"What Have We Done?": Review of THE HOBBIT: THE DESOLATION OF SMAUG

When The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug opens, the first thing we see is Peter Jackson, as hairy and as dirt-covered as the rest of his motley crew, crunching a carrot and then shifting out of frame. It’s not necessarily out of the ordinary for a Jackson film. Like Hitchcock before him, Jackson inserts himself into all of his films, be they epics like The Lord of the Rings trilogy or gross-out horror comedies like Dead Alive. However, this one feels different. Unlike his other cameos which are hidden fairly well – either tucked away deep within the film’s runtime or with Jackson under heavy disguise – this one feels blatant, self-indulgent, and cartoonish. It’s also a microcosm for the overarching problem with The Desolation of Smaug and the entire concept for The Hobbit trilogy. Through the success of The Lord of the Rings franchise, Jackson has achieved a George Lucas level of authority. And because of the power he wields, he no longer feels beholden to any thoughts and suggestions that go against his overall vision. What has resulted is a bloated, overwrought series of films that feel like nothing more than unnecessary fan fiction.

The Desolation of Smaug picks up where the first film left off, with the titular hobbit, Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman), and 13 irascible dwarves led by their king-without-a-kingdom, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage), crossing Middle Earth to reclaim their “kingdom under the mountain” from the dragon Smaug (voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch) who, as dragons are wont to do, has taken the dwarves’ home and all their gold as his own. As the beginning of the film suggests, the great wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen) urged Thorin onto this journey, but still periodically abandons Thorin’s cavalcade of tiny warriors to investigate a threat that is much more pertinent to Middle Earth as a whole – there is a powerful necromancer (again, voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch) who is rallying armies of monstrous orcs to wage a much larger war than the one that looms over Laketown. And if these were the only two plot threads, The Desolation of Smaug might have been a reasonably taut, exciting spectacle.

However, these two threads are only two of many that run through the film, which very quickly gets incredibly dense with plot business, at times clumsily shuffling between five different locations in an effort to keep all the plates up and spinning at once. However, where An Unexpected Journey expanded J.R.R. Tolkien’s universe by adding in material from The Silmarillion and some of Tolkien’s unpublished notes and manuscripts, The Desolation of Smaug completely invents whole plots and characters that play major roles in the film. Foremost of these inventions is the wood-elf Tauriel (Lost’s Evangeline Lilly), who finds herself in a rather odd love triangle between Kili (Aidan Turner), one of the more handsome members of our dwarven band, and familiar face and LotR vet Legolas (Orlando Bloom), who pines for Tauriel much to the chagrin of his father, the wood-elf king Thranduil (Pushing Daises’ Lee Pace, who, much like with his character in Lincoln, plays his part with insane, scene-chewing delirium). While Legolas and Thranduil come directly from Tolkien (though I don’t believe Legolas is ever mentioned, let alone appears in The Hobbit novel), Tauriel and the love triangle filled with heavy yearning and disapproving straight out of some young adult novel, are completely products of Peter Jackson’s (and perhaps co-writers Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens’s) imagination.

In addition, Jackson and his partners in crime (including, to what degree I am unsure, Guillermo del Toro) also expand upon Tolkien’s barely sketched human leader Bard the Bowman (Luke Evans) – morphing him into Bard the Bargeman, a smuggler and single father of three children who has a complicated past. They also make him the “one just man” willing to stand up for his fellow downtrodden citizens against the corruption of Laketown’s opulent master (played by a muck and grime covered Stephen Fry, complete with ridiculous comb over) and his rat-like toady Alfrid (Ryan Cage). For decades, fantasy writers have been trying to emulate Tolkien’s work and the broad conventions that have emerged from this imitation come full circle as Jackson and company lavishly sprinkle them over the author’s sparse text like some unnecessary seasoning. None of these storylines really have much to do with the central quest of the dwarves taking their kingdom back from Smaug. And while I guess it could be argued that they add to the manic atmosphere as the film progresses, they ultimately take away from what is most interesting about The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug – THE HOBBIT AND SMAUG!

Like in An Unexpected Journey, The Desolation of Smaug works best when it narrows its focus to the exploits of its hairy-footed hero. The highlight of the first film, perhaps the highlight of the series so far, was Bilbo’s discovery of the One Ring and his subsequent meeting with Andy Serkis’s creepy and heartbreakingly pathetic Gollum. Here in Desolation, it is easily the hobbit’s frighteningly tense and arguably verbose encounter with Erebor’s current, scaly inhabitor in his golden lair. The other highlight takes place with Bilbo in Mirkwood. Here, the hobbit climbs to the forest’s canopy only to be greeted upon his return by a pack (I’m not sure what a group of these monsters are called) of enormous and genuinely terrifying spiders reminiscent of Shelob in The Two Towers. Martin Freeman is a terrific actor. And when he’s given time to shine, his performance is fantastic – nuanced and heartfelt, he oftentimes seems like a transplant from the silent film era, doing so much comically and dramatically without ever saying a word.

The Desolation of Smaug is packed full of intriguing ideas and interesting moments, but nearly every one revolves around the smallest details in the film. Bilbo’s ability to understand what the spiders are saying when he has the One Ring on his finger, the inner turmoil he feels about whether or not to tell Gandalf about the ring, and his uncharacteristically primordial response to the ring being threatened all hint at the power of one of the most thematically dense symbols in the history of literature. Even as the film finally takes on the epic feel Jackson desperately wants to capture with Smaug, the great worm is far more imposing and magnificent as an orator than as a combatant, the inevitable and affectless battle quickly superseding the dragon’s unsettling, malevolent insight as he quickly discerns the dwarves’ agenda and reveals his own retaliation. Likewise, we learn a thousand times more from a quick conversation between Legolas, Thranduil, and a captured orc than we do in any battle throughout the entire film.

What it boils down to is that it seems as though Peter Jackson cannot go twenty minutes without a lengthy, expensive yet somehow often cheap-looking action set piece involving CGI barrels going down CGI rapids, CGI forges molding CGI liquid gold to trick a seemingly unstoppable force, or part CGI elves surfing on trees and battling mostly CGI orcs. Don’t get me wrong, battles are fine, epic battles are even better. But the first rule about any sex scene, violent scene, or action scene is that it should be about character. It should tell us something about those involved and either during the scene or in its aftermath, something needs to change, either in the characters or in the world around them. Otherwise, the scene is meaningless, perfunctory and boring. None of the action/battle scenes in The Desolation of Smaug follow this rule. In fact, even in the most inventively staged of these scenes – the aforementioned barrel/rapid affair – the only thing the audience really learns is something we already knew from The Lord of the Rings: Legolas is unbelievably (and I mean that in its literal sense) proficient at killing bad guys.

Much like with George Lucas and his three prequels, all of this added up to me questioning whether Peter Jackson has forgotten how to direct. The dwarves are again a bunch of irritable, quibbling jerks who, apart from Thorin and Balin, are really only distinguishable by their ridiculous facial hair. Thorin himself is completely unlikable and although he’s the primary focus of the film, the film gives you little to no reason to want to even root for him. Why does he need to be “king under the mountain” again? Is it the wealth that it will bring to everyone? Does he just want it because it belongs to him? For much of the film, we’re not even given a real reason as to why any of this stuff matters in the larger scope of things. There’s no weight to any of it. Apart from the perfunctory battles and unlikable characters, it all just feels kind of comical. The CGI, though improved in some aspects (like with Azog the Defiler, Smaug especially, and the spiders), is still pretty terrible. Though the rapids scene is being praised by many, it quickly gets out of control with too-smooth movements by clearly computer generated beings and jarring shots taken with a waterproof camera that looks like family’s home movies and completely took me out of the film. All of this and everything mentioned before coupled with baffling choices like having every character deliver “important” lines of dialogue like David Caruso in CSI: Miami (complete with dramatic camera push in and everything), I was left constantly wondering if all of the accolades and power heaped on Jackson after the success of The Lord of the Rings was just too much for him.

Don’t get me wrong, there are things to like about The Desolation of Smaug. The costumes and sets are absolutely gorgeous and Jackson and his team’s ability to world-build is still as sharp as ever. Likewise, though most of the orcs remain CGI creations, Jackson has reintegrated the use of practical prosthetics used in The Lord of the Rings trilogy and it helps tremendously, especially in one scene that I briefly mentioned between Legolas, Thranduil, and a captured orc where a CGI monster would have made it laughable at best. Also, the acting for the most part really carries the anemic script. Though Orlando Bloom and Lee Pace are particularly ridiculous, Freeman and Cumberbatch play wonderfully off one another; Richard Armitage prevents Thorin from plunging into complete unlikeability; Evangeline Lilly is terrific and could have easily been one of the most interesting characters in the film if she weren’t hampered by primarily being the object of affection between elf and dwarf; and Ian Mckellen plays Gandalf with weariness, grandiosity, and ironic humor that reminds us why he will be remembered as the definitive depiction of this character for years to come.

However, as much as Peter Jackson wishes it was, The Hobbit just isn’t an epic story. It is a short book told from the perspective of a tiny creature for children. By attempting to make The Hobbit something it isn’t, stretching it into three films and filling it with pointless battles and subplots that do nothing to enhance the overall story, Jackson is producing something that is unrecognizable. Even what humor Freeman (and occasionally the dwarves) brings to the film is undercut by graphic depictions of beheadings and violent stabbings. Instead of feeling epic, the series feels both bloated and stretched too thin. The action is repetitive and the constant detours from the main plot line feel less interesting and more like advertisements to watch the much better Lord of the Rings trilogy. Ultimately, that’s the core problem. Instead of being interested in creating a genuine, heartfelt adaptation of The Hobbit, Peter Jackson seems to care more about his self-indulgent need to morph Tolkien’s work into a prequel for his own film trilogy. When, at the end of the film, Bilbo exasperatedly asks “What have we done?” I can’t help but hope Jackson and company are asking themselves the same question.

6 out of 10

"Haven't I Seen You Before?": Review of THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE

Spoilers for CATCHING FIRE coming up!

Last year, fans of Suzanne Collins's book series and newcomers alike were introduced to the dystopian nation of Panem. It is a nation wracked by revolution and separated into 12 (formerly 13) districts. It is a nation controlled by a rigid class structure and one that holds an annual event where two children (one boy and one girl) are chosen from each district and forced to fight to the death in order to reinforce the power of "the Capitol." Unsurprisingly, the film took the world by storm and ended up making almost 700 million dollars worldwide. However, unlike most of the people who saw the film adaptation, I thought it was garbage. I thought the script by Gary Ross and Suzanne Collins was pedestrian at best; I thought the CGI in the film was atrocious; and I thought Gary Ross's direction exposed his incompetence when it came to shooting a blockbuster action movie. 

All of that being said, however, going into the second film in the four-part series, I had a lot of hope that this would all change. Instead of Gary Ross and Suzanne Collins, the producers brought in much more experienced (and arguably much more talented) screenwriters in Simon Beaufoy (Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours) and Michael Arndt (Little Miss Sunshine, Toy Story 3). In addition, Gary Ross had been replaced as director by I Am Legend's Francis Lawrence and nearly every important role in the film was now being played by big name stars. (I love you, Wes Bentley, but Phillip Seymour Hoffman you are not.) And, the budget had been nearly doubled from what was provided for The Hunger Games. Everything added up to give this film the potential to do great things. And, after seeing Catching Fire, I can safely say that it improves on basically every level from The Hunger Games. Unfortunately, for all of its improvements, it is still a deeply flawed film that suffers immensely from "Harry Potter Syndrome," has a central romance that feels stagnant and unbelievable, and feels far too much like a retread of the first film to seem warranted or engaging. 

As much as it pains me to say it, one of the film's biggest problems is Josh Hutcherson as Peeta. Don't get me wrong, I think he's a pretty good actor. I loved what he did in both The Kids Are All Right and Joseph Kahn's Detention AND he's from Kentucky so I feel an even stronger obligation to like him. The problem is who he's playing opposite. Nearly everyone else in the film is spectacular. Stanley Tucci, Elizabeth Banks, and Woody Harrelson all perfectly portray characters that are complete eccentrics and you can tell all three are just reveling in their roles. It was also fantastic getting to see Jeffrey Wright and Amanda Plummer (two of my favorite character actors from movies like Broken Flowers and Pulp Fiction) as Beetee and Wiress, two tech-savvy former champions. Though Phillip Seymour Hoffman is only in a few scenes as the new game designer, Plutarch Heavensbee (they don't say his name nearly enough in the film), he completely draws you in with a quiet intensity and a glint in his eye that hints at something smoldering just the below his calm exterior. And Donald Sutherland is Donald Sutherland. 

The film's star, Jennifer Lawrence, is also just on another plane than is Hutcherson. Showing why she is one of the most sought-after commodities in Hollywood today, the recent Oscar winner is so natural, so visceral with her emotional portrayal of this deeply troubled girl who has seen and experienced more than many will in a lifetime, that Hutcherson simply cannot keep pace. As such, he constantly comes off feeling artificial, mannered, as if he is in a completely different movie than the rest of the cast. Jennifer Lawrence imbues each of her lines with fury, heartbreak and desperation. It often feels as if she is speaking about her own life in the spotlight, forced to distract us from the world's problems with her day-to-day exploits just as Katniss is forced to put on a show for the downtrodden masses in the hope that they'll forget the pain of their daily lives. Hutcherson, in comparison, is emotionless, as if he wants to play his role as little as Peeta wishes to play his. 

Because of this, their relationship feels completely unbelievable. Not once while watching the film did I ever understand why someone like Katniss would ever fall for someone like Peeta. At one point in the film, Haymitch says something to Katniss along the lines of "You could live 100 lifetimes and not do anything to deserve that boy." It's an okay line on its own merits, I suppose (a little cliche in my book), but there is no basis for it in the film at all. Nothing we see in Catching Fire, really nothing we've seen in either film, has shown us why Peeta is such a wonderful person. Katniss herself even makes Haymitch promise to save Peeta instead of her when they're both sent back to the games. Why?! The only thing Peeta has done in either film that remotely demonstrates what a good person he is is when he gave young Katniss that burnt loaf of bread when she was starving. But that's it! Throughout the five hours of screen time between the two films, we have seen nothing that would warrant these reactions from Katniss and Haymitch. The film just doesn't make me care about Peeta. I would much rather see Katniss fight for Gale (Liam Hemsworth), but he's barely even in the film. What this is, however, is a symptom of a much larger problem. 

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire's biggest fault is that it greatly suffers from "Harry Potter Syndrome." What I mean by that is, like the Harry Potter film series, Catching Fire relies on the fact that its audience has read the book to do a lot of the work for it. It's wholly a transmedia property. You're not meant to just watch the movie. You're either  supposed to have read the book going in and be able to fill in all the gaps or go out and buy the book after seeing the film and figure out exactly what is going on. And, if you're willing to accept that, it's a fine movie. However, as simply a piece of art standing on its own, Catching Fire doesn't make any damn sense. As hinted at with Peeta, the film has little, if any character development. Why is Peeta the greatest boy who ever lived? I get that Katniss has some sort of PTSD presumably from the horrors she faced in the games. But why introduce it and never touch it again other than one or two nightmares and the odd cold sweat? What is going on with the Finnick character? Why is he being an absolute dick to Katniss in one scene and then risking his life to save and resuscitate Peeta just because he has the same gold bangle as Haymitch? I understand that he's in on the whole thing, but that doesn't explain his treatment of Katniss when they first met. No one was watching, and if they were, that's another instance of the film not telling us something we should know.  And, most importantly, who the hell is Plutarch Heavensbee and what on earth is he doing here?  

Plutarch Heavensbee is actually the mastermind behind a Panem-wide revolutionary uprising. It's a genuinely shocking revelation that comes at the end of the film (a feat not often achieved in today's ultra-savvy audiences). However, the only reason that it's shocking is because IF HE'S THE MASTERMIND BEHIND THIS REVOLUTION THEN NOTHING HE DOES IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE MAKES ANY SENSE! Yes, I get that he wants Katniss to be the face of his revolution, leading a revolt that has its start in the former champions' fighting against the Capitol instead of each other in the Hunger Games arena. I might even buy that he wants her to literally break the system that she metaphorically broke with Peeta in the first film. But unless he had the career tributes' attack on Beetee planned to the exact second so that Beetee could be knocked out having finished just enough of the conductor to allow Katniss to shoot the lightning arrow at the top of the dome, I doubt it. And if you need her to be the face of your revolution, ultimately rescuing her from the Games' perils, why make the dome's punishments so brutal and likely to kill Katniss? That poisonous fog was one Katniss slip away from ruining all of your plans. Sure, I guess Plutarch could have turned it off at the last second, but he didn't seem too worried when her hands and face were almost melted/boiled/whatevered off. I just don't understand what he was thinking. And why exactly can't Katniss know about this? All the other tributes seem to know. I can't think of any reason how not telling her benefits the revolution's cause. Maybe it would make her less diligent? Maybe she wouldn't have been as worried about that poisonous fog then and would have just been melted like poor ol' Mags. Either way, nothing is explained! All of this stuff may very well be answered in the book and all make perfect sense. As a film, however, it makes for a frustratingly confusing movie and disfigures what could have been a fantastically surprising reveal and strong cliffhanger ending (with an absolutely brilliant closeup of Jennifer Lawrence's face going from utter desperation to white-hot rage) into something unsatisfying and wholly unearned.

But, as I said early on, Catching Fire is a much improved film from its predecessor. Unlike Gary Ross, Francis Lawrence actually knows how to film action. In The Hunger Games, Ross would film even a quiet conversation between two people with Greengrassian shaky cam, completely sapping any tension from the later action sequences that were already visually confused enough. Lawrence, on the other hand, knows a thing or two about shooting dystopian action and his pacing and smooth camera movements make for a much more visually appealing/comprehensible film and the Games are filled with a wonderful sense of tension that was sorely absent from the first film. Ultimately, it's not really surprising that the man who directed Constantine and I am Legend has a better sense for action than the director of Pleasantville and Seabiscuit. In addition to the fantastic cast of players, the greatly increased budget also makes a world of difference - the CGI in the film looks worlds better than its Hunger Games counterpart; both the fire on the District 12 outfits and Katniss's Mockingjay costume, as well as that terrifying pack of wild baboons look so much more organic. Unlike the fire and those horrifyingly awful looking people-wolves in the first film, the Catching Fire's CGI actually feels like a tangible component of this world. 

However, despite its advancements, what Catching Fire amounts to is a film that struggles to be anything more than an improved retread. Yes, the caliber of the actors has gone up. Yes, they found a director with a much better sense of action and tone, though the whole film is pervaded by an utter dourness with little reprieve throughout (not necessarily a bad thing, just odd in this type of movie). Yes, the visuals and overall production values have greatly improved. And yes, even the writing is better. But Catching Fire is basically a beat-for-beat rehash of the previous film. Katniss struggles in District 12 and in her relationships with her friends and family, there are hints of revolution, the Hunger Games tributes are drawn, Peeta and Katniss are chosen, everyone is sad, we have a brief training period, the Hunger Games begin, Peeta and Katniss survive despite all odds and Katniss ultimately breaks the system. Lather, rinse, repeat. Admittedly, there are some interesting ideas in this thing. I was especially intrigued with all the political aspects and strategic moves discussed between President Snow and his various audiences of one and by the idea of the rich and powerful exploiting celebrity culture to divert the attention of the poor away from the true crises around them. But this stuff is purely secondary and barely touched throughout the film. Like Haymitch and Katniss toward Peeta, the majority of audiences are already proclaiming Catching Fire's greatness. But just like with Peeta, I simply don't see why they're falling for it. 

Maybe I just need a few more lifetimes to deserve it. 

6 out of 10

Criterion Spotlight: Wong Kar-Wai's CHUNGKING EXPRESS

Wong Kar-Wai's 1994 film, Chungking Express was created and distributed under interesting circumstances. Struggling to finish post-production on his lengthy genre film, Ashes of Time, Wong decided to shoot Chungking as a way too make a bit of quick cash. It worked; the film was completed start to finish in 3 months and went on to be a major hit in China, winning a plethora of awards and making a handsome amount of money. However, when it was brought over to the States by Miramax - by way of Quentin Tarantino's Rolling Thunder Pictures - it bombed horribly, opening on four screens and only initially pulling in an anemic 32, 779 dollars. But what was the disconnect? Was it simply because it was an Asian film in a variety of different languages? Or was there something else?

During one of the first screenings at UCLA before Chungking was released to the public, Tarantino introduced it by admitting that when he first saw the film he "just started crying." It wasn't because the movie is sad, he explained. (In fact, it's actually pretty funny.) No, Tarantino cried because he was "just so happy to love a movie this much." Though I didn't have such a visceral reaction to the film, after seeing Chungking Express I know exactly what Tarantino was talking about and understand why casual American audiences didn't appreciate or relate to it. Chungking Express is a film that was made for people who love film itself, rather than more explicit aspects like story and big name stars. (I really hope that doesn't come off as pretentious. There is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying a film for those things.) It's not a movie for casual viewers. It's also not a movie that reveals all of its tricks and secrets the first time through. (I'll easily only scratch the surface in this rundown.) What it is, however, is a movie that announced the Hong Kong-based Wong Kar-Wai's emergence as the latest director in the tradition of  crazily talented auteur filmmakers a la Jean-Luc Godard. (That's what 3 years of studying French paying off looks like, folks.) 

Wong is less concerned with the story itself and more with all the aspects that come together to make a story. It's visible even within the film's framework - the film is composed of two stories that, other than sharing some similar themes and locations, are completely disconnected. He sets these Hong Kong tales in a world of nightclubs and shopping malls, plazas and fast food restaurants, all saturated in pop culture (the first story oozes gangster thriller complete with a femme fatale, blonde wig and all; the second's female focus is obsessed with the Mamas and the Papas' "California Dreamin'" and a Cantonese cover of the Cranberries' "Dreams"). His gorgeously shot visuals oscillate rhythmically between film, video and pixelated images. He even varies his speed, sometimes speeding the film up slightly, more often using slow motion to make it appear as if the world of the film is about to collapse back into its cinematic building blocks. 

Just like what Godard's Masculin Feminin did in the mid-60s, Chungking Express is a 90s pop art masterpiece, depicting the lives of cool twentysomethings and how they negotiate their rampant desires for and confusion surrounding the opposite sex in a world leading up to Hong Kong's hand-off to China. It's about their struggle with the paradox of living in one of most densely packed cities in the world and remaining ostensibly lonely, existing primarily in their own inner worlds. But as the characters interact in this vast city, they are photographed like a music video with some Godard (a lot of the pop culture stuff) and Cassavetes (a lot of the improvisation) thrown in. And ultimately, it becomes clear that what is happening to these characters (and perhaps what is happening to the director) is what is important. It's about the journey, not about the destination. 

As the film begins, we meet policeman number one, or more accurately officer no. 223, played by pop star Takeshi Kaneshiro. His name is He Qiwu and he spends most of his time brooding about his girlfriend, May, who jilted him on April Fools' Day. No. 223 has instigated an ultimatum to May, giving her until May 1st, his 25th birthday, to come back to him. He counts the days down by buying cans of pineapple ("May loves pineapple") that are to expire on May 1st. Is she doesn't call him by his birthday, the relationship will expire along with the pineapples. It's not clear if May even knows about this ultimatum, and unlikely that she'd care even if she did. 

Yet, there the pineapple cans sit stacked one on top of the other, dreamlike objects with multiple meanings and associations. Like the May 1 cans, May was No. 223's number one love, but he must let her go in order to move on with his life. There's also the pineapple proper, processed and sickly sweet, mimicking the saccharine puppy love that he feels for May. When No. 223 tries to offer one of the syrupy things to his dog with only hours until May 1st, much like May herself, the dog has no interest in He Quiwu's ridiculous ritual of devotion. Finally, by transferring his heart to his stomach and gorging himself on all thirty cans of pineapple at once, when No. 223 eventually vomits it all up he has, in essence, purged himself of the hurtful past and immediately decides to fall in love with the next woman he meets. 

For all the various glimpses into No. 223's psyche that the pineapple provides, however, a seemingly much darker countdown hung over Hong Kong in 1994 - in three years, it was to be handed back over to China. The comic anxiety about sex and romance felt by the twentysomethings in Chungking Express masks a much deeper fear that political freedom, really an entire way of life, had a fast approaching expiration date. But unlike Masculin Feminin in the 60s, Chungking Express is completely void of political activity or speech. Instead, like most everything else in the film, Wong Kar-Wai prefers to tell his true story in metaphors. This anxiety can be seen reflected in the scene where Brigitte Lin's blonde-wigged drug smuggler is slipped a can of sardines with the the same expiration date of May 1st. If she doesn't deliver the drugs her bumbling mules have stolen, she will swim with the fishes. 

And this is where she is brought together with our forlorn No. 223 when they literally collide in the opening chase sequence. Any cop worth his or her salt could tell in a glance that Brigitte's dark glasses, wig, trench coat and general disposition are the classic signs of SOMEONE IN DISGUISE! But No. 223's vision is far too clouded by his lost love that when the two meet again in a bar after he throws up the pineapple, he fancies himself in love with her. They end up making it to a hotel room, where she immediately falls asleep and he spends the night eating four chef salads. He then removes her shoes so her feet won't swell and polishes them for her. Nothing sexual happens, but in the small acts of kindness they extend to one another, each imparts the strength necessary to move on with their life - her to finish the job, him to move on in love. 

Chungking Express was not the original title of the film. The correct translation of the Hong Kong title, Chung hing sam lam, means "Chungking Jungle." However, the US title (which I prefer) suggests a weird amalgam of space, that can only occur in dreams or in film, the combination of Chungking Mansions, the setting of the first section, and Midnight Express, the small restaurant where most of the second section's action revolves. Midnight Express figured into the first section too. It's where No. 223 goes to call his answering machine to check for messages from May (password: "love is for ten-thousand years"). There, the proprietor tries to set 223 up with another May who works at the restaurant, but 223 isn't interested. When he returns after his night with the mysterious blonde, the proprietor informs him that the other May has moved on as well, but suggests asking out the new girl, Faye (Faye Wong). Hopelessly confused, however, when the proprietor tries to point her out, No. 223 accidentally sees a man washing windows and laughs the suggestion off. In doing so, he proves himself not ready for love and leaves Midnight Express, never to be seen or heard from again. As far as the film is concerned, He Qiwu's story is over. 

It's an interesting and abrupt transition, and it says as such about the director's career as the film's story. Up this this point in his career, Wong Kar-Wai had made a name for himself with his debut feature, As Tears Go By. Like the first half of Chungking Express, it too was a genre action picture. So was the film, Ashes of Time, that he was working on before he shot Chungking. However, when Wong drops the first section of Chungking, with its foot chases, seedy flophouses and dark alleys, in favor of a more promising romantic situation after less than forty minutes have elapsed, it also marks a transition to the romantic yearnings that would dominate his later work including Happy Together (1997), In the Mood for Love (2000), and 2046 (2004). It's almost as if the film itself is using trial and error to look for love in the same way its characters are. And what it finds is pure screwball romance. 

Stepping into No. 223's shoes is No. 663 played by C-pop singer Tony Leung who, like No. 223 before him stops routinely at Midnight Express. Except instead of dejectedly checking his answering machine, 663 buys a chef salad for his flight attendant girlfriend. As Leung enters the world of the film, we see it almost exclusively through Faye's eyes. And when he walks into closeup, sharing a magnetic charm and soulful eyes with the likes of Brando, she is not the only one who falls completely in love. Unfortunately for 663, one person who isn't falling for him is the one person he wants and he soon finds himself in the same situation as 223. 

Then things get weird. Using a key to No. 663's apartment left at Midnight Express by the flight attendant, Faye lets herself into his world, cleaning his home while he walks his beat. Sweeping, straightening, getting new fish for the fish tank, Faye's housework transgression is done with amazing giddiness and energy as she bops to the beats of the Mamas and Papas' "California Dreamin'" and a cover of the Cranberries' "Dreams" done in Cantonese by, meta-ly enough, Faye Wong herself (the actress, not the character she's playing). This was Faye Wong's first acting role and she completely steals the show with her impeccable comic timing and fantastic impulsiveness. 

What makes this section so great, though, what really makes the whole film so great, is the pair's chemistry. Faye is an exciting extrovert. No. 663 is completely and totally lost in his own mind, talking to inanimate objects around his home (like a large teddy bear and a bar of soap) more than he does actual humans. He's so far introverted that he doesn't notice how far Faye has fallen for him. He doesn't even notice that his apartment is being inexplicably cleaned by unseen forces. It's only when No. 663 and Faye come face-to-face at his apartment that he realizes. He's coming in, she's leaving. When she sees him she shrieks and slams HIS door in his face. And it's laugh out loud funny. Through the whole section, though, their interactions have more than simple sexual attraction. There's an innocence of spirit that permeates through the whole gamut of their relationship. It's really a feeling that permeates through the whole film. Chungking Express is not a long-term engagement. It's a fling, a fleeting moment filled with joy and a few triumphs. You're not sure how long the feeling will last, but you're glad to have had it all the same. 

On the Merits of AXE COP

I have a new favorite animated series. It's part of Fox's "Animation Domination" and it's not Family Guy, The Simpsons, or American Dad. It's not even Bob's Burgers, though I utterly adore that show. (I want to be a smart, strong, sensual woman like Tina Belcher.) No, it's a show that spews out lines like "That's right. We're going out through the butt hole;" "Hitler, I had a feeling you were behind all this;" and "Say hello to my parents -- IN HELL!" It's a show whose main villains include the "King of Bad Guys" and Dr. Doo Doo, the world's most intelligent poo. It's a show whose protagonist's catchphrase is, "I'LL CHOP YOUR HEAD OFF!!!" It's Axe Cop!

Based on a web comic turned real comic (turned TV show, obviously), Axe Cop was created by two brothers, Malachai and Ethan Nicolle. Ethan, 29 when the series began, was already an acclaimed comic book author and illustrator for his book Chumble Spuzz. Wanting to release a web comic while working on his next graphic novel, the idea to do Axe Cop crystallized when the character was created by 5-year-old Malachai during an intense pretend session. From there, Malachai became responsible for the ideas, characters and stories, Ethan then turning those aspects into comics. What they created was one of the most unique, hilarious, and batshit insane franchises going today. 

Summed up beautifully in the show's opening credits (by who I assume is Malachai himself), Axe Cop is about how "one day, at the scene of the fire, The Cop found the perfect axe. That was the day he became... AXE COP!" Working out of an office outside of the "regular cops" jurisdiction with his partner, Flute Cop, Axe Cop explains his job as "When I arrive at the Axe Cop station, the first thing I do is print out a list of bad guys to kill, and then I kill them." And Axe Cop is a pro. "I don't work the day shift or the night shift," he explains, "I work the always shift, because I'm a hero." But Axe Cop isn't your typical mild-mannered type who was thrust into this role. 

No, Axe Cop was always meant for this life. At the age of 8, he killed his first bad guy. Sure, it was a cute, white rabbit, but he wasn't obeying all the rabbit rules! Instead of noshing on carrots and hopping on all fours, this bastard sauntered around on two legs and ate coconuts! When the spirit of the rabbit comes back and manifests in a little boy, it explains that it didn't mean any harm. All it wanted to do was walk around and enjoy a coconut or two. "Then you shouldn't have been born a rabbit," Axe Cop replies. When it comes to enforcing the law, especially his law, Axe Cop isn't exactly the arbitrating type. 

 

With an impeccably square jaw and a mustache to die for, the muscular and testosterone oozing Axe Cop is, of course, voiced by America's favorite manly man, Nick Offerman. Perhaps no other human, on Earth or otherwise, could deliver the line "I dreamed that we'd be saved by a man with the power of all the seasons" with such conviction and authority that you crack up laughing while inexplicably feeling relieved and safe. But although Offerman is the star and strongest presence, the show's creators have managed to surround him with a cast that is impressively and universally outstanding. 

Adding to the likes of regulars like Offerman's wife, Megan Mullally, Patton Oswalt and Rob Huebel, the cast of guest stars includes the likes of Breaking Bad alums Jonathan Banks and Giancarlo Esposito as Axe Cop's grandfather, Book Cop, and Army Chihuahua respectively, Tyler, the Creator as Liborg (a lion cyborg), Jarred Harris as the King of England, and Michael Madsen as Baby Man (a man in a baby suit with the powers and temperament of a baby). Perhaps most important, however, is Ken Marino (Party Down, Childrens Hospital) as Axe Cop's partner, Flute Cop. With the power to play a mean flute (as the name would suggest), Marino's tranquil lilt makes for an excellent foil to Offerman. If no one can deliver Axe Cop's lines like Offerman, no one can respond to them with such perfectly inflected bewilderment quite like Ken Marino. 

But it isn't campy or cleverly winking at its audience from behind Axe Cop's permanently fixed sunglasses. What makes Axe Cop so fantastic is that it's wholly and sincerely invested in a child's, more specifically a young boy's conception of heroic adventure. As such, it's full of all the random, unrelated tangents, bloody violence, feats of unbelievable strength, occasional braggart displays of excessive learning (see: all the stuff with English geography/history), attempts at existential contemplation ("I wasn't happy or sad. I was medium. And medium is the happiest that I'll ever be"), and just utter mayhem that populate the mind, and subsequently the stories, of a young boy. Axe Cop cuts (or chops) out all the things that might make its tales boring or less fun, and distills everything down to only that which will elicit cries of "Woah, dude! That's awesome!" And its succeeds going away. 

Axe Cop is a perfect depiction of childhood fantasy and imagination. Because of this, it's hilarious on a number of different levels. For one, the jokes and just complete randomness of it all is ridiculously funny (Zombie Island... IN SPACE!). For another, it allows for its intended audience (though there isn't a lot that would make parents apprehensive, no more than the shows that populated Nickelodeon when I was a kid, it's still rated MA and airs late on Fox) to engage in some good, old fashioned nostalgia and fondly revel in their memories while laughing at themselves for coming up with ideas that were, no doubt, equally or maybe even more out-there than anything that has sprung from Malachai's brain. 

There also just isn't really another show like Axe Cop. Though it would fit perfectly into Adult Swim's lineup of stoner animations, it doesn't really feel connected to any of those shows. Really, the closest thing to it is another wonderful Cartoon Network show that airs a little bit earlier in the evening - Pendleton Ward's Adventure Time. With Adventure Time, we again see this affectionate look at childhood imagination in the form of Finn and Jake's adventures in the Land of Ooo. However, even then the stories are being filtered through the mind of an adult. (Despite his wonderful, childlike nature, Pendleton Ward is still in his 30s.) With Axe Cop, what you get is pure and unadulterated. As such, what the Nicolle Brothers have created is something that feels uniquely their own. Whether you're watching it high as a kite or stone cold sober, whether you're a kid or a really cool adult, whether you're real or make believe (I can't believe that Finn and Jake wouldn't love this show), Axe Cop is an uproariously funny, way out-there piece of incredibly well put together television and it deserves to have your attention. 

Axe Cop airs in an animation block on Fox beginning at 12:30 AM EST every Saturday. And if you're not into that, my friend would like a word...

Uncovering Television: Thoughts on TOP OF THE LAKE - Episode 6 & 7

First off, for anyone who actually read and enjoyed these, thank you so much! And for those of you who did, I also want to apologize for this taking so long. It was a combination of a variety of things I just couldn't help and things I totally could have helped. But, either way, there's no excuse for it. So, without going on too much about it, thank you again for reading and taking this journey with me and now let's finish it!

"Episode 6"

With one hour to go in the series, "Episode 6" ends with answers finally beginning to be revealed. However, the more that is uncovered, the more disturbing things get. Robin has some of her brother's hacker friends investigate Bob Platt's (the guy that Matt and his boys murdered at the beginning of the series) computer and they end up discovering a zip file filled with something that seems horrific. Though, in typical Top of the Lake editing, we aren't shown very much, what we do get to see looks like so weird cross between a sex party and a murder scene. The photos are grainy, things just out of frame. The only thing recognizable is Mr. Platt and the stag's head that's been ever-present throughout the series. It's just like the one in Matt's dining room, and the one that was at the school dance that Robin was at before she was sexually assaulted, and it's like the one in Al's office. "They're pretty popular," says Al, "They're pretty much everywhere." True enough, Al. But what else is common around Laketop? 

While we're on the subject, I've pretty much been quietly disgusted with Al since that night Robin got too drunk at his place and woke up in only Al's shirt and her panties. And the more he proclaims his innocence that night, the guiltier he seems. It also doesn't redeem him that he again brings it up out of nowhere and as the segue into asking Robin for another date. "Hey, so I didn't rape you that one night when I totally could have. Do you want to get dinner or something?" Throughout the run of the series, Al has always had this latent sociopathy that is eerily similar to Matt Mitcham. Not surprising then, that in this episode we see Al ambush Robin - taking her out on his boat only to have Matt appear from below deck like some Bond super villain. Al refuses to take Robin to shore even after she demands he do so. It's another feeble and sad attempt at reestablishing dominance and masculinity by the two characters we've seen be most emasculated up to this point. Matt has something to tell Robin and he and Al are going to make sure she hears it no matter how much she protests.

And from here we turn to one of the only two decent men in this series (excluding all minor characters only seen once or twice) - Johnno Mitcham. Though it's true that he's never concretely voiced that he had nothing to do with Robin's rape those many years ago, his actions in this episode are truly heroic. When Matt and Al have Robin trapped on Al's boat, it's Johnno who comes to her rescue. He also tries to find the man who shoots (a "warning shot") at Robin and tries to find Tui before Matt's hired hunters can find her. Not only are all of these things incredibly brave, in rescuing Robin he is also blatantly challenging Matt to his face, declaring his allegiance to Robin and against his father's tyranny. It may be a little strange or against the series' themes to have a man swoop in and save Robin, knight-in-shining-armor style. But the series has already well established their relationship as one of equals and this never feels like anything other than one person saving the person they love. 

This is where things get a little strange. Because Robin's motivations in this episode are really perplexing. First, we find out she's been looking with great suspicion into Al's finances (see: expensive lake-side mansion and nice boat). But then she just completely buys his whole story about Matt having a confession to give to her, and only her, up at his compound. It's clear that Al and Matt have some kind of relationship with one another or a business arrangement at the very least. It's clear to the audience, it was clear to Bob Platt and it's clear to Robin. But she still decides to go ahead with it. There's something clearly rotten in the town of Laketop and Robin seems on the verge of cracking it. It's just seems odd to me that she'd just run into the mouth of the beast without much of a contingency plan. Perhaps it's just a product of her all-encompassing drive to find Tui and bring down Matt Mitcham. 

On that note, we fill in a bit more of the puzzle this episode. Jamie didn't use that Rohypnol found on him to rape anyone (though it still pervades over things and I can't help but think back again to that night at Al's place where Robin got inexplicably drunk off not too much wine). Johnno explains the drug being in Jamie's bag away as kids experimenting in what is another instance of feminist charged dialogue seemingly only kept in because it is charged with feminism. However, as it turns out, Jamie is not the father of Tui's child. Unfortunately, we only discover this after Jamie has been chased to his death by Matt's hunters. Finally we are given a concrete answer and we can take no comfort in the resolution. 

But the scene is as breathtaking as it devastating. Matt's hunters happen upon Tui and Jamie's shack and ring Tui's alarm bell. Without hesitation and with zero qualms, Tui immediately opens fire on the men, shooting dangerously close to them in an attempting to scare them away. But the kids abandon their shelter, the blue hooded figure we've come to know firing at the men while the white coat scampers up the hill. Johnno and Robin hear the gun shots and Johnno races up the hill towards them, sending Robin to follow around the river. Top of the Lake is at it's best when it's just people interacting with the awe-inspiring visuals of New Zealand. And here, as everyone is rushing to reach each other at the top of the mountain, there is a beautiful magnificence to it all. And then Tui slips and falls, first sliding down the side of the mountain and then plummeting off the ledge. The camera then cuts to Robin as she see the small figure in the white coat falling, almost in slow motion, until it comes violently to a halt in front of her. It's a moment that leaves you speechless. And when it is revealed that Jamie and Tui switched jackets so that he could lead the hunters away from her, and that he died protecting her, it becomes an incredibly touching and heartbreaking display of love. 

Yet, interestingly enough, it's revealed in the final moments that Jamie wasn't even romantically interested or involved with Tui. He was gay. And while his mother calls gay "a dangerous word" around Laketop, the creators of Top of the Lake have spent the past six episodes completly altering the gender structure of this world. Like I spent most of one of these reviews talking about, most of the men in this series have been emasculated in one way or another and most of the women have taken on roles of strength and independence. Likewise, when Jamie and Tui are threatened, what happens? Jamie wants to run away while Tui wants to stay and fight. It is worth noting, however, that in a sweet, earlier scene where some of Jamie and Tui's friends come to celebrate her birthday, there are no power structures or latent violence. These kids aren't following Laketop's unwritten rules that dictate a society run on a cycle of violence. It's a small glimpse of hope in an otherwise greatly depressing episode. 

"Episode 7"

For a while, that hope continues in "Episode 7." Which is saying a lot when it's revealed early on that the man (Johnno) that Robin's been sleeping with is actually her half-brother! It's not exactly surprising more than it is inevitable. As I had been speculating through the past few episodes, all the parallels between Robin and Matt that the show has been implicitly laying down and then the blatant problem Robin's mother has with her seeing Johnno Mitcham all added up to a large sign blinking "WARNING" as Robin went to see Matt at the beginning of the episode. GJ is always talking about listening to the body and how the body has "tremendous intelligence," but to be frank, the body has pretty much screwed everyone in this series. Yet before Johnno and Robin have much time to figure out how to handle this bombshell, they're racing Matt to find Tui. Matt finds Tui first, sleeping with her new born in a tent. He then proceeds to steal the baby and run off. It's not clear whether or not he's in denial that this is Tui's child ("Kids don't have kids," he states) or if just doesn't think it's physically possible for someone so young to carry a baby to term. Either way, he points the rifle he took with him at the baby and Johnno points his gun at Matt. And then Tui shoots both of them, hissing like someone who has lost complete grip with reality. But then Robin takes Tui in her arms and says everything is going to be okay. And for a moment you actually believe her and Paradise seems more than just a name.

Then we find find out, "Oh, yeah. Al, Bob Platt and their buddies are actually part of some weird drug/child-molestation ring." Of course they are. The barista youth rehabilitation program, the pizza parties, the Rohypnol, it's all so painfully obvious that Robin figures it out just by staring at the program's graduation photos like some Kiwi Sherlock Holmes. Of course she rushes over to Al's mansion. Of course he stumble out drunkenly, his shirt inside-out. Of course he harasses her and tries to kiss and fondle her. And of course she shoots him. Like the revelation that Matt is actually Robin's father, it was inevitable that something like this was going on. It's just fortunate that of the two things Robin brings with her - a pistol and a camera phone - she only has to use the latter. (You know, except on Al.) These kids only seem to have been drugged, with nothing more nefarious having taken place. 

I understand why this had to happen. I get what Jane Campion and her team are doing, tying all the series' themes into this final gut-punch. Violence begets violence, and Al and his deplorable friends are passing their violence onto the next generation. Patriarchy is the ruling institution in Laketop, New Zealand. It was present at Matt's compound and it's present in the police station and in the badge Al carries. And the only way to stop this violent institution is, regrettably, with more violence. Tui shoots and kills Matt and tags and wounds Johnno. Robin has punched, slapped and stabbed men, and she shoots Al in the chest and presumably kills him. It's an incredibly harrowing and disturbing situation the women of Laketop are put in, but the bravest of them choose to fight back by any means necessary. 

I'm just not sure it was done right. Yes, the ending at Al's mansion feels inevitable, sure. But the way it's done is a complete blindside. I was convinced the episode was ending with Robin looking at the photos of the children of Laketop, some she was able to help, many others she was unable to save. But the way the creators decided to usurp that moment felt less organic and more "Gotcha!! It's not over yet!" They even rack-focused in. The only thing missing was a "DUN! DUN! DUNNNNNNNN!" The skill with which the sequence at the mansion was done helped mitigate some of my apprehensions, but my original thoughts still bother me and I wonder if this was more a product of obstinate determinism to deliver the show's message and less of trying to make the best ending possible for the show. 

Yet, despite all that, this final episode seems primarily interested in the running familial themes of the series - in this case, incest and surrogate families. The DNA tests come back with proof that Robin is indeed Matt's daughter. But surprise, Johnno isn't! It's a bit too convenient and lets what could have been a really interesting (however disgusting) plot and thematic development fall by the wayside. Admittedly, though, this could have been a product of having to end the series more than a story issue. Al also tells Robin and Johnno that Matt is the father of Tui's baby, but the events at the end of the episode complicate that. Plus there's the whole issue of Matt's impotency that we see earlier in the series. Most importantly, though, Johnno and Robin become like mom and dad to Tui and Tui's newborn. Just like the man who raised Robin as his own, Robin and Johnno and, to a lesser degree, Tui are choosing who their family will be. It's another small consolation in an otherwise win less circumstance. 

And as we finish this tale, we go back to where it all started - Robin standing in the lake, trying to wash Al's blood off of her shirt. It's a bit of a heavy-handed metaphor (even more so with such a strong feminist bent), but it's also subtly complex. Like her assault many years before, this is another greatly traumatic moment that will color Robin's life for years to come. In a broader sense, too, things in Laketop still don't feel right. Yes, Matt's dead and Al's dead and Bob Platt's dead. But their countless friends and relatives are still alive and well and so is the corruption that is eating away at the town's most important institutions. Tui too is irrevocably damaged and despite her disdain for her father, she seems to be exhibiting both some of his characteristics and the characteristics of an adolescent when it comes to her crying infant. Hell, even GJ, the strong, almost mythic sage is getting out of dodge, "I gotta get away from all these crazy bitches." 

The poison that runs through Laketop is not gone. It's in the blood. And that blood isn't so easy to wash out. 

Thoughts on Steve McQueen's 12 YEARS A SLAVE

As one might expect from a film that tells the story of a free black man, Solomon Northup, living in Saratoga Springs, New York in the 1840s who is brought to Washington D.C. under false pretenses, drugged and sold into slavery, Steve McQueen’s (Hunger, Shame) latest film, 12 Years a Slave, is deeply troubling on a number of levels. It is a film that unnerved me and deeply affected me emotionally as I watched it. It’s also a film that, upon further reflection, has some serious problems that need to be wrestled with. The more I think about it, the less sure I am of what this film is. As such, I fear this “review” might be less of a review and more of me just trying to work this thing out.

Above all, like McQueen’s two previous films, 12 Years a Slave is incredibly hard to watch. But, no matter what the film is “about,” that’s the point. Steve McQueen traffics in discomfort. As a visual artist and now as a director, he has shown himself to be completely infatuated with the degradation of the human body and soul. Just like the squalid conditions of the North Ireland prisons in Hunger and the graphic sexual depravity in Shame, the sheer, utterly despicable brutality of slavery in the antebellum south is the perfect lens through which to view this common theme. And through that lens, the gaze of McQueen’s (and his DP, Sean Bobbitt’s) camera is unflinching.

Sequences of intense suffering and humiliation are played in long continuous shots, refusing the audience any sort of reprieve that a cut here or there would afford. In one particular scene, Solomon, now with the identity of “Platt” forced upon him, is hanged by the neck from a tree with only his tip-toes preventing an excruciating death. As he sways back and forth, gurgling and choking, the other slaves go about their chores, drying clothes or tending the grass as if nothing were amiss. (This occurs over the course of minutes in the film’s runtime, hours in the world of the film.) It is only when another slave offers Solomon a relieving drink of water that McQueen offers the audience a likewise respite. In another scene near the end of the film (also easily the most viscerally brutal), a young, female slave is horrifically whipped. The sequence again plays in one long, constantly-moving shot that is sickeningly fluid, circling around and around capturing the unrelenting anguish and emotional suffering of the young slave, her master and Solomon who is forced to participate in the gruesome event. This is where I begin to question things.

Because, as effective as these scenes may be (and man, are they effective), I’m left wondering why McQueen chose to 1.) Make this film and 2.) Shoot it in the way he did. At heart, Steve McQueen is a visual artist and his films, 12 Years a Slave included, reflect this. As such, the cold, detached nature with which he films his subjects is ambiguous. Yes, it could most certainly be a commentary on the detached nature with which our society today views slavery – treating it as something completely removed from today’s “post-racial” culture. A big part of me buys into that. But I still can’t help but thinking about how this decision could easily be a reflection of McQueen’s own detachment from his subject matter. There was a nagging feeling I felt all throughout 12 Years a Slave that I just couldn’t place. I think now that perhaps what I was feeling was the discomfort brought on by the fact that McQueen is using slavery simply as a backdrop for his continued obsession with the destruction of a person’s humanity.

But this is not necessarily a knock on the film. I have obviously never met Mr. McQueen. (I might go as far as saying he’s probably never been to Kentucky.) And although he isn’t American and hasn’t, I would assume, had to live and struggle with this country’s tumultuous relationship with slavery and race relations (at least in the context of the American south), I do know that his parents hail for the Caribbean which was deeply involved in the slave trade. So, who am I to say what Mr. McQueen’s motivations were for making this film? Nobody, that’s right.  However, I am simply speaking to what I see in the context of the film.

What I see in the film, is a nonlinear narrative told in beautifully rendered tableaus that depict inhuman cruelty after inhuman cruelty, one more hideously disturbing than the last. The problem is, that’s basically all there is. For nearly the entire two hour runtime, McQueen rushes from one torturous scene to the next, focusing almost exclusively on how that torture lays the recipient low. Whether it be Solomon being violently beaten down when he first finds himself imprisoned or Solomon being viciously whipped for only picking 180 pounds of cotton instead of the requisite 200, or whether it be Patsey being nearly murdered for borrowing some soap from a neighboring plantation to wash herself or brutally raped for no other reason than, “She’s his property and that’s just what master Epps was feeling this particular night.” Yes, slavery is present during all of this. But, more often than not, it seems stuck in the background, playing second fiddle to McQueen’s true interest. And most of the instances where slavery is discussed directly, it comes off as ham-fisted.

While McQueen’s depicts the perpetrated violence in meticulous and stunning compositions, anything nuanced he might have said about slavery is replaced with trite dialogue. Instead of showing the audience, he simply tells us about it. For the one scene during which Benedict Cumberbatch and other random slavers are looking for potential new meat and we see how these black men and women are stripped naked and forced to stand at attention as people they don’t know gawk at their bare bodies, check their teeth and ask about their strength and endurance, we have tons of scenes like the ones with Alfre Woodard’s black slave owner explaining how she worked herself a way in the world and married her former master, and Brad Pitt’s Canadian miracle abolitionist swooping in when all hope seems lost to preach the ills of slavery and rescue Solomon from the maw of the abyss. I am absolutely fascinated by the scene of Paul Giamatti showing off his “merchandise” to prospective buyers. The way the camera weaves throughout the house, capturing the immense mental and physical distress on the faces of the new slaves without one of them (save one or two) speaking up for themselves, is magnificent. But again, this scene is treated with such care because its subject is the destruction of the bodies and souls of the slaves in the house, not because of its relationship to the institution of slavery.

But again, and I can’t stress this enough, this fact doesn’t make 12 Years a Slave a bad film. In fact, I think it’s quite a good film. The acting, for one, is almost universally amazing. There are some weird choices in the film, like a bearded Garret Dillahunt (Raising Hope, Looper) showing up for 2 minutes and then disappearing forever or the aforementioned Brad Pitt who looks and sounds so weird and whose dialogue might not seem so hackneyed if McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley had not instilled so much cynicism into the audience up until that point. But for those two choices, we have the likes of Benedict Cumberbatch and Michael Fassbender who has a spectacular turn as Edwin Epps. We often see Epps just sitting in a chair in a drunken stupor, staring off into the middle distance. In the already mentioned scene where he forces Solomon to whip Patsey, it is not because he gets some sick pleasure from watching one slave beat another. (At least, not in this particular instance.) It’s because he can’t do it himself. As he stares at Patsey’s naked back, you can see the fear in Fassbender’s eyes as they begin to well up with tears. How Fassbender somehow manages to imbue some, dare I say, humanity into an otherwise completely reprehensible and horrifyingly disgusting creature is remarkable.

Lupita Nyong’o is also a standout. In what is amazingly her debut role, as the young slave, Patsey, Nyong’o gives a confident and assured performance, expertly commanding the screen with the gravitas of a much more seasoned performer. As the object of her master Epp’s deplorable lust and subsequently his unfettered rage, much is asked of Nyong’o and she delivers spectacularly. In her small, meek frame, she is able to convey the overwhelming weariness of body and spirit that is the product of hundreds of years of subjugation. And when she explains to Solomon that for her the only way to escape the inescapable is through ending her own life, it is a revelation that is as devastating as it is believable.

And, of course, there is Chiwetel Ejiofor as Solomon Northup. As Northup, Chiwetel is in nearly every scene in the film and, likewise, is asked to shoulder much of the film’s weight. And he succeeds tremendously. As a quiet and reserved leading man, Ejiofor conveys most of the toll taken on Northup by the appalling acts committed against him solely in subtle expressions in his face and in his wide eyes that are both accusing and full of sorrow. In one particular scene, Northup and his fellow slaves are conducting a funeral for one of their brethren who died of heat exhaustion in the cotton fields. Looking on the gravesite, the men and women begin to sing a spiritual and the camera slowly pulls in onto Solomon’s face. As we watch, his face slowly contorts as if he has finally given in and completely accepted the identity of a slave. It’s an outstanding scene, and the way Ejiofor is able to totally morph his face into a visage of complete agony is amazing. Likewise, in another scene near the end of the film, we see yet another close-up of Ejiofor’s face. It is another long continuous shot, and during it Solomon simply stares off into the camera. But he’s not looking at the audience or anything really. He’s looking at the unthinkable cruelties that have befallen him and thousands of people like him. He’s staring directly into the void of hopelessness that is what has become of his life – a never-ending torment with the hope of relief or rescue all but destroyed. And though Ejoifor barely moves, all of this is fully and heartbreakingly depicted in his weary eyes; eyes that have had all their life and fire harshly snuffed out.

I’m not going to say that 12 Years a Slave is exploitative, because I believe that connotation is far too negative (on top of simply being untrue). But I don’t necessarily believe that it warrants the “definitive film about slavery” moniker that everyone is placing upon it. 12 Years a Slave is not a document of history. It’s a dramatic retelling in which Steve McQueen has taken and embellished what bits he has deemed most suitable for his goal – that goal being to artfully depict the complete desolation of this man’s, Solomon Northup, body and soul. And he accomplishes this magnificently. Apart from just the explicit brutality committed against Northup, the psychological destruction of the film’s subject is particularly absorbing. The way Solomon Northup begins, declaring “I do not want to survive. I want to live,” and how he is subsequently forced to hide his intelligence and talents until he is physically and mentally broken down into the rudimentary form of only doing whatever it takes to survive is incredible. I just can’t help but wish this connected to the institution of slavery is a more interesting, nuanced way instead of just feeling like Steve McQueen saying “slavery is bad and now let me use it as a tool to tell the story I really want to tell.”

And so, while 12 Years a Slave might not be the revolutionary film about slavery that everyone is calling it, it is a film that conveys the destruction of the human body and soul in a way that is deeply unnerving and viscerally and emotionally effecting. And while 12 Years a Slave might not be as culturally important a film as some are declaring, it is still an incredibly beautiful, impeccably composed and shot, remarkably well-acted film that deserves much praise and accolades. Just maybe not the ones it’s getting.

8 0ut of 10 (7 out of 10 as a film about slavery, 9 out of 10 as a film about the degradation of human body and soul)