overlord. Then he plays 'irresistible force' linebacker to Ming's flat footed Imperial Goon Squad lineup, and starts tossing about a metal egg like it's a football, all while Dale Arden cheers him on from the sidelines.

Flash shows aliens how it's done football style.
All astronauts in future should be NFL quarterbacks.

It's gob smacking, high octane kitsch and it's totally awesome.

That's the miracle of Flash Gordon.

You know immediately it wasn't made in the USA: European DNA suffuses the flick and there are few Americans in the cast. In particular, the over-the-top art direction (What isn't over-the-top about Flash Gordon?) is more reminiscent of Barbarella rather than Star Wars.

And then there's the sociopolitical subtext. It's most obvious in the hero and the villains, who embody stereotypes from the mid-Twentieth Century.

Ming's control panel of Dooooooom:
complete with hail, earthquake, and volcano options!
Does Walmart carry these?

Flash Gordon (Sam Jones), the all American football quarterback hero, simply put, is America: bright eyed, naive, idealistic, and brimming with hope and positivity. He's eager to stand up for what's right while being utterly oblivious to larger political ramifications. His exhortations to team up and fight Ming ("Ming is the enemy of every creature of Mongo! Let's all team up and fight him.") are so simple minded as to seem childish to the jaded barons of Mongo. These lords cannot even conceive of playing a positive sum game, so broken is their sense of altruism and justice.

Nor do they even know how to cry or feel empathy. So sad.

Outer Space Eurotrash Sophisticates. 'Pitiful earthlings, who can save you now?'

Flash's idealism stands in sharp contrast to these inhabitants of Mongo, who are all played by Europeans: Max von Sydow (Ming), Timothy Dalton (Barin), Brian Blessed (Vultan), Peter Wyngarde (General Klytus), Mariangela Melato (Kala), and Ornella Muti (Aura). They're sophisticated, cynical, duplicitous, Machiavellian, and engaged in endless, internecine struggle. They'd stab their own mother in the back. Dominated by their tyrannical Emperor Ming, they believe one can only win if others lose. Their hearts have been hardened by despotism and oppression, and they exist without hope or belief that things can be different.

It's a planet of narcissistic manipulators who lack all empathy. But they have sex appeal to make up for it.

Idealize, devalue, discard, baby.
The Mongons (?) lecture with sophisticated British or Italian accents, while Flash sounds like he just left a farm in Kansas. Ming is verbally dexterous, spinning webs with seductive words, while Flash uses them with the finesse of a Big Bud 747 tractor. Naive, honest, direct vs. seductive, beguiling, deceitful. Which would you prefer? Think of it as a self-revelation test.

Casting the urbane Max Von Sydow as Ming was a stroke of genius. The veteran actor contrasts beautifully with Sam Jones' Flash. Sydow's Ming is a brilliant, charistmatic megalomaniacal, narcissistic psychopath.

Flash identifies Ming's true nature within the first few minutes of encountering the dictator. It isn't hard: Ming is busy demanding a subject fall on his own sword to demonstrate his loyalty when our heroic trio of daring earthlings arrive. Flash rather unwisely identifies Ming, out loud, as a psycho (Speak truth to power!), which is overheard by a security robot. This inevitably leads to Flash being sentenced to death.

Rulers of the Universe don't like hearing the truth from alien country bumpkins.

Physcially, the pair are opposites: Flash has youthful good looks and great hair, while Ming is old and chrome dome bald. You know who the good guy is with a glance. Cinema short hand in action.

Flash himself goes through the film actually labelled, "Flash". In the font of the movie's logo. So Meta.

It's no surprise that the 25 year old Sam Jones, who did most of his own stunts, is outclassed by his European counterparts, most of whom were experienced stage actors. But it works: he's meant to be simple, all the better for sophisticates to look down upon. Flash is the American interloper, the earnest G.I., the bourgeois American, blundering about with a surfeit of good will and helpfulness while the shocked Mongo elites stand agog at his lack of manners and insight. Doesn't he know it's a dog eats dog world? That you cannot trust anyone? Cooperation and compromise is for rubes.

Wake up! Remember Munich!

Which brings us to Dr. Hans Zarkov (Topol). Zarkov represents The Jewish Other, for, despite his European accent, he's not from Mongo. It's no coincidence Flash is accompanied by a Jewish scientist: hundreds fled Europe to escape persecution by the Nazis. Ming's minion Klytus, head of Mongo's secret police, even praises Hitler.

Yet Zarkov doesn't fit in on earth, either, where his theories got him expelled from NASA, America's science Mecca. He's a one man diaspora, who doesn't fit in anywhere, not quite. But he does work well with Flash, the living embodiment of the American Superego. Jim Crow and the uglier aspects of America couldn't fit on Zarkov's rocket, and didn't make it over to (European) Mongo. Resourceful, intelligent, and moral, Zarkov's a slice of Einstein mixed with secret agent. He's the brains of the trio.

Dale Arden (Melody Anderson) is the perfect female compliment to Flash, all earnest and well meaning American pie. She's also proves resourceful and spunky, as a New York gal should.

The film could be said to work on another level still, with Flash representing American entertainment, Hollywood, penetrating into Europe's higher brow but fractured cultural milieu. Hollywood was overwhelming European studios and establishing huge sci-fi blockbuster beachheads with hits like Star Wars in 1977.

Now it was time for The Europeans Strike Back. Many attempts have been made to mimic Hollywood's sci-fi success, such as the batsh*t insane LifeForce, but Flash Gordon is the one that successfully fused European and American DNA.

The capital looks like a great big red wedding cake.

Thoroughly tongue in cheek, and all the better for it, Flash Gordon knows it is silly and preposterous, like the fevered dream of a ten year old boy, a spiritual ancestor of Axe Cop, yet also manages to also be relentlessly fun and enjoyable.

The screenwriter,  Lorenzo Semple, Jr., also wrote for the Sixties Batman TV show, and it shows. Batman and Flash share a similar, campy sensibility, although Flash is buoyed by a far bigger budget and has better action sequences with real tension. That so much money was thrown at such an eccentric script can be disconcerting for some audience members who are more fiscally responsible.

In fact, Semple himself didn't want to make it a comedy:

"Dino wanted to make Flash Gordon humorous. At the time, I thought that was a possible way to go, but, in hindsight, I realize it was a terrible mistake. We kept fiddling around with the script, trying to decide whether to be funny or realistic. That was a catastrophic thing to do, with so much money involved... I never thought the character of Flash in the script was particularly good. But there was no pressure to make it any better. Dino had a vision of a comic-strip character treated in a comic style. That was silly, because Flash Gordon was never intended to be funny. The entire film got way out of control." 

And Dino only read Semple's scripts after they were translated into Italian:

"He reads English better than many people realize, but translates all of his scripts into Italian. We were living in Nantucket at the time, and his translator was a woman whose name I forget. She could barely translate the scripts; if it said, 'The tall, beautiful woman walked into the room,' she'd say, 'Oh, what a beautiful cat.'"

It just gets more absurd: on set, not only could many people not communicate on essential matters due to language barriers, not everyone was even on the same page regarding the tone of the film, at least according to Melody Anderson (Dale Arden):

"The director said, 'I want you and Sam to try to go for a relationship, make this as human as possible. Don't camp it up or go for laughs.' That's why the movie's so funny, because we didn't try to make it campy. In fact, I'm surprised that (people) are laughing, because we weren't out to make a funny film. In fact, De Laurentiis was very upset when he showed the film and people started to laugh, because he thought they were laughing at it and not with it. In fact, he re-did the cheerleading scene. He wanted it to be serious...with macho man out there. Play it very straight, the more you play it straight, the funnier it is. I think that's why Flash and Dale work, because of the way we played it."  

"I'm supposed to serious here, right, guys?… I'll just play it straight."

Sometimes when you skirt the edge of The Abyss of Total and Utter Catastrophe you wind up escaping with something unexpectedly, accidentally wonderful.

Personally, I love the film's humour and unrestrained, campy joie de vivre style, and wouldn't have it any other way.

The sets and costumes look like they were designed by a madman, something Dali might dream up, and the film has aged better for it. The art director, Danilo Donati, outdid himself with his grandiose, operatic sets and sexy-silly costumes of gold trim and spandex and guaze. There's just nothing out there to really compare it to, other than, perhaps, Barbarella or Fellini's pictures. Sadly, those are virtually unwatchable today. Frighteningly, executive producer Dino De Laurentiis actually wanted Fellini to direct originally.

Brrr.

Bullet dodged, there.

Lava lamp skies of pink, white, and purple swirl over the jagged gold and red capital of Mongo City, while ginormous trees stretch up to infinite heights in Arborea. Everything is warped and exaggerated, like in a fun house mirror. Mongo City is machined oppression, the fantasy of a control freak, while Arborea is nature run amok. It's a spiritually empty but scientifically advanced urban state vs. rural tree hugging druids who dress like Robin Hood. There is even a court jester of sorts in Arborea, a wise counsel for the stiff, Prince Barin. Barin doesn't like what his spirit guide says, but knows he needs to hear it. Techno-Emperor Ming would have such an insolent figure executed before breakfast. The Hawkman's floating sky city is airy and dream like, detached from the concerns of the rest of the world, their isolationist 'I stick my neck out for no man' position delivering them inevitably into subservience to Ming.

For divided the kingdoms of Mongo are easily dominated by the Machiavellian despot. As Princess Aura observes, "Every moon of Mongo is a kingdom. My father keeps them fighting each other constantly. It's a really brilliant strategy."

Sound familiar?

It should.

Flash and Barin face off on a spinning disk with extendable steel spikes.
Because… everything is better on a wobbly, spinning disk
covered in sharp spikes over a bottomless abyss.
Try it with your next company meeting!

There are great action sequences, and yet the goofiness is never allowed to undermine them or rob the film of (admittedly lighthearted) dramatic tension. It's a cartoon struggle for an alien world, but still a struggle, and not quite so wink-wink that you're thrown out of the adventure aspect entirely.

Most of the characters get at least a few instantly classic lines:

Princess Aura: But my father has never kept a vow in his life!
Dale Arden: I can't help that, Aura. Keeping our word is one of the things that make us better than you.

Ming: It's what they call tears. It's a sign of their weakness.

And then there's the kick-ass theme song. It was the first time a rock band scored a major picture (they'd follow it up with Highlander's score), and Queen threw themselves into the task with gusto. Dino had never heard of them before, but he was nothing if not willing to experiment. They came back with a soundtrack that makes you want to stand up and cheer, it's that feel good.

The lyrics bear repeating:

Flash - a-ah - saviour of the universe
Flash - a-ah - he'll save everyone of us
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Flash - a-ah - he's a miracle
Flash - a-ah - king of the impossible
He's for everyone of us
Stand for everyone of us
He'll save with a mighty hand
Every man every woman
Every child - with a mighty flash
Flash - a-ah
Flash - a-ah - he'll save everyone of us
Just a man
With a man's courage
He knows nothing but a man
But he can never fail
No one but the pure in heart
May find the golden grail
Oh oh - oh oh
Flash

Yeah. Go, Flash, go!

Flash is sentenced to death for defying Ming, while Dale is sentenced to… marry the lecherous despot. Hard to say which would be worse. Zarkov is shuttled off to be brainwashed and turned into an agent of the secret police.

Saved by a lustful and slinkily seductive Princess Aura, Flash must then endure the machinations of a jealous rival, the Prince Barin. Oh, those silly blue bloods. She's a little bit wanton, he's a little wooden woodie.

"You mean you two… and he… and I'm… Oooh, that's not good. Can you say, 'Triangulation'?"

Flash even has a nice, quiet one-on-one chat with Ming the Merciless along the way. Ming weaves verbal rings around him, and tempts Luke – I mean Flash – to The Dark Side by offering the young man a kingdom of his very own: the earth. After, that is, Ming's finally finished 'toying' with it. Which is a polite way of saying 'kicking the planet about and killing billions'. Ever noble, our man Flash turns the offer down and flies a battlecruiser into Ming's wedding.


It's a move right out of G.R.R. Martin's playbook.

Ming's minions are so decadent, so used to being on top and facing little to no real resistance, that when the revolution arrives they are poorly prepared for it and start to fold like cheap chairs.

Of course, Flash saves the universe in the end, as your inner 10 year old would expect. The naive young do-gooder and all American boy unites cynical, decadent alien aristocrats in opposition to real evil and triumphs in spectacular fashion. A new, better day dawns.

Boo-yah, baby!

The film's tone is supercharged feel good, and this is reinforced by the rocking sound track and zany dialogue.

The climax reunites the characters from earth (who, oddly, are rarely in each others' physical presence after the first third of the film) and Flash delivers all Mongo from Ming's oppressive grasp. Mortally wounded, the weakening emperor vanishes into his power ring, which clatters to the floor. Flash is informed the earth has been saved and jumps for joy into a freeze frame.

As the credits roll, Ming's ring is picked up by a mysterious, black gloved hand. We hear Ming's laughter, and the words, 'The End' appear on the screen, followed by… a question mark.

Is it really the end, after all?

Yeah, pretty much.

At least for this iteration of the franchise. Which may be just as well. Given the haphazard way it came together, recapturing the original's unintentionally madcap magicwould have been a very difficult task indeed. This was a freakish, one-of-a-kind happy accident.

But what we have is pretty awesome.

"Give me the sugar, baby!"

Flash delivers.

Who's the most evil character on Game of Thrones?

This is a toughie.

There are lots of rotters on the show (and I'm explicitly discussing the television adaptation here), from icicle Night Kings to face swapping assassins and sadistic tyrants.

Complicating things further is how you define evil. Is evil in the intent, or the outcome? Is it the scale of the horrors inflicted, or the depths of sadism reached?

We'll try and balance between the two.

Without further ado, here are the candidates and their tongue-in-cheek rating:

"Hey baby, I'm the king. Want to go torture some kittens with me?"

King Joffrey
One of the most hated characters on television in his prime, King Joffrey was our go-to guy for on-screen cruelty. He was a petty, vicious little sadist, and therein lies his saving grace: he thought small.

Going out of the castle and conquering and exterminating entire peoples was out of his comfort zone. He'd be perfectly happy staying home, eating cake and torturing people to death.

Think about all the nasty little things he wanted to do to Sansa, such as presenting Rob Stark's head to her in a box at their wedding. Clearly the little inbred bugger put a lot of thought into that idea. He was inordinately proud of it.

He liked to torment the people around him, emotionally and physically, and the intimacy of their individual level suffering is what he fed off of. The bigger stuff was just a distraction from his real, petty interests.

Besides that, he was a sniveling coward.

So while Joffrey is still my favorite character to hate on the show, his evil is narrow, petty, and small in scope. He's most dangerous to the people in his immediate sphere of influence, not necessarily to the country as a whole, which he mostly left to his grandfather, Tywin, to administer.

Evil Grade: A-

"What do you mean? I AM smiling."

Tywin Lannister
A nasty piece of work, Tywin was smart enough to reign in his viler impulses, subordinating them to a sense of duty and obligation to family. He hated and detested Tyrion, for example, but refrained from killing him because he believed family ties took precedent. This restraint makes him one of G.R.R. Martin's most interesting creations.

A Machiavellian long term thinker, Tywin was tremendously effective and made alliances with his enemies whenever it suited his purposes, then broke them when they didn't. He advanced the interests of the Lannisters Clan with tireless, ruthless, methodical efficiency and got Joffrey, his grandson, seated on the Iron Throne.

A spiritually ugly person, personally immoral and politically amoral, he nevertheless had an interest in maintaining peace and stability in Westeros. He would be what is referred to as a 'Stationary Bandit': it was in his interest to protect the lives of the citizenry. He can't tax dead people. Only the White Walkers can do that.

So he doesn't make the cut either.

Evil Grade: B+

"Don't you know who I am?"

Cersei Lannister
Nasty, petty, and mean, Cersei believes herself immune to repercussions due to her position of status and power. Her thwarted ego makes her feel simultaneously both persecuted and privileged. More focused on small slights and winning control over her brood, Cersei lacks the reptilian emotional disconnect of her father, and is positively indignant when she doesn't get her way. She believes she can play with the best power brokers, but she is too focused on short term gain, and inclined to let emotion taint her judgement. She arms the faith militant, for example, which gains her immediate benefit (bringing down her rival for Tommen's favour) but at a huge long term cost.

Unlike Tywin, she's not able to parse consequences clearly, and as a result hobbles herself.

She wants what she wants when she wants it. And that's generally where her thinking ends.

On the other hand, she did have her husband King Robert murdered, setting into motion a chain of events that would convulse Westeros and lead to tens of thousands of deaths. So that counts for something.

Evil Grade: C+

Oh Ramsay, you are such a wag.

Ramsay Bolton 
A man who gives Joffrey a run for his money in terms of sheer depravity. Ramsay is more hands on than Joffrey, and takes greater risks. He's willing to get his hands dirty, get down in the muck and blood and hack heads off. He enjoys hunting human beings. He spent an entire season torturing Theon, cut the fallen aristocrat's wang off, and then ate a sausage in front of him. Don't say he hasn't got a sense of humor.

But like Joffrey, Ramsay is limited by his own petty, sadistic pursuits. He'll get his hands dirty if he has to, but he'd much prefer to spend his time inflicting emotional and physical pain on people under his immediate control. Every season he spends torturing one guy in his keep is one season less he spends laying waste to the countryside. Nor does he initiate high level action, unless it is practically forced upon him.

He's not a strategic thinker.

He's got potential, though, and his story hasn't yet been brought to a close.

But the odds are against him.

He's clever, not smart.

Evil Grade: A-

Even he looks bored.

Roose Bolton
The man holding Ramsay's leash, he's a colorless calculating machine who'll do whatever is necessary to advance the interests of his house. Practical and opportunistic, but not a high level manipulator. He parasites advantage off the machinations of his betters.

He's got the imagination of a brick, and everything he does is reactive.

A harsh ruler, he just lacks the depraved zeal for evil of Ramsay or Joffrey, although flaying people alive as a house practice takes him from a C to a C+.

Evil Grade: C+

The alpha ape stare.

Gregor Clegane
Otherwise known as The Mountain, Gregor is a beast of a man, but ultimately he's just hired muscle. He might as well have mush for a brain, because he's just going to do what Tywin tells him. Of course, Tywin's a good judge of men, and he knows what Gregor is good for: raping, killing, pillaging, burning, and busting sh*t up. The Mountain enjoys it, and Tywin has need for it. It's win-win. The Mountain is a tool for enforcing the Lannister 'peace', nothing more.

Interestingly, the difference between the living Gregor and the undead, Dr. Franken-Maester monster Gregor is mostly in the complexion.

Evil Grade: C+

"Big brother barbequed my face."

Sandor Clegane (The Hound)
A brute and a thug who believed he lived in a dog-eat-dog world, and had the experience to back up that cynical world view. His brother shoved his face in a fire when he was a kid for taking a toy, and his dad didn't seem to have much of a problem with that. But he grew and grew and went on to be an enforcer for the Lannister clan, like his big bro. He's seen, and done, nasty stuff. While no one would ever call him refined or tender or particularly nice, he had a conscience.

Evil Grade: E

Should I have the chicken, or the beef? Where are my advisors when I need them?

Stannis Baratheon
Stannis is a stiff, colorless and uninspiring. When growing up and playing with his brothers, you can imagine he was always the last kid to be picked to be king. Ambitious and rigid and a stickler for the rules, Stannis is torn between ambition and entitlement and what remains of his tortured conscience. Stannis internalizes events. He can psyche himself up to commit evil acts if he convinces himself it necessary (killing his brother, burning heretics alive, including his wife's brother. Best not to be a brother around Stannis), but his conscience always comes back and nags him.

I'm betting the guy doesn't sleep very well.

He's willing to listen to advice, which is wise, and relies heavily on two people: Melissandre (dressed in blood red) and The Onion Knight. One represents ambition and power and the other conscience and decency.

Eventually Stannis will break with one of them.

The great complicating factor here is that Melissandre believes the real struggle is going to be against the White Walkers. The fire god obviously has a role to play in this battle (as do a certain three dragons), with the fate of humanity at stake. So one could argue that the small scale evils Mel demands (all the human sacrifice, burning people alive, killing your brothers) are small potatoes when the lives of everyone on the planet are at stake. Very Cabin in the Woods. And 'The needs of the many outweigh…'

As is typical, Stannis hasn't made his final decision yet, but I suspect he will have to sooner or later, pushing his grade up or down.

Ultimately, I suspect he's just too conflicted to really, wholeheartedly endorse a path of untrammeled evil.

UPDATE: Wow, was that the wrong call. Mel did warn him he'd have to betray everything he'd ever loved to be king, in which case, why would you want to?

But Stan ruhly, ruhly wants to be king.

I wonder if it will taste like ashes?

Evil Grade: A

"I wants it, I wants it right now. Now, now, NOW!"

Viserys Targaryen
Mad, bad, and entitled, Viserys would have been a great monster if he'd been given the chance to bloom into full adult awfulness. Unlike Joffrey and Ramsay, Vis thought big. And he was a selfish, egomaniacal brat, a preening narcissist who he was willing to sell his own sister into sex slavery to advance his own bid for the Iron Throne. I mean, this guy literally pimped out his sister to conquer the world.

He combined the best of micro and macro level evil.

If he'd managed to lead the Dothraki back into Westeros, you can be sure he would not have been kind to the people he conquered.

There's just one problem: Viserys was an impatient idiot with the emotional sophistication of a five year old. And there are inanimate objects smarter than he was.

His irrepressible sense of entitlement and gargantuan emotional need for recognition and power vastly exceeded his ability, and he just couldn't wait to grow into his ambition. He wanted everything now, now, NOW. Ultimately his ADD egomania undermined and cut short a very promising career in evil.

Sure, petulance and lack of self-control got him a gold crown; it just wasn't the kind he was looking for.

Badly fumbled.

All need, no ability.

Evil Grade: D for dumb

"Would you like to see my boobies?"

Melisandre
A sorceress ('She's a witch!'), dedicated to the Lord of Light, Stannis Baratheon the-one-true-king, and burning people alive, Melisandre likes to screw people and produce murderous shadow demon babies. No one uses sex as a weapon quite like our red hot religious fundamentalist tamale. Or rather, the offspring of sex as weapons.

And yet, ultimately she may be acting to save humanity from extinction, if her one-true-god really is true and a god. The Lord of Light is not a nice god, however, demanding human sacrifice and burning heretics at the stake. But if you have to choose between total extermination at the hands of the White Walkers and the loss of a few gay aristocrats to leeches and shadow demon babies, well, I imagine most people in Westeros are willing to have a few less in the ruling class.

Cabin in the Woods, however, made the opposite choice, picking total extermination.

It's an interesting and ugly moral question: how morally compromised can you be and keep living?

In the world of Westeros, pretty damned f*cking compromised.

But it doesn't get Melisandre any higher a grade.

She's a servant, acting not for her own glory or advancement, but on the instruction of higher powers. She expends lives when it is useful, and is intolerant of other faiths.

Of course, Melisandre's god may just be an evil poseur, and the real salvation will come in the form of Danerys and her dragons. I'm not sure that would surprise me. But Game of Thrones leans dark, so…

Evil Grade: C+

"My distant ancestors will become used car salesmen."

Littlefinger
Now here's a guy who marries Machiavelli with the impish charisma of a Baltimore politician. He seems so obsequious, like the Brit star of the original House of Cards. So unctuous he sets your teeth on edge, yet at the same time he's manipulating rings around you.

If Ned Stark thought one step ahead, Cersei thinks two steps ahead, Danerys thinks five steps ahead, and Tywin thinks ten steps ahead, then Littlefinger thinks a hundred ahead. He's figuring out the end of the chess game from your first move.

Littlefinger has been manipulating events in Westeros from the very beginning. He was in on getting Robert Baratheon assassinated (which got the whole bloodbath-brawl for the crown going), betrayed and brought down Ned Stark, and helped kill King Joffrey. He's had his sticky little digits in just about every murderous machination in the last five seasons.

G.R.R. Martin has set up Littlefinger and Varys as polar opposite manipulators in the Royal Court: Varys represents order, and Littlefinger chaos. It was spelled out in no uncertain terms when the two sparred over their visions for the country in an otherwise empty throne room. Littlefinger says flat out he views chaos 'as a ladder' and as such seeks to foster and benefit from it as much as possible.

And he's right. Chaos is a ladder. A mechanism for injecting murderous psychopaths into the very top rungs of society, because the rules fall into abeyance, social niceties no longer need be obeyed, and the most ruthless and cutthroat can unleash their inner monster and let it run roughshod over the world. Which is why someone as conniving, ruthless, amoral, ambitious and manipulative like Littlefinger likes disrupting the status quo. The system would otherwise freeze him out.

As an outsider, Littlefinger had no chance of ruling Westeros. Under King Robert, it was unipolar. By killing the king, the country became multipolar, divided, and chaos unfolded. Pieces were removed from the board one by one in a very bloody process, as we've seen unfold over the last three seasons.

Now he's closer to actual power than he ever was before.

Littlefinger's willing to murder both intimates and faceless millions so long as it advances his agenda and clears out the corrupt aristocracy in the process.

But he cannot be trusted at all.

Littlefinger is smarter than Tyrion, more manipulative than Cersei, more ruthless than Tywin, more charismatic than Roose, more likable than Ned, and more resourceful than Varys.

Unlike many of the other characters, Littlefinger has taken a weak hand and turned it into a strong one. He's like the McGyver of chaos, able to bring down governments using an elastic band and piece of chewing gum. His competitors, such as Joffrey, wouldn't be able to seize power and influence unless it was handed directly to them.

Littlefinger creates opportunity (ie. chaos).

He's the uber character, and the recent wars in Westeros wouldn't have happened without him.

Unfortunately, Littlefinger's incredible skill set make him come across more as a plot device, an engine to move the plot forward, than a real human being. Ultimately he is too cool a cucumber, too perfect in his manipulations to seem fully real compared to flawed, fallible characters around him. His abilities are preternatural, and his inside knowledge of the world seems more like that of the writer himself than a character contained within it.

He's flat.

But that's just a quibble.

Evil Grade: A+

"Yeah, that's right, look what I can do, biatch."

The Night King
The big bad of the entire series, the 'ice' in A Song of Ice and Fire, the Night King's full potential is yet untapped. He hasn't had more than two or three scenes in five seasons, so his ability to express his inner evil has been seriously limited. Stuck in the barren tundra, he hasn't been given the opportunity to shine, at least, not yet.

The question is whether or not we should judge him as a character or as a force of nature. We know so little of the White Walkers. What are they? Can we judge them as humans, or are their interests so different that the ordinary rules no longer apply? Do they think, or just act? Does the guy even talk?

Does it even matter?

His capacity for destruction is obviously great, as we saw with the zombie avalanche last week. But what about betrayal? Lies? Deceit? Sadism? Cruelty? All those evil things. Does this guy do anything other than kill people and raise them up from the dead to kill more people? That's evil, but it's kind of boring, one-minded evil.

I mean, why is he even doing this? Will we ever know? Does he even know? Does George?

I suspect the White Walkers are more of a primordial force, an expression of Thanatos itself, much as The Lord of Light is an expression of fire, the passion of life, which puts them outside our usual moral evaluations.

The effect of a meteor strike might be described as evil, but as a force of nature there was never any intent. It had no choice. No free will.

The lack of motivation and the single-mindedness of The Night King's actions makes him less interesting than Littlefinger, his nearest human competitor.

The worst thing would be if Littlefinger became The Night King.

Now that would be delightfully bad.

Being determined and focused in your evil can be a good thing for a villain, but The Night King takes this too far and becomes less interesting because of it.

Evil Grade: A

So there you have it.

Littlefinger is, hands down, the most evil man in Westeros. He's a medieval fantasy world mish-mash of Machiavelli, Josef Stalin, Mao, and Hitler all rolled into one compact, mousy package.