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arabhamlet · 4 years

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why you should read the heartless divine

hello guys! i haven’t used tumblr in a while, so i hope i tag this correctly, but i really needed to write this post to promote a book i think many, many people will enjoy reading for a number of reasons, and i figured i should give it a shot.

the heartless divine is varsha ravi’s debut novel, self-published last november through amazon. it is a ya fantasy romance inspired by mythology and sangam era india, and you can purchase it as an ebook or as a physical copy on amazon.

i 100% recommend it to anyone who enjoys mythology, reincarnation/soulmates, tragic but tender star-crossed romance (and not in a generic ya way either), or just anything with complex plot, character, and relationships—which, i realize, basically means everyone, but in my defence it is really good and worth a read no matter who you are.

what’s it about?

the heartless divine follows two paralleling narratives. the first is set in the distant past, and follows suri, a princess forced into being an assassin by her warlike family, as she is betrothed to the boy king of a neighbouring land after being assigned the task to kill him once the wedding is complete, only to find her plans going off-kilter when she encounters kiran, a strange prophet who predicts his own incoming death and the catastrophe soon to occur. the second is set in modern-day, and follows a reincarnated suri, with no memories of her past life, who finds her life inexplicably tied to a changed kiran, who she does not remember but who remembers her.

the plot is a bit more complex than this, and this is really just a quick summary, but more than that it’s a story about humans and our relationships to each other, to mortality, and to fate.

i highly recommend it - it can be a little slow to start off with, but once the historical plot starts going i found it pretty much impossible to put down. even though it’s been a few months since i read it, i find myself going back to it pretty much constantly. it’s fantastic both as a ya novel to read for fun, and as something far more complex with so many themes, characters, and dynamics to unpack.

but if you need a bit more encouragement:

why should i read it?

as i mentioned, the plot is incredibly engaging. unlike a lot of ya, as well, the heartless divine is super character-based and has incredibly strong characters in its protagonists. the past storyline also has a running mystery - and the reveal at the end as to who is the real villain definitely caught me off-guard on my first read. the past storyline is also deeply tragic in many ways, hitting you emotionally to great effect, and the climax is absolutely one of the most impactful climaxes of any ya book i’ve ever read—i’m making an effort not to spoil anything while writing this, because the pure emotional punch of the climax should be read completely blind.

ravi’s writing is absolutely gorgeous. she has an incredible command over the written word and wrote some incredibly amazing prose in this book. her writing is at once poetic and also incredibly versatile, fitting into beautiful romantic declarations and sharp dialogue and tense scenes of conflict. i won’t include any massive chunks, but here are some of my favourite lines:

Where does the divinity go, then? he had asked her. She had shrugged. To the sky. That is where all divinity goes after it is dead. But the sky was too far away, and there was not enough left of him, divine or not, to guarantee safe passage on a trip so long.

She had always been afraid of hope, in the same way she figured most people were afraid of black holes. Desire was something that consumed, she knew, and to desire impossibility was to let it consume you entirely. hearts splintered with love and splintered with loss, and to fear one was to fear both—it was safer to resist them both, to draw thick, black demarcations in shining permanent marker, explicit, clear lines that gently reminded her of what could and could not be desired.

“You live as though you are already dead,” she whispered. each word sunk into him, cut through his heart with clean, sharp blades. “You live as though your life is nothing but a prerequisite for death, for true purpose. Have you ever fought to stay alive? Have you ever allowed yourself to think of life as something to love?”

They had the same fine boned face, hollow-cheeked and haunted, the same air of a saint that had burnt away to nothing and held the ashes himself. And yet, they were not the same. It was a twisted, imperfect projection—it was him, but not all of him. This was his savage divinity laid bare.

What were love stories but dreams of worlds where the sun and moon could linger beside one another long enough to learn the language of the other’s heart?

ravi also has an incredible grasp on the themes that she’s writing with. above all, the heartless divine is about humanity and what makes people human—our relationships with each other and with our own place in the world. and in my opinion, she expresses these ideas with great maturity and wisdom.

however, for the most part, the heartless divine’s greatest strength is its characters. kiran is a deeply complex character, a prophet caught between his duty to die as a martyr and his desire to make his own choices and follow what he truly loves. he has a complicated relationship to humanity, but no human more than himself, as he struggles to understand the parameters of his own humanity—the place where his mortality ends and his divinity begins. at first, the kiran of the past and the kiran of the present seem deeply separated from each other, but as the story progresses you begin to understand the tragedy of how kiran became who he is in the modern-day.

at first, suri seems like a typical ya female protagonist, but as the story progresses and she begins to let her guard down a bit more, you really start to see how interesting and complicated she is as a character. she doesn’t believe in gods or fate at the beginning of either storyline, but by the end she slowly starts to accept hope into her heart—ending in two very different ways—and advocates for ignoring fate and following the life you want, desperately searching for the happy ending that you deserve. she also has a deeply captivating character voice, and was, certainly at the beginning, my favourite of the three pov characters.

but my personal favourite character is viro, the primary antagonist of the past plotline (though—no major spoilers—he finally makes an appearance in the modern plotline very close to the end). most people i know who have read the heartless divine feel similarly about viro. ravi makes him a deeply compelling character, fleshing out his motivations and reasoning and in turn writing one of my favourite relationships in the book in his complex brotherly relationship with kiran. i don’t want to spoil much about him, but he is a really interesting character and, though technically the antagonist, is just as compelling as the protagonists.

on the same note, before i talk about the romance in the book, i have to mention viro and kiran’s dynamic, as i feel it drives the past plot in many ways and is deeply interesting. the two are adoptive brothers, and find themselves butting heads almost constantly over their different ideological stances; and though it’s clear they love each other, soon enough you start to worry if love is enough.

onto the romance, and of course i have to talk about suri and kiran, because—how could i not. they’re literal soulmates! two souls who find each other in every lifetime! they’re kindred spirits no matter what, in both past and present, two people who understand each other deeply on a metaphysical level, and no matter what their scenes together were a great joy. they’re a romance where both of them help each other grow, even when surrounded by chaos and catastrophe. here’s one of my favourite lines in the book in case you need some more explanation. this is romance.

“‘Love is dangerous, blinding,’” he quoted, voice soft against her cheeks in an empty semblance of amusement. He pulled back slightly, just enough that she could see the gentleness, the raw warmth in his gaze. The clean lack of regret. “And yet, I see you so clearly.”

it’s perhaps less explicit—but bear in mind this is the first book in a series—but ravi also sets up the dynamic between viro and his guard, companion, and best friend tarak in a way that...is practically impossible not to read as romantic. i won’t spoil it because it is something you have to see in person, but some of the most emotionally charged scenes in the novel deal with their dynamic. here’s another line for good measure. they really said we do it for the girls and the tenderyearning gays that’s it.

Tarak let out a ragged sigh, lost and despairing. Viro reached up and put a hand on his, traced the lines of his fingers. he watched him do it, entranced by the movement and saddened by it as well. Finally, he asked, “If I begged, would you stay?” Viro’s fingers stilled in their movement, suddenly hyper-aware of the way Tarak’s hands shook upon the embroidered fabric of his tunic. as if he couldn’t bear to hold him tighter, as if the mere action would wrench him away.

the world building is also incredibly well done, as is the mythology ravi sets up and the folk stories she tells. also, for good measure, ravi is an indian writer and her story is, as aforementioned, deeply inspired by sangam india. i don’t necessarily have the cultural context to interact with the worldbuilding completely, but from where i stand it’s immensely well done.

the second book in the series is currently being written, and i recommend picking up your copy of the heartless divine soon before the series continues. once again, it’s available on amazon, and here is its page on goodreads and thestorygraph in case you want to add it to your tbr!

also, for good measure, shoot me a message here or on twitter (where i normally am) if you do decide to read it and want to discuss it! for good measure, here’s one of my favourite lines from the book—just as a closing statement.

“I want to hear all of your stories,” she said, fierce as fire. “Every single one. I don’t care whether they have happy endings or not.”

#bookblr #book recommendations #book recs #yalit #ya lit #diverse ya #diverse fantasy #ya recs #booklr #ya recommendations #books #the heartless divine

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inspector-montoya-fox · 4 years

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#10 - Jailbreak

Setting: let’s enter the SpOOkY!!! girl, i’m sorry i have to take a moment to appreciate the KI that this episode is. from the statues that come to life to the purple water, the red sky, the bat props that Sly can ninja-spire onto, the music. it’s like a Scooby-Doo episode. Contessa’s house looks like a freakin insane asylum hahahahaha this is all fantastic. i’ve been to Prague and the towers are literally the same. i know i should be analyzing this in the Themes section but in terms of environment, Prague (both levels) are the crux of Sly 2, if not narrative-wise, then definitely emotionally-wise. @designraccoon made this amazing post a while back which went into detail about how the Prague levels represent the darkest nights in the entire series and then in Canada it’s day. i mean, the whole game is great but these central four episodes (from A Starry Eyed Encounter until A Tangled Web) are, in my opinion, what make it so amazing. there’s definitely climax because the stakes are so high. 2/3 of the gang and Carmelita have been captured, Neyla has double-crossed us, Bentley (who was up until this point the weakest link physically) is all alone, and as we find out by the very beginning of the episode, the Contessa is a secret Klaww Gang member. well, this is all dandy. having Bentley alone further establishes how haunting this episode is because we first witness the hub as him, which has never happened before. he’s an itty-bitty-witty turtle roaming around the ultimate spooky level. and the Contessa, she didn’t come to play hunty. i’ll go into more detail about her character below, but she feels more of a threat than Rajan or Dimitri. not because she herself is scary, but because she’s built an empire. Dimitri had bouncers and Rajan had his staff, but Contessa has an entire army and (at this point) Interpol backing her up. in terms of environment, the hub feels huge because of the giant prison in the centre. it truly is a pain in the ass to enter the prison, but that just highlights the fact that, well, it’s a prison. in general, SP really captured the essence of a European town: the stone pavement, the bridges and the sections under them, some historical arcs blocked by cage bars, etc. all this being said however, if we factor in the narrative, Jailbreak’s Prague feels very dead. maybe it’s done on purpose, but due to the gang’s absence and the prison’s overbearing presence, this (similarly to A Starry Eyed Encounter) feels like a prelude. we’re defo onto something big, but we first have to break out Sly and Murray. and lord knows what comes next is big...

Characters: i want to expand the Setting section here but also leave the big gang moments for the Theme section, so this is really about the Contessa. this episode is soaked in melodrama. the themes are heavy, the morale is low, the narrative is complex to say the least. The Predator Awake’s ending was such a shock that we genuinely forget about Carmelita’s whereabouts, as she’s not even mentioned here. we meet the Contessa and, even though she’s already been introduced, this is the first time we really get to know her. the hub really encapsulates her character: a total psychiatrist witch whose gothic surroundings reflect her malicious intentions. a true villain, the definition of the word. she’s a member of the Klaww Gang but also has an ulterior motive and even gives the gang a run for their money with her hypnosis. the bitch also has a blimp she uses for swift getaways, i mean what more can you want. and this is not even her ultimate form as A Tangled Web will see her deliver some very important lines of dialogue and truly show off how evil she is. but for now, she lurks in the shadows. similar to Rajan in the previous level, she spends most of the episode absent (you’ll notice there’s no Clockwerk part in this episode too). this is probably done to give the player some breathing space after the Neyla twist and allow the gang to gather their strength. but her presence is felt, due to how she embodies her hub, the personification of the obscure and the SPOOKY ! for me, the Contessa is as big a villain as Clockwerk, Neyla and Dr M. she’s just selfish and that’s her downfall, as we’ll see in the next episode where she’s presented in a very Nietzschian fashion. it’s like they merged Miz Ruby and Clockwerk: they honed the spooky aspect by added intelligence. Miz Ruby was too short sighted and lacked ambition. the Contessa created herself after she murdered her husband, made herself rich through her psychiatry scam, earned a strong rep via Interpol, and touched the divine by getting her hands on the Clockwerk eyes. the self-confidence is unreal.

Themes: uh, fear theme !!!!!!!!! (like the full shebang, not the half-baked version from The Predator Awakes) our characters are put to the test, forced to face their fears. Bentley had to learn how to drive the van, drive all the way from India to Prague, and explore this nightmare of a level all on his own. Sly was captured by the police and Murray was rendered weak, his will and control taken from him with the use of spice. the theme fits the level like a glove and everyone gets to confront their fear. Bentley succeeds in saving his friends, Sly (although not shown directly but instead mentioned via the Contessa) breaks free from the “hole” under which he’d go mad, and Murray goes head to head with the Contessa at the end of the level. as i analysed in the Setting section, the fear theme is further established by the spooky environment and missions (werewolf statues and evil robots that come to life), as well as the prison’s interior. i mean, consider the gang’s biggest fear is getting arrested but enhance it by a hundred by making the prison seem as hellish as possible. its sombre green and blue tones are reminiscent of Arkham. it truly feels like an insane asylum, with its towering cells, booby traps and devices used for hypnosis. the fear theme is dominant here, but there’s also the theme of separation. up to this point in the game, the gang’s unity has been taken for granted. soon after Bentley and Murray learn the basics, the gang is split. this not only increases the difficulty of the challenges they have to face on their own, but also puts things into perspective. mainly, things only work out when they’re together. you’ll notice that after Jailbreak (and by extent A Tangled Web), there’s an increase in group missions. He Who Tames the Iron Horse, is full of them. their time apart has all three of them realise that teamwork is essential, and that their friendship is the basis for their success. and lastly, a mind theme. i feel like there’s a connection between the hub and the Contessa’s character: her trained mind is so hard to breach, similar to the prison with its high walls. she’s a brittle spider but shouldn’t be underestimated. mind over matter, basically. her head’s interior is full of high security and intricate designs, spotlights and guards. everything feels so claustrophobic in there. both her expertise in psychology and the prison are devices used to break through with her prisoners. and once Sly and Bentley manage to penetrate the walls and get through to Murray, she’s caught off guard because of her seemingly flawless fortress.

What I Like: lots of stuff here. i was always a fun of the spooky-ooky so this is perfect. Bentley is my least favorite gang member but i really enjoyed his narration and how he came through even though the odds were stacked against him. the Contessa is my fav villain from the game, maybe even the series, so there’s that too. in terms of details, i really like Sly disguising himself as a werewolf statue on the bridge, even going so far as to imitate their open mouths. and the prison’s interior is great too. OH! AND that little bell you can hit to distract guards in the hub. i love that little bell.

What I Don’t Like: i’d have to say, the missions are kind of a drag, especially after The Predator Awakes which had some pretty good ones. apart from following the Contessa around and playing as Murray in the prison, the rest are tiring in my opinion (i’m not referring to the operation). specifically, Code Capture and Lightning Action feel like filler, maybe because they’re all made available at the same time, when Sly breaks out. i was never fond of the hacking and this is the episode it’s introduced in so... yea...

Quote: Inconceivable! She's no health care professional!

#inCONCEIVABLE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#SHE'S NOT HEALTH CARE PROFESSIONAL !!!!!!!!!!#Bentley sweetie... she's not.#sly cooper #episode project #this essay embodies chaotic energy #and i love that for her

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marginalgloss · 4 years

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the red telephone

The thing about Control is that I don’t think I’ve ever played a game where I’ve felt such a vast difference between a game’s artistic and technical quality and its total lack of thematic and narrative depth.

There is a good case for saying that this oughtn’t to be a problem. It’s long been the case that if a video game is entertaining enough, any further ‘depth’ (by the standards established by other media) is unnecessary. This is why we don’t much care if the story isn’t good in Doom. The sense of being there and doing the thing is enough. But Doom isn’t drawing on influences bigger than itself. Clearly it’s been influenced by a variety of things — from Dungeons and Dragons to heavy metal album covers and Evil Dead and everything in between — but Doom is not referential, and it’s not reverential. Doom is complete unto itself. Control is not complete.

Horror films and ghost stories and weird fiction are best when they are about things. Think about The Turn of the Screw and The Thing and Twin Peaks and Candyman, to pick a few examples off the top of my head. They work not just because what we see and hear and read is mysterious. They are compelling because they have intriguing characters and thematic resonance. The Babadook is not just a story about a monster from a book for children. Night of the Living Dead isn’t just about, you know, the living dead. By comparison I find it hard to say that Control is about anything, but it presents itself as adjacent to this kind of work. It is a magnificent exercise in style which trades in empty symbols. It wraps itself in tropes from weird fiction in the hope of absorbing meaning by osmosis.

It feels like a wasted opportunity, because the setup is not without interest. You play as Jesse Faden, a woman supposedly beginning her first day on the job at the Federal Bureau of Control, a mysterious government organisation that deals in high-level paranormal affairs. The FBC is a feast of architectural and environmental detail: a vast Brutalist office complex with an interior that seems to be stranded in time somewhere around the mid-1980s. Everything is concrete and glass and reel-to-reel machines and terminal workstations. It’s frequently stunning.

Unfortunately most of the staff are missing because Jesse’s visit to their headquarters coincides with a massive invasion by the Hiss, a paranormal force which has taken over the building. The Hiss is a sort of ambient infection that turns people into mindless spirit-drones, chanting in an endless Babel. (Conveniently, most of those drones are present as angry men with guns. There are also zombies, and flying zombies, for variety.)

There is, obviously, more to Jesse than meets the eye. She spends a lot of time talking to someone nobody else can see. But there isn’t that much more to her. Like every other character in the game she is a monotone. There is no reason to believe she has any existence outside the plot devised for her here. Similarly, the other characters you meet exist only as the lines they speak to you. It works only when the effect is entirely, deliberately flat: the most compelling person in the game is Ahti, the janitor with a sing-song voice and a near-indecipherable Finnish accent. He is nothing but what he is — he has no past, no future. He has all the answers, if only you knew what questions to ask.

Control is undeniably stylish. The interiors are striking, vast, spacious. Even on the smallest scale the game has a great eye for little comic interactions via systemised physics. You can shoot individual holes in a boardroom table and watch the thing splinter apart into individual fragments. You can shoot a rolodex and watch all the little cards whirl around in a spiral. If a projector is showing a film you can pick the whole thing up and the film will reveal itself as an actual dynamic projection by spiralling and spinning madly across the nearest walls. (Speaking of film, the video sequences with live actors are great fun, and this being a Remedy game, there’s a fantastic show-within-a-show to be found on hidden monitors around the FBC.) And all of this before I mention the sound design — the music, which is full of concrète mechanical shrieks and groans — and the endless sinister chanting which fills the lofty corridors and hallways of this place, The Oldest House.

All of this is very, very good. And most of the time it’s quite fun to play. I mean, you can pick up a photocopier and fling it at enemies. It’s never not fun when almost anything can be used as a projectile. And then you get the ability to fly! At its best the combat in Control feels messy and chaotic — in a good way — but in a way that has little to do with typical video game gunplay. Staying behind cover doesn’t work because the only way to regain health is to pick up little nuggets dropped by fallen enemies, so most of the time you have to use your powers to be incredibly aggressive. The result is that often you feel like the end-of-level boss — a kind of monster — throwing yourself into conflict with a team of moderately stupid players who think they’re supposed to be playing a cover shooter circa 2005.

That you are given a gun at all seems odd. The gun feels like a compromise. The gimmick of a single modular pistol that can shape-change into a handful of other weapons is neat, but those weapons are just uninteresting variations on the same old themes: handgun, shotgun, machine gun, sniper, rocket launcher. The powers are more interesting and powerful. But of course the gun has to be there; can you imagine them having to go out and sell this game without a gun in it? What would Jesse be holding on the front cover?

A gun is an equaliser. It evens the odds between the weak and the strong. But if you’re already strong it doesn’t feel worthwhile. You’re clearly so much more powerful than everyone else you meet in Control that after a while you begin to wonder why the game is also frequently quite hard. The omission of any difficulty settings is notable in a game of this type; it suggests that the developers were committed to their vision in the way that might recall Dark Souls. In fact the hub-like structure of the game is pretty clearly influenced by From Software’s games, and though it’s nowhere near as challenging, it seems to be reaching towards the same kind of thing.

It’s a game which demands you take it seriously as a crafted object. But then it has all these other elements cribbed from elsewhere — the generic level-based enemies with numbers that fly off them when shot, and the light peppering of timed/semi-randomised side activities, both of which made me think of Destiny. So there’s games-as-service stuff wedged in here too, and it doesn’t sit at all comfortably with this supposedly mysterious, compelling world that you’re supposed to want to explore.

This isn’t a horror game. There are one or two enemies with the potential to induce jump scares, but given that you can always respond with overwhelming force, it’s never really unsettling. But it’s clearly been inspired by horror. A source often mentioned as an inspiration for Control is the internet horror stories associated with the SCP Foundation wiki. From there the game borrows the idea that unlikely everyday objects can become sources of immense cosmic power — hence we see items like a rubber duck, a refrigerator, a pink flamingo, a coffee thermos imprisoned behind glass as if they were Hannibal Lecter. A pull-cord light switch becomes an inter-dimensional portal to an otherworldly motel. The great part about this is that these little stories can be told effectively in isolation; it’s always interesting to come across another object in the game and to discover what it does. (The fridge is especially unpleasant.)

But experiencing this kind of thing in the context of an action game is entirely different to stumbling it on it online. SCP Foundation is pretty well established now, but still, there’s a certain thrill in stumbling across something written there in plain text, titled with only a number. When those stories are good, they can be really good. Given the relative lack of context, and the absence of any graphical set-dressing, there’s room for your imagination to do the heavy lifting.

In Control these fine little stories are competing for attention with all the other crazy colourful stuff going on in the background. You read a note and you move on to the next thing. You crash through a pack of enemies and the numbers fly off them. There’s never a sense of the little story fitting into an overall pattern. That lack of a pattern can be forgiven in the context of a wiki. In Control, these stories start to feel irrelevant when you never come across an enemy you can’t shoot in the face. In a different format, or a different type of game, this kind of rootless narrative might be more compelling.

But what is this game about? There’s a sister and brother. A sinister government agency. Memories, nostalgia. A slide projector. It’s all so difficult to summarise. When I think about the game all these words seem to float around in my head, loosely linked, but not in a way that suggests any kind of coherence. The game always seems to be reaching towards some kind of meaning but it only ever feels hollow. It feels flat. Yet all the elements that are good about Control must be made to refer back to these hollow, flat signifiers. Sometimes the flatness works for the game, but mostly it doesn’t.

Today, it’s hard to see that anyone could see the point in establishing a website like SCP Foundation if it didn’t already exist. Viral media is not what it was in the first decade of the 2000s. Written posts that circulate on social media have a shorter half-life than ever. It’s almost impossible for any piece of writing over a few hundreds words to go viral in ways that go beyond labels like ‘shocking’, ‘controversial’, ‘important’, etc. ‘Haunting’ and ‘uncanny’ don’t quite cut it. This kind of thing doesn’t edge into public spaces in the way it used to via email inboxes, or message boards, or blogs.

Perhaps the weird stuff is still out there. Perhaps we only got better at blocking it out. With the arrival of any new viral content, today’s audience is mostly consumed by questions of authenticity, moral quality, and accuracy. If you think this creepy story might be ‘real’, you’re a mug. If you promote it you might be a dangerous kind of idiot. And that’s fair: there are a lot of dangerous idiots out there. Yet there’s something to be said for an attitude of persistent acceptance when it comes to the consumption of weird stuff on the internet. I know I become gluttonous when I come upon such things. I want to say: yes, it’s all true, every word. I’ve always known it’s all true.

#gaming #control

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bakechochin · 6 years

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The Book Ramblings of June

In place of book reviews, I will be writing these ‘book ramblings’. A lot of the texts I’ve been reading (or plan to read) in recent times are well-known classics, meaning I can’t really write book reviews as I’m used to. I’m reading books that either have already been read by everyone else (and so any attempt to give novel or insightful criticisms would be a tad pointless), or are so convoluted and odd that they defy being analysed as I would do a simpler text. These ramblings are pretty unorganised and hardly anything revolutionary, but I felt the need to write something review-related this year. I’ll upload a rambling compiling all my read books on a monthly basis.

The Man Who Was Thursday - GK Chesterton I bought the Penguin English Library edition of this book mainly because of a tweet that I saw slagging off the cover, saying that the sticks of dynamite in the cover pattern looked like tampons and that 'this could have been avoided if only one woman had looked at the cover’; this irritated me a lot because I know for a fact that the cover was in fact designed by a woman (Coralie Bickford-Smith, to be precise, an artist whose similar works I am also a good fan of), and I wanted to own this edition simply so that I could prove to myself and others that this is the case. However, whilst the cover of this book is indeed very pretty, the texts published in the Penguin English Library collection do not possess the handy introductory chapter at the beginning that the Penguin Classics include, and thus with no frame of reference, I was at something of a loss to describe this book. It is certainly an interesting read insofar as it seemingly refuses to stay as one genre for the whole book. The blurb describes it as a ‘strange and haunting novel’, and at the beginning, this is very appropriate; it depicts a sensationalist image of villainous anarchists and zealous unhinged detectives that is incredibly compelling, and I hold that the character descriptions of the members of the Council of Days (as introduced in chapter five) make for some of the best writing that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. By fuck is Chesterton great at characterising these dudes. The blurb describes the novel as a spy thriller, and all seemed to be going well on this front, with a melodramatic but consistent tone maintained for around the first half of the book, with some great twists scattered here and there for good measure. But then things start getting a tad daft, and I’m going to spoil a bit of the plot here because you need to understand how off the rails this shit gets. The adventure grows to involve much of the main cast of antagonists being revealed to be policemen in increasingly convoluted disguises, ridiculously overblown chases in different countries with the stakes being continuously raised in the stupidest and funniest ways, and the main antagonist, built up as a grand unknowable titan of crime and anarchy, escapes the protagonist by leaping over a balcony ‘like an orang-utan’, riding away on a rampaging elephant that he broke out of the zoo, and finally evading capture by flying away on a stolen hot air balloon. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of this sort of shit as a general rule, but by fuck does it seem incongruous in a novel such as this, that is so clever and so beautifully written and, whilst containing its few bits of sensational ridiculousness (as an overt parody of the genre or its tropes), generally quite a serious read. Similarly to The Heat’s On, if this book had just kept on the rails or channelled its madness into chaos that stayed within the genre’s boundaries, instead of just throwing its hands up into the air and screaming, ‘fuck it, put in an elephant chase scene!’, I’d have enjoyed it a lot more. As it is, it reminds me of the overblown nonsense of the 007 stories - this is a novel for dads, I reckon. After finishing this book I then found Beaumont’s introduction to the text, which describes the text as ‘antirealist’, and cites Chesterton’s description of ‘great works which mix up abstractions fit for an epic with fooleries not fit for a pantomime’. As a concept, I can fully get behind this - the juxtaposition of heroics and farcical nonsense puts me in mind of high burlesque, and I’ve always been fully against realism because fuck that noise. But you can’t stick with the idea of this book being wholly antirealist if it takes place in a world recognisable as our own and then suddenly changes to be ludicrous and laughable; that’s just inconsistent, and indeed mildly vexing when I was fully engrossed in the sensational spy thriller. Furthermore, attempting to justify this book’s content by saying that it is reminiscent of a ‘nightmare’ is a bullshit defence, because a) the word ‘nightmare’ could simply be used in reference to this book’s negative depiction of a world in which anarchists triumph in their nasty villainy, and b) it’s difficult to keep the idea of this book’s world supposedly being a dream forefront in one’s mind when it, as mentioned above, represents a view (albeit a sensational one) of reality, with dream nonsense hardly being a part of it at all. That is, of course, until the very end, when the book gives up all pretence of being a spy novel and instead wallows in metaphor and overt Christian imagery before ending abruptly. The ending is bullshit and I don't like it.

Dead Souls - Nikolai Gogol I’ve often cited Gogol as one of my favourite authors, but for the longest time I stayed clear of this book, somewhat daunted by whether what I loved about Gogol’s short stories would translate well to a novel form. This is a different beast to his short stories, but no less interesting to talk about, and indeed possessing many of the short story’s positive attributes, for all of the excellent writing, characterisation, and understanding of the fun nuances of society abounds here as it does in his shorter works. Apparently Gogol was attempting to recreate the structure and overall vibe of The Odyssey and other such Homeric epics in prose form, and although the overall setting and storyline does not reflect the grand awe-inspiring epics of the past, I’ll be buggered if the story’s writing and tone doesn’t somehow achieve it. This is not, despite what some critics have said, due to Gogol’s tendency to ramble on about unrelated digressions (a device apparently comparable to Homeric epics), or at least it didn’t stick out to me as such when I read it - that’s just kind of what Gogol does. No, it’s the writing and tone, as mentioned above, that seems to ape the Homeric tone, in such a way that you wouldn’t notice its explicit presence until after you’d been informed of it, and yet when you are aware of the Homeric influence you see it everywhere clear as day; I’d call it an ineffable concept but that’s just me trying to cover up for the fact that I can’t find the words, because I’m bad at writing these things. But I digress. Gogol’s excellent means of conveying character voices shines as always in this text, but I can’t feel like I’m missing the extent of it because I’m reading it in English. The introduction by Robert A Maguire describes Gogol’s extensive research into ‘all the prosaic rubbish of life, all the rags’, and makes efforts to incorporate such minor details as regional slang, official jargon, outdated terminology, etc. into his characters’ voices, but I fear that I’m missing some of the nuances of these techniques by my lack of knowledge in these fields or that some of the subtleties in language don’t translate as well as they ought to. Of course there are some characters which exemplify Gogol’s skill at diverse voices, such as some of the peasant muzhiks and one of my favourite characters Nozdryov (who draws from a wide array of sources for his dialogue with hilarious results), but there are some instances in which the character voices seem somewhat interchangeable, especially considering how a lot of individual personality is often subsumed by the necessity of upholding social decorum, and thus there are many characters who only speak in refined socially acceptable manners. The characters themselves are all bloody great, be they individual grotesque landowners or incredibly detailed and often brilliantly satirical descriptions of wider groups or demographics. Whilst the writing remains as excellent as ever, the characters in the second part of the book lack the grotesque simplicity of those in the first part - indeed, efforts are made by Gogol to give them complex fleshed-out characterisation - and subsequently these new characters are nowhere near as memorable as the fantastic personifications of negative traits that we got in the first part. Yeah, I forgot to mention, this book is technically made up of two parts, the first part highlighting the problems of society and the second part intended to delve into the resolution of some of these issues; of course, the second part does not exist in its entirety, because Gogol was a great fan of melodramatically burning his manuscripts, but it’s not a major issue because what does survive of the full text is amazing enough on its own (specifically the entirety of part one). Plus, I’ve delved into my thoughts of authors trying to ‘change the world’ through their works (in that I think that it’s a fool’s notion and only really serves to exemplify the author’s delusion), so I’m content with this text only portraying the detrimental aspects of society, as opposed to trying to fix them. I am quite fond of the narrator in this book. Similarly to his short stories, Gogol employs a narrative voice that exists almost as a character in of itself, and I don’t just mean that in the sense of ‘it’s got a lot of personality’. The narrative voice apologises for the story’s content and makes changes in an attempt to preserve decorum, it makes excuses for the story’s characters (especially the protagonist Chichikov), it often reveals information at the same rate as the characters within the setting discover things and have epiphanies, and it even establishes itself as a character with a physical voice as it only chooses to speak of Chichikov’s past when Chichikov himself is asleep, and apologises all the while lest he somehow slight the man. Bringing up this also gives me an opportunity to briefly mention the 2006 BBC radio adaptation for this, which establishes the narrator as a physical character in all scenes to humourous effect (and what’s more gave me yet more reason to love Mark Heap, who makes for a fucking excellent Chichikov). But I digress. Part two of the novel, as mentioned above, does not possess the same sort of wonderfully grotesque characters as part one, and considering that this is a novel defined mainly by its characters, this is somewhat problematic. The plot of part two is perhaps vaguely interesting, even though it seems to shunt the titular focus of dead souls to the side somewhat, but all in all I found it difficult to be too invested in this new story due to its lack of compelling characters. In addition, the Homeric epic tone of part one is somewhat absent, and without a distinctive narrative voice, the narrative suffers. I feel bad shitting on part two, since it was everyone else shitting on part two that catalysed Gogol to burn the manuscript (again) and possibly starve himself to death. Honestly, the first part is bloody amazing, so just read that and then be satisfied with the knowledge that your opinion of the book overall has not been tarnished by the shoddy second part. Sorry Gogol.

Complete Short Fiction - Oscar Wilde I’ve been vaguely aware of Wilde’s short fiction for a while now, having read a selection of his fairy tales and ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime’ (a favourite of mine) for uni, so I decided to give his complete collection a shot. The Penguin Classics edition of his short fiction is separated into his different published collections, but can generally be categorised as either fairy tales or miscellaneous short stories. I’ve studied a shit load of fairy tale authors/compilers (Basile, Straparola, Perrault, the Brothers Grimm, Andersen, Wilde and whoever compiles the radical Russian fairy tales), and Wilde is certainly my favourite of the bunch. The specific blend of Wilde-esque traits incorporated into the fairy tale format make up my favourite fairy tales of any author - this is by no means all of Wilde’s fairy tales, but I’ll get into that. My favourite fairy tales of Wilde take place in a world vaguely recognisable as our own, or at least existing as an exaggerated facsimile of our own society, not just because the urban setting reminds me of Hoffmann’s ‘The Golden Pot’, but because such a setting allows for some heavy-handed but undeniably hilarious social commentary and satire. Such satire works especially well when juxtaposing the romanticised world of the fairy tale with the grimmer reality of Wilde’s society - the two tales that commence the collection, ‘The Happy Prince’ and ’The Nightingale and the Rose’, exemplify this excellently. Whilst I liked the satire attainable by setting the fairy tale in an urban society environment, similar levels of hilarity are obtained via Wilde’s satirical look at certain character archetypes (the titular character in ‘The Remarkable Rocket’ being my favourite example). The fairy tales obviously possess their morals and their teachings (though I was a fan of how this is subverted slightly by some characters actively avoiding, misinterpreting or arguing with the story’s moral), but the tropes that we’d expect to see in fairy tales - the morals from Perrault, the recurring overt ties to Christianity from Andersen, etc. - are not why I like Wilde’s fairy tales so much. The tales in the collection titled A House of Pomegranates are undeniably excellently written, and what’s more include some fantastic settings inspired by the Victorian obsession with the Orient that allow for phenomenal and evocative descriptive writing (the likes of which is not seen in any other of Wilde’s fairy tales), but they fail to capture my preferred positive attributes that the aforementioned tales possess. I cheekily skipped 'The Portrait of Mr W H' because I’d heard from a mate who had also read it that it was a long and dull read, and thus refrained from checking it out lest it tarnish my idealised view of Wilde. I’m sure I’ll live with myself knowing that I haven’t read Wilde’s entire body of works. Indeed, who gives half a toss about that when we’ve still got to talk about the last remaining collection contained within this publication: ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime and Other Stories’, which is not made up of fairy tales but other ‘popular’ genres of writing. Taken at face value, the stories’ content of murder, ghosts, and mystery slot in nicely alongside the fairy tales, in that they can all be considered, at face value, writings intended to appeal to the low-brow interests of the masses. They are, of course, more than that, possessing some great subversions of genre tropes and Wilde’s typical social satire, which all comes together to make the short stories (in particular ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime’ and ‘The Canterville Ghost’) hilarious and very enjoyable reads. The fact that these stories are written with the primary intentions of entertaining, rather than revolutionising the written form or making one think about grand philosophical themes, means that I can’t really offer anything about the stories other than that they’re fucking good and that you should go and read them.

Shit I read this month that I couldn’t be arsed to write about: A Short History of Drunkenness by Mark Forsyth (which I started back in December(?) last year, forgot about until now, and love immensely), and ‘The Penal Colony’ by Kafka (it was much more enjoyable than the other works by Kafka that I’ve read, but that isn’t really saying much).

#book reviews #book ramblings #the man who was thursday #gk chesterton #dead souls #nikolai gogol #oscar wilde #lord arthur savile's crime #the canterville ghost #the happy prince #the remarkable rocket #the nightingale and the rose

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chicagoindiecritics · 4 years

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New from Robert Daniels on 812 Film Reviews: ‘Capone:’ Is Bat-Shit…

Rating: 2.5/4

Over the last week, Josh Trank’s multi-year journey: from self-proclaimed next Spielberg to persona non grata—has become well-known. The director’s once-meteoric rise due to the success of Chronicle (2012), crashed to earth with the disastrous Fantastic Four (2015)—and its later social media fallout. Now, to the surprise of many, he’s returned with Capone. Part B-movie; part feral oddity—and set during the final year of the gangland tyrant’s life—it’s a bat-shit biopic bedecked by body horror. Moreover, the rarely dull narrative offers Tom Hardy the chance to give the most crazed, over-the-top performance of his career.

Opening in 1941, Capone finds the now-retired gangster occupying a palatial mansion in Florida. Recently released from prison after a series of strokes, and a decline in his mental capacity from syphilis: Al (or Fonzo, as his family calls him) is now cared for by his wife Mae (Linda Cardellini). Though the pair call a lavish estate home—surrounded by priceless statues and artwork, ornate furniture, and packing bodyguards—they’re in financial trouble, forced to sell their opulence to cover living and medical expenses for the delusional former crime boss. In fact, the material gutting of the house serves as a visual metaphor for the changing and emptying of the gangster’s mind.

Trank’s biopic is unique, to say the least. Past cinematic depictions of Capone have included Paul Muni (Scarface, 1932); Jason Robards (The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, 1967); and Robert De Niro (The Untouchables, 1987)—and in all of them he’s a vicious killer. Hardy’s portrayal offers a startling difference; though just as menacing. Suffused by a plaster cracking make-up covering his face, his garbled Tommy gun voice rasps as he vomits, sweats, and shits himself (literally) while shouting at alligators in Italian and threatening ghosts. Meanwhile, the paranoid Capone believes himself watched and spied upon—though on that count he’s not too far off. We, like Capone himself, are never quite sure if what we’re seeing on screen is real.

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Oddly, Trank also employs body horror. In one scene, the former-gangland boss imagines himself in an eerie 1920’s party, led by a Louie Armstrong knock-off singing “Blueberry Hill” to the compendium of ghosts adorned in flappers and tuxedos. Reminiscent of The Shining (1980)—though filmed with less Kubrickian craft—Capone is led to a basement where he watches a bloodied masked man, tied to a chair, viciously and repeatedly stabbed in the neck with a switchblade. Later, while Capone lies in bed, an old associate cuts out his own eyes and lays them on his chest. Neither scene is particularly accomplished visually, instead attracting comparisons to blood-soaked B-movies. In fact, in some ways, Hardy’s performance evokes 1940’s Universal Horror. Like the Mummy, he stiffly stumbles and grunts his way through scenes.

Racked by guilt, Capone is haunted by many of his past victims—and the memory of his unknown son Tony: often depicted with a golden balloon. An adult Tony (Mason Guccione) often calls Capone’s mansion, frighteningly hanging up before he can speak. The son’s subplot lacks substance and emotional payoff. Probably because the character’s composition is nothing more than a wooden stand-in for regret? Your guess is as good as mine. Matt Dillon as Johnny—one of the mob boss’ past friends—is similarly wasted as a static repository for the retired gangster’s regret. Only Cardellini—who hits the loudest slap I’ve ever heard in a movie—finds a niche from Hardy’s out-sized performance.

Even so, nothing rings as hollow as the McGuffin of the gangland tyrant’s supposedly lost treasure. A popular myth that decades later led to Geraldo Rivera embarrassing himself on national television when he opened an empty vault after proclaiming it filled with riches, the legend holds that Capone misplaced millions of dollars in wealth: A secret he took to the grave. The subplot, like the narrative’s other dead-ends, offers little because Trank doesn’t provide a throughline between the mysteries he’s intrigued by and the character at the center of his film.

Still, Trank’s boldness—or maybe his careening visuals—haven’t left me. I don’t know why. Parts of Capone are just plain disgusting: reliant upon fart and poop jokes, lacking the sophistication needed to turn an immature narrative into a subversive character study. Moreover, Capone the man isn’t particularly compelling either. That’s probably because, save for one hallucination, we don’t have a before to match his downfallen after. However, one can tell that Trank is knowingly taking gambles, pushing the envelope: The film climaxes with Capone dressed in a bathrobe and diaper, a carrot hanging from his mouth ala Bugs Bunny, and brandishing a golden Tommy gun—shooting down his imagined enemies. Like many things in this biopic, it only adds to the bat shit, probably doesn’t work, and lacks refinement. Even so, it’s also entertaining as all hell: a trash B-movie moment pitched to unnerving perfection, and as excessive as the man.

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grigori77 · 5 years

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2018 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. OVERLORD – 2018’s chief runner-up for horror movie of the year is brash, noisy and spectacularly glossy, but also fiendishly inventive and surprisingly original given that it borrows its central concept from several older, schlockier offerings. Originally touted as the fourth film in the Cloverfield “franchise”, time (and producer J.J. Abrams) has told, and this is in fact entirely its own thing – an action-packed horror thriller set in the explosive midst of World War II’s D-Day landings. Nearly the entire narrative thrust of the film revolves around US Army Private Ed Boyce (Fences’ Jovan Adepo), a gentle, shy draftee who’s part of an Airborne squad sent to jump in ahead of the Normandy invasion and knock out a German radio tower built on an old church, but when their plane gets shot down over the drop-zone he winds up one of a ragtag team of only five survivors, led by young but battle-hardened veteran Corporal Ford (Everybody Wants Some! star Wyatt Russell, son of Kurt), who insists they complete their mission. When they reach the tower, however, they find the town under the control of an SS company led by Captain Wafner (Game of Thrones’ Pilou Asbæk), who spearheads an unholy experimental research project attempting to bring dead German soldiers back as unstoppable zombie killing machines. It’s a deceptively simple premise, but from this little acorn has grown a mighty oak of a film, a thunderous, non-stop thrill-ride that cranks up the tension within minutes of the start and never lets up thereafter, keeping us drawn out on a knife’s edge for long stretches of unbearable suspense when it’s not hurling a series of intense and brutal set-pieces at us, some of the most bravura sequences playing out in audaciously long single-take tracking shots. Relative newcomer director Julius Avery may have been an unknown quantity (he only had one feature to his name before this, so-so Aussie heist thriller Son of a Gun), but he’s taken to this challenging project like an old hand, showing the kind of amazing talent and seasoned skill that really make you want to see what he’s going to do next, while screenwriters Billy Ray (The Hunger Games, Captain Phillips) and Mark L. Smith (Vacancy, The Revenant) have taken the seemingly clichéd material and crafted something rewardingly fresh and inventively nasty, the kind of body horror gorehounds go proper nuts for. The cast are also uniformly excellent – Adepo is a likeably vulnerable hero who finds his courage over the course of the film, so his transition from timid boy to avenging badass is pleasingly believable, while Russell proves just how much like his dad he is by investing Ford with a fierce single-minded drive and an earthy physicality destined to make him a powerful action star; there’s also strong support from John Magaro (Not Fade Away, Jack Ryan) and Agents of SHIELD star Iain De Caestecker as fellow Airborne troops Tibbet and Chase and newcomer Mathilde Ollivier as Chloe, the tough, take-no-shit local girl who helps the squad, while Asbæk pretty much steals the film as Wafner, a major-league creepy, gleefully sadistic psychopath who’s just as memorably monstrous as his ruined creations. Altogether this is a magnificent breakthrough for a promising new talent and one of the best action horrors I’ve seen in years, such a spectacular and memorable film it didn’t need the implied Cloverfield connection to get any attention.

19. SICARIO 2: SOLDADO – screenwriter Taylor Sheridan has been a particularly strong blip on my one-to-watch radar for a few years now, impressing with modest sleeper hit Hell Or High Water and making an astonishing directorial debut with the (literal) ice-cold Wind River, but his greatest achievement remains 2015’s tour-de-force suspense thriller Sicario, the film that made his name and also turned up-and-comer director Denis Villeneuve into a genuine superstar (leading to him helming his masterpiece, Blade Runner 2049). Straight away I wanna make it painfully clear – this is NOT as good as the first film, the lack of Emily Blunt’s spectacular character’s grounding presence and Villeneuve’s truly AWESOME flair meaning it just can’t reach its predecessor’s intoxicating heights. But as sequels go this is an absolute belter, and there’s no denying Sicario’s dark and edgy world was one I was really itching to return to, so this is still an undeniable treat. New director Stefano Sollima may not be the seminal master the man who kicked off the franchise is, but he’s certainly got some well-suited, heavyweight talent of his own, having cut his teeth on cult Italian crime shows like Gomorrah and Romanzo Criminale, and his own breakout thriller All Cops Are Bastards, and he definitely revives the first film’s oppressive moral darkness and relentless atmosphere of implied, inherent threat. Blunt may be out, but her co-stars are back in the same fine form they displayed in their first outing – Josh Brolin is at his reliable best as slovenly CIA special ops master Matt Graver, his shit-eating grin present and correct even if he is still rocking his intimidating Deadpool 2 build, while Benicio Del Toro finally gets to take centre stage as his chief asset, Colombian lawyer-turned-assassin Alejandro Gillick, still itching for the chance to put the hurt on the brutal Mexican drug cartel that killed his family and destroyed his old life. There’s still a strong female presence in the cast too – Transformers: the Last Knight’s Isabela Moner is a little spitfire of adolescent entitlement as Isabela Reyes, the kingpin’s daughter who becomes a pawn in Graver’s government-backed plan to trigger a cartel civil war and tear them apart from the inside, while the always excellent Catherine Keener is a dangerously classy ice queen as Cynthia Forbes, the high-ranking CIA controller overseeing the operation – while there’s quality support from the likes of Matthew Modine, Burn Notice’s Jeffrey Donovan (reprising his role from the first film as Graver’s lieutenant Steve Forsing) and a particularly memorable turn from Bruno Bichir as Angel, a deaf-mute Mexican farmer who’s suffered his own hardships at the hands of the cartels. This is very much Del Toro’s film, though, the method master thoroughly inhabiting his role and once again bringing that dead-eyed lethality to bear while he paradoxically makes us care about and root for a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. As with the first film, this is a simply MESMERISING thriller, gritty and edgy as it revels in its raw, forensic attention to detail, ruthless intelligence and densely-woven, serpent twisty plotting, and once again delivers magnificently in the action camp with a series of brutal, pulse-pounding bullet-riddled action sequences. Enthralling, unflinching and beautiful in a desolate, windswept kind of way, this is every inch the sequel Sicario deserved, and thriller cinema at its best. Taylor Sheridan’s written another winner.

18. YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE – this unstoppable underdog sleeper hit is a twisted beast, a film that makes you so uncomfortable it’s almost unwatchable, but you can’t look away, nor would you really want to. It’s a troubling film, but it’s INCREDIBLE. Then again, it is pretty much what we’ve come to expect from acclaimed filmmaker Lynn Ramsay, writer/director of controversial but highly-regarded films like Ratcatcher, Morvern Callar and, of course, We Need To Talk About Kevin, and this adaptation of Jonathan Ames’ novel fits in with that lofty company like the missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle. It’s a short, (razor) sharp shock of a film, its slender 90 minute running time perfectly trimmed of excess fat, its breathless pace drawing us in while its pervading sense of impending doom keeps us uneasy. Joaquin Phoenix delivers one of the best performances of his career as Joe, a combat veteran and former FBI agent who hires out his services rescuing kidnapped and trafficked girls, usually delivering brutal retribution on those responsible in the process; he’s also a very troubled human being, his crippling battle-trauma merely compounding much more deep-seeded damage resulting from a horribly abusive childhood, only able to find real peace caring for his housebound elderly mother (Orange Is the New Black’s Judith Anna Roberts). So when his latest assignment from trusted handler John McCleary (The Wire and Gotham’s John Doman) – finding Nina (Wonderstruck’s Ekaterina Samsonov), the missing daughter of New York Senator Albert Votto (Alex Manette) – goes horribly wrong, Joe finds his world imploding and lashes out with all the bloodthirsty violence he can muster. Phoenix is mesmerising, his deceptively subtle performance hinting at a human being mentally unravelling before our eyes, but he’s also like a cornered beast when roused, attacking enemies (both real and perceived) with wince-inducing viciousness; Samsonov and Roberts are both similarly impressive, while a late entrance from 90s indie darling Alessandro Nivola is a welcome, game-changing breath of fresh air. Typically for Ramsay, this is a work of mood and atmosphere first and foremost, an air of breathy anticipation and moody introspection colouring many scenes, but she still weaves a compelling story and quickens the pulse with some blistering, blood-soaked set-pieces, rushing us along on a heady mix of righteous fury and troublingly twisted catharsis before dumping us, breathless and shell-shocked, at the unsettling yet strangely uplifting climactic denouement. This was one of the year’s most haunting films, and further proof of the undeniable talents of one of cinema’s most important filmmakers.

17. FANTASTIC BEASTS: THE CRIMES OF GRINDELWALD – 2016 saw stratospherically successful author J.K. Rowling return to the Wizarding World she created in her Harry Potter books with a completely original film set decades before that series, introducing us to a new, albeit much earlier group of magical adventurers, chief among them Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne), a kind, oddball and brilliantly intelligent expert on mystical, supernatural creatures. The film was, inevitably, a massive hit, guaranteeing a follow-up (or four, as we’re now being guaranteed no less than FIVE films in total in this new series), and two years later we return to the Wizarding World of the late 1920s to find things are getting a little darker and A LOT more dangerous. Notorious dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald (Johnny Depp), captured at the end of the first film, has escaped his prison (in the film’s most spectacular, jaw-dropping set-piece) and is now hiding out in Paris, gathering his supporters and searching for the ultimate weapon which will help him in his dastardly plot to enslave the muggles – Credence Barebone (Justice League’s Ezra Miller), the powerful Obscurus who survived his apparent death in New York and is now searching for the truth about who he really is. Grindelwald isn’t the only one hunting him – aurors from the British and American Ministries of Magic are hot on his trail, among others, while Hogwarts teacher Professor Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law) has convinced his favourite former student, Newt, to try and find him before he can be killed or corrupted. David Yates, the director of ALL Rowling adaptations since Harry Potter & the Goblet of Fire, has consistently brought this rich, exotic and endlessly inventive world to potent, vital life on the big screen, and his SEVENTH tour of duty proves to be no exception – this is EXACTLY the kind of rip-roaring fantastical romp we’ve come to expect from his collaborations with Rowling, albeit taking a turn into darker, more grown-up territory for this second chapter in the new saga as the stakes are raised and the first battle-lines are drawn. There are revelations and twists and surprises aplenty throughout, some genuine jaw-dropping, gut-punch moments among them, and it moves the story into particularly fertile ground for what’s still to come. The returning cast are just as impressive this time around, each character arc moving forward in interesting and compelling ways – Redmayne is as likeable as ever as Newt, but invests fresh purpose and a new, steely resolve now he’s chosen a side in the conflict to come, while it’s fascinating (and more than a little heartbreaking) watching Jacob and Queenie (Dan Fogle and Alison Sudol), the star-crossed muggle/witch lovers, tackle the harsh realities of their problematic romance, and Miller is deeply affecting as a lost soul desperate for long-hidden truths and a sense of belonging – and there are some equally notable (relatively) new faces added to the roster too – Claudia Kim’s Nagini, the soulful Maledictus tragically cursed to someday become trapped in the form of Voldemort’s giant snake, is frustratingly underused but extremely memorable nonetheless, and I can only hope we’ll get a more substantial introduction to Newt’s more confident and successful war hero brother Theseus (Callum Turner) in future instalments, but Zoe Kravitz gets a killer role as the third point in the Scamander love triangle, Leta Lestrange, Newt’s oldest and closest friend but Theseus’ fiancée, and she’s FANTASTIC throughout, while Depp finally gets to really sink his teeth into the role of the most feared man in the Wizarding World until You-Know-Who showed up, investing Grindelwald with just the kind of subtle, seductive brilliance needed to make him such a compelling villain. The best new addition, however, is Jude Law, the THIRD actor to date to play Dumbledore, and I’m sorely tempted to say he might be the best of the bunch, PERFECTLY capturing the cool ease and irreverent charm of Rowling’s character as well as (obviously) lending him a much more vital, youthful swagger that’s sure to serve him well in the subsequent films. This has proven to be something of a marmite film, dividing opinions and being called “needlessly complicated” or “overburdened”, but I never saw that – there’s much to enjoy here, and it feels as fresh, rewarding and downright entertaining as any of its predecessors. As far as I’m concerned this leaves the series in SPECTACULAR shape, and I can’t wait to see where we go from here.

16. FIRST MAN – when it comes to true life tales of great courage and epic achievement, you can’t get much bigger than the first man to walk on the Moon, and it’s a subject that’s been revisited again and again over the years. And yet, until now there’s never really been a film that’s truly brought it to true vivid life like other space-exploration stories have in the lofty likes of Apollo 13 and The Right Stuff. It seems like Hollywood had to think outside the box to get this one to work, and it turns out that Damien Chazelle, Oscar-winning director of La La Land and Whiplash, was the offbeat talent for the job. Taking a much more gritty, documentary-style approach to the story, he presents the story of NASA’s immensely ambitious Apollo programme as a low-key procedural, seeming far more interested in the nuts-and-bolts details than the grand, sweeping adventures of legend. That’s not to say that there aren’t big moments – there are PLENTY, from a terrifyingly claustrophobic sequence revolving around a life-threatening malfunction during one of the earlier, feet-finding capsule flights to the stirring, spectacular Moon-landing itself – but many of the film’s biggest fireworks are emotional, which is just where Chazelle seems to be moist comfortable. The film is thoroughly DOMINATED by his regular acting collaborator Ryan Gosling, whose characteristic laconic internalisation is a perfect fit for Neil Armstrong, a man trapped at the heart of immense historical events and haunted by deep personal tragedy who nonetheless maintains a steely cool and perfectly professional demeanour, but Claire Foy is just as important as Armstrong’s much put-upon wife Janet, whose emotional turmoil in the face of his potential impending death is a harrowing thing, and she delivers a mesmerizingly powerful performance that proves the perfect ferocious fire to Gosling’s understated ice; there’s also a truly stunning ensemble supporting cast on offer here, an embarrassment of riches that includes Jason Clarke, Kyle Chandler, Patrick Fugit, Shea Whigham and the mighty Ciaran Hinds. Chazelle has directed another cracker here, emotionally rich and endlessly fascinating, visually unique and consistently surprising, with the kind of power and pathos that all but GUARANTEES great things to come during Awards season, and he’s helped enormously by a cracking script from Oscar-winning Spotlight writer Josh Singer and an offbeat but thoroughly arresting score from his regular musical collaborator Justin Hurwitz. Challenging, uplifting and impossible to forget, this truly deserves to be ranked among the other great Space Race movies.

15. BUMBLEBEE – I find it telling, and maybe a little damning, that it wasn’t until Michael Bay stepped back from the director’s chair and settled for the role of producer that we FINALLY got a truly GREAT Transformers movie. There’s no denying his films have been visually striking and certainly diverting, but even at their best they were loud, dumb throwaway fun, while at their worst they pretty much SHAT on our collective nostalgic memory of their source material. When this new “standalone” film was first announced, I was deeply sceptical, expecting more of the same, a shameless cash-in on the popularity of one the robotic cast’s most iconic members. How glad I am to have been proven wrong for once – Bumblebee is much more than just a shot in the arm for a flagging franchise, it’s a perfect chance for them to start again, a perfectly pitched, stripped back little wonder that finally captures the true wonder and pure, primary-coloured FUN of the original toy line and Saturday morning cartoon show. It also marks the live-action debut of director Travis Knight, who cut his teeth creating stunning stop-motion animation for Laika (makers of Coraline) before bringing the studio monumental acclaim with his first helming gig on the AWESOME Kubo & the Two Strings, and he proves JUST as adept at wringing powerful, palpable emotions from flesh-and-blood (and digital) actors as he is with miniature wire-frame puppets. Essentially a prequel/origin story, this tells the story of how lone Autobot scout Bumblebee first came to Earth, and it’s a much simpler and more archetypal film than we’re used to, a cool simplification that works wonders – he’s back in his classic VW Beetle chassis and a good deal more vulnerable now, while this might be the best we’ve seen Hailee Steinfeld, who stars as Charlie Watson, the 19-year old girl he befriends. She’s an awkward, geeky kid, cast adrift by recent loss and trying to make things right in her life again, and her VERY unique new car certainly fills a major gap for her; Love, Simon’s Jorge Lendeborg is a lovably dorky puppy-dog as her new next-door neighbour and would-be boyfriend Memo, while Californication’s Pamela Adlon is sweet but steely as Charlie’s good-natured but somewhat exasperated mother Sally; the film is frequently stolen, however, by the mighty John Cena, who’s always had a powerful gift for comedy and is clearly having the time of his life hamming it up as he gamely pastiches his action hero persona. There’s also a refreshing drop in the number of robots on display here – with Transformers, less is clearly more, and there’s far greater pleasure to be had in watching Bumblebee on his own trying to hold his own against the film’s two main savage villains, Decepticon headhunters Shatter (voiced with creepy confidence by Angela Bassett) and Dropkick (a brilliantly sociopathic turn from Justin Theroux), both of whom are MUCH more well-drawn than the series’ average bad guys. This is a FANTASTIC film, the Transformers movie we’ve always deserved – the 80s period setting is EXQUISITELY captured (from the killer soundtrack to Charlie’s whole punk rock vibe, clearly styled after Joan Jett), the general tone is played very much for laughs but the humour no longer feels forced or childish, much more sophisticated here than in the average Bay-fest, and there are some spectacular action sequences that are this time VERY MUCH in service to the story. The film was written by relative newcomer Christina Hodgson, mostly just known for Unforgettable while three of her screenplays languish on the Black List of Hollywood’s best unproduced scripts, and on the strength of this I CAN’T WAIT to see more from her – she’s already penned the coming Birds of Prey movie for DC, which I’m absolutely champing at the bit to see, and has now been signed up to write the Batgirl movie too, so we shouldn’t have long to wait. This has already been favourably compared to The Iron Giant, one of my favourite animated features EVER, and I can wholeheartedly agree with that opinion – this is EXACTLY what we’ve been waiting for in a Transformers movie, and if it’s a sign of things to come then I wholeheartedly approve. More of this, please!

14. READY PLAYER ONE – Steven Spielberg is one of my very favourite directors, a peerless master of cinema whose iconic blockbusters have fuelled my imagination and captured my heart since early childhood. Of course, he’s also a hugely talented auteur whose more serious work is rightly regarded as some of the most important moving picture art of all time (Schindler’s List is, of course, a given, but I for one am also MASSIVELY enamoured of the undeniable power and uncompromising maturity of Munich), but I’ve always found him at his best when he makes films to entertain the popcorn-munching masses. His most welcome return to true escapist cinema comes in the form of a magnificent adaptation of the one of the most singularly geeky novels of the 21st Century, Ernest Cline’s meticulous love letter to 80s pop culture and nerd nostalgia, a book which was itself HEAVILY influenced by Spielberg’s own most enduring works. There’s something deeply meta in him tackling the material, then, but the Beard keeps his own potentially self-serving references to the bare minimum, instead letting the book’s other major influences come to the fore as well as allowing Cline himself (adapting his own book alongside Marvel heavyweight Zak Penn (X2 and The Avengers to name but a few) to introduce some new elements of his own. There’s some definite streamlining, but it’s always in service to the story and helps things to work as well as they can cinematically, and besides, NO ONE does this kind of thing better than the Beard … anyway, to the uninitiated, RPO takes place in and around the OASIS, the gargantuan VR universe that the overpopulated, rundown world of the future has become ubiquitously addicted to, now considered the Earth’s greatest resource, and the setting for an epic hunt for an “Easter Egg” left by its deceased wunderkind creator, James Halliday (another brilliant, immersive turn from Spielberg’s current favourite acting collaborator, Mark Rylance), which will bestow its discoverer with unimaginable riches and ownership of the OASIS itself. The main thrust of the story is the battle of wills between geeky slum kid “Gunter” (essentially a pop culture-obsessed treasure hunting expert on all things Halliday) Wade Watts, aka Parzival (X-Men’s Tye Sheridan) and Nolan Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn), the reptilian CEO of IOI (Innovative Online Industries), the evil multinational that wants to seize control of the OASIS, no matter the cost – it’s a high stakes game indeed, as Wade finds his actions in the wild, imagination-is-the-only-limit online world can have very serious consequences on his own life in reality. It’s suitably exciting and action packed then, but there’s a real sense of fun and irreverent joy to proceedings that’s been somewhat lacking from many of Spielberg’s films of late, especially in the insane inventiveness of the OASIS itself, a universe where you can be and do absolutely ANYTHING, and where Halliday’s nostalgic pop culture loves have been embraced by society at large in MAJOR WAY … hence the GIGANTIC potential for spot-the-reference in virtually every scene – seriously, this is one of those movies that REALLY rewards repeat viewing. Sheridan is a very likeable hero, a plucky and resourceful young dreamer you can’t help rooting for, while Mendelsohn gave us one of the year’s best screen villains, the kind of oily scumbag you just love to hate; Bates Motel’s Olivia Cooke is just the spunky little badass you imagined fellow Gunter Art3mis to be, but with bonus realism and vulnerability, Master of None actress/writer Lena Waithe is pleasingly awkward in spite of her intimidating avatar as Wade’s best friend Aech, T.J. Miller frequently steals the film as intimidating but seriously nerdy bounty hunter I-ROK, and Philip Zhao and Win Morisaki make for a lovably goofy double act as samurai/ninja obsessives Shoto and Daisho, while Simon Pegg is his usual warm and fuzzy self as OASIS co-creator Ogden Morrow. This is a gloriously OTT visual extravaganza brimming with fandom appeal and MASSIVE nostalgia value, a thrilling escapist adventure packed with precision-crafted and endlessly inventive action, and a consistently laugh-out-loud comic classic stuffed with knowing one-liners and genius sight gags … and of course, this being Spielberg, TONS of emotional heft and genuine, saccharine-free pathos. I could gripe about the fact that without John Williams on the score it doesn’t feel QUITE right, but that would be a lie – the choice to instead go with Alan Silvestri is actually a genius fit for the film, the composer unleashing his very best work since the Back to the Future trilogy. This is EXACTLY what we’ve come to expect from the original MASTER of the popcorn-crowd blockbuster, and it’s a genuine pleasure to have him back doing what he does best.

13. INCREDIBLES 2 – writer-director Brad Bird (The Iron Giant, Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol, Tomorrowland) is the man responsible for what I consider to be Disney-affiliated animation studio Pixar’s finest hour – forget Toy Story, Finding Nemo or Inside Out (although I admit they’re also f£$%ing awesome), 2004’s The Incredibles is where I place my allegiances. Of course, it helps that Bird and co essentially created an unofficial Fantastic Four movie four years before the MCU even got started, back when the X-Men movies were in their prime the first time round – I’m an unashamed comic book geek and I LOVE superhero movies, so this was cinematic catnip for me. Needless to say, like many other instant fans I CRIED OUT for more, and got increasingly restless as Pixar cranked out sequel after sequel for their other big hitters but remained frustratingly silent on the matter of their own super-family. Finally (and, interestingly, just as the MCU celebrated its own tenth anniversary) they delivered, and MY GOD what a gem it is. Brad Bird has achieved the impossible, matching the first film for wow-factor and geek-gasm, picking up RIGHT where the first film left off (seriously, we finally get to see the chaos that ensued after John Ratzenberger’s Underminer emerged in The Incredibles’ closing moments) with an instantly familiar yet refreshingly different tale of newly-united super-family the Parrs as they make their faltering first steps as a bona fide superhero TEAM. I don’t want to give much more away – this is a film best watched good and cold – suffice to say that father Bob/Mr Incredible (Poltergeist’s perfect screen dad, Craig T. Nelson) and mother Helen/Elastigirl (the always wonderful Holly Hunter) face new challenges as they attempt to balance their revitalised crime-fighting careers with keeping their family from imploding under the weight of much more down-to-earth problems, from daughter Violet (Sarah Vowell) suffering teenage heartbreak to son Dash (Huckleberry Milner, taking over for previous vocal talent Spencer Fox) struggling with “New Math” … as well as, in one of the film’s strongest storylines, infant Jack-Jack’s newly-emerged superpowers, which lead to some BRILLIANT moments of truly inspired humour and occasional full-on WEIRDNESS. Needless to say the external fireworks are just as impressive as the domestics – there’s a cool new villain in the form of tech-savvy puppet-master the Screenslaver (Bill Wise), who puts Helen through her paces as she stumbles onto a truly diabolical criminal conspiracy – the set-pieces are as strong as the first film’s, a spectacularly ballistic chase after a runaway train particularly impressing, while Bird and co have come up with rewardingly fresh moments to up the power ante from the series opener and show off the established characters’ talents in new ways, as well as introducing some great new supers to the mix (pick of the crop is Sophia Bush’s lovably awkward wormhole-juggler Void). The returnees are all as strong as they were first time round (including Samuel L. Jackson’s super-cool iceman Frozone), while there are memorable new faces to enjoy too, particularly the Incredibles’ born-fanboy tycoon sponsor Winston Deavor (Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul’s Bob Odenkirk) and his cynical scientist sister Evelyn (Catherine Keener), but once again the film is thoroughly stolen by Bird himself, even more hilarious in his short but ever-so-sweet role as thoroughly unique fashion mogul Edna Mode. Fun, thrilling and packed with DEEP belly-laughs, this is JUST as strong as the first film, a pitch-perfect continuation that pays off its predecessor beautifully while boldly carving new ground for what looks set to be a bright future indeed … let’s just hope we don’t have to wait another FOURTEEN YEARS this time round, okay?

12. ANT-MAN & THE WASP – 2018 was indeed the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s TENTH ANNIVERSARY, and their summer season offering OFFICIALLY made it three for three in the year’s hit parade, following runaway smash Black Panther and Avengers: Infinity War, the culmination of the ten year big screen phenomenon that began with Iron Man way back in 2008. In the heady aftermath of the series’ all-conquering behemoth, the second screen outing of the Avenger’s “smallest” member may seem like something of an afterthought, but trust me, this is anything but. The last time we saw Scott Lang (Paul Rudd), he was languishing in a hi-tech prison after coming to Captain America’s aid in 2016’s Civil War, and his absence from the Infinity War roster was not only noticeable but truly frustrating, but now, at last, we find out WHY he was a no-show. Scott took a deal to protect his family, and is now finishing up a two year stint under house arrest, clearly going a little stir-crazy as a result, but he’s been able to stay in touch with his beloved daughter Cassie (Abbie Ryder Fortson, still adorable but growing up REALLY FAST) and form a new security firm with his best friend Luis (Michael Peña), cleverly named “X-Con Security”. He’s also been long out of contact with his mentor and original Ant-Man Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) and his maybe girlfriend Hope Van Dyne (Evangeline Lilly), Hank’s daughter, after essentially stealing the Ant-Man suit to go break the law in Germany, thus turning his one-time allies into wanted fugitives, but they re-enter his life at the worst possible time when it becomes clear that Scott holds the key to returning Hank’s wife Janet (a small but potent role for Michelle Pfeiffer) from the seemingly impenetrable reaches of the Quantum Realm. With us so far? Yeah, the plot’s a bit of a head-spinner – and it gets even MORE complicated once a brand new threat emerges in the form of the Ghost (Killjoys’ Hannah John-Kamen), a lethal assassin who can phase through various physical states (frequently turning her into a LITERAL phantom), who’s determined to get her hands on Hank’s new quantum tunnelling tech – but as with the first film (and its closest MCU kin, the Guardians of the Galaxy), this is really just the backdrop for another laugh-out-loud comedy caper. Returning director Peyton Reed now officially makes Ant-Man his own (finally getting out from under the big shadow cast by the first film’s almost-helmer Edgar Wright), cranking the laugh-meter up even higher while also increasing the emotional weight and underlying dramatic heft of the central plot, as the dysfunctional surrogate family of Team Pym struggle to get back together after circumstances tore them apart – there are moments of genuine, heartstring-tugging power strung throughout, although they really just serve to temper the steady string of snappy one-liners, inspired sight-gags and, of course, Peña’s constant, riotous scene-stealing. He really does come dangerously close to running away with the entire film, but the rest of the cast are too strong to really let that happen – Rudd is really getting into the whole action-man thing now, but he remains consistently, pitch-perfectly HILARIOUS, while Lilly finally gets to properly jump into the action herself now that Hope has officially succeeded her mother as the second generation of the Wasp, Ant-Man’s hard-hitting, high-flying and seriously badass partner, and Michael Douglas gets a much bigger, far more active role this time round. This film’s weak-link may be its villain, with the Ghost ultimately proving a little one-note and ineffectual as a threat, but there’s no denying John-Kamen is a spectacular actress with a bright future, and her character certainly is distinctive, with a tragic back-story and personal drive that makes her rewardingly sympathetic; besides, there’s additional antagonism from slimy black market dealer Sonny Burch (the ever-reliable Walton Goggins), who’s also out to steal Hank’s tech, and The Interview’s Randall Park as Jimmy Woo, the brilliantly nerdy FBI agent keeping a close eye on Scott, while Laurence Fishburne is complex and ambiguous as Hank’s bitter one-time project partner Bill Foster. Reed once again delivers big-time on the action front too, wrangling some cracking fights and chases to get pulses racing amidst all the laughs, as well as finding plenty of inspired new ways to shake things up with Scott and Hope’s abilities to shrink (and now grow to truly MASSIVE scale) at will, and everything builds to a pleasingly powerful but also very fun ending that makes this a perfect family-night-out movie. And, of course, there’s also two cut-scenes interspersing the end credits – the second is amusing but ultimately throwaway, but the first is CRUCIALLY important to the post-Infinity War playing field of the series as a whole. Ultimately this was the LEAST impressive of the year’s MCU offerings, but that’s not a detraction – it’s just that, while this is really awesome, its predecessors are just EVEN MORE so. Another absolute winner from Marvel, then.

11. HOLD THE DARK – Neflix Originals’ best feature film of 2018 was this revenge thriller from Jeremy Saulnier, acclaimed director of Blue Ruin and Green Room, which marks his fourth collaboration with lifelong friend and regular acting collaborator Macon Blair (here also serving as screenwriter), adapted from the novel by William Giraldi. It’s a dark, bleak and introspective affair, an approach which goes well with its absolutely stunning but bitterly inhospitable Alaskan wilderness setting, an environment which, through Saulnier’s eye and the stylish lens of cinematographer Magnus Nordenhof Jønck, is as brutal and bloodthirsty as it is beautiful. Jeffrey Wright is typically understated but majestic as Russell Core, a writer who studies the behaviour of wolves, who is drawn to the remote Alaskan town of Keelut by grieving mother Medora Sloane (Mad max: Fury Road’s Riley Keough), who wants him to hunt the wolf she claims is responsible for killing her six year old son so she has something to show to her husband, Vernon (Alexander Skarsgård), when he returns from the war in Iraq. Soon enough, however, it becomes clear to Core that something else is going on in Keelut, and the deeper he digs for the truth the more horrific the revelations become, leading to deadly confrontations and a whole lot of blood. Saulnier is a master at creating a relentless atmosphere of skin-crawling dread and unbearable tension, taking his time building the suspense to breaking point before finally unleashing all that pent up pressure in one hell of a centrepiece set-piece, a blistering, drawn-out shootout in the snow that’ll leave fingernails bitten down to the quick, but he also frequently exercises a flair for subtle, contemplative introspection, just as happy to let quieter moments breathe to create scenes of breathless, aching beauty or eerie, haunting discomfort. Wright is a strong, grounding influence throughout the film, further anchored by the simple, honest decency of James Badge Dale’s put-upon small-town sheriff Donald Marium, but most everyone else is damaged or downright twisted in one form or another – Keough is truly batshit crazy, floating through the film like a silent wraith with big empty eyes, while Skarsgård is a stone-cold killing machine as he embarks on a relentless, blood-soaked quest for vengeance, and relative unknown Julian Black Antelope sears himself into your memory as vengeful grief drives him to explosive self destruction. This is a desolate and devastating film, but there are immense rewards to be found in its depths, and there’s a sense of subtle, fragile hope in to be found in the closing moments – this film is guaranteed to stay with you long after the credits have rolled, another gold-standard thriller from two truly masterful talents.

#overlord #sicario 2 #you were never really here #fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald #first man #bumblebee #ready player one #incredibles 2 #ant man and the wasp #hold the dark #2018 in movies

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