Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Wonder Woman'

It's official, ladies: 2017 is OUR YEAR. And if anyone tells you otherwise, feel free to tell them, in as much detail as you'd like, why they need to shut up and get out of your way.

First of all, we've already had multiple films come out directed by women and starring some really cool women this year. Kristen Stewart debuted her first short film at Cannes. Niki Caro, Stella Meghie, and Amma Asante all had movies in wide release before we were even six months into 2017. That's pretty freaking cool, considering that most female contributions come from festivals and not that many people get to see them. And then capping it all off with the first female-directed blockbuster superhero film? Great move, Hollywood!

But as anyone who's ever talked to me knows, I personally hate the idea of supporting a film JUST because it's progressive or somehow "groundbreaking." It's one of the many reasons that people's explosive reactions to Moonlight generally irked me. Had the film starred two lanky hipster white boys (which that type of movie usually does), no one would have said beans about it, because aesthetically it looks exactly like every other indie gay movie to ever exist. Mahersala Ali may have won best supporting actor, but he sure as hell deserved a better script to work with. (See him in Luke Cage if you need evidence of that.) So disappointed was I with Moonlight that I had to be persuaded to see Get Out, another film that was hailed as progressive, another film in a genre I don't generally like (we all know how I feel about horror, right guys?), but I'm glad I gave it a shot because it was seriously amazing. My point is, if a film is good, it will be good regardless of its message. If it's bad, you can put all the progressive social movements in it at once, but it won't improve the quality. It's just the way it is.

SO. With all that in mind, how does Wonder Woman stack up against its brethren? Can a superhero film that was--gasp!--directed by a real woman with actual ladyparts stand among the finer films in the hero genre? I'm gonna go ahead and say no.

Because it doesn't just measure up against previously released superhero films. Wonder Woman, as far as I'm concerned, surpasses even the best of them.

First of all, let's get the obvious out of the way: DC has been so off their game lately. Off their game is perhaps even too kind a way of putting it. In their rush to compete with the MCU, DC did what a franchise should never, ever do: frantically hauled off and made a handful of films, supported by only one basic tentpole movie, and tried to make us care about a bunch of characters that were so badly built you'd literally have to read all the comics to know what the hell was going on. Man of Steel was an inelegant rehash; Dawn of Justice a character-screwing trainwreck, and Suicide Squad was...well, you already know how I felt about that.  So DC has a bit to make up for. And I think that with Wonder Woman they thought, "well, we certainly can't do any worse. C'mon, Patty Jenkins, make us a hero!" And damn, she did.

There are three major reasons why Wonder Woman rocks. The first is Gal Gadot, who is absolutely the perfect Wonder Woman. She's a trained fighter, as is her stunt double, and it shows. Never do we question whether or not Diana "deserves" to be as hyped by her peers as she is, because we can all see that she is exactly as awesome as everyone says (and they do, repeatedly, to her face, say how awesome she is). But the fighting is only one element, the rest of it is in what Diana does when she isn't kicking ass. Since a significant part of the film revolves around her first entry into the "world of men," it would have been so very, very easy to make her a weird hybrid of Gamora and Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy: she may not know jack about things we find normal, she might not understand normal human customs or figures of speech, but dammit she'll do you some damage if you try to take her to bed. Instead, Gadot plays Diana with just the right mix of innocence and wisdom. She may not understand the causes of World War I outside of Ares' involvement, but she knows that her job is to prevent people from hurting, and moreover she knows she's really, really good at that job. No one is ever going to tell Diana what to do, and no one is ever going to regret letting her make her own decisions, because hey, maybe she's never had ice cream before, but she's smart enough to analyze a tough situation and figure out what needs to be done. Gadot plays Diana as having confidence beyond just about any DC heroine to date, save maybe Catwoman in Dark Knight Rises (and, hey, are we even gonna talk about how much damage those two could do if they felt like working together?), and it works because we know that if nothing else, Wonder Woman will not take crap from anyone.

The second reason is Patty Jenkins' directorial choice to play to the females in her audience. Everything about this film screams feminist, and yet does it in a way that doesn't feel like we're being preached to or scolded for not being feminist enough. Too many "feminist" movies made by male directors take the approach of basically slamming the message down the throats of the men in the audience. The characters in these movies tend to be cardboard cutouts, saying to a female hero's face what most men would relegate to a chatroom or meninist support meeting. But Jenkins doesn't take that route. Instead, she basically gives Diana every attribute that Superman is credited with having--she's tough and compassionate in equal measure, she's analytical enough to slay on the battlefield but she's emotional enough to fall in love with one of the people she saves, she's innocent, she's charming, she's beautiful--but also goes to great lengths to make her human. She tells the story through Diana's eyes, so that when it finally comes down to the final fight, we aren't just rooting for her to destroy Ares. We're rooting for her to learn the truth about herself. We care about her because we got to know her, not because we're technically obligated to cheer on the hero.

The third is the action scenes, because oh my God when is the last time you went to an action movie and could actually see all of the action? Just about every thriller, action, or superhero movie I've seen in the last two years has a problem called Why The Hell Are You Using Handheld Camera For This Damn Scene. From Hardcore Henry to the latest Marvel flick, there is at least one if not more instances where the fight scenes are filmed in close-up with a handheld camera, and I can't figure out for the life of me why. For a film like Hardcore Henry it makes sense; it's supposed to be a first-person perspective and that's not always reliable. But for Civil War, really? It's fiction, not a mockumentary. Use your damn steadicam or get out. Wonder Woman, however, does not do this. Again, I feel like this is likely one of Jenkins' feminist choices: she wants us to see, in full detail, just how badass our heroine is, and you can't get that impression if the camera is focused on her leg, fist, or face while she's fighting. Moreover a lot of the fights set on the island are shot through Diana's eyes as well, visually telling us that these ladies deserve all the respect and then some. I won't spoil the best fight of the film, but suffice it to say that whether she's fighting a god or tearing up the trenches of WWI, Diana's fighting is in the spotlight.

And all this isn't even touching on the way sexuality is portrayed in the movie. Now, when I say sexuality, I don't mean of the Deadpool variety. This is a rare example of a superhero movie I wouldn't mind if parents brought their kids to see it. But Diana is canonically bisexual, and the movie damn well knows it, even going so far as to have her all but explicitly state to her male companion that she knows exactly what sex is despite growing up in a world of women. When he asks how she knows, she holds up her hand. Wow. Let's just acknowledge that in a world where we are supposed to be demure, it's amazing to see a casual reference to female masturbation in a mainstream superhero movie. Especially one that's coming from the female equivalent to the holier-than-thou Superman. Later on, Diana lets Steve, her spy love interest, follow her into an inn room and shut the door. We don't know exactly what goes down in there--presumably they weren't playing a friendly game of chess--but Diana, at this point in the film, has taken out perhaps the equivalent of an entire German battalion. Whatever happens after their first kiss, it's not going to be without her consent. It's a sex-positive message without actually showing sex, something of a miracle in a day and age where we seem to enjoy sexualizing the hell out of tough females. (See: The Fate of the Furious, wherein Charlize Theron is at her most villainous, but damn right she's going to use her sexuality to get what she wants because according to male directors that's just what female villains do.)

When it comes down to it, could someone like Chris Nolan or Joss Whedon made Wonder Woman? Probably, yeah, but let's face it, it wouldn't have been as good. Just like Jordan Peele had to be the one to make Get Out, because--real talk--a white director couldn't have understood the nuances or implications in the script, Wonder Woman wouldn't be half as powerful without the influence of a female director. And if you watch the movie and still think Patty Jenkins wasn't the right person for the job, I have no idea what to tell you, because after seeing this movie, I'm ready to take Justice League out of Joss Whedon's hands and put it into hers. Maybe, after all the complaining and viciously poking holes in every major or minor female character in every Marvel movie over the years, Wonder Woman isn't the female hero movie we deserve...but it's sure as hell the one we ladies need right now.

The PC curse

[This blog post started months ago and finished today is brought to you by the department of I'm Sorry I Haven't Written Forever I Work And Have Two Puppies And Get Writers Block Very Easily. I'm back on the writing about movies bandwagon now--yay Oscars season! :) Really, though, what was up with movies this year? Was every studio too preoccupied with the election to make good stuff? Doesn't matter. It's awards season now and they'll all be putting their best foot forward. In the meantime...guess it's up to us amateurs to start writing the movies we want to see. And now without further ado, another one of Avery's Official Unwarranted Rants Against Society.]

I am pro-choice.

I don't just mean in terms of abortion. I mean that I believe in freedom of choice. You're a billionaire? Cool, do whatever you want with your money, whether that be giving it away to the poor and underprivileged or blowing it all on a swimming pool that looks like a cave. You're a gay Christian? Feel free to get married if that's what you want, or stay celibate the rest of your life based on the painful belief that being gay is sinful--it's not my call. You're an Academy member? Vote for Will Smith or Michael Fassbender, I don't care, I know who I would've nominated, but that's not the point.

I've always been a fan of the Wiccan principle, "And it harm none, do as ye will." Translation: as long as you aren't hurting people, you do you. Or, as my own Savior liked to say, "Do to others as you'd have others do to you." Hell, even the basic rules of Satanism promote enjoying yourself, as long as it's not at the expense of others. Okay, you see where I'm going with this. Hey, what can I say, I'm a full-blooded American, I love freedom...as long as that freedom doesn't hurt the innocent, I'm all for it.

Now, we are a country founded on freedom. Including--and you probably can see where I'm going with this already--that tricky bastard known as free speech. Freedom of the press. Freedom in art? Is that a thing? Because lately, based on the reviews of some of my favorite films, I'm really not sure that exists anymore. Or if it ever did.

For a country founded on the principles of freedom, we sure do seem to like censoring ourselves. I mean, when the film industry was only--what--ten years old?--we had the Hollywood Production Code, which, I shit you not, forbade screenwriters from using the words "pregnant," "virgin," and in the wrong context, "sex." Now we've got the ratings system, which I'll argue isn't a whole lot better, but at least we can put whatever we want in the film now as long as we properly categorize it...right?

Well, okay, hold on there. You can put "whatever you want" in the movie, sure. But you don't want to. Not really. Not when the slightest infraction can get your movie labeled racist, sexist, homophobic, or otherwise "problematic."

The point that I knew we were gone was when Meghan Trainor's song "All About That Bass" was slammed for "skinny-shaming." Which was funny because every week you hear people screaming about how body image is just so awful in our country (okay, I'll give them that one) and calling out videos like "Blurred Lines" as sexist because they feature naked women and saying songs like "That's What Makes You Beautiful" promote low self-esteem as being somehow desirable (???)...and then when we get a song that seems tailor made for those protesters, they still find something to complain about.

Last year, the Academy awarded, among others, a Muslim woman of color, a gay man, two Chileans, and a female editor (!!!) a handful of coveted Oscars. Not to mention, Alejandro Inarritu did what only two other directors before him have managed to do: win Best Director two years in a row. All this while Chris Rock--a very popular, well-liked black man--stood onstage and told everyone how hard it was for him to find work...while he was, um, working. Not just working, but hosting one of the biggest, most coveted gigs in Hollywood. Because there were no black actors nominated, the Academy was slammed as racist. Never mind all of the non-white, non-straight, and/or non-male techies, directors, and short film crew nominated (but hey, who cares about them, right?) or, even more importantly, all the wins by those people. I guess if they aren't black men, they don't count, because I found very few articles howling about, for instance, Benicio Del Toro or Arthur Redcloud being excluded--and none that mentioned Mya Taylor, Kitana Rodriguez or Zoe Saldana. The message was received loud and clear: it's not diversity we want, it's affirmative action.

It gets even more ridiculous. The protests about a lack of black men in the Oscars are at least warranted (how, precisely, did they arrive at the conclusion that Will Smith wasn't worth nominating?), but calling James Gunn sexist because the casting call for GOTG2 (which he wouldn't likely have had anything to do with anyway) included a request for tall, thin women to play a specific type of alien is...well, there's no other way to say it: it's ridiculous.

What frightens me most about the PC culture is that there's no forgiveness and no flexibility. One misstep, and you're forever known as "problematic." There is a Tumblr blog, I shit you not, that is entirely dedicated to all of the allegedly sexist, racist, "ageist" or "ableist" things that celebrities have done. While some of these are legitimate, others are so bad they're laughable--but on this site they are still taken seriously. Others are taken far out of context, for instance P!nk's frequently-misinterpreted video for "Please Don't Leave Me," a song that is clearly written from the perspective of an abuser and has a fitting video to go along with it--but is denounced on Your Fave Is Problematic (that's the actual name, I swear to God I'm not making this up) because, for what reason I don't understand, they think the video is implying that men "can't be abused." Can someone explain how they drastically missed the point of that video, because as per usual, P!nk is the opposite of subtle and it's almost impossible to not see that she is saying, quite loudly and clearly, that men can be abused--and it's sick when it happens.

So, let's bring that to a filmmaking context. The rules are clear: if you're making an action film or TV show, you'd damn well better make sure nothing bad happens to your non-white characters--and God forbid any of them play antagonists--or you're racist. If you're making a movie that features a badass woman, she'd better not feel the need to have children or you're sexist. You are literally expected to be perfect in your portrayal of non-white or female characters or you are officially and irrevocably a Tool of the Patriarchy. There is no room for baby steps in social justice. It's not good enough for Agents of Shield to have one of the most diverse casts of any superhero franchise. Since some of them die, and some of them are bad, they are all Officially Problematic. Never mind that the leading cast is half female and two-thirds of those women are not white--it doesn't count because bi-racial Chloe Bennet "passes as white" (side note: in what universe??). It's not good enough for the star of Jurassic World to be a badass woman who lures a T-Rex out of its cage and leads it to battle with a giant f--ing hybrid dinosaur. She wants babies and wears heels, therefore she is a Sexist Stereotype and is Officially Problematic.

I'm not saying that we can't critique our media. I'm not saying we don't need more diversity, because God knows we do. But when you sit there with a clicker and mark points based on how many non-white characters there are (and deduct points if they're not heroes) or how many women there are, two things happen. First of all, you miss the point of the movie as a whole--and that in and of itself is damn disrespectful, considering how much time and effort went into that movie, yes, even if part of that effort came, God forbid, from white men. Second of all, you go against your own point. We want diversity, not affirmative action. The goal is to get to a point where it's the norm to have diverse casts, not a discussion point that gets picked apart until there's nothing left but sound bites.

So celebrate when you get that diversity you're craving. Don't turn your nose up at it and say "ugh, that's not enough." As a plus-sized teenager, you know what made me super-happy? Sookie St. James, Melissa McCarthy's character on Gilmore Girls. Her weight was not the focus of her character; it was rarely even mentioned, let alone made a central part of her development. She got her love life together long before her skinny, hot, perfect best friend. She had a husband and three babies. She had total control of her love life and total agency over her career, and she did it all while not being a size 2. I didn't care that her character wasn't perfect. I didn't care that she was a control freak or that she was clumsy or that she was funny, all of which are traits commonly relegated to non-conventionally-attractive women in the media. I didn't care about it one iota, because I was so enamored with the idea of seeing a plus-size female character whose story arcs were not measured by her appearance or her weight.

So next time you decide to take to the internet screaming about how unfair it is that Michael B. Jordan wasn't nominated for an Academy Award, consider this: every victory, no matter how small, is a step in the right direction. But if you complain every time one of those victories isn't to your satisfaction ("I don't care how badass she is, she wants children! She's not feminist enough!"), you know what might happen? Sooner or later, studios will stop trying, because they rightfully think that nothing they do will measure up. So think positive reinforcement. Celebrate when Native American actors are cast to play Native American characters. Celebrate when plus-size women get to play the love interest. Celebrate when Natasha Romanoff admits that, yes, she does want a baby, even though she knows she doesn't need one. Celebrate the small victories. Celebrate the big ones. But don't punish those who don't measure up to your ideal.

Please, please, please don't punish the ones who don't measure up, because you know what happens when we all cry sexism over every little thing? You know what happens when we accuse everyone who commits a "microaggression" of intentional racism? We distract ourselves, and others, from the real bigots out there. And as artists, as writers and filmmakers and actors and photographers and critics, we need to draw attention to the real injustice in the world--not hide it under elaborately-staged protests over a lack of perfect Strong Female Characters or Strong Non-White Characters.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children'

Happy October! Halloween is in the air, and what better way to kick off the season than a good old-fashioned Tim Burton creep-fest! Miss Peregrine certainly delivers on the creepy front, after all. Monsters with white eyes and razor-sharp teeth consuming plates of children's eyeballs to gain immortality? Sounds like classic Halloween fare to me! And what better time to get back into the swing of writing (I know, I know, I have been totally MIA all summer...sorry!) than Halloween season, when horror movies abound, nostalgia for our classic favorites is high, and the weather is perfect for staying inside curled up with a glass of wine/tea/cocoa/pumpkin spice latte--okay, I wouldn't personally be caught dead with the last one, but to each their own--and a damn good movie?

First of all, a disclaimer: I have been a Tim Burton fan since before I knew I wanted to be a director. Sleepy Hollow was my first horror movie, and the film that sparked my desire to get behind the camera. Frankenweenie is one of my all-time favorite shorts. I used Edward Scissorhands as the inspiration for one of my final projects in college. I can't let a Halloween go by without at least one viewing of Corpse Bride, Beetle Juice, or The Nightmare Before Christmas. I have a Jack Skellington wallet, for Pete's sake. Speaking of which...

I know, I know. It's a miracle I never got my ass kicked in high school.

Even with all that having been established, trust me when I say that you don't have to be a die-hard nerd for Burton to love Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, nor do you have to be a fan of the original novels to follow the plot. I wouldn't advise taking small children to see this (those hollowghasts are actually less creepy than their human counterparts, thanks to the masterful acting of Samuel L. Jackson & Co.) but Burton's usual knack for taking something that would typically terrify a grown man to tears and making it fun is in full use here and it makes for a hell of a lovely, heartfelt film.

One thing I'd like to address before we begin. I adore Burton, but I know he has flaws. I can't stand his adaptation of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I generally like to pretend Dark Shadows just never happened, and much as I love the man, I will own here and now that he is flipping TERRIBLE when it comes to interviews. He really is. I love him, I really do, but without an editor or a really, really good interviewer to coax coherent sentences out of the man, he is useless.

So, a few days ago, an interviewer asked Burton why the cast of Miss Peregrine was mostly white and Burton, as Burton tends to do when asked sensitive questions in interviews, made himself look like a doofus at best, and a complete ass at worst. Now, I understand what he was trying to say. Namely, that he and his casting director were casting for talent, not trying for affirmative-action, check-off-the-list, "cast a black, Asian and Latina person each just to make myself look good" casting. But he made himself look like an idiot by replying, "Well, I didn't think white people needed to be cast in Blaxploitation movies!" If there ever was a statement that called for a good old-fashioned "No shit, Sherlock," that would be it.

But, in defense of my favorite director: He cast Samuel L. Jackson in a role that, in the book, did not define the character's race one way or another. He did that on purpose. He didn't go "well, I HAVE to cast a black dude, it might as well be him," he was more like "That man is a damn fine actor and I will put him in my movie because it just won't be complete without him." If y'all weren't busting Kenneth Branagh for only using Idris Elba in Thor, maybe cut Burton some slack here, okay?


Which brings me to my second point. People will actively look for excuses to hate Tim Burton just because he's Tim Burton, in the same vein that people will look for excuses to hate just about anybody that they don't like. Anyone who's posting Tim Burton's (admittedly stupid awkward) reply to a badly-phrased interview question with captions like "well here's another reason to hate him!" most likely already isn't a fan. Please, people, PLEASE give the movie a chance before you slam it.

And please, PLEASE stop putting the onus all on a single director to "diversify" our films! There are so many fantastic movies coming out this season with highly diverse casts...Loving, Hidden Figures, A United Kingdom, Queen of Katwe, the Rocky Horror remake and the new season of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to name a few...and it's not fair to bust one director for failing to make his film look a little more Orange is the New Black and a little less Camp Rock. Tim Burton is not doing anything to purposely hurt anyone. It's time the witch-hunt for anyone who says something stupid to be ended. We've got enough to worry about right now without scrutinizing a guy who's notoriously awkward in interviews and his badly-phrased declaration of his love for Blaxploitation movies.

So! Now that that's out of the way, on to the movie itself. For anyone not familiar with the story, Miss Peregrine follows a teenager named Jacob as he learns a jolting truth about his heritage after witnessing his grandfather's traumatic death. On advice from his parentally-enforced therapy sessions, he treks to Wales to find the home for "special" children where his grandfather grew up, expecting an elderly matron and a new crop of kids...only to discover a pack of gifted children and teens his age under the strict but loving chaperonage of the enigmatic, shape-shifting Miss Alma Peregrine. Confused yet? Wait until you learn the variety of monsters hunting the innocent Peculiars: tentacled, ten-foot sightless hollowghasts, who are both immortal and mortal at the same time, and their white-eyed shape-shifting keepers known as wights. Still not overwhelmed? It gets better: Later books detail peculiar animals, time-travel concepts that would make Emmett Brown himself dizzy, and the concept of sucking one's second soul out through their foot in order to sap their powers. If you're looking for a quick, easy read, this ain't it.

But lucky for those who aren't into long, epic stories, Burton is more than willing to condense that material into a light-speed 127 minutes. The movie may be two hours, but it goes by so fast it certainly doesn't feel it. The Jane Goldman-penned script takes the ambiguous ending of the first book and gives it more weight, all without cutting off the possibility of future sequels should they decide that Hollow City and Library of Souls into feature films. For fans of the book, yes, they do change a fair bit, but within the spectrum of the film it does work. I personally viewed the film as an alternate-universe tangent of the books, a what could have happened here sort of ending, because that's basically what Burton did: asked "what-if" and went with it.

The highest strength of the new script, however, isn't the epic battle between the hollowghasts and wights, the Peculiars, and...the Jason and the Argonauts-esque pack of skeletons? whatever; just go with it--it's the heart and soul that Burton puts into the film. What made Miss Peregrine so special in book form was the way that Ransom Riggs delved into the weight and pain of what it feels like to be so visibly and thoroughly different that you never had a prayer of fitting in. Burton, no stranger to not fitting in, turns that pain into a celebration and invites everyone who's ever felt out of place to cheerfully flip the bird to their tormentors. The penultimate showdown between the Peculiars and the hollowghast-wight crew has the dual value of being both visually pleasing and incredibly cathartic, as the Peculiars take no prisoners and show, for the first time in broad daylight and well outside the safety of their home, their vast array of talents.

And since it's a Tim Burton film, being visually pleasing in general is a given. (Well. Unless we're talking about Chocolate Factory or Dark Shadows, but every genius is bound to have one misstep or two; think of those as Burton's answer to Hitchcock's Marnie.) The very Oscar-worthy costumes have already inspired a collection at Hot Topic and while they may not be copied quite as much as the fashions of Suicide Squad this Halloween, they will no doubt be resurrected come next year's crop of Comic-Cons. The set design is a bit less classically Burton than one may be used to, and with a backdrop of oceanside beauty to temper the gothic-with-a-hint-of-Victorian design of the "Peculiar" world, it's certainly much sunnier and warmer than, say, Batman Returns or Beetle Juice, which works in the movie's favor when the dark turn comes and deadly creatures called hollowghasts come to threaten the innocent peculiars. My compliments to Colleen Atwood, Gavin Bocquet, and literally the entire VFX team, because this film is a thing of beauty.

Now, even the greatest movies usually have at least one flaw, major or minor, and Miss Peregrine is no exception. Every critic is saying that Jake and Emma's love story needed a few more "beats," and I have to agree. They pretty much went from total strangers to on the verge of kissing in about two scenes, which--and I hate to be one of "those people"--is not at all how it happened in the book. Also, I hoped that watching the film would bring to light why the kids' powers and ages were switched around. You see, Olive and Bronwyn's ages and personalities, and Emma and Olive's abilities, were swapped out, much to the confusion and unhappiness of many fans, and I thought, well, perhaps there's a reason for that--but there really isn't. Not that it takes anything away; Emma and Jake still flourish, and Bronwyn still manages to dazzle us with her freakish strength, but it gives reason to throw in a sudden romance between Enoch and Olive that I can't imagine would've been approved by Ransom Riggs. And for the record: in the book, Emma's firepower is not so potent that she has to wear gloves to keep from burning her friends, a la Elsa's gloves in Frozen. C'mon, Burton. These are peculiar kids we're talking about here, not Rogue from X-Men.

And the "consuming eyes" rather than consuming souls does not seem to add much other than a certain creep factor. In the book, peculiar children are eaten alive by the hollowghasts, which enables the monsters to regain human form. Once they get that form, they're done--no more flesh meals are needed. And it's not even the flesh so much. It's the souls; peculiar individuals are considered to have a "second" soul, not a recessive gene, that enables their abilities. Consuming a plate of eyes, after all, might seem more visually dynamic than consuming souls, but ooh, imagine what Burton could've done with that--a freaky, sharp-toothed Samuel L. Jackson consuming a child's soul? I'm shivering just thinking about it. Talk about a missed opportunity.

Last but not least...I love the music, but I missed Danny Elfman. Sorry, Mike Higham and Matthew Margeson, but it's a fact--Tim Burton and Danny Elfman is a match made in cinematic heaven. Now, with that being said, I am glad he's branching outside his usual creative partnerships. This is his second movie in a row without Johnny Depp, and I must say it's lovely seeing Burton use other actors. He may have shoved Eva Green into the bad-villain backseat in Dark Shadows, but here she is used to her full potential. Asa Butterfield is adorable as Jake, striking the perfect balance between insecure and fiercely protective, an attitude that can best be summed up in the scene where he takes up Miss Peregrine's crossbow to protect his new friends from a hollowghast. He might be the worst shot in human history--seriously, was this kid trained in marksmanship by Lucas's Stormtroopers?--but dammit, he will kill that thing or die trying if not-trying means certain death for the Peculiars.

I said it in 2012 with Frankenweenie and again in 2014 with Big Eyes, and I was tragically wrong both times, but this time, I think it might be true: this could be Burton's year. I know it's dumb to keep putting faith into the Academy when they've gone out of their way to overlook him in the past, and I know it's crazy to hope--but in the end, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children strikes the balance between "too Burton-y" and "not Burton-y enough" (seriously? y'all are going to slam him for being too much like himself and then when he delivers Big Eyes complain that he didn't put enough of himself into the movie? REALLY?), and that might just be enough for critics and Academy voters to finally figure out that, hey, we have been deliberately ignoring this mad genius for way too long.

In my 2015 review for Big Eyes, I said the film was Burton's love letter to aspiring artists. Miss Peregrine, in a way, reads like part 2 of that. In Big Eyes, Burton sends a message of comfort to budding artists, assuring them that even if critics hate their work, it doesn't matter as long as it reaches its intended fanbase. In Miss Peregrine, he sends a bigger, all-encompassing message to all the outcasts, artists and logicians alike: you are not alone. And as any Burton fan knows...in the end, that's the most important thing he has to say anyway.

Avery tries to be a Critic: 'Snowden'

You may not like Oliver Stone's work. You may not agree with the guy politically. But there's one thing you must admit: the guy very possibly has the biggest, brassiest set of balls in the film industry. Granted there are a few competitors for that title (Michael Moore, Kathryn Bigelow, David Lynch, and Lars Von Trier all come to mind) but Stone, as far as I'm concerned, is currently in the lead. Your move, Hollywood. Your move.

I know, I know. I'm supposed to be reviewing the movie, not gushing about the size of Mr. Stone's, well, stones. But Snowden really could not exist if Stone didn't have guts to spare, and it certainly wouldn't be half as good had it been made by a meeker, more politically-correct filmmaker. Just like Black Widow had to be played by Scarlett Johansson, Snowden just had to be made by Oliver Stone.

We all know the story. The NSA was collecting piles and piles of data from the phones of unsuspecting civilians, all in the name of stopping potential terrorists. The plucky Mr. Snowden, former true believer of all things Republican, came to the rescue by info-dumping on a handful of ambitious, freedom-fighting journalists, and proceeded to promptly and professionally get the hell out of the United States, bringing a hell of a new meaning to the oft-repeated political cry of "if you don't like it here, then leave." A lot of my friends professed shock when the story broke. I wasn't shocked. Make no mistake, I don't agree with spying on unwitting civilians who have, for all intents and purposes, broken no rules...but was I surprised that the government had gone so far? No, not really. But no matter which side you're on, you can't deny that it was a game-changer. Suddenly we all knew Big Brother was watching us and suddenly, you got to have an opinion on whether or not Big Brother should be watching us. All thanks to one guy who, as legend has it, one day said "Enough is enough."

Watching Snowden, you can't imagine a more perfect combination of story and director. Edward Snowden is a subject tailor-made for a filmmaker like Stone: he walks the fine line between patriotism and defiance, loves his country but isn't afraid to break a few eggs in the hopes of improving that country, and has that perfectly charismatic combination of nerdy awkwardness and quiet assertiveness. It's like Snowden was just lying there in wait in Russia, just dreaming of the day when Stone came along to bring his story to cinematic life. It's perfect...

...But it probably is not, when all is said and done, Oscar material. And that's okay.

Let's start with the myriad of things that the film does right. First of all, the acting is phenomenal. If Snowden does manage to snag a nomination, it will undoubtedly be for Joseph Gordon Levitt's spectacularly understated performance. And when I say understated, I mean it. The man is so wonderfully nondescript, you almost forget it's Don John the Movie Star underneath the classic nerd glasses. There's no breast-beating moment of heroism here, no eloquently-wailed monologue about how he'd do it all over again if he had to just for the pleasure of saving the homeland. In so many war films--and this is one of the problems I had with American Sniper--there's a dramatic moment where the leading man (almost always a man) makes a speech that would make Malcolm X green with envy, a moment that is almost always constructed purely to show the actor's chops and has very little basis in the reality of what a human being would actually do in that situation. The geniuses behind Snowden, thank the Lord, resisted that temptation.

Now, I'll grant you, the script has as much to do with the film's quiet realism as the actors. Even the moments that would seemingly call for a screaming epiphany don't give in--the scene on the mountain hike wherein Snowden reveals that he's stopped taking his epilepsy medication comes to mind--and instead fall back on dialogue that would sound natural even if not spoken by consummate professional actors. One of the scenes that most impressed me was the fight in the Japanese apartment when Snowden demands that his girlfriend take down her nude photos and she resists, culminating in a screaming argument that, in any other film, would be a showstopper for all the wrong reasons. Here, it plays like a natural fight: it starts over something so seemingly tiny, escalates until the real reason of the fight is revealed, and culminates in a heartbreaking moment of truth. It's a wonderful marriage of acting and screenwriting, and the kind of thing that makes me want to watch the film more than once.

But oh, I do wish the cameraman had been in on those little meetings wherein the actors, director, and screenwriter decided to make things as chill as possible. There were moments that made me wonder if it was the cinematographer, and not Snowden, who was suffering a seizure. In fact, the moments that showed an epileptic seizure from Snowden's point of view were among the least-dizzying in the film. An action movie like Hardcore Henry demands the frequent use of handheld camera; an espionage thriller with more emphasis on the espionage than the thriller part does not. On the way out of the theater my exasperated moviegoing partner demanded why, in the name of all things holy, they felt the need to use so many handheld camera shots, to which all I could do was shrug and reply, "Maybe the Steadicam broke?" It's the only explanation I have, because when the tripod or Steadicam is used effectively, the shots are beautiful.

But I can excuse the odd artistic choices in camerawork for the film's merits. Unfortunately, most of what I love about the film, will be what the Academy ultimately hates about the film. The political dialogue in Snowden gets intense at times. Stone never has been known to pull a punch, and this film certainly is no ground for pussyfooting. Intense debates about human rights are held, and it's blatantly obvious where the filmmakers' loyalties lie. I remember reading The Handmaid's Tale in college and getting to the line about the difference between "freedom to" and "freedom from." On the one hand, you could be free to do whatever you like; on the other hand, you could be sheltered, but kept free from all possible harm. That's the debate at the heart of Snowden, and you'd have to be deaf, dumb, blind and live under a rock to not know that Stone, like the film's subject, firmly believes that we all have the right to decide exactly what kind of freedom we'd like to have. And that will prevent the film from reaching its full potential, because unfortunately, the number of people in the world who are genuinely frightened of hearing any viewpoint with which they might not agree is quite staggering, and you'd be crazy to not think that there are at least a few of those on the Academy voting board.

Granted, they have every right to decide that this film's message is too inflammatory for their tastes. And they're certainly right if they proclaim it's biased. I haven't seen a political film this one-sided since I watched Bowling for Columbine. Trust me, folks, American Sniper or Zero Dark Thirty are more balanced than this film, and even they were stopped short of snagging Best Picture or even getting a nomination for Best Director; therefore it stands to reason that Stone will be snubbed too. And for good reason: there's literally no room for choice in a movie that is supposedly all about giving people the choice of whether they want to be watched or not. It's funny, isn't it? We're watching this movie about freedom, but the way the film is structured, you have no room to question whether or not Snowden is a good guy; you are shown and told that he is, and that's that. So if the Academy does decide to snub Snowden based on that...well, it's their loss, but at the same time I really can understand why they'd go that route.

And yet...maybe that's okay. Maybe this film really isn't meant to be what some reviewers are already scathingly referring to as "Oscar-bait." Because at the heart of it, Snowden follows the Bridge of Spies philosophy of, "well, maybe the rest of the world hates my guts, but so what? I know I did the right thing," and I have to believe the director did that on purpose. Stone didn't make this film hoping for Best Picture, but you can bet he was sure as hell hoping to reach into some hearts and minds with this piece of work.

And if you need proof of that? Just look at the ending. There is no victory at the finish line, no triumphant moment where Snowden flies into the U.S.A. and shakes President Obama's hand, no medal of honor, no dramatic profession of amnesty. Instead, Stone waits for Gordon Levitt's gentle, stammering end-of-film monologue to peter out, and then proceeds to flip the biggest bird in the history of cinema by bringing Snowden on-camera for the final few shots of the movie. Think about that: Stone went to Russia and put on film the face of a guy who has spent so much time hiding his face, who is on the run from the United States government, who is considered a political enemy, who literally cannot come home under penalty of the law--just to prove a point. My God, if you don't think that took a big, brass set of balls from both men, you are straight-up wrong.

So like or hate Stone, like or hate Snowden...whether you think they're heroes, or just a couple of politically-charged nutcases, you have to admit one thing: they are brave as all living hell.

The bright glow of memory

There aren't too many movies that I can watch over and over without ever getting sick of them. Almost every movie I've ever seen has at least one part that I go "meh...we can skip that." But of the 10 or so films that I can watch without ever tiring of them...two of them star Gene Wilder.

I can't remember how old I was the first time I ever saw Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but I do remember that I almost shut the TV off when Violet Beauregard turned into a blueberry. I'd begged to stay up past my 9:00 bedtime to watch the movie on ABC Family, and then promptly regretted it when Augustus Gloop went up the chocolate pipe. But I do remember my first look at Gene Wilder--how much I liked his purple Wonka coat, how reassuring his low voice was, how much I wanted to pet his soft, curly hair, how his blue eyes reminded me of my dad's. I'll never forget that first look, because for the rest of the movie I was alternately fascinated and scared--except for my first look at the chocolate room. To this day, I still tear up at the sound of the opening notes of "Pure Imagination," and until today, I couldn't for the life of me have told you why.

Looking back, that was one of the defining moments for me as an artist. I'd never read the book, so that was my introduction to Willy Wonka, and that movie, to me, was exactly what I wanted to make--again, I couldn't have told you that at the time, but now I know. It was a little quirky, a little weird and a bit scary, but there was so much beauty there, so much mystery and so much hope. And at the center of it all, a weirdo, a most lovable weirdo, who I could love and be a little afraid of at the same time.

Years later I read the book and could not picture anyone else, any other actor in the world, as Mr. Wonka. Gene Wilder, with his perfect combination of calm and excitement, of threatening discipline and loving reassurance, with all his quirks and secret little smiles and perfectly straight-faced delivery of lines like "If the good Lord had intended us to walk, He wouldn't have invented roller skates," he was Wonka, plain and simple. I love Tim Burton--you all know I do--but no one, not least of all Johnny Depp, could ever embody Willy Wonka as Gene Wilder did, and no movie could ever replace Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

As is the case with most of the people and things I now love, it took me a while to recognize the genius of Gene Wilder and the movies he chose to be in. Young Frankenstein and Willy Wonka scared me; Blazing Saddles and Silver Streak went over my head. But over time, I learned to love him. The first time I saw Young Frankenstein, I cried before the opening credits were even over, but by the time we moved to the suburbs when I was twelve, Halloween season wasn't complete without it. When I got to Interlochen, I got teased more than once for preferring "funny" versions of movies that everyone else thought were classics, being called "immature" for preferring, for instance, Stir Crazy to The Shawshank Redemption. I didn't mind. Wilder's humor appealed to me a lot, far more than the dramatics that everyone else referred to as the only quality cinema.

I've always had particular taste when it came to comedy. Again, if you show me something like Stir Crazy, I will laugh myself sick; put on Superbad or This is the End, I'm bored in five minutes. I've sat stone-faced through movies that had my friends in stitches--but I have yet to see a Gene Wilder film that failed to make me laugh at least once. Am I picky? Old-fashioned, when it comes to humor? Undoubtedly, but I don't care.

Mr. Gene Wilder, you have made me laugh more times than I can count. I spent so much of my childhood and adolescence learning humor from your films. You were a brilliant actor, but more importantly you were, as far as I'm concerned, a genius and a sweetheart. You deliberately kept your illness a secret to protect the kids who grew up loving your movies. And for that, you will forever have my admiration. Thank you, thank you for being the kind of person a kid could look up to, for giving the world so much joy and for living such a great life. You so deserved your fame--and now you deserve your rest. Thank you for everything. You will not be forgotten.

Avery tries to be a critic: 'Suicide Squad'

Somewhere out there, high up in a bar in Wayne Tower, surrounded by sycophants and scantily-dressed barmaids, an exec for DC Entertainment is sitting with an exec from Time-Warner, and they are doing consolation shots as they collectively wonder how in the hell Suicide Squad is failing so miserably. Perhaps they are comforted, if only a little, by the fact that so many DC fanboys and fangirls are lobbying to shut down Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic for panning the film so badly. At least they have the satisfaction of knowing that their steadfast fanbase of dude-bros, gamers, die-hard Batfans, and barely-dressed Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy cosplayers will stand by them no matter how ridiculous the films they keep putting out may get...

But what they can't figure out is why their new targets--the Marvel fanbase, or those in-betweeners who are loyal to neither DC nor Marvel but just like comic movies in general, or the people who couldn't give less of a damn and don't follow the comics at all but just want a fun movie to watch on their night off--are so opposed to Suicide Squad. They just cannot understand where they went wrong with their new would-be box office smash.

Wails the DC exec, "I did everything right! They complained our movies weren't enough like Marvel, so we made it like a Marvel film! We took a host of quirky, lovable outlaws and stuffed that cast with star power. We had Margot Robbie and Cara Delevingne for the male fanservice, and Will Smith and Jared Leto for the ladies. We had a kick-ass soundtrack! We packed our script with hilarious one-liners! We had a dozen recognizable comic-book characters in one movie! We gave a hero from another movie a cameo! We put in a mid-credits scene! We even degraded our artistic vision of doom and darkness and gave them a happy ending! A happy ending, of all things! The love interest didn't even die! We did everything right! And they still complain that it wasn't good enough!"

And the Time-Warner exec downs his shot, unhappily pats his comrade on the back and mumbles, "I know, buddy. I know. They're just damn unreasonable."

I wanted, so very very badly, to love Suicide Squad. Marvel fangirl as I may be, I have always had a massive soft spot for all things Batman. Christopher Nolan and Tim Burton awakened my love for comic-book movies in the early years of my adolescence. The Joker is almost single-handedly responsible for my fascination with villains, which began to develop around the same time. I have not yet gotten up the balls to cosplay as Harley Quinn...I just don't think I'm anywhere near cute enough to pull that off...but maybe someday, who knows? I love all the Batman villains, but Joker and Harley have always topped the list. Yes, I am and always will be loyal to Marvel; their films and comics are just plain more my taste than most of what DC offers. (And if one more person questions why I love Captain America but can't stand Superman, I will slap them.) But I would never have even started watching superhero movies if my dad hadn't sat me down one day to watch Batman Begins.

So as you can imagine, I was thrilled when I heard about Suicide Squad. Less thrilled when I found out that they were using Batman V. Superman as a vehicle to set up Suicide Squad. And even less thrilled when I found out that this was their answer to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Because here's the thing: as a film, on its own, Suicide Squad could have been bloody fantastic. But that just wasn't going to happen once DC hauled off and started blatantly competing with Marvel.

To accurately describe Suicide Squad to all the Marvel fans who were too indignant to see it, let me paint you a picture: imagine if, instead of beginning the Marvel Cinematic Universe with 2008's Iron Man, they had instead begun with Civil War. Actually, I stand corrected. Let's assume that in the DC cinematic universe, Superman = Captain America (ugh!), Batman = Iron Man, Enchantress = Loki, and Amanda Waller = Fury. So, accurately, they would have started with Captain America: The First Avenger, and then released Civil War (Cap vs. Iron man, right?) and then came out with Guardians of the Galaxy, but thrown in Iron Man and Loki cameos just for kicks. Okay, we all on the same page now? Good.

So, in this universe, Cap and Iron Man have no history, they just haul off and start fighting because...they can? And then Cap dies because...well, because they couldn't afford to stuff him into the next movie, I guess? And Fury decides the Avengers just aren't dangerous enough, so he decides to assemble the Guardians of the Galaxy instead. And for some reason he makes Loki part of the team. But then Loki goes bad, as Loki tends to do, so the shit hits the fan. And in the midst of all this, you've got a bunch of very, very confused fans wondering why exactly we should care about any of this.

As the intro to this review suggests, DC tried very, very hard to channel Marvel for this one. But they don't seem to understand that Marvel didn't just suddenly decide one summer to throw out Civil War, Avengers, and Captain America just because their fanbase was looking a little thin. They tested the waters with Iron Man and Hulk. When that went well, they gave Iron Man a sequel, to see if the fans really meant it when they said they wanted more. They did. So, Marvel gifted us with Thor, and they also managed to sneak in a Hawkeye cameo, which was considered one of the major hints that bigger things were ahead. By the time Captain America rolled around, they'd gained more than enough momentum to give us sneak peeks of The Avengers, and when that one finally hit theaters, the deal was sealed. Suddenly, Marvel wasn't just for boys or for nerds anymore. Suddenly, Marvel was universal. And they have since then proved that they are not only capable of walking the line between cute, laugh-along, family-friendly fare (Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-Man, for instance) and DC-esque grit (Daredevil and Jessica Jones come to mind).

But that takes time. Marvel didn't walk off the train and demand to sit with the popular kids. Marvel built up our trust first. Marvel took the time to establish that they did not only care about money and popularity, but quality and connection. Marvel didn't just want to make millions, they wanted to set a new standard--and they did. They became the Disney of comic book movies, and then Disney acquired them because even Walt Disney Company, the biggest media conglomerate to ever walk this earth, knew a damn good thing when they saw it.

So, back to Suicide Squad. Well, I have to say, DC, you pulled it off...almost. You tried, I'll give you that. Your sound was good. For once I could actually hear what the hell your characters were saying, even during the action sequences, so kudos for that. You managed to not sexualize every female character, though I would like to know why, precisely, Harley Quinn decided to go to battle in her underwear. (Because she's literally crazy? Ok, I'll let you have that one.) Your casting was fantastic. I had my doubts about Jared Leto, but my God did that man bring it. In fact, Batman aside, I can't think of one role that was miscast. And your soundtrack was killer. AC/DC? Panic! at the Disco? Eminem? Yes please! Bonus points for using all three kickass songs from the trailers. And in terms of characterization, especially for Harley Quinn, I must say you knocked it out of the park...for the most part, anyway...and you even managed to drag a non-showy performance out of Will Smith. (This makes two films of his that I've seen now that made me rethink my perception of him as an every-role-the-same celebrity actor...well played, DC. Well played.)

But the list of good points ends there. First of all, the story is ridiculous. The initial plot is a rip-off of Age of Ultron, substituting Batman villains for the Avengers. Amanda Weller wants to create a team of supervillains, "in case the next Superman is a terrorist" (sound familiar?) and control them via the Enchantress, a thousand-year-old infinitely powerful being who is currently trapped in the body of a doe-eyed archaeologist. Of course Enchantress escapes, because this plan has Bad Idea written all over it, and releases her brother, an equally old, equally powerful being with an equally big bone to pick with humanity. You see, they used to be worshipped as gods by the humans (huh...this sounds awfully familiar too) and now, big surprise, they aren't pleased to be recruited for dirty work instead, so they decide to destroy the world. (I think I've heard this before...) So from there, it turns into Guardians: Weller calls in her team of villains, including but not limited to a former assassin, a humanoid with limited vocabulary, a weapons-crazy loose cannon, and someone who's lost their spouse and seeking revenge, to save the world from a genocidal maniac. (Does that sound familiar? It should.) Can't possibly see how this can further go down the path of disaster, can we?

It's the kind of story that takes a lot of balls to pull off, this basic premise of Suicide Squad. Balls, and a lot of time. And really, really good writing. You see, this is why I compared it to Civil War and Guardians of the Galaxy, because that is exactly what I think they were trying to do. They wanted to build a team of lovable misfits, make a statement about how the government creates their own worst enemy, bring home the point that villains are the heroes of their own stories, sneak in a few Batman appearances, and hint at bigger things to come. But they didn't do it right. The plot holes alone are enough to take what could've been a great movie and immediately drag it down to average level. And don't get me started on the liberties they take with canon. If the Joker ever actually went after Harley Quinn to save her life just because he cared about her, it's news to me. Which is probably the thing that, truth be told, really fried my cheese because the whole point of the Joker-Harley relationship in the first place is that it's not romantic, it's abusive.

Speaking of which, what the hell was the Joker even doing in this movie? He's he's not part of the team, and he's not the main antagonist, or even really an antagonist at all. He, like Batman, needed to be left to teaser/cameo status. Ian and I were talking after the movie about how awesome it would've been if no one had even known the Joker was in the film, and at the end of the film he magically shows up to bust Harley out of her cell. That, we agreed, could have--and should have--been the mid-credits scene. But it wasn't, and the Joker came off in the film less like the Clown Prince of Crime and more like Jack Dawson from Titanic. Which is a massive disappointment, because as I said, Jared Leto knocked it out of the park. If Heath Ledger were here, he'd probably raise a glass to Leto's performance...and then bring that same glass down and smash it on the director's head for making the Joker into a romantic hero.

So overall, I see what they were trying to do with Suicide Squad, and maybe they could've pulled it off, but they rushed it. I don't think production was rushed--the technical elements were very good, and the editing and post-prod sound were probably the best I've ever seen in a DC film--but the pre-production stage must've taken all of about two days, because the story was just not there. And if you ask any screenwriter, aspiring, professional, or Oscar-winning, they will tell you the same thing: if the story isn't there, neither is the film. And that's a damn shame, especially in this case, because Suicide Squad could have been a slam-dunk...but instead, it's just another in the endless sea of summer popcorn movies.

Avery tries to be a critic: 'Swiss Army Man'

Trying to explain the plot of Swiss Army Man is...difficult, at best. When I tried to tell my dad what we were going to see on the 4th of July, it came out something like this: "So...Paul Dano is trapped on a deserted island. And he gets rescued by a corpse. Except the corpse farts a lot. And the corpse is played by Daniel Radcliffe and he can talk, but not move. So Paul Dano kind of drags him around the wilderness and they become friends."

...yeah. Real Sundance material, that is. Except, surprise surprise, it is. And not only is it actual Sundance material, it's freaking beautiful. No, really. It's amazing.

I'm not sure what kind of mental state a person has to be in to come up with something like Swiss Army Man, but I applaud writer-directors Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert for taking that crazy creative energy and harnessing it into the most unique film I've seen all year. There's a huge risk with independent films like this one. Movies like Swiss Army Man are so hit or miss it's terrifying to even write one, let alone film it and release it. Take a few steps to the right and you hit Boyhood; take a few steps to the left and you face-plant into Antichrist. Making an experimental film is like jumping out of a plane: there's a lot of ways to wildly screw it up, but only one way to get it just right--and even then there's a huge chance you won't enjoy the experience.

But when it comes together right, like it does in Swiss Army Man? It's brilliant. You have to be borderline crazy to make it work, sure, and that usually means you have to be (at least a little) crazy to enjoy it the way you're meant to. Because really, it's weird. You have Dan Radcliffe playing a corpse, for God's sake. A farting corpse. A farting corpse who vomits drinkable water, can propel himself like a speedboat with his own flatulence, and turns into a compass when he gets a boner. I mean, that's weird, right? And then you have Paul Dano teaching him how to be human? Like...what? What is that? But against all odds, it works.

What makes Swiss Army Man work is, above all else, the relationship between the two leads. Again, this sounds absolutely absurd on paper: castaway befriends corpse. It sounds like the kind of short film a caffeine-addled art student would come up with ten minutes before filming it. But Manny (Radcliffe) is so adorably sweet and completely rude that you can't help but love him. He can't remember how he died. He can't remember who he was before he died. He can't remember a damn thing about the world...but the instinct to be a friend seems to run deep with him, because he doesn't waste any time in helping Hank (Dano), first by getting him off the island and then by helping him survive in the wilderness.

But the real magic is the movie's total lack of ability to give a shit. And I mean that as a compliment, because really--how many movies have you seen this summer, or ever, really, where the message of the film is literally "Screw you, I do what I want," with no "but only within reason" or "but only if you're cute" or "but only if it's socially acceptable on a grand scale" counter-message? Hank spends the entire film trying to explain to Manny, in increasingly disgusting detail, that it's not okay to do a lot of things in front of other people. The cringe-worthy "no, you can't think about my mom when you masturbate" scene is wrong, but it's so funny we don't even notice until afterwards how badly we never ever want to have a conversation like that. And when Hank shows Manny a picture of a dark-haired girl on his phone, and Manny instantly falls in love with her and Hank figures out he can use Manny's boner as a compass home...it's not exactly everyone's cup of tea, this kind of humor, especially since you know it's going to end painfully for one if not both of them, but it's amusing and certainly different enough to keep an audiences interest.

The scene where Hank walks Manny through talking to a girl is particularly beautiful, not because Paul Dano looks adorable in a grass skirt (okay, he does) but because it's such an amazing breakdown of the way it feels to take a risk of such magnitude. Beat by beat, Hank explains that when you see someone you like, you can't just go up to them and say anything; you have to plan it out, you have to say just the right thing, make just the right move, you have to know when to approach and when not to, and you cannot let on just how much it means to you that they say the right thing back. It's a new perspective for Manny--but it's stomach-twistingly familiar to the rest of us. And it makes the heartbreak that comes a few scenes later, when we learn the real history of Manny's dark-haired crush, feel that much more earned.

And...well, that's pretty much it. There's no political undertones like with Zootopia, and that in itself is a rarity: a film that doesn't try to take a stand on a grand level, but just lets the audience draw its own conclusion. You could interpret Swiss Army Man in a lot of ways--it's telling us to be ourselves, it's questioning social rules, it's telling us to live every day like our last--but at its core, there's really only one meaning that you absolutely have to take away: life is really, really freaking weird. Maybe you haven't found yourself abandoned on a beach, lost in the wilderness, or building houses with your best friend who just so happens to be a talking, farting, boner-directing corpse, but life is weird and it's more than okay to embrace that weirdness, it's necessary. The last line in the movie is, literally, "WTF." Sums up the way the audience feels about the movie, to be sure, but more importantly it sums up the way the main characters think about their lives. And I think that's pretty damn cool.

In terms of the movie's technical aspects, it's beautiful. The cinematography is nothing short of magical, whether it's focused on Daniel Radcliffe's naked butt (which, surprisingly, is not as enticing as one would imagine it to be) or on the ominous landscape surrounding Hank and Manny. There are montages straight out of the most Linklater-esque indie blockbuster you could imagine, complete with tea lights winking in the background while two characters smile and dance in the foreground, dreamy sunlit characters entering the frame in slow-motion detail, and sparkling waves of water splashing across the frame and enabling lens flare. It's classic, but the beauty of the camerawork more than makes up for the cliché editing of the montages.

No, but seriously. This film is so Linklater, even Linklater would look at it and go "Bit derivative, don't you think?" But like every other choice the directors made that stacked the odds against success, it actually works. They manage to sneak in half the traits of last year's big winners: an all-star main cast (Spotlight), a beautiful, classic indie aesthetic (Room), a hella weird sci-fi edge (Mad Max), a focus on interpersonal relationships rather than SFX (Room, Spotlight, Danish Girl...I could go on), a bit of a homoerotic undertone to tie it all together (do I really have to say it?)...hell, they even manage to sneak in a bear attack that all but openly references that memorable moment in The Revenant. Again, friendly reminder that this is a plotline that would have worked quite well as a Monty Python sketch, shot with the beauty of Von Trier's Melancholia. And somehow that combination goes together like peanut butter and chocolate--who would've thought?

Whether you love it or hate it--there really isn't any middle ground on this one, trust me--you can't deny that Swiss Army Man is a unique experience. When the Oscars season rolls around this year, I have a feeling that this is one of those films that they just won't be able to ignore.

...I mean, they can't ignore it. They've already voted for all the individual elements, remember? Ignoring the big picture would be a crying shame. Especially when, all things considered, it's a damn good film.