Superman (2025)

Truth, Justice ...and the Puerile Goofiness of the Funny Papers!
 or

"1-A!1-A!1-A!1-A! 1-A!" 

 

So, what does a Superman movie written and directed by James Gunn (The Guardians of the Galaxy, THE Suicide Squad) look like? 

 

Well, it's different. Uncomfortably so. But, that's not necessarily a bad thing. A roller-coaster ride from start to finish, Gunn manages to channel the 'Big Blue Boy Scout" aspects of the character that has always been a part of it—but, without the Hollywood temptations to mock them, contemplating "Bad Superman" or the brooding "misunderstood Christ-like alien" of the past films (complete with a lazily slavish devotion to the 1978 Christopher Reeve film—although this one does have a couple character call-backs from it...and the marchable John Williams theme)—while also dusting off some cliches, tossing others, and embracing some of the bizarre aspects that lie deep in the character-archives of the extended DC Comics Universe.

 

Gunn likes the bizarre. He cherishes it. What others might find childish and puerile, he uses with giddy delight. And Superman (2025) leaps into all that in a single bound. Well, actually, too many bounds to count. It's a dense movie that will leave many in the dust, but doesn't take itself so seriously...or iconically...that some of the details don't matter much. Not when you're dealing with sci-fi tech and concepts that verge into "woo-woo" territory almost constantly. Pocket Universes? Check. Manufactured black holes? Okay. Unexplained and unexplainable kaiju? Sure. Getting insurance for anything in the city of Metropolis? Okay, that one's a bit much, with all the mayhem that's tossed at the beleaguered city every few minutes in this film.

Gunn tosses out the destruction of Krypton—how many times have we seen it?—but keeps the red trunks because...the red trunks embarrassed other film-makers...but embraces the tendency of creating mass-destruction set-pieces. There is a scene deep in the film where Supes and Lois Lane are having a heart to heart, while in the far background, members of the "Justice Gang" are battling a "dimensional imp" with clubs and green-energy baseball bats. It's a risk that the serious conversation will be overwhelmed by the goofy action in the background. But, it's also a salve about things getting too grim 'n gritty...this time.

Who are this "Justice Gang"(not to be confused with the "Justice League")? Well, it's a little "inside baseball", but, here goes—they're Earth Green Lantern Guy Gardner (Nathan Fillion)—in the comics, this sector of space has 3—Mr. Terrific (Edi Gathegi), a scientific genius who actually has ethics, and Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced), whose origin story has had so many complications even DC comics hasn't decided what it is. Anyway, they're a weird choice for a super-team—but, director Gunn likes weird and even preposterous. But, they're in marked contrast to Superman: these guys want action. In an earlier kaiju fight, "The Gang" want to just kill it; Superman wants to put in an Intergalactic Zoo. He's in marked contrast to the "grim n' gritty" and adrenaline-junkies that mark most superhero movies. It's a stark contrast from the Zack Snyder/Christopher Nolan films. But, then, Supes' himself is a stark contrast.

Gunn starts the movie in media res...no back-story, no explosive origin...with Superman suffering "his first defeat", falling into an Antarctic snowscape after being uppercut by "The Hammer of Moravia", a mecha-Hulk villain out of an autocratic country with a history of invading countries. Evidently, it's pay-back for Supes interfering with one of those invasions. He thought it the proverbial "right thing to do," but when interviewed by Daily Planet reporter Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan—she's great!), he is flummoxed when he is accused of an illegal act, not sanctioned by the U.S. government. Politics doesn't play into the Kryptonian's thinking, nor does race, color, or creed...like it has since the character's first publishing in 1938. He has human values, raised by as rural a couple (Pruitt Taylor Vince and Neva Howell) as you can imagine, but who have the moral fiber and strength to raise a kid who could fry their entire farm with an angry look, But doesn't. More importantly, wouldn't.

Who's behind the daily slings and arrows Superman has to deflect when he could be doing something else? Why, Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult, at full arrogance-mode), of course—maybe the movie people haven't read enough Superman comics...he has other enemies, but they seem to be stuck on Luthor the same way the Batman movies are stuck on The Joker—but, he's back to being a scientific genius (albeit a sloppy one) and tech-bro...not a crooked real estate developer this time...who hates the Kryptonian with a passion ("Super...'man'. He's not a man. He's an 'it'. A thing with a cocky grin and a stupid outfit, that's somehow become the focal point of the entire world's conversation."). 

Lex wants the Kryptonian's reputation...and he wants his power. If he can't have them, no one will, so he either wants to tarnish Supes' image...or kill him. Because that's how you climb that ol' megalomaniacal ladder, not by winning hearts and minds, but by making people lose theirs.

So, though it may still a very fantastical comic-book world in this one, it sure echoes our times...the way the comics version of Superman periodically does since his debut in 1938. Its a different world, where anybody could use their phones to film you changing clothes in a phone booth (if there WERE phone booths, and isn't that ironic?), where information, good, bad or indifferent, is faster than a speeding bullet. Where anybody with a grudge or a cause can, at the very least, bloviate like they're doing a TED talk. And lie through their teeth like they were telling Truth. More people have more access to the power of technology, but use it in the worst ways. 

What differentiates Gunn's Superman from all the iterations that have come before is that he's a good guy despite the "powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men." He knows he's an alien, but when given the old Nature versus Nurture question, he lands with a thud on the latter. He assimilates, and tries to be 110% human to compensate. He doesn't mope, he doesn't question his fate, he's not tempted to abuse his power or even be snarky about it. It's the old comic-book Superman, but without Warner Brothers messing with it to make the character "more hip" for "modern" audiences. Gunn keeps the character pure, but surrounds him with the goofy, the childish, the arrogant, and the just plain bad. To mark the contrast.

Gunn leans into the humanity, but an outsider's view of it, seeing the good, the hope, the striving, and the yearning to be free and wanting to be that. I see an awful lot of internet blather about moments of "cringe" in this Superman, particularly this speech: 

That is where you've always been wrong about me, Lex. I am as human as anyone. I love, I-I get scared. I wake up every morning, and despite not knowing what to do, I put one foot in front of the other, and I try to make the best choices that I can. I screw up all the time, but that is being human, and that's my greatest strength. And someday, I hope, for the sake of the world, you understand that it's yours too.

Good Lord. Maybe it's "cringe" because he admits he makes mistakes, but we could use a lot more of that these days, but that would take character, humility, honesty, and a whole lot of other things missing in this PR-saturated spin-zone we call a world.

For a time now, I've been grousing (and boring friends) about certain notable politicians and corporate Masters of the Universe, by describing each one as an "Anti-Superman." Why? Superman (so the old TV show announced) "fights a never-ending battle for Truth, Justice, and the American Way." But, now its an every-day, non-prosecuted occurrence 180° in the other direction with these guys. There's no relationship with Truth (which has never been so degraded and discarded), Justice, which is consistently delayed and dismissed...and as for The American Way? It's the way of the thug-gangster, that icon of American pop-culture (until it affects us personally). 

And common decency is becoming more and more uncommon.

 

No wonder the last Superman movies were so grim, gritty and stewed in their own existential juices so much. We don't need that kind of inspiration. 

We need this Superman. A Superman who can push against a falling skyscraper, but also push against the inexorable fall of civilized behavior or civilization itself, and not break a sweat or crack with angst. And leads...by example...for the good. The common good.

We need this Superman now.

Nosferatu (2024)

Come To Me, My Melancholic Baby

or

"He's Italian!?"

Robert Eggers' new remake of F.W. Murnau's classic 1922 silent horror film Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, is respectful of the original—it's on the director's list of favorite films—but allows for Eggers' darker interpretations of myths, his sexualization of those myths, as well as his emphasis (as with David Lynch) on texture. 

 

Murnau's original (if we can use the phrase ironically) was a knock-off of Bram Stoker's "Dracula", the names changed to protect the filmmakers from copyright considerations—although they were sued by the Stoker estate—and is genuinely creepy, owing to the German Expressionist manner of lighting and filming. Plus, Murnau was an extraordinarily clever filmmaker who could use rudimentary special and camera effects to create arresting images. But, then, so is Eggers, and his version of Nosferatu* is respectful, but also tries to achieve Murnau's evocation of dread through its own means, given the advantages of modern cinematography and (something Murnau didn't have access to) sound. More on that in a bit.

Eggers also has an advantage in that he's had over a hundred years of cinema to be inspired by in the years between Murnau's version and his. Watching his Nosferatu one can see the debt he owes to Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula (with its shadow-play and use of miniatures), but also in the addition of making the attraction between Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) and Ellen Hutter (Lily-Rose Depp) a predestined certainty—Ellen has been diagnosed as "melancholic" for her sleep-walking and agitation in her youth and it only intensifies once her husband Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) falls into the orbit of the Count. This "love for the ages" concept wasn't originally part of the "Nosferatu" heritage.

The other major influence is from Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Eggers shares Kubrick's love of framing his shots with the one-point-perspective, but here he employs it the way it was done in the Stephen King adaptation—that one-point-perspective leads the eye to a negative space, which is why the effect is so creepy and audience-disorienting. Here, all those tangential lines may lead only to an empty spot on the horizon...or a castle in the distance. There are whole sequences that give you a vertiginous feeling, as if one could fall into that screen, pulled by gravity and it's not a pleasant experience. For a horror movie, it's ideal. Unnerving, but ideal.

And he does something else: his camera may be fluid, but it's also austere. He'll frequently do a 360° turn of the camera and do it slowly, determinedly, placing the audience in the perspective of the character watching his environment, dreading whatever might be at the edge of the frame. It's been awhile since I've seen either movie, so I can't remember if it was Murnau or Carl Theodore Dryer's Vampyr where the camera makes similarly slow circular movements that, rather than make you wonder why you're making the trip, fill you with dread. They're nice touches and are nice little updates to the story-telling.

And it's a familiar story—anyone familiar with Stoker's "Dracula" knows it. A solicitor is sent to the castle of a count to finalize the selling of an estate. The man is sent through the machinations of his boss who is under the throes of the Count's influence, as the man is, in fact, a vampire. He makes his way to the new estate and begins to set upon the citizens there, most prominently, the woman closest to that poor solicitor.

This leads to visits by doctors, who, being scientists, cannot explain the malady and so a specialist in the "unconventional" is called upon, and it is he who deduces that the plague in their midst is a vampire and must be dispatched. This being Nosferatu, the names are changed, but the situations are basically similar. "Dracula" takes place in England; Nosferatu takes place in Germany. All the arcana we associate with vampires is stripped to the bone—no silver bullets or crucifixes (much in display but ineffectual), not even a clove of garlic is to be seen. Those killed by vampires die and stay dead, and although a stake through the heart is effective to kill them (if one comes prepared), the surest way is to distract him with a nice virginal meal until the sun comes up and...that vampire's toast.

The acting is quite good, with particular nods to the three leads, Hoult, Depp and Skarsgård. Hoult has the unenviable task of having to act like he has no idea what the audience is fully expecting to happen, but manages to make his Thomas Hutter still sympathetic when he makes the effort to complete his job even after all the signs tell him him should just turn around and go home. And Depp's performance is just plain scary. Her fits look truly traumatic with her eyes rolling back in her head and her body contorting and spasming into Exorcist-like exercises.

And Skarsgård's Count Orlok has been carefully distanced from Max Schreck's rat-like vampire. Described as "very old and very eccentric...he has one foot in the grave already" Orlok is a hulking figure, stooped and wrapped in a dark bear-like coat with a coarse, brushy mustache. He is barely visible in his first scenes, just a overpowering presence, but the more you see, the more he resembles a rotting corpse, his skin flayed off in places and as far afield from any semblance to a romantic figure (ala 1979's Dracula) as you could get.

But, it's his vocal performance more than anything that's fascinating. Speaking in a low, rattly and sepulchral growl (augmented electronically so it fills every speaker in the theater) every syllable is e-nun-ci-ated slowly only to be broken off by the driest asthmatic breath-intake you can imagine this side of an iron lung. If the theater allows such things, I would take a big bag of cough-drops or lozenges. Super-size the soft-drinks.

Face it, it's those new approaches to things are what you're looking to see the movie for, because the story has been done to death...and after...and has more lives than Christopher Lee's Dracula. Just when you think you can't squeeze any more blood out of the thing,** it comes back to haunt you. So, just remember: you're the one who invites him back.

 

In the meantime, Eggers' version will do...and do quite well...until the next vampire movie rises from the grave.

* His version? There have been other versions of Nosferatu—aside from the official remakes of the Dracula novel—including one that was released just a year ago. There's also Werner Herzog's 1979 Nosferatu the Vampyre and also 2000's Shadow of the Vampire, which told a tale of the making of the original with John Malkovich as Murnau and Willem Dafoe (who's also in Eggers' film) as Nosferatu player Max Schreck. Plus, little nods to the original can be found in vampire designs of the 1979 TV-version of "Salem's Lot" and in Taika Waititi's original What We Do in the Shadows.

 

** Geez, I didn't even mention the ghastly sucking sounds he makes when he's feeding on his victims.... 

Juror #2

A Rainy Night in Georgia

or

Juris-Imprudence (So, Help Us, God)
 

If I recall (having seen every episode) Clint Eastwood never appeared on the old "Perry Mason" TV show—one of the few elder statesmen-actors still working not to do so (and he was working for that show's network at the time). He seems to be making up for that with Juror #2, a courtroom drama with enough twists and turns to make Perry trip while hulking out of his chair at the defense table (come to think of it they rarely had juries on the "Mason" show—budget, you know).

 

James Michael Sythe (Gabriel Basso) is being tried for the brutal murder of his girlfriend, Kendall (Francesca Eastwood). They'd been seen fighting at a local watering-hole on a dark-and-stormy night and the politically-inclined District Attorney (Toni Collette) makes the case that Sythe was seen following after the victim as she was walking home in the torrential down-pour. Her body was found the next morning in a culvert under a bridge dead from blunt-force trauma. His attorney (Chris Messina) argues nobody saw the murder (even if a lot of people saw the fight at the bar). No murder weapon was found and Sythe maintains his innocence. One of the jurors, a retired copy (J.K. Simmons), says "He shoulda took the plea deal." 

But, one guy on the jury, Justin Kemp (Nicholas Hoult), expectant father and reluctant jurist, isn't so sure. Once on the jury and hearing the details of the case, he starts having flash-backs of a night a year ago, when he was at the same bar the night that argument happened, but his wife had just lost twins, and he was thinking of having a drink, despite being in AA for four years sober. He remembers driving down the same road where the girl was killed and, distracted by his phone, took his eyes off the road and he hit something. Hit something hard. But, getting out of his car and looking around, he saw nothing, and, supposing he'd hit a deer and it ran off, he got back in his car and drove home.

Now, sitting in court, hearing the particulars, he's not so sure. Maybe it was this girl, Kendall, that he hit with his car. Day after day he sits in the courtroom hearing testimony from investigators and expert witnesses all leading to the suspicion that it was Sythe who did it deliberately. The trouble is: nobody saw him do it. It's all circumstantial and speculation. And the more Kemp hears, the more he thinks he might be the guilty party and the guy he's going to sit in judgment of is innocent.

What would you do, dear reader? I'd like to think that you'd do the right thing and turn yourself in and let an innocent man go free. But, my reading of "the times" (and the lack of civics classes in public education) tells me that nobody admits to doing anything wrong if nobody knows about it. Let sleeping dogs lie. Nobody's getting hurt. It wasn't my fault. I needed the money. I had a rotten childhood. In today's environment, George Washington would have hid the axe. Honesty's for suckers and losers. Kemp's excuse is he has a family with a baby due any minute, he can't do that to them.

But, what about Kendall? Her aggrieved family? What about the schlub who's being railroaded by the cops and the judicial system and may go to prison for life for something he didn't do? Is that justice? Kemp goes to his AA sponsor—a lawyer (Kiefer Sutherland)—who tells him vehicular man-slaugher will get him 30 years to life if he admits what he did, but maybe, just maybe, the jury will find the guy innocent and the problem will just...go away. And when closing arguments are over and the case goes to the jury, it is near-unanimous that Sythe should go to prison—except for one juror, Kemp. And he begins a methodical, near desperate process to convince the fellow jurists that Sythe is not guilty...within a reasonable doubt. And he's the perfect man for the job...as he may be the guilty party.

It sounds like an upside-down version of 12 Angry Men—the television-play and movie where one jury-member tries to convince his determined fellow jurists that the person they're supposed to judge is not guilty (and for a while it goes down that path)—but, there are complications and points of jurisprudence that threaten to up-end the entire trial. But, what none of the members of the court see is that they've got the wrong guy (sure, they've got the most likely guy), but what they don't see is the responsible party is right under their noses, and he is completely irresponsible to do what is expected of him—to do the right thing. Justice really is blind here, as Eastwood keeps visually reinforcing again and again and again.

It's a different movie, one that Eastwood's fans might not cotton to as it features nobody to root for, and the protagonist is dishonest, vulnerable, self-interested and...the worst sin of all, has self-doubts. Usually in Eastwood's film of choice, they're stalwart in the face of implacable enemies and chart a straight course towards what is a resolution or usually revenge. Sure, there have been vulnerable Eastwood protagonists, flawed Eastwood protagonists, even Clint veered off the straight and narrow in things like Bronco Billy and Tightrope. But, to have self-doubt come into play, I think you'd have to go all the way back to...Breezy. And not only self-doubt. In another age, at another time, one could see Kemp as a villain, a slightly sociopathic one with a narcissistic tunnel-vision that prevents him from seeing anything beyond his own situation. He's at least a coward, and a selfish one at that. Let another man rot in jail for something he did? What a lying skank.

But, that, the movie is saying is the point. At one point, the judge in the case tells the jurors "this process, as flawed as it is, is still the best way of finding justice." But, is it? In a world of people of good faith and strength of character, it very well may be. But, it is dependent on honesty and the penalty of the law. If everybody is lying on the stand, without the fear of perjuring themselves, the system ("flawed as it is") is worthless. Anybody not doing their job rightly, be they police, lawyers, judges, or witnesses threatens to derail any pretense of achieving "justice." And in a worthless system, where justice may actually be derailed, everybody is at risk. You only have to look at the work of the Innocence Project to see the results of a process that doesn't care about truth or innocence but only in the "feeling" that it's good enough or to make things seem done (hence the dependency on plea-deals). People fall through the cracks in such a system and then become lost in it. And some die in it. You can't seek to rid Society of corruption with a means that, in itself, is corrupt.

 

Eastwood hasn't done anything like this before—although Mystic River comes close—basing his movie around "the bad guy" (if we want to be simplistic about it), however self-serving the character's rationalizations for doing so. And he's aided immeasurable by the one thing Eastwood has always excelled at: casting. Everybody in this is playing top of their game, but none so much as the seemingly ubiquitous Nicholas Hoult. Hoult has an open face like a young Tom Cruise (back when he could play vulnerable) but the eyes are haunted and tentative like they're already seeing what's about to happen...and dreading it. And there's just enough doughy softness to him that you might end up caring about what happens to the guy, even though the moral quagmire the movie negotiates makes you want to see him get his "just desserts."

 

I was going to end this review with a rant about the Warner Brothers studio only releasing this one to 50 theaters (the reason being that Eastwood's last feature Cry Macho under-performed at the box office which rankled the WB CEO and made him wished he'd never financed it, despite Eastwood earning Warner a couple billion dollars easily from his output). Eastwood made this movie at the age of 93 (which is astonishing) and there is "talk" about his retiring—I doubt he will—so it seemed a churlish way to put one of your big earners out to pasture. But, evidently, the film is making enough money in the U.S. (and Eastwood's films always do well in Europe) that the studio is increasing the number of venues and extending its limited run in existing theaters by a week.

 

So, no rant. Merely a grumbling acknowledgment through my teeth that the theater situation is "not as bad as it could've been." And a grim smile while saying you should try to find a theater nearby that's showing it and see for yourself. This is a good one. And it might be the last chance you get.

"Courtesy Warner Brothers" Yeah, I suppose...

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.

The Current War: Director's Cut

Written (really) at the time of the film's eventual release.

Saturday is traditionally "Take Out the Trash" Day...

AC/DC
or
Bringing It All to Light

The Current War was produced in 2017 and finally released—to theaters—in late 2019 (after premiering with a different cut at the Toronto International Film Festival in September, 2017). The script had been acquired by The Weinstein Company (after appearing on the legendary store-house of interesting but unproduced screenplays "The Blacklist"), and filmed, executive produced by Martin Scorsese and Steve Zaillian. 

Then, people finally paid attention to Harvey Weinstein's behavior, and the film, which had a lukewarm reception at the festival, was shelved and sold in the midst of TWC's implosion. Pulling strings with his final cut contract, director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon ordered re-shoots and did some trimming before the film was finally released to theaters in 2019.

In what might be called its thesis statement, the film begins with top-hatted businessmen walking in the dark through the woods to a clearing, at which point they are blinded by a circle of light that appears magically before them, composed of many singular light bulbs piercing the darkness. From the center of the array walks Thomas Edison (Benedict Cumberbatch) who greets them with "I hope you brought your check-books." He'll need it. For Edison's plan isn't merely the use of light-bulbs, but the invention of something that no one has heard of—the electrical grid. Edison's Big Idea is to create a network of generators—that he'll own—generating direct current to cities and neighborhoods. But, given DC's limited range he's going to have to make a lot of them.

There's money to be made. And where there's money to be made, there is competition. George Westinghouse (Michael Shannon) wants to partner with Edison, but when his overtures are rebuffed, Westinghouse decides to find an alternate system. Alternating Current will travel over greater distances and given its on-again/off-again transmission could be safer and probably cheaper. The two go head-to-head trying to convince local governments to flip the switch, but they're reluctant with two systems in competition.

With the arrival of Nikola Tesla (Nicholas Hoult) to his employ, Edison thinks he might have an inside track, but Tesla is a mercurial sort and soon bridles at Edison's single-mindedness and leaves, feeling his work is being ignored. He tries to develop his own system, but eventually joins forces with Westinghouse, who has taken his battle to the public.

As every politician knows, the best way to persuade people is with fear. Westinghouse starts a smear campaign claiming that DC is dangerous and should not be allowed in homes. Edison starts to say the same thing about AC and, to prove his point, submits a proposal for a method of execution that is far more humane—the electric chair (despite professing that he would never be a part of weapon development or something destructive to mankind).  When the first use of it sets the prisoner on fire, his reputation is damaged.

The movie sure looks interesting. The director—who's done a lot of second unit work on a lot of good movies—has a slightly cock-eyed way of framing that takes it out of the "vaunted past" look of period films and makes it a bit more surreal. But, despite a terrific cast and some sparks of nice writing, the film doesn't rise above being a more expensive version of one of those "The Inventions That Made America" episodes (but without the teasing before commercials and re-running of footage you've already seen afterwards).

And with all its talk of greatness consisting of what you leave behind, there is more than a little pissing on a live-wire when it shows the blight of a skyline cross-hatched with electrical lines. But, then I don't think the Grid is what it's celebrating: the most moving sequence is when Edison shows off a new invention—a machine that shows hundreds of individual photographs of his late wife that appears to make her move and live again. You spend two hours talking electricity, but ultimately it's about the birth of motion pictures.

 

No wonder Scorsese put his name on it.