R for lots of language, violence, sexuality, drug / alcohol abuse, and nudity.  This is another one of those stories that is just about the world of outlaws and vice.  Unlike The Outsiders, the movie has a less kid-friendly appeal.  That means that we get to see the creepier version of the stuff that we saw there.  It's far more bleak, while oddly kind of glorifying of the lifestyle.  (The same thing happened with Fight Club, if that helps you understand what I'm talking about.)  A well-deserved R.

DIRECTOR:  Francis Ford Coppola

I keep watching these Facebook videos of a BBC show called "Unpopular Opinion."  Here is my unpopular opinion:  I don't get what people see in The Outsiders.  "But aren't you an English teacher?"  Totally.  But that doesn't mean that I have to love every book that ever existed.  The Outsiders never appealed to me at all.  There are elements of the book that I get and are pretty good. But on the whole, I never really liked it.  It's not the rebel element of the book.  After all, I really like ​Rebel without a Cause. But there's something about Rebel without a Cause that isn't in The Outsiders, or by the transitive property, Rumble Fish.  It is the element of wanting to be out of that life.

I'm going to be making a lot of comparisons to The Outsiders because of S.E. Hinton, Diane Lane, Matt Dillon,  and Francis Ford Coppola.  It's the elephant in the room, so I'm just going to come out with it.  This is borderline a sequel.  Coppola immediately finished The Outsiders and went right into this movie.  And that's going to come into play when talking about Rumble Fish.  Both stories are about the embrace of vice.  I know that Hinton has messages of the toxicity of crime with these stories.  After all, these characters have absolutely terrible lives. They are surrounded by crime and vice on all sides.  Everyone seems pretty darned miserable.  But the thing about Hinton's stories is that they are kind of sexy, in the same way that the artist tortures himself for something greater.  In the MPAA section, I made the comparison to Fight Club.  I don't hold any disparaging thoughts on Fincher's effectiveness in that movie.  But I know that he and Pahalniuk always commented that people just didn't get the message that anarchy was an empty promise.  Too bad both of them made anarchy sexy as heck.  The same thing in true with The Outsiders and Rumble Fish. 

But Rebel without a Cause is about the desperation to redefine oneself.  Jim in Rebel moves from place-to-place, desperately trying to reach that state of tabula rasa.  It is the world around him that keeps throwing him back into that world.  But Rusty-James (by the way, if you tried playing a drinking game and you had to sip every time the name Rusty-James came up, you would die) embraces this horrible world.  He goes out of his way to make his life more and more toxic.  If you really wanted to argue against my point that Jim is someone sympathetic while Rumble Fish has no one, you could use The Motorcycle Boy as your evidence.  But The Motorcycle Boy is so aloof and emotionally distant in this movie that it is hard to say that he is really fighting for anyone's freedom, despite the fact that it is technically the point of the movie.  But it is really hard to feel sorry for Rusty-James because he is given multiple opportunities to do the right thing, but he never EVER takes it.  I mean, he goes as far as to have an orgy.  That doesn't really make for a sympathetic character.

And yet, Rusty-James is supposed to be sympathetic. His flaw is that he is always in the shadow of his brother, who is wise enough to know that this lifestyle isn't really worth it.  There's a weird irony with the whole Motorcycle Boy dynamic.  Rusty-James oh-so-desperately wants to be the Motorcycle Boy.  Okay, that makes sense.  But The Motorcycle Boy looks on his own life with scorn.  He's distant because all of this seems toxic or boring.  (I'm not quite sure because Mickey Rourke's portrayal of this character --as much as I love the actor --is enigmatic as get out.) But there's this whole tree of how different characters view success in the world.  Dad sees no one as successful.  He's a loser and everyone around him is a loser.  Rusty-James views The Motorcycle Boy as the most successful person imaginable, mostly because of his brains and his status.  The Motorcycle Boy --and this is me taking a shot in the dark --views his mother as successful because she got out...

...but the Motorcycle Boy got out.  He went to California.  He found his mom. (Unless none of that is true which is a possibility based on the performance.)   But he left to return to his throne and to take care of Rusty-James.  That's the thing that I don't get.  I get the vibe that The Motorcycle Boy loves his little brother and knows that he needs to take care of him.  After all, Rusty-James is almost killed a few times in the movie.  But I never got the vibe that he came back for the Motorcycle Boy.  It really feels more like The Motorcycle Boy can't fit in normal society.  He would rather be the king of the slums than simply a citizen in normal society.  But that is in direct conflict with the end of the movie.  

The Motorcycle Boy intentionally gets himself killed to force Rusty-James out of this lifestyle.  Again, the end is a bit cryptic.  You could argue that Rusty-James becomes the new Motorcycle Boy, but I don't like that as a conclusion as much as Rusty-James being free from the life.  The Motorcycle Boy left California because he didn't fit in there.  (I really don't read the story as the Motorcycle Boy returning for Rusty-James simply because he is so darned enigmatic and deified in the story.)  Won't the same cycle happen to Rusty-James?  I mean, we see him at the ocean, implying that he went to California.  But The Motorcycle Boy is educated and can fit in with society.  Rusty-James despises the idea of society.  He's thrown out of school.  He's distracted and is frustrated with his own intellect.  If The Motorcycle Boy couldn't make it in California, what makes us think that Rusty-James would have greater success with The Motorcycle Boy's mantle?  

I want to love the colored fish.  I do.  But the use of color, as much as I love the idea of it being a metaphor for seeing things differently, feels like Francis Ford Coppola is just getting in his own way again.  Coppola is a talented director who believes everything that I believe about art.  He believes in pushing himself and taking chances.  But he also is so desperate to get out of his own shadow that it comes across as childish at time.  There's a lot of shots in this movie where he's trying to be avant-garde, but it comes across as an art school student at times.  I wonder if Coppola is depressed about the fading memories of American Zoetrope.  I feel anything that isn't The Godfather is an attempt to recapture the glory days of his filmmaking youth.  The aesthetics aren't really appealing in Rumble Fish as much as they are surreal.  The entire movie has a hard time being vulnerable.  Instead, it hides behind nostalgia filmmaking (despite the fact that Rumble Fish claims to be set in the present day).  There's a lot that doesn't appeal to me here.

I wish I liked this kind of stuff.  It's just that nothing here really screams clean to me.  It feels like when I watch THX-1138.  It is a cool experimental piece, but doesn't really hit the buttons it needs to, especially considering that Coppola is an established director by this point.  I wish he would grow, not regress with his filmmaking.

Not rated, but it really felt like Sam Fuller was trying to upset people with this movie.  It deals with mental illness primarily, but in a really exploitative way.  As part and parcel of this, the movie discusses incest, racism (including racial slurs), murder, and sexuality (with a comically over-the-top portrayal of nymphomania).  It should be pointed out that the female lead is a stripper, but there is no actual nudity in the film.

DIRECTOR: Samuel Fuller

Years and years ago --heck, definitely more than a decade ago --I got really excited to watch Shock Corridor.  There were Criterion movies and then there were the deep-dive Criterion movies.  You know, these often weren't the movies that showed up in conversation like a Bergman film or Jules & Jim.  Nah, stuff like Shock Corridor fell into a category borderlining on cult.  Yeah, it was a Sam Fuller film, but that just meant that it would be a hard-boiled noir to a certain extent.  I got all jazzed up to watch this movie, saw the title screen...and then quit.  I couldn't tell you what happened.  Honestly, I got a couple seconds into the opening credits and I know I never watched beyond that point.  I worked at the video store.  I tended not to hold onto movies for more than one night.  But something in me returned this movie before I had a chance to sit down and watch it.  Well, it's 2021 and finally decided to give this one ago, especially considering that Criterion had it remastered.

Shock Corridor has a really appropriate title.  It's somewhere between a cinematic masterpiece and absolute schlock. Like, it really has elements of both.  I've seen my fair share of Sam Fuller movies.  I know what to expect when I'm about to sit down for a Sam Fuller movie.  There's going to be an examination of man's obsession with vice leading to his grim downfall.  I feel like you should be making your way through a fifth of whiskey while watching a Sam Fuller movie.  He knows how to shoot a movie and he knows how to tell a story.  But I also knew that Shock Corridor was going to be a little bit different.  I can think of the OG Criterion box and how it just mirrored one of those Something Weird titles we had in the cult section.  And for my long way around the subject, for as much as this movie is kind of a hard-boiled film noir, it also is a super deep dive into exploitation cinema.

A lot of me is judging this from my comfortable, holier-than-thou perspective of 2021.  Mental illness is a very real problem and is treated like this awful stigma, despite the fact that much of it is considered very treatable.  But Shock Corridor probably shares more in common with Freaks than with any contemporary views on mental health.  Johnny Barrett as the sane avatar / protagonist has an in-universe reason for being in this asylum.  He is investigating a murder and he must pretend to be mad to roam freely among the residents.  That's all fine and dandy. But the real reason that Johnny Barrett is in the mental institution isn't to find the killer.  Instead, he acts as our guide for the multiple larger-than-life personalities within the system.  He is taking us around the zoo and showing off the exhibits.  But that's all okay, because it is under the notion of telling a story and mental illness just happens to be the setting.  (There's a healthy amount of sarcasm in what I write.  I don't know why I'm hiding behind this, considering that it makes my writing all that much more unclear.)  

But it is so interesting to see Fuller apply the laws of film noir over Shock Corridor.  As much as much of this comes across as a hard-boiled detective story, it kind of isn't.  Johnny's downfall almost reads like a Twilight Zone episode.  The structure is all there.  There are very clearly delineated act breaks and we see this guy whose hubris seems justified for the greater good get his just desserts.  I mean, everything kind of feels like Rod Serling.  And it's funny, because Johnny is doing something objectively noble.  If I removed all of the trappings of this story, he is a member of the fourth estate sacrificing himself to uncover the truth.  That would make him a noble hero.  But Fuller doesn't allow Barrett to have that kind of glory.  Everything that happens to Barrett over the course of the story is well deserved.  Cathy continually reminds him and warns him about the dangers of subjecting himself to those kinds of living conditions.  And he's  not pursuing the truth for altruistic reasons, like truth or justice.  No, he just wants the Pulitzer Prize.  By devaluing the lives of the inmates of the asylum, Johnny's downfall mirrors something that Rod Serling would stress: he has become the very thing he viewed as less-than-human.

Fuller's clear condemnation is the state of the mental health industry.  Portraying it as formulaic and cold, the doctors involved with Johnny's incarceration seem cold and corrupt.  (I'm not sure if I understood the story properly when the killer is revealed.  I'm pretty sure that Dr. Cristo was the head of the whole conspiracy, but Johnny never really makes that connection.  Perhaps that's because he doesn't care about the details; he just wants the answer.) But I don't know how effective --or how passionately --Fuller fights to get his theme across.  This isn't exactly a well-researched piece about the conditions of the mental institutions across America.  This is full of people who suffer from delusions about who they are.  And every personality is grandiose.  It's the kind of characterization that we would see in soap operas, where people were convinced that they were Napoleon and the like. 

I do find it interesting that race plays such a big role in mental illness in this film.  Out of the three witnesses who are given larger attention than any inmate shy of Pagliacchi, two of these disorders are tied to race.  The first witness was a Communist sympathizer who now believes that he is a Civil War general for the Confederate States of America.  For me, I instantly saw the racial connection, but Fuller treats this more as the Grand-Ol'-South of the Lost Cause Theory.  (If you don't know the Lost Cause Theory, you should study the crap out of it right now.) But the second one is the more telling one.  Dave Chappelle ended up making a whole bit about the Black man who is a Klansman because he doesn't know he's Black.  (I'm not going to make a direct connection to one of my favorite films of the past decade, BlacKkKlansman, because that's a whole different scenario.)  That character almost makes the film worth it by himself.  I mean, it's really over-the-top.  I can't deny that.  But Fuller seems to be calling out his audience directly.  Seeing what bigotry has done to this kid, forcing him to echo the sentiments that he has heard.  Coupling that with the references to the Freedom Riders is something that is absolutely devestating.

The most effective element of the movie is the one that has me thinking the most though.  Right before any character reveals moments of non-scientific lucidity, the film goes to full color.  It's very striking.  (Coincidentally, the next movie I'm writing about is Rumble Fish, another monochromatic film that dabbles with color.) It's very effective, but I don't know if the three times element is the best way to go about it.  Fuller presents these flashbacks that seem like they are comprised of stock footage.  The first one kind of works with Stuart's flashback to Japan.  Because it is only one scene and it is weird that he's showing of Japan instead of Korea, I could pretend that was always intended for Fuller. But the other flashbacks clearly stress that these are just random shots.  Johnny Barrett never once mentioned a fear of water.  But when the end of the movie had to show colorful waterfalls, it did create that effective close of his hallucination tied to rain.  It just all seemed a little forced.  Regardless, it worked.

Yeah, it's a good movie.  I actually really enjoyed it.  But it is a bit too cornball for anything serious to really come out of it.  I mean, the nympho scene alone look like it was set designed by community house players.  These women came across like vampires or zombies without even a hint of nuance to the performance.  The movie, as much as it draws attention to the mentally ill, never really treats them with any sense of humanity.  If anything, they are considered to be a virus, stealing humanity from the unlucky souls who must share space with them.  It's a good movie, but it is also a bit lazy at times.

PG-13 despite some pretty intense sexuality, often with a side of infidelity.  Like, it's Hallmark-Movie-13.  It's more risque than a Hallmark movie.  But just imagine if the Hallmark Channel included sex in all of those romances.  It would be something like that.  Yeah, it's meant to be sexy, but it is also meant to be kind of adorable versions of what is really happening.  There is nudity, but nothing that would be outside of bathing suit nudity.  Still...it has a decent amount of sex in it.  Also, the movie is super casual about a couple in love hitting each other.  PG-13.

DIRECTOR:  Nick Cassavetes

This entire opening paragraph is going to reek of "He doth protest too much."  I've never seen The Notebook.  I'll give you a moment for your collective gasps.  [allots pause for collected gasps]  I know.  I was notoriously single in 2004.  I asked my wife once if she wanted to watch this because I had never seen it.  Please, give her all of the credit in the world for being a wife who likes romance movies, but doesn't get much pleasure out of rewatching romance movies.  I think The Notebook fell into the "It's fine" category, so that's not usually a tree I spend too much time barking up.  But this movie is in a ton of my movie books.  I have a scratch-off poster in my basement (that, unfortunately, I scratched most off when I initially got it) that has The Notebook.  According to the algorithm, it was finally time to watch The Notebook.  

When I saw that this movie starred James Garner and Gena Rowlands, I squinted really hard at the opening credits.  I mean, the movie starts off with this absolutely gorgeous opening of a silhouette rowing against a setting (or rising?) sun.  It starts off classy as heck and stars Gena Rowlands?  Maybe I had misjudged this movie.  I started to think of how the casting process for this movie came about.  I mean, it has a pretty rock star cast.  But this movie isn't known for exactly being the most memorable of performances.  I mean, it made Ryan Gosling a household name.  I think it may have jumpstarted the career of Rachel McAdams.  But one thing it doesn't really have is the performances, despite having an amazing cast.  And that's when I realized that the movie was directed by Nick Cassavetes.  Somehow, part of me thought that John Cassavetes would somehow be in the film, despite how morbid of a notion that would be.  But it kind of gets points for having this specific cast in it.  I mean, I got to see another Gena Rowlands movie!  How great is that?  Sure, it wasn't my favorite.  But part of me also really wanted to hate it.

And that's the problem with movies like The Notebook.  I don't deny that it is very cool to hate on movies like this.  While The Notebook is far from my cup of tea, I also refuse to begrudge anyone from liking this film.  I'm probably going to spend a lot of time being really negative about it.  But in reality, it's a perfectly fine film for what it is.  It's meant to be sappy as all get out.  Many romance movies, especially ones that want to make any amount of money at the box office, can't exactly afford to be subtle about the emotional manipulation happening in the film.  It all makes a lot of sense.  And for a romance movie, it hits  a lot of great things. I already talked about the stellar cast.  While a little heightened with its view on reality in order to play up the nostalgia card, the cinematography and mise en scene are pretty solid.  The score is decent.  The only thing that really bugs me is that it feels honestly and truly lazy in terms of storytelling.

I like bummer stories.  I really do.  Great storytelling thrives on conflict.  Things can't always go well for the protagonists.   It's funny.  Most people who like romance stories tend to not like depressing things. But I often find romance stories horribly depressing.  It's what makes them interesting.  Getting two people together who are meant to be together doesn't actually happen in most movies.  Instead, some sadist needs to put this couple through their paces.  They need to have heaven and earth separate them so that when they finally get together, they can have a bittersweet epilogue, despite the fact that their prime years were injected with an abhorrent amount of tragedy.  The Notebook takes these two characters, both a little flat and archetypal for my tastes, and then shows them the potential of their unity.  But then, the movie has to physically force them apart because of a third party.

And that's what this great romance really is: punch after punch to the gut.  Noah and Allie are happy together?  Let's make economics and education a factor.  Noah grows as a human being and tries to defy the fates?  Mom will make sure that Allie gets none of the letters.  Against all odds, Noah sees Allie again and tries to make a grand gesture to get her back.  She's over the moon with some other guy.  (You couldn't make him evil, Nick Cassavetes and Nicholas Sparks?  It would have been really simple and far less complex if he was just a monster instead of nice sidepiece James Marsden.)  Then, of course, she has to have crippling dementia.  The movie goes out of its way to not name James Garner and Gena Rowlands characters.  I mean, it seems pretty obvious that they're Noah and Allie.  But the person who was in charge of the subtitles at one point just gave up the pretense that they weren't Noah and Allie and started labelling them as "Noah:" and "Allie:".  I don't blame you. It was pretty transparent.

I can't help but be myself and I am completely aware that I am influenced by my setting is history.  Noah and Allie are pretty gross, right?  Allie doesn't welcome Noah's advances.  Noah chases after Allie when he first sees her because he finds her physically attractive.  I get it.  He's handsome, so he's allowed to have that overwhelming confidence.  But she straight up says "no" to him.  She is with company.  He doesn't know their dynamic.  So the idea that he can ransom her into dating him is just gross.  But Allie isn't exactly a great human being either.  Allie...straight up cheats on her fiancé.  I know that Noah cheats on the war widow (which is really gross the more I think about it), but at least he was always up front about his thoughts on the relationship.  But Allie swears that she loves Lon.  Even when he finds out, she still swears that she loves him.  That's pretty messed up.  And the lesson of the movie is that she has to do what she wants to do, not what will make other people happy.  Is that really the best message of all time?  I mean, yeah, she should do what she wants.  But that doesn't mean that she doesn't have a responsibility to others.

And my least favorite romance trope showed up not once, but twice: the completely understanding significant other.  I talked about how romance movies need just an insane amount of conflict and heartache to work.  That's just part and parcel of romance storytelling.  But romance movies also want to have the characters get together. To do this, these characters have to realize that they are side characters in someone else's story.  There is no way that they think that they are the protagonists in their own tale.  The war widow straight up wants to meet Allie.  They have a lovely evening.  Remember how her husband died, this depressed jerk used her for her body, and she was left alone again?  Yeah, I'm sure that she would feel grateful for the time that they had together.  Remember how Lon didn't do anything wrong?  Remember how Allie kept stressing how much she loved him?  How did that end?  He let her go to be with this guy who stole her away.  She didn't even get yelled at.  Lon was a little mad at Noah and that's it.

Which leaves me with the framing narrative.  It's very sweet that Old Man Noah took care of Dementia-Riddled Allie.  It's remarkably sweet.  But any story could have that as a framing narrative.  There's nothing about the flashback storyline that ties into this titular notebook being written for the sake of preserving memory.  It is really just a sweet gesture to know that Noah has always been a nice dude (except when he's break war widows' hearts).  It just doesn't tie into the main plot in any significant way.

But this is some people's bread and butter.  It hits so many buttons that I come across as a monster for not really digging it.  I love me some romance, but I also really hate emotional manipulation.  And that's what this movie really is.  Emotional manipulation.  But at least it was pretty to look at.

Passed.  Man, "Passed" covered so much.  This movie has murder of an invalid, a horrific abortion, suicide, and stalkery behavior.  But, again, we're looking at the 1945 versions of these things.  Like, the movie gets remarkably dark.  But also, you know, I could have technically watched this with the kids in the room.  I remember that one of my kids walked in and I didn't even bother to pause it because you don't really see anything.  It's just disturbing content all around.  Passed.

DIRECTOR:  John M. Stahl

It's so bananas how much less time I have to myself when it is summertime.  You would think that a teacher in the summer has just a wealth of time to be writing film blogs.  I also just realized that I should probably start on the letters of recommendation this week as well.  But it always happens that we fill up the calendar, especially now that Covid restrictions are loosening up a bit and we're vaccinated.  (Note: Please get vaccinated and get your kids vaccinated when they are able.) But I watched this a few days ago.  I planned to write about this on Saturday and everything just came together to stop me.   It was a miracle that I was able to exercise given how busy I am.  Regardless, I'm jazzed to write about this movie.

It's so special when you know nothing about a film.  I threw this on my Amazon wish list almost exclusively because of Amazon's recommendation and the fact that it was a newer Criterion.  (I admit, when it comes to Criterion, there's an element of me that is super basic.)  From the color scheme and the art design on the cover, I thought that this was going to be a romance story in the vein of Rebecca or something.  And for the first half-hour, I felt that I was dead on with that guess.  I mean, Ellen clearly has a secret.  She comes from this mysterious family who all give each other knowing looks and have dramatic funeral services.  (While my faith prevents me from being cremated, I ask that you watch this movie and give my final repose the same degree of scope, scale, and intensity as Gene Tierney gives to the scattering of her father's ashes.)   And then, Russell Quinton enters the story.

I noticed Vincent Price's name show up in the opening credits.  Now, I thought he was going to be his old spooky self.  I mean, I can't even imagine him playing a normal role in a film.  I suppose I was both right and wrong about that character.  Russell Quinton's character almost deserves a prequel of some sort.  As enigmatic as Ellen is in the film, Quinton has this rich understanding and obsession with Ellen.  It's so bizarre because the movie is fundamentally about toxic love.  Ellen loves to the point of obsession.  No one is really able to reciprocate Ellen's obsessive love, which is what makes the movie worth watching.  But the film also kind of implies that maybe Russell Quinton can?  Vincent Price brings this element of hidden knowledge to his portrayal of the character.  It's like he is the only one who can possibly understand Ellen for who she really is.  It's very interesting, and his character is what pivots the film out of gothic mystery into full on Spider Woman film noir.

Because it is Russell's appearance that prompts Ellen to come up with the weird charade that Harland has proposed.  She really put all of her eggs in that one basket, assuming that Harland was going to be okay with the assumed marriage.  After all, it is revealed that Ellen wrote Russell a letter saying that she was going to be wed tout suite.  How that wasn't a big red flag for how Ellen works, I don't know what is.  Film noir is one of those genres that tends to punish protagonists for something.  It's really hard to be angry at Harland in this movie.  There are many times where I try to sympathize with Ellen.  But every time that Harland does something morally dubious, we find out that Ellen's context is way WAY worse.  

If film noir punishes its male protagonist for something foolish, it's odd to think that the movie actually rewards Harland for when he actively embraces vice.  I mean, I'm reading this with my own moral eye and I know that the movie wanted to give us a happy ending.  But Harland is actually a morally focused character for a lot of the film.  Harland's big inciting problem is going along with Ellen's lie.  When Ellen lies about Harland's proposal, that's the only real vice that this character partook in.  He's a writer who seems actually pretty clean cut.  But once he goes along with the lie, that's what incites Danny's death.  It incites the death of his unborn child.  He sees someone who is emotionally manipulative and indulges her whims until he is completely broken.  But the film wants us to have a happy ending to a certain degree.  After all, Harland's misdeed is fairly mild and it seems like the punishment never really fit the crime.    But to give him a happy ending...

...he needs to have an affair with the antagonist's sister.  See. we can all shut our brains off to make this work.  The movie actually begs us to do so.  Ruth has been through so much.  Harland has been through so much.  They have this great chemistry.  They're clearly meant to be the healthier couple.  But...it also makes Ellen right.  Ellen's obsessive love is rooted in the nature that people aren't meant to share love with any other person, regardless of what kind of love or who the person is.  When Danny moves in with the two of them (by the way, what is Ellen's secret with Danny in the hospital?  That's never really spelled out clearly), she views natural fraternal love coupled with sympathy an obstacle towards Ellen's romantic love with Richard.  It's why she allows him to drown.   (Her confessions later are great because they're just the right level of nuts.) 

I can't deny that she is the one who actually causes her own fears to come true, but she's nonetheless right about everything.  Putting Harland in a scenario where he is alone with Ruth caused Harland to see that Ellen was completely bananas.  And for all of her paranoia, it's kind of weird that she's accurate about her fears.  That's me oversimplifying everything once again, but it makes the movie really interesting.  Because --and I'll stand by that --he shouldn't have dedicated the book to Ruth.  He is straight up warned that he has to dedicate every novel that he writes to his wife. Ellen, despite the fact that she's actually nuts, has a valid reason to be jealous, especially in light of that dedication page.  It makes her the slightest bit sympathetic, despite the fact that she killed Danny.

It's a really solid film. Yeah, it's a bit sappy and there are sections that could use some nuance, but it really works.  I mean, it's going to be better than the next movie I do, so I have that going for me.

PG for intense kid-flavored violence.  I suppose we could throw some meanness somewhere in there, which might invite pause for little ones watching this movie.  For some reason, my brain shut off when I saw that it was PG and I confused that for "G".  Because no movie is G anymore.  But really, it's comic violence.  It's a story about the apocalypse where the death toll is remarkably low.  The robots are kind enough to capture the humans so they can deport them to space.  The implication, however, is that humanity would just die in space.  Regardless, PG. 

DIRECTORS:  Mike Rianda and Jeff Rowe

Yeah, I'm a grown man who decided to watch a kids' movie without his kids.  What?  I heard it was really good and the kids just didn't have the patience to watch this.  They, admittedly, were on a Teen Beach Movie kick and I wasn't going to 1) get involved with that and 2) stop them from soaking that in.  But I also really wanted to watch this one because of whatever tie it had to Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.    Right now, Lord and Miller can do no wrong.  It's bananas to think that they had Solo: A Star Wars Story taken away from them because they seem to be Hollywood's blockbuster it-guys.

But again, I return to that old well of being emotionally vulnerable when it comes to family stories, in particular where it is about connecting / reconnecting with Dad.  I'm not Katie Mitchell at all.  Katie Mitchell is as Gen Z as it gets.  (Okay, she's as Gen Z as Gen X directors  and producers can conceive of her.)  It's so bizarre that these movies are tying me to the old farts.  You know, I bond more with the out-of-touch dad than I really should.  I mean, I can't build a cabin out in the woods.  I don't carry around screwdrivers.  I'm wearing a Falcon tee-shirt.  But I actively fear the idea that my daughter will grow up and just absolutely despise me.  Watching something like Mitchells just preys on that sensitive subject.  My little girl will grow up and stop liking comic books.  There's going to be that moment where I ask her to put her future phone down and interact with me and something I do will be horribly tone deaf.  This is going to happen.  I mean, all of this blogging has been so passé for so long that it is having a vintage renaissance.  

But I do love that films address this idea.  There always seems to be this misunderstanding that people don't love each other because they don't speak the same love language.  (I'm very hip.)  And it is everyone but ourselves who see this problem.  And where other movies fail to communicate this, movies like The Mitchells vs the Machines get that the theme is central.  Listen, I love Up.  I do.  If my kids decided on Up as a family movie night movie, I would be there with bells on.  But Up is very telling of the state of most children's films.  There is a message that the movie really REALLY wants to tell.  With Up, it is moving on from grief.  With Frozen, it's about finding a sense of self.   But the middle of the movie, the story is padded with a bunch of action sequences that are often entertaining, but distract from the central theme.  But Mitchells offers a theme that is actually built and supported by the action sequences.  When the robot uprising happens, it is a metaphor for the central idea: communication.  Dad sees Katie as someone who is more consumed by pop culture and technology. From his perspective, she withdraws from reality when she makes quirky videos.  Katie is the opposite.  To her, technology is a means of deeper communication that her father fears and avoids.  While not intentional, she sees her father's refusal to adapt to a new medium a means of rejecting who Katie has become.  When the film anthropomorphizes this fear into sentient walking robot death machines, both of these characters has to come to grips with their own failures to understand the deeper meaning of technology as a form of communication.

But I do love that it doesn't make one of them the bad guy and the other the good guy.  I mean, I suppose Dad is the one who has to make greater steps towards change as opposed to Katie.  Katie has a lightbulb moment about the sacrifices that her father made for her.  Dad actively has to change for the sake of the family and for survival.  (I really wanted to send my mom a clip of Dad failing to do basic things on the computer, but I quickly realized the irony of that wish and put it in my back pocket.)  But Mitchells takes it beyond that old Will Smith chestnut of "Parents Just Don't Understand" and applauds Dad for making the effort.  It makes it weird to think that a movie really stresses the sacrifices that parents make for their children.  Mitchells embraces the concept that parents lose that sense of individuality that children thrive upon.  Yeah, I'm sure that there are plenty of stories out there that will encourage the mature parents to rediscover their dreams.  But let's be honest: Dad kind of wants what Katie is desperately fighting for.  He probably doesn't even realize that he's the one who is most standing in the way of Katie's sense of purpose.  

It's a great movie.  I don't know if it is perfect though.  Into the Spider-Verse was everything I ever wanted out of both a Spider-Man movie and an animated film.  It had this look and feel that just nailed everything.  The Mitchells vs the Machines feels like an amalgamation of both Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Into the Spider-Verse.  For as cool as the story was and how fun the film was as a whole, I don't know if there was anything visually or stylistically groundbreaking.  Instead, it had that twee element about it that, at times, felt like it might have been trying a bit too hard.  I'm being rough on this point, mainly because the rest of the movie is so good.  But there are moments where it felt like it was hiding vulnerability behind these graphics.  Regardless, it mostly works.

Nah, I dug it.  My son, now that Teen Beach is done, wants to watch it right now.  It probably had to do with the fact that I'm writing about it and we stopped having screen time for the day.  But he got jazzed about it.  And to be honest, I don't mind watching it again so soon.

Rated R for all the gore and nudity that one can handle.  It was the early '90s and it was a clearly-R rated action movie.  There were going to be no holds barred with a film like this.  But the real issue is that this movie really plays up racial stereotypes and xenophobic attitudes.  This was a time period that prided itself on being politically incorrect as a means to be counter culture or something like that.  I will probably be going into this in more detail, but there's a bunch of nudity, sex, violence, gore, and ugly stereotypes throughout this film.  R.

DIRECTOR: Stephen Hopkins

Okay, it's super early because the baby decided that she wanted to be up before the sun.  The other kids are asleep and I want to see if I can knock out my blog before I get interrupted a million times.  But if you have ever met a baby, there's a very good chance that I won't get too much time to write this before I get incoherent annoyance.  Predator 2 has been a weird reference point for me.  I have seen every other Predator movie with the exception of Predator 2.  The thing is...I reference it a lot as what a movie shouldn't do.  

The first Predator movie was kind of brilliant in its own simplicity.  It was almost action for its own purposes.  Yeah, that's a really a stupid thing when I write it down.  But the movie was almost the purest form of celebration of action sci-fi horror.  We knew nothing about the titular antagonist except that he was invisible and that he killed anything that posed a threat, even its most basic form.  It didn't try explaining what the Predator was.  It just had it hunt Arnold Schwarzenegger and Carl Weathers.  That's it.  The formula was so simple that it worked.  But I also had to acknowledge that Predator 2 couldn't get away with the same formula, but in a city.  Could it?  Well, I'm going to give Stephen Hopkins all kinds of credit.  I originally thought that Predator 2 tried to commit the ultimate sin by mythologizing the monster.

Because I always knew how Predator 2 ended.  Someone from high school told me that Predator 2 ended with Harrigan meeting a council of Predators who adorn him with an ancient gun, implying that they hunt creatures from all over the universe (including xenomorphs) to find the ultimate prey.  They bestow prizes upon the survivors, which in this case includes Harrigan.  I always thought that this gave too much away.  It began the downfall of the Predator franchise (which, in reality, was probably never that much of a successful franchise so much as a movie that kept getting sequels).  I always believe that cryptic films should kind of stay cryptic.  It's the issue that Prometheus really stressed.  

But I didn't realize how little of this movie added to the mythos of Predator.  If anything, this movie might be too devoted to the first film.  It's got that Jason Takes Manhattan feel to it where the story is pretty much the same, but it is set in a city.  Man, movie franchises love doing that.  If the first one was somewhat isolated, we have to see what it would look like in a densely populated area.  I can't really think of one example where that formula works.  But we keep returning to that well or water purification plant.  Instead of Arnold, we have Danny Glover.  I got real vibes of this movie being Lethal Weapon vs. Predator rather than being a wholly unique movie.  It's really weird having Danny Glover play the Riggs role in this one.  For a little bit, I really thought that Shane Black directed this movie.  I mean, look at this cast.  It cherry picked a lot of the actors from the Lethal Weapon movies.

But I also realized that movies like Lethal Weapon and Predator 2 are the basis for every conservative phobia that we're dealing with right now. (Okay, not single handedly.  Fox News and the internet have a lot to apologize for.) But look at this movie.  It set in the near future of 1997, where the police are militarized beyond imagination.  It's set in Los Angeles, a haven for race based gangs.  And the only thing standing between survival and sheer chaos is an overworked police force who brandish the largest weapons imaginable.  It's hilarious to see Danny Glover open up his trunk and basically choose which anti-tank armament will take out which drug lord.  Civilians are harassed by gang members and protect themselves with handguns because everyone has a handgun.  (I don't get the argument that "my gun is bigger".  Both will kill pretty immediately.)  The film demonizes the news media was hawkish yellow journalists.  Yeah, I can see why boomers are terrified of minorities after movies like this.  It's kind of gross.  I mean, the film celebrates how many times that Harrigan crosses the line and violates people civil rights.  He's the hero of the film.  And we're supposed to look at it like, "Of course he needs to violate people's rights!  Have you seen LA?"

But then I think that the filmmakers forgot their theme.  The one thing that we knew about the Predator was that he killed people with weapons.  If Jason warned against teenage vice like drugs and sex, Predator was fundamentally a gun control metaphor.  And the Predator in Predator 2 also follows the same rules.  He kills anything with a gun.  But the weird part of the metaphor that doesn't really make sense is that the Predator is armed to the teeth.  And the only reason that Danny Glover wins isn't through cleverness, like Arnold did in the first movie.  Nope.  He wins because he's better at using weapons than the Predator is.  I mean, I get it.  It's the city, not the jungle.  But the movie kind of just ends because Danny Glover stabs the alien when it is exposed.  Kind of a letdown.  But this leads me to the weirdest thing about the Predator movies:

Why is this kind of safari supposed to be honorable?  I mean, the safaris that humans take part in are also unfair, so I guess I can't talk.  (Except I can, because I never want to hunt on safari.  Or hunt in general.) But the Predators are so over weaponized that they can't really find their great warriors until they leave enough of a body count.  Being invisible seems a bit unfair, right?  Also, sometimes bullets do damage.  Sometimes, bullets don't do anything.  They also get really explosive when they lose?  How is any of that a hunter's honor?  It's just goofy.  Maybe that's the commentary.  Regardless, it doesn't really sell.  

It's a goofy movie.  I kind of enjoy these movies for how over the top they are.  But this one felt a little more gross than the others.  Not in terms of gore, but the very intentionally politically incorrect elements of this movie just left a sour taste in my mouth.

Passed, despite being super bleak for 1930.  The movie stresses the horrors of war from the perspective of the German army (Important Note:  Not the Nazis.  This is the Great War, not World War II).  There is some mild nudity.  The movie also really talks about suicide in a very matter-of-fact way.  But the tone seems oddly at odds with this content. I'll talk about this as I blog.  Passed.

DIRECTOR:  Lewis Milestone

It's summer.  Like, this where writing gets weird.  I don't know how my schedule is going to look like from day-to-day.  But I've also decided that I'm just going to write as I finish films.  Don't worry.  I'm already two films deep.  If the world follows the schedule I want it to, I will probably write about Predator 2 tomorrow.  But this is a movie that I started showing my seniors before they graduated until I realized that no one was really watching it.  We read it before this point and I wanted them to see an adaptation about it.  Yeah, that might have been a tall order, especially before they graduated.  So I finished it myself.

All Quiet on the Western Front, especially this version, is considered a Hollywood classic.  The first time I watched this movie, I thought it was one of the better war movies I had seen.  I mean, I had "read" All Quiet on the Western Front (translation: audiobooked it) before that point.  But I didn't watch the movie immediately after reading the novel.  And when I did that, boy, did I make a mistake.  I never want to devolve this blog into a book-versus-the-movie discussion, but rarely have I seen a case where a movie says all the right things, but doesn't believe the things it is saying.  The 1930 film of this movie fundamentally covers so much of the novel.  Appropriately, the most memorable shot, the final shot of the film with the butterfly, is a lot more of the director's interpretation, different from the book. 

But the book and the movie are drastically different beasts.  Part of me can define it clearly: Hollywood wasn't ready to alienate an audience with a tone that was so downbeat, despite the content of the story.  This can range from a number of things, from cinematography to acting styles.  War films, with a message or not,  have a certain feel to them pre-1960.  You know what I'm talking about.  Actors all have the trans-Atlantic accent.  There's a cadence to it.  Films have that proscenium arch style of staging, mirroring stage plays.  It's why newer films that are monochromatic don't necessarily feel old.  There's a million little things that cause older films bleed together.  Now, it sounds like I'm really coming down on old films.  Au contraire because this guy loves old movies.  But I also know that there is a certain riskiness that Hollywood wasn't really attempting at the time.  Movies were still fundamentally entertainment.  What artistry there was to a film was often the slave to both novelty and the finances of the studio.  But when you read All Quiet on the Western Front, it is a counter-culture tale of misery and sadness.  It bemoans the nature of war.  While the film says that it bemoans the existence of war, there's still something oddly patriotic about the whole thing. I kind of left the movie thinking that war sucked, but was ultimately necessary.  That's not the book message at all. 

And I'm definitely toeing my opinion into something that's been talked about at length.  Maybe...just maybe...some books don't need to be movies.  One fundamental thing about the book is that there really isn't a plot to the book.  It's really just a series of vignettes where Paul, avatar for the author, goes through episodic moments in war and gives his perspective on them.  From a character building perspective, we see Paul growing up and realizing how naïve his initial impressions of war were.  There are a lot of references to pooping and the book moves on.  There's really no throughline.  The only reason that we can say that the book progresses is because more of the characters keep on dying. But the movie does these cosmetic changes that almost imply that there's a story through the movie.  Yeah, it's the book.  But certain things take place in different order.  It seems goofy to dwell on the order of the film, but it does do something that once again brings solace to the audience.  Paul's changes towards his attitude happen gradually.  We see a child make small changes throughout the events to a point of ultimately becoming overwhelmed by despair.  But the movie wants to juxtapose Paul's naiveté with his transition into disenfranchisement.  It's very clean cut.

And it's not like the movie doesn't show bleak moments.  There are a lot of scenes that are just downright depressing.  But it is because of the entertainment value that the movie kind of loses the sense of verisimilitude that the book offers.  Erich Maria Remarque seems to basically be telling his own story through the eyes of Paul.  He doesn't make it a memoir because it doesn't go beat for beat.  Instead, it has moments truncated and condensed for the sake of experience.  But the movie really treats the whole thing linearly...

So I guess I did do one of those "Man, the book was better."  But as much of a classic as this movie is, I kind of feel like it's just a square peg / round hole situation.  It tells everything that the book wanted to tell, but the tone is just wildly inappropriate and false for such a bleak story.  Maybe it shouldn't be American.  Maybe we should have waited for grittier storytelling, despite the fact that the filmmakers obviously couldn't foresee where cinema was going.  Regardless, it actually felt like a weaker version of what I wanted to see than I got.