Higher Ground

Written at the time of the film's release...

"Blessed Assurance"

or

"Jesus Is __________"

The first thing I ever saw Vera Farmiga in was The Departed in "the girlfriend" role, and I was none too impressed. Then, came Up in the Air and her wistful performance as a "fellow traveler" who hooks up with George Clooney—two "stop-overs" that pass in the night—and it was an amazing performance.

Now, with her first film as director, Higher Ground, she stakes out indie territory as something of a maverick. It's a film about religion without hysterics, without condescension, without judgement, without prejudice...which is a far cry from the scripture Hollywood habitually reads from.

Higher Ground tells the story of Corinne (Farmiga, and played at younger ages by her sister Taissa and McKenzie Turner), daughter of divorced parents (Donna Murphy and John Hawkes), who answers the call of her minister (Bill Irwin) to accept Jesus into her life ("He's knocking at your door...") but finds herself standing at the threshold, believing but not wholly accepting, finding herself, as a woman, relegated to a role "submitting" to her husband and the male hierarchy of her church, seeing her best friend, the earthy Annika (Dagmara Dominczyk) finding her own personal way in Life and Faith and coveting it (When Annika effortlessly speaks in tongues—an act frowned upon by her church—Corinne blurts out "I want that!" but never manages it-in fact, one of the best scenes is Corinne, alone in the bathroom, exorting Jesus to speak through her, and finally schlumping out in frustration).

What makes her study of a woman struggling with Faith (with a capital "F") within a strict Christian community (albeit of somewhat counter-cultural "flower"-children) different is that it never wavers from the precept that religion is good.  People are flawed, yes, as her believers are, but faith is a nurturing, fulfilling way of Life that sustains and helps throughout our trials. This is a far cry from the way faith is usually portrayed these days, where the Believer is at least a hypocrite and at worst, some kind of predator. One could argue the point, but Higher Ground revealed to me some of the conditioning such repetition has achieved over the years in me, an agnostic. Here, one expectantly waits for any hint of a gouge in the old wooden cross, where any of the characters is guilty of anything, but sanctimony—the most intense that fear occurs is at a talk with an in-faith marriage counselor who insists on seeing Corrine alone without her husband (Joshua Leonard), which makes one wonder if he's going to fulfill the role of "the creepy one," but, no, all he wants to do is good, offering sage advice more for her faith than for her marriage.

Not that there aren't others who fulfill those roles, and, Lord have mercy, if it isn't the non-believers who turn out to be the hypocrites and suspicious ones (exemplified by a welcoming neighbor who stops by to warn Corinne and her visiting Mother of "religious nuts" who might live nearby, while the woman of faith keeps her counsel, instead stuffing her face on a gift of offered doughnuts that might have a bit of a bitter quality to them), and the Irish mailman on her block who takes such an interest doesn't turn out to be all that's delivered. The points are not written with judgmental heaviness or pulpit-pounding, but are merely observations of a perpetual outsider looking in.

As someone who has struggled with religion all his adult life, I found refreshing the simple expression that faith can lend grace to one's life, without hammering the point home as many of the "message" movies have a tendency to do. And that the film chooses to portray Corinne's struggle as difficult, even heart-rending, and faith being anything but easy, only makes the faith of those not embroiled in such a battle seem stronger by comparison. I admire that so much. If there are any complaints to be made, it is that sometimes the film veers into Corinne-fantasy mode for easy laughs, or too-easy satire. The film doesn't require or it or need it, and director Farmiga should have had more faith in the simple power of her film to stay clear of it.

Can't wait to see what she does next.

2022 Update: Still waiting....

The Departed

Written at the time of the film's release...

Institutionalized Ball-Busting  

 

Call it the Scorsese Thesis: First a guy tells you what he's gonna tell ya, then Marty shows ya, then you're on your own. 

 

In the case of The Departed "the Guy" is Jack Nicholson's Frank Costello, a seedy Boston crime-lord from "some years ago." "I don't want to be a product of my environment," says the shadowy Frank (Scorsese's way of showing Frank as a younger man). "I want my environment to be a product of me."

 

Nicholson's Costello makes good on that promise on two fronts—in the scenario of The Departed, and the movie, itself.  Costello's control over his Boston turf (or, using the accent Martin Sheen employs here, "too-urf") is so absolute, his reach extends from his surly band of criminals to the police department, culminating in one of his own crew (Matt Damon) infiltrating the very task force investigating his activities. Simultaneously, the player on the other side, Captain Queenan (Sheen) has trolled the new recruits to find his own mole (Leonardo DiCaprio) to infiltrate Costello's crew. 

It turns into a complicated Spy Vs. Spy with both moles straddling the moral fence, while completely unsure of their footing on either side. And while trying to rat out their suspected counter-part while not drawing attention to their own treacheries. They're mutually duplicitous. As Costello says in the Thesis: "When I was growing up, they would say you could become cops or criminals. But what I'm saying is this. When you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?"

It's a complicated game of Jack's Straws...set in a house of mirrors. Drop Nicholson's weight into the middle of it, and the whole thing threatens to pancake...much like the movie. This first collaboration with Scorsese is similar to Marlon Brando's eccentric performance in The Missouri Breaks, where an actor so drapes himself in business that he attracts the eye in the same way as a car-wreck—you wonder what in Hell this crime-clown (it is much like Nicholson's Joker in Batman without the make-up) is going to do next. Damon and DiCaprio were not clued into his on-set antics and so their scenes are played with the right touch of paranoid hesitancy. There's a strained wariness behind their eyes and they've rarely been better.

As good as they are (and excessive as Nicholson is) best among the cast is Alec Baldwin as a fast-talking division head, but the real revelation here is Mark Wahlberg. Marky-Mark walks away with the picture and dominates every scene he is in, no matter who's in it with him. In fact, in the one scene Baldwin and Wahlberg share, Scorsese throws in a couple of Raging Bull camera moves for a verbal feint and parry between the two. It's a director's nod to two extraordinary actors doing solid work, free of gimmicks.

As for Scorsese, if you're looking for a return to his greatest efforts, this isn't it. It makes you wonder what he's up to. This story is nothing new, and is in fact based on a Chinese film (and its two sequels, actually) that owes more to the early personal style that he fails to deliver on here. What's the fascination? We've seen the cop/criminal discotomy, as well as the conflicts of working undercover in better films. He's doing program work, not personal work. This isn't Raging Bull or Mean Streets or KunDun or Goodfellas. This is Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. Or New York New York. Or The Aviator. One senses he's pacing himself, keeping his hand in the game doing agency "package" movies until the next inspiration comes along. Perhaps he should ditch DeCaprio, and find that last, good DeNiro project. He's too good a film-maker to waste on remakes and empty biographies. Maybe after the struggles he went through to bring his last personal project to the screen he's asking himself at this point in his career "What's the difference?"

Godzilla, King of the Monsters (2019)

Doing the Limbo Dance with Godzilla (Faith and Ghidorah)
or
Dr. Serizawa's Magic Bullet

I was anticipating the new Godzilla movie, Godzilla: King of Monsters, when I saw the trailer start to hit theaters. I enjoyed Gareth Edwards' 2014 take on the series, and was suitably impressed with what Legendary Entertainment was doing with their second "Monsterverse" film, Kong: Skull Island. But, to see the trailer for G:KOM, with appearances by other Toho Studio monsters, like Rodan, Ghidorah, and Mothra (especially Mothra) gave me a sense of giddy joy, as in "My God, they're really going to try and do these cheesy monsters with a sense of "real" CGI verisimilitude, instead of the puppeteered, rubber-suited versions we're used to?" And then, to bring a respectable cast of characters actors like David Strathairn, Ken Watanabe, and Sally Hawkins (all returning from the 2014 film), as well as Bradley Whitford, Kyle Chandler, Charles Dance, Vera Farmiga (!) and Ziyi Zhang (!!!), I was somewhat delirious, as in "Oh My God-zilla, are they actually going to make a decent movie out of this juvenile material? That would be so awesome!"

The answer is "No, they didn't." One wonders if they ever could, but the hope was there, and although the film is semi-successful in some aspects, the conclusion from what I saw was a disappointing result from an over-the-top concept.

But, to get any enjoyment from the experience, a little perspective is required. To illustrate, here is a scene featuring a "pitched" battle between those same four antagonists from the 1964 feature Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster*

There, now you should be prepared to see Godzilla: King of Monsters and come out somewhat impressed. Extreme, I know. But, you have to set the bar pretty low to raise expectations.

It's been four years since the appearance of Godzilla—"the day the world discovered that monsters are real"—the film starts with a flashback to the events in San Francisco where two new characters, Mark and Dr. Emma Russell (Chandler and Farmiga), two Monarch** specialists are caught in the fray...with their family for some reason...resulting in the death of one of their kids, their son, Andrew (definitely a downside to "Take Your Child to Work Day" when working for Monarch). This fractures the family (you think?). Mark, embittered and wanting to kill the Titans, and GZ in particular, goes off to study wolves, while Dr. Emma continues her husband's work of creating a communication system, designed to keep whales from beaching themselves. Only she's using it to see if she can communicate with the MUTO's. It's a good way to set up all sorts of "Geez, I hope this works..." scenes.

Their daughter Madison (played by Millie Bobby Brown from "Stranger Things") is keeping up contact with Dad and worrying about Mom's frequent moodiness and is one of those irritating "Wesley Crusher" kids, who can take some wires, a USB cable, and a Brillo-pad and hack into a pay-telephone so it can communicate with the Mars rover Endeavor to save Matt Damon (although she has trouble making breakfast...fake-out!). It's no wonder Dr. Emma takes her to the Monarch project where they're trying to awaken Mothra (Hey, remember "Take Your Child to Work Day?" Worked out real well last time, didn't it?). But, not to worry. Even though Mothra freaks out and kills some techs, Dr. Emma is able to take her "Orca" device, push a button, and translate Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" into Mothra-song to calm it down. This inspires Madison to confuse the multi-million dollar facility with a petting zoo to reach out and touch the creature bare-handed without a care about communicable disease or some sort of tactile osmosis that would put a Mothra-larvae into her body that will burst out at a later time (possible sequel?).

Dr. Emma worries about how she's going to explain this to CPS

They don't have to think about that, anyway, as, once they have Mothra under control, former MI6 agent and prominent eco-terrorist Alan Jonah (Dance) bursts in with some merc's, seize the Orca device, and take Dr. Emma and Madison hostage for his nefarious plans to do something evil and inspire a rescue operation. Mission accomplished on that last one; Monarch, in the form of Dr. Ishiro Serizawa (Watanabe) and Dr. Vivienne Graham (Hawkins) finds Mark dancing with wolves and tells him what's happened. They set out to track Jonah and his whale-sized ambitions to try and get little Maddy back.

Monarch gets lectured by Dr. Emma (while her ex glowers about "hearing this before"

That, as it is, is the plot. The rest involves globe-trotting to many Monarch outposts, tracking the movements of GZ, and the intentional setting free of the three-headed monster Ghidorah, who has been trapped in Antarctic ice for eons. Once he's—or they, I've have pronoun troubles with three-headed things—thawed, it goes about the world freeing other Titans in its official title as apex predator, which is what Jonah has intended all along. His justification being that the Titans have been here longer, and that we relatively newbie humans are screwing up the planet, so the Titans will fix it all up by getting rid of us. This, then, makes Jonah the ultimate anti-immigration activist (hurts when it's you, doesn't it?). 

Foreshadowing that Godzilla and Mark might some day see eye to eye.

There's more match-up fights than an episode of the WWF—Mothra versus Rodan, Godzilla versus Rodan, Godzilla versus Ghidorah (SPOILER ALERT-he gets his scaly tail handed to him, regroups then comes back and wins, with a little help from his monster friends, and ultimately wins the gold belt-buckle that says "King of the Monsters") and the puny little humans help as best they can, but, basically, they're farm-league, only good at running away and, failing that, becoming kaiju toe-jam .

Ghidorah bug-zaps Mothra

That's what we all go to see—monsters fighting, even if it's in murky darkness, so they don't have to have the CGI be perfect (or it was the low-projection level of the 3-D version, which is the format I saw it in), and despite the creators' earnest intentions, it's the same format that the other films have usually had. Some pretext in the human world sets everything up—in this case, it's the problems with the Russell's, whom we've never heard of before and have the most basic issues on which to hang a monsters-fighting scenario on. At least, it's not manipulation by space-aliens, or venusians, or some other clap-trap that would cause your eyes to roll sop far back in your head that you'd miss the fights at the end.

Rodan goes in for the kill

You have to suspend belief so high that it's achieved orbit, while at the same time lowering expectations so low that your back will be killing you the next day. Either that, or you have to be such a True Believer Fan, that you just don't care, because you get a thrill every time you hear Godzilla amp up like an old diesel generator before he unleashes a force-beam of some completely unfathomable energy that will somehow shred whatever big-thingy he's up against. When you're that deep in the fantasy, there are no rules of engagement, you're just glad for the engagement—like your desperate Aunt Sophie.

Ghidorah provides free WI-FI to everybody.

The human actors do a fine job of spouting techno-babble and mumbo-jumbo as if it makes sense—Whitford seems to be having a good relaxed time (he's had to negotiate Aaron Sorkin dialogue) and Strathairn looks like he's really having to double-down on the glower to prevent himself from cracking up over what he's saying (there are quite a few Oscar and Emmy nominees in this cast, by the way...although this probably won't inspire "For Your Consideration" ads come the next awards season). And they're very good at the Spielberg-trope of looking up with a faraway look as if their lives depended on it.

"For Your Consideration"

There are, despite some of the hammer-hitting lack of subtlety in the film, some nice touches: the constant calling-upon of hieroglyphic evidence of kaiju presence during man's early development (however unlikely that may seem); the sense of glowing myth as the creatures never seem to be present in anything other than strange weather phenomenon, as if they were tied to the very natural forces that soak, electrify, and shake the planet—like some manifestation of Kurosawa's emotional weather conditions; there's even a moment that might be confusing for most audience members—Ziyi Zhang plays two characters in the film, twin sisters, who hearken back to similar twins, the twin fairies, the diminutive shobijin, who summon forth Mothra with their song. It's a tiny little detail, but it set my "mothra-sense" to tingling when I saw the actress appear in a continuity-defying two places at once.

"Please notice that the 'Fasten Your Seat-Belt' sign is on..."

But Godzilla, King of the Monsters is not that great a movie. A pretty darned good giant monster movie and a bit of an improvement over its source material (remember: no venusians...). If it has any luck, it'll become a Saturday afternoon staple on television—which is where I saw most of these things in my youth (and I was cynical about them then). It pays homage to its source by not being too reverential about it or trying to make it more "significant" than it is (despite my comic intentions to politicize it). It was, and still is, a cheese-fest. It's just that the price of cheese has gone up—significantly—over the years.

"Let's get ready to rummmmmblllllle..."

Oh. And one passing thought: despite the dangers displayed by galumphing behemoths of various genera and type, spitting sparks of a source not found in Nature's spectrum, one gets the impression that they are not considered the biggest concern or threat to the filmmakers. Given the evidence of the film and what they choose to show and how they show it, the real danger is...bad mothers.

Hope that doesn't spoil anything.

"King me, baby!"

Prepare for the inevitable cage-match (2020, they're saying)

* Or as it's known in the States, Ghidrah, the Three Headed Monster (with only two syllables).

** Monarch is the secretive Japanese-American organization that studies M.U.T.O.'s (Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organisms—or the more PC, "Titans") that have emerged from the Earth's hollow interior due to man's atomic experiments and other destructive activities—like building Monarch's massive underground outposts. Monarch seems to have an unlimited budget and unlimited resources, and 61 outposts around the globe to hunt 17 of these things. It's no wonder there is a Senate investigation of the thing in this movie. Next thing you know, Trump will want one of these organizations if he can't get his Space-Rangers.

Oh. One more thing-they always have to fight by power-lines. Always.

The Front Runner

Everybody Knows
or
Hart the Herald Scriveners Zing

Every review of a movie is an opinion-piece, by its very nature. 

This one, however, is of, for, and by...opinion and is, as such, suffused with it. Like politicians, one shouldn't put too much trust in it. Proceed with caution. 

One wonders what would be the reason to make and release The Front Runner at this time other than as an exercise in nostalgia. Jason Reitman (second film released in a year—the first was Tully) has made a film based on the 1987 scandal that ruined the campaign of Senator Gary Hart, while he was running for president. Said scandal involved the Senator being linked with a woman not his wife, a practice that had been overlooked in the past, but, at that time, was not only not overlooked but blared in the nation's headlines. 

One could almost call the scandal quaint in this day and age, when the current President pays off porn-stars, admits it, then denies it, then probably brags about it when the microphones are off (are they?) then denies that he said it even when the tapes show up (Really, now, does this seem sane to you?). But, it isn't quaint. It's the age-old story of abuse of power and betrayal of trust. In this day and age, it has a hash-tag followed by "MeToo."

But, that year, many factors were in play. The Watergate scandal of the early 70's had put the public on alert to the duplicity of it's leaders, while the press, most of whom took no lead in the uncovering of the Watergate break-in and resulting White House cover-up were on high alert to any wrong-doing—that is, any wrong-doing that didn't hurt their access or financial stability. It had long been a standard practice among reporters to look away at the suspected infidelities of Presidents—certainly with FDR, Kennedy and Johnson. It was an "understanding" that such things were to be kept out of the press. After all, "the press" were equally capable of transgressing, such as Washington Post reporter and Watergate investigator Carl Bernstein's cheating on his wife Nora Ephron. What was good for the goose was not necessarily good for the gander who was trying to dig up dirt on the goose. 

Gary Hart was another matter. He was a senator who'd made a run for Democratic nominee for President in 1984 and lost to Walter Mondale. In 1987, after Mondale lost to Ronald Reagan, he was considered "the front-runner" for the nomination in the next year's presidential race, and it was assumed he'd get the nomination. Then, the events on board the private yacht "Monkey Business" happened. 

Now, what happened is a bit vague—and not a little, a lot. To this day, nobody can say for certain what happened. Hart was invited aboard the yacht, ostensibly to work on an economics speech, by a lobbyist loyal to the Democratic Party. Afterwards, Hart (played in the film by Hugh Jackman without an awful lot of the Kennedy-esque charisma that Hart radiated) went back to the nation's capitol. Reporters from the Miami Herald were tipped off that "a friend"* of the caller was having an affair with Hart (even the identity of "the tipper" and what that particular person knew when they knew it has some holes in the details) and was travelling from Miami to Washington for a tryst, and plans were made by reporters to follow the woman "who looks like a model" on the flight. There are rumors that Hart is a "womanizer" and the tip seems like a good bet, to the point where, when they lose track of her, they immediately go to Hart's D.C. townhouse, so they can stake the place out, take some pictures.

That is until Hart notices the car outside his house, and leads them unwittingly to a back-alley confrontation behind his town-house. To the reporters, they've got him dead to rights, despite not noticing that someone could—could—leave the place unnoticed from the street. Hart's attitude is that they have no right to cover it, or question him about it. These aren't things he has to answer. 

It is an attitude he will stay with throughout the three weeks it takes for him to decide to call off the campaign, and it is something that the reporters and his own campaign staff (including J.K. Simmons and Molly Ephraim) have a hard time grasping, as the attitude he adapts seems irrelevant to the crisis—it's happening and it needs to be addressed with something better than the candidate's standard "I don't have to answer that!"

Everybody knows that you love me baby

Everybody knows that you really do

Everybody knows that you've been faithful

Ah, give or take a night or two

Everybody knows you've been discreet

But there were so many people you just had to meet

Without your clothes

And everybody knows

See what I did there? I merged from fact to movie plot, without skipping a beat. That's because Reitman and his team essentially tell the story as it has been laid out in the public record, without any speculation, without any editorializing—other than to put words in people's mouths in those instances when notes weren't being taken, and in scenes—especially between movie-Hart and wife Lee (played superbly by Vera Farmiga)—where issues brought up by audience questions can be handled by "writing to silence" (as nobody seems to want to protest the veracity). But, Hart's actions appeared to be those of a guilty man and that is what Reitman—and we—have to go by.

It is entirely plausible. Because the issue is about power and its abuse—just as it can happen in politics and in statecraft—so it happens when somebody entitled thinks they can take advantage and get away with it. The issue crosses all party-lines and is more evident now than it was "way back when" this story came out. It's a matter of class structure and the assuming of privilege "because they can." And it doesn't seem to matter how sanctimonious the perpetrators are, they see it as a right and an opportunity. Maybe even a divine right. That much can be known, because we see it every day. Even at the highest levels, there are low human beings.

Recently—too recently to have been made a part of this movie—there have been allegations that the circumstances were a "set-up" by a very prominent Republican operative with a history of such things. How much that can be believed can be argued about (and the reporters who covered the story have been extraordinarily quick to defend "their" records saying it wasn't possible because they weren't privy to it. What one cannot argue with is if it was a set-up, it was a good one, and worked very well to achieve the ends that were sought. You don't have to read too many spy-stories to know how effective honey-traps can be. But, it's just another aspect to a story about the inevitability of a weakness of character.

I found the whole thing a dissatisfying enterprise. The Front Runner provides facts, but no answers. It doesn't delve into all the facts, just the encapsulated time-line of what went down in those three weeks, regurgitating publicly available records supported by those with their own axes to grind and their own records to defend. One wonders, however, if it is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Or merely what everybody knows.

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows



* The movie ends with a line that says the Hart's are still together. Well, that's nice to know. They should have included what happened to "the other woman" Donna Rice, as well. She went back to her Christian roots, where she does advocacy work...and is an ardent Trump supporter. Donna, Donna, Donna. "Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice..."

Source Code

Written at the time of the film's release...

"This Train is Bound for Glory, This Train"
or
"Getting to Heaven By Way of Hell"

Captain Colter Stevens (Jake Gyllenhaal) wakes up, disoriented on a train. He was on a mission in Afghanistan just a moment ago...now he's on a train heading for Chicago, and the pretty girl (Michelle Monaghan) sitting across from him is calling him "Sean."

What the..?

The world is rushing by, full of commuter-sounds and commuter-problems, but all he knows is that he's not where he should be, and that the face staring back at him from a bathroom mirror isn't his.

"Don't worry," says the pretty girl, Christina. "Everything is going to be alright."

And then, the train explodes.

Famous last words.

Duncan Jones' (a clever enough director after two films that we can stop saying he's David Bowie's kid) last film was the under-performing Moon, featuring a tour de force performance by Sam Rockwell, and a sensibility that borrowed its uneasy creepiness from other sci-fi pics like 2001: A Space Odyssey. What was nice about Moon was that it was science fiction for adults, touching on themes and concepts that point out what role exactly man will play in Space, whether its comfortable or not. In Source Code, Jones and his clever scriptwriter Ben Ripley explore the same issues in the guise of a science-fiction time-travel movie that has, at its core—its own source code, if you will—the guarantee that the train is going to blow up every few minutes...like a movie serial gone very, very wrong. And it is Stevens' mission, as he is military, to keep catching that train for the critical eight minutes before the explosion to try and find the bomb, stop it (low priority), but, more importantly, find out who did it—for that terrorist attack is merely a distraction for emergency crews to turn their attention away from a much bigger threat. Stevens must survey the passengers on the train to determine how the bomb was detonated...and who did it.

Each eight minutes gives him more clues, narrowing his focus and his mission, but at the same time, he's starting to have feelings for the girl sitting across from him. He wants to save her, and maybe the other strangers on the train.

But, like any broken-hearted suitor, he's living in the past. They're already dead. And time is running out for Chicago. His mission specialists (Vera Farmiga—doing a lot of subtle work with so little—and Jeffrey Wright—doing too much, as he is wont to do when searching for a character) are tasked to keep him on point: "Out here, the clocks only move in one direction."

"Out here?" Where is he?

"Star Trek: The Next Generation" had an ingenious episode "Cause and Effect" (written by Brannon Braga and directed by Jonathan Frakes), where the U.S.S. Enterprise-D was caught in a time-loop, but its crew didn't know it. We'd watch them go through a series of events, there'd be an emergency and the ship blew up. Cut to commercial.  Back to the story, everything would reset, we'd watch the crew go through the same scenario, but with an increasing sense of deja-vu. The ship would blow up. Back to commercial. We'd run through the same incidents over and over, until Picard and co. realize that..."oh, we're caught in a time-loop, and we're doing the same things over and over, how do we stop?" It takes a few Enterprises blowing to smithereens before they figure out how to keep it from happening again. It was 60 minutes of Boom, Rinse and Repeat.

As I said, clever.* Like Groundhog Day with one hell of a punch-line. But here, the stakes are higher. Stevens doesn't know anyone on that train, but in his plunging again and again into that future-Hell, he gets to know them, as they go from suspects to victims, while managing to piss off each and every one of them along the way. The deeper he goes, the more he empathizes with their plight and wants to change a History already set in smoke and flame. Even if in a small way.

Source Code manages to be many genres in its perpetual loop of pieces of time: Science-fiction, disaster, action, detective, love story, and finally, inspirational, in showing how we, mere meat and electricity, can escape any trap that science, however well-intentioned, springs on us.

The best of science-fiction, despite the abilities of its clockwork mechanisms and theories to explain How Things Work, take those trappings of the soon-to-be, and tests the mettle of the beings caught in the gears. The most inspiring of science fiction always throws in the element of humanity that rises above by taking a leap of faith in nothing that approximates theory. Inspiration makes science. Wishing makes it so. Humanity makes both. And there's no formula, no theorem, no artificial intelligence to replace that one organic spark, the living breathing pilot light in the testing furnace of technology.


And the belief that everything is going to be alright.

The official poster for Source Code just sucks (and even the one I used above doesn't do the job).
But Olly Moss designed one (for the SXSW double bill with Jones' Moon) and it's quite timely.

* Jones is all too aware of the source code for this movie.  One of my favorite bits in the film is who plays Stevens' father in voice-over.  Of course, it has to be him.  And it's a terrific performance, even if we never see him.