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.

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: 'The Jungle Book'

So, Disney is hitting it out of the park lately, am I right? I was as skeptical as anyone else about all the live-action remakes (and no power on this earth could compel me to see another freaking re-interpretation of Cinderella), but we all know how Disney is: when they get it right, they kill it. I'd nominate The Jungle Book for the 2017 Oscars, but there's just one problem: I don't even know what category I'd put it in.

The thing about the "live-action" Jungle Book is that it is not, strictly speaking, live-action. It's not even motion-capture like A Christmas Carol. It's got the green-screen sets of Star Wars, but none of the live actors--none of the grown-ups, at least. The film is comprised entirely of loose props, CGI jungle, and CGI animals voiced by (and occasionally, visually referenced to) A-list actors. The movie is held together, at its core, by the performance of one eleven-year-old making his acting debut. Think about that for a second. Maybe what Avatar, the biggest movie that no one remembers, really needed was a little, big-eyed kid at the center of the eye-popping graphics to give it some real gravity.

Or maybe not. On second thought, maybe a kid wouldn't have fixed Avatar. But I maintain what I said when Ian and I left the theater: The Jungle Book actually does what Avatar tried to do. It's immersive. It's special. It's different. And most importantly, it has what other CGI-fests often overlook (yes, I'm looking at you, Harcore Henry): humanity. Which is, quite frankly, an odd compliment to give to a movie that's 99% computer-generated animals, but that doesn't make it any less true.

We all know the story. Kid gets lost in jungle, panther takes kid to wolf pack, kid grows up and by sheer virtue of his existence manages to piss off a tiger who hates humans, kid has to leave the jungle and, as would we all, he resists the idea of leaving the only home he's ever known. As a child I was in love with the original Jungle Book, as were a fair number of my friends. We all could identify with Mowgli in some way. Maybe, like me, we were reluctant to move when our parents sold the house. Maybe we preferred the company of animals to humans. Maybe we just plain loved being outside. Doesn't matter, the point is that we were all rooting for the kid.

Which brings me to the first major change in Jon Favreau's reworking. In the original Jungle Book, Mowgli is one of the most reactive protagonists I've ever seen. Think about it, does he ever really make any major decision on his own? The inciting incident is Bagheera telling him he has to leave the jungle. Then it's one string of rescues after another, culminating in a chance meeting with a pretty girl--hell, you know what, we might as well call it what it is: Mowgli, in the original 1960s animated film, is a freaking Disney princess. Even his big hero moment, tying fire to Shere Kahn's tail, comes at the suggestion of someone else. The vultures tell him to use the fire, he doesn't think of it on his own. It's brave, yes, but brave in a bratty ten-year-old, I'm-not-afraid-of-you-because-I-don't-know-any-better kind of way.

But in the new one, the kid isn't reactive, he's proactive. In the original Disney film, Bagheera has to literally drag the kid kicking and screaming from his home with the wolf pack. In Favreau's remake, Mowgli volunteers to leave to protect his wolf family. And this is just the first in a series of decisions that Mowgli makes to propel the plot forward. Almost all the events that just happen to him in the first film are direct results of decisions that he makes in this one. Even the fight with Shere Kahn, which in the original movie just sort of happens, is initiated by Mowgli rather than coming from a chance meeting. In the day and age of private pre-schools and heavy parental supervision, it's exactly the kind of thing kids need to see: a child standing up for himself and making his own decisions. It's empowering, and it is--to use the Disney word--absolutely magical.

Even the ending has changed to reflect Mowgli's true independence. What's so striking about that is that this new ending happens even while the film hammers home a point revolving around the true importance of family. Rarely have I ever seen a film that stresses independence and family at the same time, let alone a children's film with the same message--Matilda comes to mind, but few others. That Favreau managed to accomplish this is, in my opinion, frankly amazing.

I can't get into the parts that I truly loved without spoiling the whole thing. But without giving too much away, Christopher Walken makes exactly the perfect King Louie that we all knew he would, Scarlett Johansson can sing (if you are a Disney music fan and haven't downloaded "Trust in Me" yet, do it NOW), and if you loved Bill Murray before, you will even more now. And at the very center of it all is an 11-year-old kid, acting opposite puppets. There was no real set to speak of either; it all happened on a soundstage, with only the necessary props on-set--as in, the things Mowgli would have to physically interact with--and a ton of special effects filling in the gaps. But it's so easy to forget that during the entire process, Neel Sethi never interacted face-to-face with Idris Elba, Lupita Nyong'o, or Ben Kingsley because no matter what he's doing, whether it's facing down a tiger or sharing an emotional farewell with his wolf mother, the kid sells it. Interacting with something that isn't there is difficult even for a seasoned actor (see: the entire Star Wars prequel trilogy), but for a first-time child actor to pull it off? Incredible.

My one complaint with the film is that some of the character introductions feel just a little...rushed. This is a minor quibble, but it does happen twice: first, when Kaa is introduced. The whole scene is so beautifully done--and if you see it in surround sound, which I did, it actually sounds and feels like she's in the theater with you, which is terrifying and amazing at the same time--but it's the first and last time we see the snake in the whole film. In the original Jungle Book we at least get a sense, roughly, of who Kaa is as a character: selfish, snarky, and not quite savvy enough to actually get himself a meal. In the new one it's more like "oh hi, don't mind me, I'm dropping in for some exposition because we know I'm not really going to eat this kid lolz BYE." It shortchanges what could've been a really good character, and I say that because in Disney's first crack at The Jungle Book, Kaa was simultaneously great comic relief and a fairly threatening secondary antagonist.

And I wouldn't complain, except they do it in literally the very next sequence with Baloo. We go from "ok, I saved your life, you owe me" to "hey, we're bestest friends now!" Granted, it's a little more character development than in the original, wherein Baloo shows up, sings a song, and promptly becomes Mowgli's new father. But there's an emotional payoff later that would have felt more earned had their friendship not developed so instantly and unbelievably. With that being said, the movie quickly rights this mistake by having Baloo make a killer entrance in the scene with King Louie. If we doubt his attachment to the man-cub before, after that scene it's painfully clear how much Baloo's new pet human really means to him. So yes, these complaints are minor, and while the story may feel rushed at times, Favreau quickly makes up for these lapses with a one-two punch of emotional payoff--and, when the situation demands it, a cute wolf pup or two to remind us that Mowgli isn't the only innocent who needs protecting in this jungle.

I mentioned that it's easy to forget that the actors never really interacted, but you know what? It's even easier to forget that none of what you're seeing is there at all. I kept forgetting during the course of the film that no, these aren't real elephants or panthers or wolf pups. There are no real animals in the film at all. And of course it's just as well that there aren't, because if that wasn't the case I would really love to know where they found a snake the length and width of a McDonald's playplace tunnel (so I could never ever go there in my entire life), but it's a mark of how far CGI has come since 2009's Avatar, when James Cameron tried and failed to make a world so immersive that we forgot we weren't really on the Forbidden Planet (Pandora...good God, man, I could've come up with better names than that, and I was a freakin' sophomore in high school at the time). The Jungle Book succeeds where Avatar fails, precisely because in this case, the filmmakers aren't trying to create a whole new world. They're just trying to tell a story. And the way they tell that story is nothing short of absolutely beautiful.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Zootopia'

Okay, I'll admit what we can all already guess: I'm a Disney nerd. I have my Disney Likes and Disney Loves and Disney Don't-Likes and Disney What-Were-They-Thinkings, but on the whole, there isn't much that I don't love about the movies delivered straight from the Mouse House--and Zootopia damn near tops them all. What's that you say, Disney? Allegory for xenophobia and the dangers of the mob mentality, all wrapped up in the cute package of adorably-badass-bunny-meets-cynical-fox buddy-cop story, featuring Shakira as a gazelle and Idris Elba as a giant buffalo? I say...

In the world of Zootopia, animals evolved instead of humans. Now bunnies coexist with foxes, lambs work side-by-side with lions, and gazelles dance onstage with tigers--all without a single solitary fear of getting eaten. Well, almost. It's not quite a utopia; there are heavily-ingrained prejudices based on one's species (a bunny presumably can't be tough, a fox can't be nice, a sloth must be slow) and even in the metropolis of Zootopia, animals commute to work from housing development-style habitats like the "rainforest section" or "desert section." Judy Hopps is determined to break those barriers by becoming the first-ever rabbit police officer. She does indeed become an officer, but is immediately signed parking duty--that is, until she impulsively volunteers for a missing-mammals case and forces Nick Wilde, a cynical fox who hustles for a living, to help her find Emmett Otterton. What she doesn't know is that there's a political conspiracy behind the missing mammals...and if she can't figure it out, not only is she off the force, but the world of Zootopia will be turned upside-down.

So, we all know I'm going to love all up on this movie like a Supernatural fangirl on Misha Collins, so let's get the one negative out of the way first: when I was a kid, Zootopia would have scared the ever-living crap out of me. Cute little bunnies (oops, I forgot...just pretend I'm a bunny for the sake of this review, okay?) get threatened by giant stalking panthers. Nice animals suddenly go crazy for what appears to be no reason. In one scene that is such a blatant reference to Silence of the Lambs that Anthony Hopkins himself would have to stifle a giggle, we see dozens of animals locked up in a dark, neglected psych ward. It's great, yeah, but it's not necessarily for kids. There was some dark stuff here, guys--but hey, it's Disney. If they didn't try to at least throw in one or two emotional gut-punches, it wouldn't be a true Walt Disney Studios production.

But for all that darkness, Zootopia does a fantastic job of mixing humor for the kids with humor for the adults in a way that makes the film 100% enjoyable for all audiences. When I saw the film, the kids in the theater giggled hysterically at predictably-childish jokes like "What do you call a three-hump camel? PREGNANT!" while Ian and I laughed ourselves stupid at the pop-culture references--and boy howdy, were there a lot of pop-culture references. Silence of the Lambs, Breaking Bad (yes, in a kids' movie), The Godfather, Taxi!, and of course a few Disney hits like Frozen and Chicken Little (TELL ME Judy Hopps' dad doesn't remind you just a bit of Buck Cluck, I dare you) to keep the kiddies entertained. But rest assured, the allusions to other movies don't fall flat. There's a truly spectacular reference to Taxi! wherein a weasel yells "You dirty rat!" to an actual, um, dirty rat. It's brilliant, but it's subtle; like any real Easter Egg, you have to know the film to know the reference.

As per usual, the animation is lovely. We all know Disney loves to take things a step farther with every movie, and it should come as no surprise that Zootopia is no exception. It's a little thing, but example #1: Judy Hopps wears headphones...and they actually go in her little bunny ears instead of over her head. Seriously, that's a big deal. Not to mention that in the individual apartment-complex "habitats," they actually look like the rainforest, the savannah, the arctic, etc. The animators also seem to have snagged some ideas from Jon Favreau when it comes to putting human features on non-human creatures, because for all their human-ish characteristics, the inhabitants of Zootopia don't have that uncanny-valley, creepy "are they human or animal" appearance that plagues other CGI-animated anthropomorphic animals. (Yes, live-action Scooby-Doo, I absolutely am looking at you right now.)

But the real heart of Zootopia is in the story. Is it a little heavy-handed at times? Well, yes, but it's technically a kids' movie for crying out loud; what did you expect, 2001: A Space Odyssey? The themes of prejudice, fear-mongering, racism and segregation couldn't come at a better time. Let's be honest, fellow politically-minded artists: this year, we will in all likelihood be forced to choose between two extremists when we step into that voting booth. On the far right, we have Trump, who actually wants to deport ALL the Muslims (someone wanna fill him in on the whole "American citizens" thing?) and force the Mexican government to pay for a border wall to prevent illegal immigration. On the far left, we have Bernie Sanders, who genuinely believes that socialism is the way to go and has what I think are some pretty warped ideas of what's fair and not fair. In this day and age, that perfectly represents the two parties at this point: both sides believe in black and white morals and call anyone who doesn't agree with them evil. Don't think that private businesses shouldn't have the right to base their business practices on their religion? You're a bigot! Don't think that building a giant wall will keep out illegal aliens? You're a bleeding-heart moron! WATCH OUT, *INSERT OPPOSING PARTY HERE*, THE EVIL OTHER TEAM IS COMING FOR ALL YOUR BELOVED FREEDOM!

And what's so magical about Zootopia is that it conveys the danger of this type of fearmongering in a way that kids can understand. The film shows how easy it is to unintentionally spread fear: in a press conference, Judy Hopps stumbles over an explanation of why predatory mammals might "go savage," suggesting that it might be based in their biology. In reality, the predators are being shot up with a drug that makes them go nuts, but no one can prove it--yet--and thus the fear spreads. All it takes is one wrong choice of words, one incident of crisis, and the witch-hunt is on.

At one point, the prey species behind the conspiracy tells Judy, "The population is 90% prey, what if we were all united against a common enemy?" It's a great idea in theory, but in practice it means the majority is united against a minority that, in the grand scheme of things, is not really very threatening. It means assuming the actions of a few are the impulses of many, whether that's true or not. I've seen adult-oriented films that make this concept seem like String Theory, but Zootopia nails the problems with that mindset with comparable ease. And again, keep in mind, this is a children's movie. Made by Disney. It's not Anomalisa, it's not even Studio Ghibli, it's a freaking kid's movie made by the Mouse House--and it handles complex social issues like a damn after-school special, except half as preachy and twice as entertaining.

Kind of brings new meaning to the words "So simple a child could understand," doesn't it?

I have no doubt that when next year's awards are circulating, Zootopia will snag its fair share. But I truly hope that the good this film does goes beyond an Oscar or an Annie Award. The political climate is getting worse and worse. Let's hope that a few parents and older siblings take away the lessons that Zootopia so excellently aims at the kiddies. Let's hope that Judy Hopps inspires a wider audience than her target imaginative first-graders. Let's hope that not for the first time, art imitates life--except this time, let's keep that happy ending intact.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Carol'

I wanted to like Carol. I really did. I love Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara. I've always had a soft spot for Kyle Chandler. I love period pieces, especially mid-century ones--I think we all remember what I thought of Big Eyes--and I love LGBT films. And after I read all the rave reviews, and saw that Carol got a handful of Oscar nominations, I was so excited to see it. I expected a love story for the ages. I expected a film that conveyed the magic and mystery, and the pain, of first love. And with all the rage that it wasn't nominated for Best Picture, I expected...well...an Oscar-worthy film.

And I didn't get it.

Let's start with the positives: Carol is an absolutely beautiful film. It's a work of art. It really is. The nominations for cinematography, music, and costumes are well-deserved. Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett kick ass as Therese and Carol, bringing a subtlety and glamour to the film that is usually absent in epic romances. Even when their male counterparts--Jake Lacy (Obvious Child) as Therese's boyfriend Richard; Kyle Chandler (Early Edition, Friday Night Lights) as Carol's ex-husband Harge--go into melodrama mode, Mara and Blanchett remain subtle, stoic and absolutely breathtaking. The lovely women seamlessly fit into their perfectly-crafted environment, which combines light, color and texture to create a cinematic wonder.

Unfortunately, that beautiful world isn't enough to carry the film all on its own. The story is surprisingly thin and disappointingly predictable. Worse, all the characters other than the two leads are one-dimensional stereotypes. Every man in the film is either a total jackass, or a throwaway character that exists only to move the plot forward. (Well, hey. At least SOMETHING is moving the plot forward.) Even Carol's best friend Abby is something of a ghost, popping in and out when needed with little background or motive of her own. It's almost as if literally every character but the two leads are puppets that exist only to explain the motives of Therese and Carol.

This issue is particularly irritating when the film's two-hour running time is taken into consideration, along with the surplus of establishing shots, insert shots, and lingering tracking shots of almost nothing at all. The cinematography is fantastic. The editing and script, however, leave something to be desired. There's 120 minutes here to play with, and yet it feels like there's no real story. Carol feels like a screenplay that never got past the log line. There's no real subplots. Characters that should be important, like Carol's daughter Rindy, are little more than human MacGuffins. Screen time is wasted on elevators and long tracking shots of train sets, while character development falls to the wayside. As for the antagonists, I've seen dollar-store cashiers more threatening. I get what they were trying to do--the oppressive atmosphere of the 1950s is the "real" villain--but it doesn't quite play out, leaving the film feeling unfortunately empty when all is said and done.

With all that said, Carol is still worth a watch. It's up there with Bridge of Spies in terms of production design, and the cinematography is to die for. Fellow feminists, you will be pleased to know that whatever other faults the script may have, it does pass the Bechdel Test--at least several times over, too. Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett are in top form, and their nominations for Best Lead and Supporting Actress are well deserved. If Mara's turn as Lisbeth Salander didn't knock your socks off, her performance here will. (And can we please stop trashing on her for Pan, because that is really, really unfair.) Blanchett is as classy as ever...I don't know how that woman can make smoking and cursing look smooth, but she does...and her performance as the elusive Carol would make just about any of Hitchcock's blondes green with envy. It's the rest of the cast that doesn't quite hold up. Someone please tell Kyle Chandler that when acting opposite an actress as nuanced as Cate Blanchett, the "yell and project like a high-school theater major" approach does not work. But the ladies carry the movie well enough, when their star performances are combined with the beautiful visuals. It's just a shame that the story couldn't bring the same punch as the other elements.

I hate to pit women filmmakers against each other, but take a look at Jenny's Wedding in comparison to Carol. When I first saw Jenny's Wedding all I could think was "oh my God my parents have to see this." It was relevant. It would have been relevant two years ago when I was dating a girl (of whom my parents did not approve, for the record) and it's relevant now when I'm on the verge of moving out, because the film isn't really about a lesbian relationship, it's about learning who you are without your parents' approval. What's Carol really about, besides a lesbian romance? It doesn't seem like the writer or the director knew going in. And that is what takes a film that could have been fantastic, and knocks it down to just "really, really good." Still an A-grade, no doubt, but it's sad, because Carol deserved to be an A+.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: Concussion

I'll be first to admit I have a complicated relationship with football. I'm not a fan, per se. I'll watch a game when it's on. I have some teams that I like more than other teams. (I will neither confirm nor deny that there may or may not be a New York Giants pennant on my bedroom wall.) I love Superbowl Day. But if you asked me, right this very minute, which teams are in the lead to get to the Superbowl, I couldn't tell you. Most of the time when my dad watches a game, I'm working on a blog post or playing on my DS instead of watching. I can't name the quarterback of every team in the NFL. I certainly can't name the coaches or the averages. Don't even ask me who won the Superbowl last year, I can't remember. I don't dislike football, I just have too many other interests to follow it closely.

But...

When I was a kid, Monday was my favorite day of the week. Why? Because every Monday night the TV would be on, the last moments of whatever inane sitcom was popular that season would be ticking away, and my dad and I would be standing in the middle of the living room, eagerly awaiting the start of Monday Night Football. As soon as the clock hit 8, the Hank Williams Jr theme song would begin and we'd party like it was the last night on earth. I still remember being small enough for my dad to pick me up and hold me while we danced, bouncing me in time to the music. I remember how on the nights that the Dallas Cowboys played, I'd put on my cheerleader uniform, a gift from my dad's family, while waiting for the song to start. I remember jumping up and down hard enough to shake the pictures on the walls, while my mom laughed and mock-scolded us, "Stop it! You'll break the floors!"

So for me, football is more of a childhood memory than anything else. My dad teaching me to throw a football, rooting for the Giants against the Patriots while working on my first algebra assignments, going to my first local football game with a construction-paper pennant that my dad helped me make, unwrapping that Dallas Cowboy cheerleader uniform on my eighth birthday. That's what I think of when I think football. Who wins or loses, that doesn't really matter to me. Just the part where I got to bond with my dad, that's all I care about now and it's all I cared about then. (Guess who went with me to see Concussion tonight? If you guessed my dad...ding ding ding, we have a winner!) So I can understand why people love football, but not why people worship it. And I certainly can't understand why it's worth dying for, or worth letting other people die for it. But then again, Concussion isn't really about the sport of football.

There seems to be a theme among the Oscar candidates this year: injustice. In some of the most brilliant films of the year (Spotlight, Trumbo, Suffragette, and Bridge of Spies come to mind), the catalyst of the film is injustice, and what happens to those who try to fight it. Concussion continues in this vein by setting us up with a protagonist we can't help but like, giving him a cause we can't help but support (I don't know about you, but I'm all for keeping people from dying), and showing in full, heart-wrenching detail what happens when he's met with heavy opposition. Sure, it's a familiar story, but there's something about a good person on a crusade against injustice that works with an audience, and Concussion uses that fact to its advantage, with surprisingly strong results.

So let's get the first, most obvious issue with Concussion out of the way first: yes, it is a typical story, and yes, it does hit all the "right" notes. And yes, there are moments of triumph for the hero, and it is very, very male-heavy--not going on my list of feminist films anytime, this one--but it does get major props for casting, which I'll get to in a minute. And yeah, there are a few nice little doses of "gee, isn't America great!"/every-country-looks-up-to-America-style patriotism thrown in. Ah, the genre conventions are strong with this one...but with that said, if you don't already know the story behind it, the ending is a bit of a surprise, because...well, spoiler alert, there isn't really an ending, not in the traditional sense, and certainly not compared to, say, Spotlight, which ends with the story breaking and the newspaper hotlines lighting up with victims' stories. In most of the Oscar nominees this year it ends with a ticker-tape parade of excitement as the silence is broken, the injustice is confronted, and the heroes are victorious.

That isn't so much the case with Concussion. Yes, Dr. Omalu gets to publish his research in a medical journal, and he does finally get to speak to the players and the victims' families, but it's not a triumph on the level of Suffragette--I think we all know how that ends--because, as the post-film title cards reveal, it took years before the NFL would even openly acknowledge the link between concussions and long-term brain damage, much less do anything about it. Hell, the very last shot of the film has Dr. Omalu watching a football practice just as things heat up, implying (and rightly so) that the sport will continue to thrive in its dangerous form, even though progress has been made. It's a quieter ending, one that doesn't trumpet the "look how well-rewarded you'll be if you do the right thing!" cliché, and takes the Bridge of Spies tack of "you will know what you did, even if it takes everyone else forever and a day to recognize the significance of it." That alone tames the roar of the genre conventions and gives Concussion a very well-deserved somber undertone.

So now let's talk character development for a minute. When we first meet Bennet Omalu, he's testifying in court on behalf of a man convicted of murder and sentenced to death. He's asked about his qualifications and lists an impressive resume, so we know he's smart...but more than that, he's a nice guy. He's taking time out of what we soon discover is a fairly busy schedule just so he can save a man's life--and not a personal friend of his, mind you, but a man he doesn't know from Adam. Later, we see him go to his coroner job, where his first act of the day is to--I swear I'm not making this up, see the movie if you don't believe me--politely greet the dead body he is about to examine. If at this point you are not half in love with this character, I don't know what to tell you.

But as the film goes on it gets even better. He goes to church, which is usually used as a cheap way to mark a character as "good" or "bad," and on his way out he's asked to take in a homeless woman, fresh from Kenya, and of course he does. He knows something is wrong with Mike Webster, so he pays for the tests on the brain himself. Throughout his fight for the concussion victims, his mantra is "Tell the truth!" After his research is published and the football fans dogpile him, Omalu's boss asks him, "Did you think they'd send you a thank-you note?" and Omalu emphatically replies, "Yes!" He's not thinking in terms of fame, or money, or even professional recognition. He just wants to save lives, and he can't understand why the NFL corporate heads aren't with him on that mission. It's not the naïve innocence of a typical plucky hero, it's a combination of sincerity, compassion and, in Omalu's own words, common sense. And it's a cliché, sure, but honestly, I can't remember the last time I saw a Christian character in a mainstream film like this actually act like a Christian.

For anyone who doesn't know, I can't stand Will Smith. I really can't. Usually I will actively go out of my way to avoid seeing his films. He's right up there with Ben Stiller and Will Ferrell on my list of actors I'd rather eat liver than watch. But five minutes into the film, I swear to Pete I forgot that I was watching Will Smith. I have never, ever seen a Will Smith movie and forgot even for a second that I was watching an Official Will Smith Movie, but when I saw Concussion, I wasn't seeing a Will Smith Movie, I was seeing...well, a movie that just happened to star Will Smith. If he keeps this up, I may have to toss him onto the Jim Carrey list of actors I consistently (and wrongly) underestimate. Ditto for Alec Baldwin, another actor I'll usually avoid. He usually plays the same character. In this film, I assure you, fellow Baldwin-doubters, he does not reach into his usual bag of tricks and actually manages to portray Dr. Julian Bailes sympathetically and, more important, believably.

But what I loved more than anything else about Concussion was the way the film pointed out, on multiple occasions, that neither Dr. Bennet Omalu or, presumably, the filmmakers hate football. The people on Bennet Omalu's side of the argument don't hate the NFL. They just genuinely can't understand why the NFL doesn't want to protect their most valuable employees. And that, to me, is the heart and soul of the movie. Omalu repeatedly talks about America as a land of opportunity and freedom, and when he risks his professional credibility and personal success to stand up for those who can't (or, in this case, didn't know they needed to) stand up for themselves, he is doing what he can to protect that freedom...but of course, those who oppose him can't understand that. It's a frustrating and all too realistic problem, and the fact that it actually happened makes the film painful to watch. But it's worth it. It's so worth it. Because like every other movie that's come out this year about fighting injustice, Concussion carries a message of hope, and a call to action. Nothing will change, unless we stand behind the people who, like Dr. Omalu, just want things to be better.

Avery Tries to be a Critic: 'Southpaw'

*sigh* I tried to sit down and write a nice, calm, orderly, nothing-to-see-here review for Southpaw. I really did. But I kept experiencing strange symptoms as I wrote. Like puking in my mouth a little every time I thought about all the gratuitous, gory shots of blood pouring out of Jake Gyllenhaal's mouth. Or my eyes involuntarily rolling themselves every time I recalled the lazy, expletive-heavy dialogue. Or experiencing mild headaches at the thought of seeing one more f-ing boxing movie with a training montage set to an aggressive guitar-heavy song what the hell can we please move on from that Hollywood thank you very much.

Like everyone else who saw Avengers: Age of Ultron, I was subjected to the Southpaw trailer. I saw the movie twice, saw the trailer twice, and both times nudged my movie-going partners and whispered, “Let’s see that when it comes out.” It looked like a really, really, really good movie, okay? I mean it had a great cast, looked like a heart-wrenching story, appeared to have some very solid editing, and just seemed like it would be an Oscars contender without even trying. You know. That kind of movie.

So imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be more like…well, like every movie ever where the arrogant character learns a great life lesson after he loses everything. Even if I hadn’t seen the trailer--which is a long shot, because if you’ve been to a movie in the last six months, you couldn’t help but see the trailer--I could have told you that something bad was going to happen to Billy Hope. That he was going to get his ass kicked. He was going to lose his money. He was going to lose his fans. Now, I hate to say “he was going to lose his family,” because that sounds mean, but you know what? Called it. It’s classic Oscar-baiting Hollywood: take a character who is on top of the world, rip away everything he has, insert Old Wise Man With Tortured Past (I swear that’s a character they have in a vault, just waiting to yank out and insert as-needed) who will invariably be just what Main Character needs to get back on top, and watch him rebuild his world from the ground up. It’s uplifting, it’s classic, it’s inspirational…and it is absurdly lazy writing.

Let me tell you something. This kind of movie, the one I just described? It is really easy to make. Well, comparatively, I should say. No movie, as we’ve already discussed here, is easy, per se. Every movie takes work; you need a script, you need actors, you need locations, you need a camera and a mic, etc. But compared to blockbusters or clever kids’ films, or even an independent or midbudget classic like Interstate 60 or any of the David Lynch classics? It’s cake. You can do it for no money. Angst is cheap. Unless it’s an Oscar bid, like Southpaw, but Jesus Christ, compare the budget for Southpaw ($25 million) to the budget for, say, Gone Girl ($61 million). Now, I’m not one to judge a film by its budget--again, we’ve talked about this--but this proves my point. Angst is cheap.

It’s very, very easy to play an audience for tears. No, really. If you hurt or kill a dog, take a child away from their parents, have one star-crossed lover die and leave the other alive, kill off a mentor, or have an undeserving athlete cheat a hardworking one out of a title, you are gold, my friend. What are the circumstances surrounding these events? Doesn’t matter. Unless your audience is comprised of 500 Ron Swanson clones, pull out any of these scenarios and you’ve got a certified sob-fest on your hands. Hell, I didn’t even like Southpaw, but I was in tears when Maureen died. It’s almost a reflex: decent people can’t stand seeing other decent people in pain. If your audience has any degree of compassion, any of the above scenarios will wrench an emotional response from them. It’s filmmaking 101.

You know what’s hard? Making a detestable character appealing to an audience. In writing classes, we call that “saving the cat.” It means that if your main character is at any point going to look shady, they had better have at least one defining thing that redeems them. But it has to be simple, saving the cat, and it has to be subtle or well-placed. You don’t want the audience to think they’re being forced to like a character; remember, we all want to root for the underdog.

You know what else is hard? Making an audience laugh. I hate cheap-humor movies like Scary Movie because it’s so easy to roll with potty humor when all else fails. But writing a movie like School of Rock or My Cousin Vinny, or a darker comedy like The Ref? That’s hard. Blending comedy and drama, as in Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, is especially difficult because if you go too far in either direction you lose half your audience, and if the contrast is too sharp no one will take your movie seriously. We all know exactly what will make an audience cry. Making an audience laugh is always a toss-up, especially in this day and age where just about everything under the sun is considered offensive.

And you know what’s just about impossible? Making a movie unpredictable. Getting the audience to go “Holy shit, I did not see that coming!” Slitting Neil Patrick Harris’ throat with a boxcutter instead of giving Ben Affleck the lethal injection. Killing Janet Leigh in the shower 45 minutes into the film. Unveiling Christopher Lloyd as a cartoon in disguise. Using little green aliens to rescue Buzz and Woody from the trash incinerator. Granted some of these are adaptations and if you read the book first, you know what’s coming, but if you haven’t, the point still stands. People insist there’s nothing original anymore. Maybe there isn’t, but you can always find a plot twist--if you look for it.

The point is, I have seen Southpaw before. I have seen attractive men lose everything and rely on a wise old learned man to help them get back to the top. I have seen arrogant characters cut down to size by tragedy. It’s fun seeing people get knocked down; it’s why we hone in on fallen celebrities, isn’t it? And it’s equally satisfying to see underdogs claw their way to the top; it’s why we love those rags-to-riches tales of people getting plucked from obscurity and dolled up for their winning moment on American Idol. Sure, Southpaw is formulaic, but it’s a recipe for success, right? It’s sure to snag Gyllenhaal (who is the best damn thing about that film, no contest) at least a few good awards, if not an Oscar nomination. And it definitely put tears in my eyes, even if I knew exactly how and why the film was playing on my heartstrings.

But the problem is that after you walk out of the theater and go back to your business, a film like Southpaw is largely forgettable. Now, before we go any further with this concept, a disclaimer is in order: everyone is different, and what packs an emotional punch for some will not have the same effect on others. For someone out there, maybe Southpaw changed their life the way Sleepy Hollow and Beetlejuice changed mine. Who knows? For the last time: the movie made me cry. I’m not saying it’s meritless or that you’re stupid if you felt something when you watched it.

But so much of Southpaw relies on shock value, like the small child dropping the f-bomb, or the predictably tragic, like the way Billy Hope falls apart when he loses his wife. If you can predict every event that’s going to happen, right down to the outcome of Hope’s climactic fight with the “bad guy,” that’s not going to have as much of an impact on you as...oh, for instance, the end of Gran Torino. Nobody who saw that film is ever going to forget it. You know why? Because when those guns come out, you think Clint Eastwood is going to magically become Clint Eastwood. You don’t think it’s going to go where it ends up going. And there’s something pretty damn magical about that in and of itself.

The most incredible experiences I have ever had with a feature film were, almost invariably, born out of surprise. The twist at the midpoint of Gone Girl? That was the exact moment I fell in love with Gillian Flynn and her unbelievable writing. The surprise at the end of Breaking Dawn 2? Hate the rest of the franchise, but I’m never going to forget the exhilaration I felt watching that battle. All of Interstate 60? I never knew what was coming next, and I loved every second of it. The Man Upstairs in Lego Movie? In my opinion, that was what took the film from meh to should have won the Oscar. Nothing in Southpaw gave me that jolt of surprise, because like I said, I’ve seen it before. I knew he was going to lose, I knew he was going to be rebuilt, I knew he was going to win. My guess is that either Kurt Sutter read a hell of a lot of C.S. Lewis as a kid (the Christian allegory is strong with this one) or that he was taught to follow the Hero’s Journey to the letter when he went to film school. Either way, it doesn’t work. A movie with this much tension should not induce boredom. So please, Academy, do us all a favor and don’t consider this one when you reward Hollywood’s finest efforts this year. Give those awards to movies that did surprise their audiences, because those are the movies we’ll still be talking about in 20 years.