Furiosa: a Mad Max Saga

"Do You Have What It Takes To Make It Epic?"

or

"Bigger. Stronger. Faster. Further."

Dr. George Miller is fast approaching the age of 80 years old, and whereas most film directors lucky enough to be working at that age have a tendency to make their films slower-paced and more contemplative in nature the older they get, he has gone the opposite direction (and faster!) making movies more expansive and more energetic the more he works. 

 

Not only that, Miller's movies are getting denser—as in having more depth (rather than merely being stupid, which they most certainly are not). There are sub-texts (that aren't merely superficial call-backs to other movies, but to Myth and literature), amazing images (that sometimes recall the after-image of a Fritz Lang or of William Wyler religious epics), a sumptuousness of detail—in environments, costuming, machines—that can't be contained by mere budgets, and a pace that has only gotten faster and more daring as the years have gone on, while also NOT depriving any essential information for an audience to understand exactly what is happening. 

George Miller, at 79, is still showing young turk wannabe directors not only how to make movies (and good ones!), but leaving them in his considerable cloud of dust as he out-paces and out-flanks them.

Now, after a jaw-dropping return to making live action movies (after a 17 year absence—during which he made two "Happy Feet" animated features) with his Mad Max: Fury Road (big hit!) and Three Thousand Years of Longing (no one saw it), he's back to his Australian dystopia with a prequel to Fury Road called Furiosa: a Mad Max Saga, relating the origin story of Charlize Theron's amazon fury-imperator (now played by Anya Taylor-Joy). 

Set in five chapters (1. The Poles of Possibilities; 2. Lessons from the Wasteland; 3. The Stowaway; 4. Homeward; 5. Beyond Vengeance), it tells the story of Furiosa's abduction as a child from "The Green Place of Many Mothers", kept as a trophy by the Wasteland biker-warlord, Dr. Dementus (Chris Hemsworth—in a performance somewhere between a Bond villain and a mad Peter O'Toole), her trade to the Citadel to become a bride of Immortan Joe (now played by Lachy Hulme), and her escape to hide in plain sight as a Citadel worker.

Her ultimate goal is to return to "The Green Place" (we learned what became of that in Fury Road) but, for the purposes of this movie, she is concerned with vengeance against Dementus as the off-kilter boss-wannabe had killed her mother, who had come after the bikers in an attempt to get Furiosa back. And to do that, she must first shed her disguise and become mobile—which she does in "The Stowaway" section (which is one big chase sequence), gaining access to Dementus' "War Rig" and assisting its driver Praetorian Jack (Tom Burke) to ward off pirate attacks in its supply efforts across The Wasteland.

What we've got here is a feminist version of The Searchers, where the kidnap-victim takes it upon herself to free herself from her captors, rather than waiting around for someone else to do it (hard to do as her only known relative was her mother). And along the way, we learn how Furiosa gained her "mad" skills, and how she managed to lose her left arm (and its significance to her quest).

Furiosa has all the hallmarks of a "Mad Max" movie—despite having only one shot of "Max" (Jacob Tomuri) in the entire thing. It careens, it propels, it defies expectations—except to pump adrenaline and amaze in how it builds its world out of spare parts (Dementus drives a chariot pulled by three motorcycles)—and does the vast majority of it using practical effects (a few of the explosions and other bits of business are augmented by CGI) and some of the most daredevil-ish stuntmen on the planet.

But, Miller is pushing the film-making illusions, as well. There's always been a bit of under-cranking (the act of filming at a lower frame-rate to make the action appear faster on the screen) in the "Mad Max" films, but here Miller takes it even farther. If Fury Road was a "10" in that department, Miller risks taking it to "12." There's always the danger of making things look cartoonish that way, but Miller, at this point, doesn't seem to care. There are parts of Furiosa that feel like you're watching it dosed on Ambien, so hyper-kinetic is the result, and the effect is unnerving. But, it works subjectively, despite the objections of some purists.

It's also one of the most "in-your-face" movies in my memory, with quite a few shots that literally zoom in to characters' faces and might cause your foot to instinctively stamp on an imaginary brake pedal (there's one that propels into a face as it explodes in the last frame!). It is dizzying and quite the rush, all the more so because Miller is a director who keeps you aware of where things are and where they relate to the camera. There is nothing scatter-shot about what he does; the only hap-hazardness is what he has happen on-screen.

It's great. Wonderful story-telling. But, it's not for the sensitive—"sequences of strong violence and grisly images" and all that—but apocalyptic dystopias rarely are. And Furiosa is a nice little dervish-y spin on the Mad Max Universe and a fresh take on its tropes.

 

Miller's got another story ready to film out of this Fury Road saga. It'll probably be even more dynamic. Miller, approaching 80, isn't one to slow down.

Oh, by the way, I guested on the Furiosa episode of The Lambcast podcast, and it's out now. Check it out.

The Menu

Burn Apetit

or

If You Can't Stand the Haute, Get Out of the Kitchen

The Hawthorne is an exclusive restaurant with a very pricey cover fee. Run by the renowned celebrity Chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes), it is settled on an island, accessible only by boat. Margot Mills (Anya Taylor-Joy) accompanies foodie and Slowik fan-boy Tyler (Nicholas Hoult), who is clearly obsessed with the idea of a once-in-a-lifetime meal planned, produced and executed by his idol, but Margot is clearly underwhelmed, especially as Tyler admonishes her for smoking ("It ruins the palate") and when she finds out she is the second choice for Tyler's "plus one"—a revelation that annoys both her and the Hawthorne's captain, Elsa (Hong Chau) for disturbing the already determined guest list—she is really cheesed off. "No substitutions", evidently.

 

The dinner party is an odd mix of patrons and customers, all rich, influential and privileged: there's food critic Lillian Bloom (Janet McTeer)—an early champion of Slowik's work—and her editor Ted (Paul Adelstein); actor George Diaz (John Leguizamo)—"I'm in the 'presenter" phase of my career"—and his assistant Felicity (Aimee Carrero); frequent customers Richard Liebbrandt (Reed Birney) and his wife Anne (Judith Light); then there's the trio of tech investors Soren, Bryce, and Dave (Arturo Castro, Rob Yang, Mark St. Cyr) associated with Slowik's "sugar-daddy" (and the island's owner). Oh. And there's "Chef's" mother (Rebecca Koon), who doesn't get past the drinks portion of the meal (you've got to stick with what works).

Twelve guests. Same as "The Last Supper." Hmm.

 

Given these ingredients, The Menu is an odd little concoction, not to everyone's taste. A mixture of horror, comedy—black humor varietal—satire, social commentary, it may come across as not exciting enough for horror buffs and not biting enough for those looking for depth and some looking for escapism might find it an bit pretentious, even though pretension is one of its main ingredients and one of its main targets.

All the guests have paid thousands of pretty pennies to have such a grand meal—the market exclusivity being part of the charm and "the point" for them—even if the night's fare is a complete mystery to those paying for the privilege. But, Chef Slowik is going to be going completely off-menu for the night, his chefs and sommeliers planning something special for just these particular guests. And if you think you know what's going to happen from glancing at the trailers—trapped guests, dinner experience, weird chef—you've seen too many movies and you're wrong. The movie isn't catered by Hannibal Lecter and there are no jokes about ladies' fingers and giving someone a piece of your mind.

The horror isn't that straight-forward, but it's certainly macabre. The meals, in their courses, are edible—if not particularly palatable—certainly not poisonous and prepared with a precision that is regimental and over-the-top in its elaborateness. The presentation is impeccable, with Chef delivering a monologing introduction by way of explanation for the reasoning, if not the logic, behind each course. The price tag is part of the appeal and so no one complains if the ingredients are odd, the portions small (if non-existent), and the appetite is unsatisfied. As Chef informs one of the guests: "You'll get more than you desire and less than you deserve."

One could say the same for the audience, but I don't want to be too unfair. There are joys. Ralph Fiennes gets all the best lines and he makes the most of them, creating another lovely monster that manages to convey vulnerability and a certain piteousness. But, the film centers around Anya Taylor-Joy's Margot—some might think too much—and the actor is endlessly fascinating to watch. I won't say that she's making a career of victim-warriors, but that seems to be where she's ending up these days, one can't argue with the "deer-in-the-headlights" eyes and the rebel "attitude" the actress exudes. But, the "Margot" character becomes an integral part of the puzzle—why is she there? why does she cause such a stir among the restaurant staff? why does Chef subject her to such scrutiny and (er) grilling? Why does anyone care? About her?

The movie plays fair and doesn't pull some surprise Agatha Christie-backstory-reveal for her, but she is the movie's hinge, and appropriately so, not only in the story's unfolding logic sense (such as it is) and its underpinnings of social commentary, so it's a good thing that Taylor-Joy is so good. You keep watching her when mysteries like Chef's "No Trespassing" headquarters, and the increasingly bizarre courses make you raise doubts about what is going on. Taylor-Joy grounds it.

The movie needs her. Because with all those black humor touches, satiric thrusts, and social conceits, the movie threatens to float off in its own hot air. On the surface level, The Menu just does not work if one is looking for story sense, story logic, and any sense of realism. It's pretensions would not play out if it did. No. One has to think of the thing as an absurdist farce, the kind that if people behaved normally, nothing would happen (but because they have this "weakness" of character blah-blah-blah).

In fact, it "works" better, and even brilliantly, if one thinks of it as a feature-length version of Monty Python's "Restaurant" sketch (where the staff melts down and begin to attack the customers who complain of "a dirty fork"). Of course, the idea is absurd. Of course, things wouldn't play out like this, but the play is dependent on the contrivance if it is to exist at all. Part of that is the price we pay for "suspense" to accept the high dudgeon and heightened melodrama (staples of horror), to have the fun of the experience by suspending our belief.

Given that thought, The Menu is more than entertaining and has an interesting resolution...which...again..."shouldn't" work, but is interesting psychologically and played brilliantly...and to a thesis the film-makers are trying to make between the qualities of service-providers versus service-takers. It is satisfying, but don't expect anything that doesn't leave a disquieting taste. It just isn't on The Menu.

Amsterdam (2022)

"What Fresh Hell Is This?"

or

The Endurability of Good Intentions. ("He Followed the Right God Home...")

 

Who knows when it really, really started in the scheme of things, but it really started to get intense with the dead Senator in the box with no lid.

 

Just back from Europe by ship, he turns up dead and his daughter (Taylor Swift) wants an autopsy. So, she calls two guys from the former General's old integrated unit in WWI, Burt Berendsen (Christian Bale), a doctor of "experimental medicine," and Harold Woodman (John David Washington), Columbia University-trained lawyer, to oversee the procedure. To ensure that the procedure is done without prejudice, Dr. Irma St. Clair (Zoe Saldana) does the autopsy.

 

What the autopsy reveals is suspicious, but when Harold and Burt attend a pre-arranged meeting with the general's daughter to report their findings, they see her running away for their rendezvous, stricken. "He knew something. He saw something terrible," she says while she can.

 

Join the crowd.

Before the night is over, Burt and Harold are on the run from the police, accused of a murder they didn't commit, but sure of who committed it, not that it matters in the short run. They have to hide...and they have to find out who killed the General and who's behind all this...because...they're veterans. Their commander has died. And they owe him.

But, that's history. In that history, Burt found himself the medic for the 369th Infantry, an integrated unit in WWI France. Its commander was such a racist that he required the black infantry to wear French uniforms, rather than American ones due to white soldier complaints, but he was replaced by his commander General Bill Meekins (Ed Begley Jr.), and to further cement fences, Berendsen made a pact with the most vocal soldier, Woodman, that they would always have each other's backs. Even during "The Argonne."

Berendsen and Woodman are severely wounded, requiring many operations to remove shrapnel by a diligent French nurse named Valerie (Margot Robbie), who repairs their wounds and forms a bond with the two men, eventually taking them to Amsterdam, ostensibly to take Burt to a company called Cambridge Glass (run by characters played by Michael Shannon and Mike Myers), manufacturers of the best quality glass eyes, but more to live together in peace and fellowship and recover from "the war to end all wars." They become "lost."

It is an idyll that can't last. "Choice matters over needs." Burt, finally becoming comfortable in his scarred skin, decides to return to America out of his devotion to his wife. Harold stays with Valerie, but sees no future in it ("We only exist in Amsterdam") and returns to America to pursue a law degree. Then, their General comes home in a box.

David O. Russell's Amsterdam is being marketed as a star-filled cream-puff of a movie, but it isn't that. Instead, it's a good-natured political screed on the dangers of fascism roosting in America, basing it on the "Business Plot", a little remembered attempt by conservative business interests, unhappy with liberal Franklin Roosevelt's election, to use veteran protests over delayed bonuses by the Hoover administration, to install an un-elected military official to essentially oust FDR as President. As a modern context, let's suppose that the MyPillow guy and the CEO of Overstock didn't like the results of the 2020 election and were taking aggressive actions to have it over-turned. Couldn't happen, right?

 

Oh. Oh, right. 

It's a curious little gremlin of a movie. There are going to be a certain number of people—on the far right, maybe fascist, certainly white supremacist side—that would never see this movie. And then there are others—people who are stuck in the post Nixon era cynical groove (which has only atrophied during the Trump years to the point where late-night comedians can barely keep up) who will look at it and pooh-pooh it as satire-lite, which is easy to do if you're viewing it with the same attitude as one would have now.

But, the folks depicted in this movie didn't live through Nixon. They lived through World War I and came home to depressions, both Great and small. They still believed in government and they still believed in the United States, no matter what tough times they'd been through. The same starry-eyed patriots who volunteered in droves during World War II. Because they believed in something bigger than themselves. That's not a popular sentiment these days.

And Russell's movie may be off-putting for those who want their messages obvious and with the tone of righteous indignation (that is also popular these days) instead of the quick-paced Wes Anderson whimsy that it evokes. Still, it doesn't shirk from portraying grievous war-wounds—praise must be heaped on the make-up department for their relentless consistency—on people who refuse to see themselves as victims.

These are people who, despite their quirks, walk the talk and aspire to good intentions despite the consequences. Burt, being Half-Jewish, Half-Catholic goes to war at the behest of his Park Avenue in-laws only to find that the means are more important than the ends, especially considering that their respect for the military doesn't extend to veterans. He is kicked out of his lofty office address and starts work in the streets and then in Harlem, to the point of moving out of the apartment he shares with his wife...he's so straight an arrow that he doesn't even think that's perverse. Woodburn is black in an early 20th century—he already knows the heartbreak of good intentions when your skin isn't the predominant color. Yet, he has found validity and valediction in another country fighting for a country that wouldn't consider giving it. And Verna is a rich girl considered a kook, but whose dedication in the operating room goes above and beyond the requirements and limitations of triage. Their actions all make sense in a society that ignores their sacrifices while reaping the rewards of the very things they fought to protect.

The cast is uniformly excellent with Bale coming up with a fully realized character taking advantage of the limitations of a back-brace and glass eye and turning it into a performance reminiscent of Peter Falk—and in moments of agitation, Martin Scorsese, while Washington is his most relaxed since BlacKKKlansman. Robbie has a little trouble with accents, but manages to make a performance that is both alluring and comedic, and it's all photographed with a slight sepia tone by Emmanuel Lubezki, who manages to turn out top-tier work under technically challenging conditions.  

One has to admit, though, that Amsterdam is better in the after-glow than in the light of projection. Free from its manic energy in that post-viewing meditation, two aphorisms come to mind—for a movie that is full of them. One (that I've heard quoted so many times it defies origination) is "If you have a message, call Western Union", something that Amsterdam does with tenacity in its reckless abandon to obfuscate with comedy. The other I heard from legendary baseball announcer "Red" Barber on one of his weekly talks with Bob Edwards on the NPR Morning Edition. He said "It's not the one with the most toys, wins. God doesn't count the toys. He counts the scars."

 

There are a lot of scars in Amsterdam. I like that.

Last Night in Soho

Killing Two Birds with One Stone

or

Who Are you Wearing?

 

Edgar Wright's new film, Last Night in Soho, is his first horror/thriller film where the purpose isn't to make fun of them, where the emphasis is on the disorientation and not the whimsy (but don't worry, there are a lot of cheeky touches to it).

 

In it, a mousy fashion-design student, Eloise (Thomasin McKenzie—from Jojo Rabbit) moves to the big city of London to attend classes and achieve her goals of becoming au courant. But, as her grandmother (Rita Tushingham !!) warns her "London can be a lot." 

 

That it can be. Even in one time-line. Eloise has a rough first day, what with meeting her room-mate and a coven of snarky "mean girls" who occupy her dorm. It's tough on Eloise, who misses her Mum (she'd committed suicide when Eloise was a girl, but kept seeing images of her in the mirror back home). Finally, she decides to rent a room in Soho from Mrs. Collins (Diana Rigg !!) who's been there forever and wouldn't think of selling the place—"Too many memories".  That should have been put in the advert.

Eloise loves the place, seeing as she's obsessed with the 1960's. She's constantly spinning the old EP's—traveling, she takes an over-loaded suitcase and a record-player—and her fashion-sense runs to the eye-popping 60's. It's the place she'd most like to go-go. But be careful what you're wishin' and hopin' for. She goes to sleep with the neon buzz of the "Soho" sign right outside her window, and with the R.E.M blink of an eye, she finds herself back there, to find a world still fruging and twisting and swinging.

There's one little hitch, though. When she looks in the mirror—or any reflective surface—she sees somebody else's reflection, a woman who turns out to be named Alexandra (Anya Taylor-Joy)—"Call me Sandy"—an aspiring singer-dancer who wants to be the "next Cilla Black." Eloise and Sandy are tied to each other as they roam around the "Cafe de Paris" separated only by a silvered plate of glass, as Eloise watches her make her way through the club, fending off would-be suitors until finally latching on to Jack (Matt Smith), the loungiest of lounge-lizards, who promises to get her into "the business."

But, as Eloise witnesses whenever she goes to sleep, the path of success is littered with slimy, handsy men making promises and repeated pick-up lines that end up in disappointment and being used. As the old saying goes "nostalgia isn't what it used to be" and Eloise finds these visions only adding to her "outsider" stress and fears about life in the big city. Could Alexandra's cautionary tale be something that Eloise is inextricably tied to? And when that tale leads to murder is there anything she can do from being drawn into that fate?

Wright's ability to use effects and imagery are magical here—at times, in a moment's flash, Alexandra becomes Eloise and vice versa—so, one has to keep on one's toes, and the soundtrack is filled with a British Invasion of hits commenting slyly on the action going on-screen. The relationship between the two women is the strongest of the ones on-screen and Wright's tricks to achieve the doppel-ganging leave you utterly convinced, as things get darker and darker and darker.

One wishes the ingenuity required to pull it off extended to the screenplay. Oh, there are clever touches in the details throughout, and one sits on the edge of one's seat, anticipating the next twist. But, the longer the film goes, the more one realizes that time is slipping away, and Last Night in Soho feels longer than it's less than 2 hour running time would suggest—lately I've been seeing things with much longer lengths that seemed to zip by far more quickly. Perhaps there are one or two too many red herrings crowding the narrative—at one point, I was losing any sympathy for Eloise when a "what is she concentrating on them for" question crept in and lodged in my skull. Ultimately, it's merely a diversion, although it's rather short-lived (but then what do you expect in a thriller/horror film?).

But, it put enough doubt in my mind to make me question exactly what Wright was trying to say in this movie. Horror films, have—at their slimy core—some caution, some elemental lesson, that they're preaching in the most ghastly way. Is Last Night in Soho a plea to live in the moment? That seeking revenge against one's oppressors is a fool-hardy act? That victims can be just as dangerous as the ones who attack? Lord, I hope not. I just wish the intellect that kept the threads of who's who had been used to clearly say what's what. I was disappointed and somewhat appalled.

Glass (2019)

Unsplittable
or
"I Mean, I Say 'I Made You' You Gotta Say 'You Made Me.' I Mean, How Childish Can You Get?" ("Et cetera.")

After his first brush with mainstream success, The Sixth Sense—whose word-of-mouth was so strong that it was a box-office sensation despite being released in the same Summer as Stanley Kubrick's last film and the first "Star Wars" film in 16 years—M. Night Shyamalan followed it up with an austere, no less assured contemplation on super-heroes, comic books and fanaticism. That film, Unbreakable, about a man, David Dunn (Bruce Willis), a security guard who has instincts about people he brushes up against, and soon learns (or merely stops denying) that he has strength and invulnerability after being the lone survivor of a devastating train crash.

That accident is one of many disasters engineered by one Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson), a comic-book aficionado and art-dealer who suffers from osteogenesis imperfecta—brittle-bone disease—that leaves him vulnerable to breakage, and so seeks his opposite—comics teach us there must be one—a being not susceptible to any injury. He finds him in David, who walks away from the train derailment without a scratch. And Elijah (or as he's been taunted throughout his life as "Mr. Glass") pursues David to fulfill his destiny.

A great movie. A "super-hero" movie without the spandex or the primary colors. But, the studio that released it (Touchstone, a division of Disney) wanted nothing to do with any mention of "superheroes"—this was the same year as the first X-Men film and superheroes in films had a tendency to start big and fizzle as properties—and promoted it, instead, as a thriller. The film didn't do as well in theaters as The Sixth Sense, but gained a cult following on video. Shyamalan moved on.

Until he had a career resurgence recently with small-budget, restricted-scope movies, the most recent being his Split, which took the kidnap victim angle of horror movies and spliced it with a psychological angle where the abductor, Kevin Wendell Crumb (played brilliantly by James McAvoy) has 23 distinct personalities...and a 24th one of extreme rage and strength. A little story about the lasting devastation of abuse, it shared Unbreakable's fascination with humans with greater potential than the rest of us "sleepers"...and it had a coda which featured the reappearance of Willis' David Dunn. It had everything but a "To Be Continued" card. 

So, there was a lot of anticipation when it was announced that Night's next film would be a combination-sequel to both Unbreakable and Split. And that's always dangerous. Fans start making their own movies in their head and anticipate—it's an inherent social downside with sequels. That movie—Glass—will not meet anybody's expectations (with the exception of bringing back the characters and the actors who portrayed them) as, after a promising start, it then ham-strings nearly all the characters involved leading to a "showdown" that nobody will be too happy with. 

But, at least it has an ending. That's rather novel these days.

It's 19 years after the events of Unbreakable (and a limited amount of time after Split). David Dunn is no longer a security guard at a University in Philadelphia. He runs a security business—and does a little "freelance patrolling" on the side. You can't be a hooded vigilante in a town without gaining a reputation, even if nobody gets a good shot of you on social media, and David has acquired many names, such as "The Tip-Toe Man" and "The Float" (ironic as David's weakness is water—everybody's weakness in Night's movies seems to be water), but the one that sticks is "The Overseer." His son Joseph (played once again by Spencer Treat Clark) helps run the store as he also serves as David's combination Alfred and Oracle, tracking events from...well, you can't call it "The Batcave" so call it "The Storeroom," because that's what it is.

After David stops a pair of "Youtubruisers" for attacking people on the street, David turns his attention to the recent abduction of four cheerleaders, who police have been searching for (Joseph also informs him that the police are also looking for him "pretty aggressively"). Joseph gives him some coordinates to search and, sure enough, David bumps (literally) into Kevin skipping down the street in his 8-year-old "Hedwig" personality and sees the girls in his mind. A little cross-checking and he frees them.

But, Kevin shows up as "The Beast" and Dunn and battle briefly before "The Overseer" gains the upper-hand by tossing both of them out a window. At which point, bright lights come up and the two are cornered by weapons-drawing police and the person of Dr. Ellie Staple (Sarah Paulson), who tells them that they must surrender or they will be killed—which is questionable as David is invulnerable and "The Beast" has proven unsusceptible to bullets. They are transported to a psychiatric facility called Raven Hill Memorial Hospital, a low-maintenance security building that for 19 years has been the residence of (Dunn! Dunn! Dunn!) one Elijah Price—"Mr. Glass." How damned convenient. 

Not that the place isn't well-prepared: Elijah has been heavily sedated during the whole time into a nearly catatonic state (Jackson does some nice eye-twitching here); Kevin is put in a cell where, should he manifest "The Beast" bright lights will flash him into one of his other personalities (the other way is by saying his full name) not unlike clicking "next" on a blog-site; David is placed in a cell that is festooned with high-pressure hoses to render him helpless (Elijah I can understand, but how does Dr. Staple know that these are the latter two's weaknesses, hmm?)

It is at this point that anyone's expectations will be derailed. Instead of creating a Shyamalaniverse version of "When Titans Clash!" (the Marvel Comics trope), it's more like "When Titans Sit and Stew." Not necessarily a bad thing; one of the charms of Unbreakable was circumventing standard comic book cliches and draining the melodrama out of them, and one must acknowledge that Glass is doing the same thing while teasing us that there will be something more.

SPOILER ALERT: There won't be. 

Staples may know more than she lets on (if her knowledge of their weaknesses wasn't clue enough), but her techniques indicate that she might not; Elijah, Kevin, and David are wheeled into a room for group counseling sessions—together?—where she tries to convince the three that their abilities are only in their minds, as "delusions of grandeur" (the immediate thought burbles up: She don't know them very well, do she?). It seems a pointless and hopeless exercise—these guys have demonstrated powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men (well, except for Elijah, since he's just crazy in a six-panel-per-page kind of way). Kevin's manifestations are well-documented, and his abilities as "The Beast" have left substantial evidence of chewed bodies, bent bars and crushed torsos. David has been leaving forensic evidence (as well as fractured skulls and rough justice) for 19 years. So, why would this "expert" try to convince them that it's all in their minds?

One can only conclude that she doesn't, and that sets up one of the moribund "twists" of the movie. What she doesn't count on, however, is Elijah's scheming mind. He's been faking his vegetative state (but not too well—he gets caught a couple times) and replacing his meds with aspirin (they don't do blood tests at this hospital?) and has in his mind a plan. To Elijah, the only thing the hospital is doing keeping the abilities walking around us secret, and it his intention to bring everyone into the light of day and expose the super-humans to the world.

For that, he needs an ally, and he turns to Kevin for the muscle behind the idea. "Time for the bad guys to team up," he tells Kevin after using his light-guards to bring out "The Beast," telling him that he will have a chance against "the strong man" kept in the cell across from him, and radio's David that he will release "The Beast" to create an unprecedented disaster at a just-opening high-rise in Philadelphia...if only David can break out of his cell.

That's where I'll stop spoiling, but the spoils are in the plot rather than in my revealing of it. It seems the big deal of the story—for all concerned—is whether "the world" should know that there are "super-heroes" among us, and whether it should be suppressed or not. Yet, David has been doing his "patrols" for over 19 years. The press is all over the story about Kevin having DID, including the existence of "The Beast." So, why the big deal? Seems like the super-powered cat is out of the bag already. This tends to make the central theme of the film that Night is going on and on about absolutely meaningless. Yet, the film keeps emphasizing the point when any perspective would show that it was already a fait accompli.

There are other things—details—that don't strike one as being credible (super-heroes are?). For example, the surviving hostage from Split, Casey (the rather alien-looking Anya Taylor-Joy) is thrown into the mix. It seems she's capable of extricating the original Kevin personality from what he refers to as "The Horde," the multitude of personalities that keep him functioning and suppress him from actively killing himself. It's only been a short time since she's escaped that nightmare—and the one that she was sent back to after the film's events—and one would think that she would be a bit reluctant to revisit and show compassion for the monster that was threatening to kill her from the previous film. But, she is used as an example of "the healing power of love and compassion" to Dr. Staples, which, after the movie is over, will make you realize it's something of a red herring, psuedo-mysticism posing as psuedo-psychiatry.

Which is all very well and good, as the story has a psuedo-climax, one that will probably piss off fans of both films. Let's just say that everybody has a weakness hidden among their strengths and they are exploited in this film that has some strengths hidden in its general weakness. For me, it left the same feeling of being snookered that the two volumes of Kill Bill did, when the four hours of katana-porn ended with a bogus lecture on the nature of Clark Kent and a poke in the chest.* Glass left me feeling less than half-empty, as it is much less than the sums of the parts of two very good movies.

* Is there an intellectual form of seppuku? Because after Kill Bill, I would have used it.