re: TulaneLSU's 2023 movies review thread. Oct 26: Killers of the Flower Moon

Jawan

There was but one other group in the theater, a family of eight Indian Americans. From the opening scene, they were loud, cheering and laughing in the otherwise empty theater. My first thought was Stephanie Tanner’s, “How rude!” But as the movie moved along, the contagion of joy infected me. I joined them in cheering the most interesting movie of the year. By the movie’s end, we were all high fiving, jumping in the aisles, and hugging!

How does one explain Jawan in a paragraph or five? It is first and foremost an intense action movie that puts Mission Impossible to shame. Its special effects are a spectacle in the vein of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and The Matrix. Its comedy is perfectly timed. The storyline is so complex and tight, weaving a perfect symmetry that Christopher Nolan strives to reach, yet never does. And fun! The dance scenes are among the best of any Indian movie I have ever seen.

Perhaps most importantly, it has a message that is important. The poor need loan forgiveness more than the rich. Public hospitals should be well funded and staffed. Arms dealers are untrustworthy and profit on death. A functioning democracy requires hard work and the voters to think about their choices. Prisons need reformation and can be places of reformation. The writer uses interesting, unorthodox, and perhaps wayward ways to reach these messages, but the messages stick.

At nearly three hours in length, there is not a second that is wasted or dull. Somehow, the writer and director use every scene to build and inform other scenes. And by the time it is all done, the story is tighter than a knot tied by Michael DeBakey. It really is something, and to describe it would be to give away the wonderful story. 8/10

A Haunting in Venice

My favorite Halloween Party of all time comes from 1993. Because Halloween that year fell on Sunday, our Youth Group had our Halloween lock-in the night before. We, of course, did the haunted house circuit, which in those days, was a rite of passage for a New Orleans youth. Today’s few haunted houses are usually disgusting, Satanic, sexually explicit, and debauched, appealing to the worst in people. That place near the Huey P in Harahan should be shuttered for indecency.

Anyway, we visited all the usual suspects: Sheriff Foti’s in City Park, The Blood Center’s at Lakeside Mall, and the Chinchuba Haunted House on the Westbank (I had to set up arrangements to get the Algiers Ferry across because my fear of bridges at that time prevented from crossing the GNO or Huey P). These were the days when haunted houses were fun and scary for a few moments when someone ran across the room with a chainsaw. They did not revel in gore and the occult as the satanists do today.

We returned to the church that evening, arriving at the late hour of 9. We bobbed for apples and shared some candy. Once we were settled, we gathered in a circle and our youth group leader began reading a book to us. She had selected excerpts from Agatha Christie’s Hallowe’en Party. She read for an hour and not a one of us made a noise, so engrossed and terrified by the story. A good storyteller, despite the weakness of her material, is more engaging than the best of movies.

In recent weeks, when I saw the trailer for A Haunting in Venice, I had the suspicion that the movie was based on this novel, but was not sure until I saw the film. There are significant differences between the film and the novel, but the feeling is similar. The murder victim in the novel is a young teenager who is at the party and is drowned while bobbing for apples (I gave up apple bobbing for many years after hearing this story).

Walking into a theater playing an Agatha Christie film is almost like a spoiler in itself. Knowing that her books and the films based on her books immediately put the reader or viewer on alert. I suspected the film would have some twists, and from the beginning was trying to solve the puzzle. There were enough clues that most of the story’s surprise was evident within the first hour.

The movie was much scarier than I expected. The mood dark and the noises loud, even the most embattled viewer will likely be startled at least once. The beautiful Murano chandelier was a most unexpected and regretful loss. I do hope it was repaired. So sad it would be for something so beautiful to be wasted. Venice has rarely been so well used as a film’s setting. But I must question casting Tina Fey as the writer – she should stick to comedies, romantic or not. Kenneth Branagh is excellent in his role. Though his character’s atheism may not be fully cured, at least by the end, it shows cracks enough to be willing to let in God’s light. 5/10

The Equalizer 3

“Are you a good man or a bad man?” It is a question the movie begins asking us about Denzel Washington’s vigilante character. It is the question with which we are left in this action-packed formulaic Western set in Campania, Italy.

Equalizer 3 is, I assume, the third movie in a series which I did not know existed until this week when I bought my ticket. Washington’s lead portrays a violent man, who we learn later, is on a mission to recover something stolen from a blue collar worker in Boston. Unless it is shown in one of the first two installments, we never learn why exactly he has chosen to avenge this one victim of injustice and not others.

We do know that Washington’s character believes murder is an acceptable course of action to pay back theft. But those who live by the sword, die by it, and he is left at the mercy of a stranger who saves his life. In his physical weakness, Washington apparently comes to find peace in a place that is nearly perfect. And then, sin creeps into the land and trouble finds both the townsfolk and Washington. Of course, he does not use appropriate channels of justice and takes matter into his own hands. The lone ranger decides on his own that it is his job to mete out justice and so, once again, he hasw blood on his hands. He, not the police or the priest, believes it is his responsibility for stamping out evil, even if it means evil force is used.

Vigilantes are rarely just actors. Their acts are usually driven by emotion, like anger, fear, or the desire for revenge. When the Camorra commit heinous crimes, the writer pushes some in the audience to cheer on Washington’s unquenchable violence because the victims are peaceful, innocent rural townsfolk. The case for violence is strengthened when we learn that some police have been corrupted by organized crime and cannot be relied upon to deliver justice. But again, how often does vigilante justice lead to real and lasting justice? In reality, never, but this Western fairytale is fodder for those who want vigilantism to rule the day. Entertaining and satisfying it may be, its message, however, is pure fantasy and encourages violence. 5/10

Stop Making Sense

Nostalgia did not exist before 1688 when Swiss junior physician Johannes Hofer combined two Greek words, nostos (homecoming) with algos (pain), to describe a psychological condition that had somatic consequences so severe that some European army regiments were not allowed to sing songs from home because the songs were thought to be triggers of that disease, which often led to death. It was thought to kill both spirit and body. Nostalgia was thought to have a special predeliction for soldiers torn from their homes. For two centuries it was a topic of intense medical inquiry and treatment. And then, in the last century, it disappeared as a pathology, replaced by its milder form, which we consider a yearning for the past, capitalized by corporations and movie makers alike.

Nostalgia is most intense in the Autumn, as we prepare for the Advent and the world around us dies. It is a natural condition that I suspect all creatures with nous experience at some level. Its lesser, contemporary form that stirs memories in us, I suspect, is the only reason anyone other than a serious film critic would see a film like Stop Making Sense.

SMS was filmed during four concerts held in Los Angeles in 1983 by a New York band called Talking Heads. It is a time capsule of that time and wholly unwonted to me, born the same year of its initial release. I have read that it is a groundbreaking film, a genre-setting and genre-topping film. Perhaps these lofty claims are true, but only to those suffering from their nostalgia. For me, SMS is a simple film of a bizarre band whose noises and songs are wholly forgettable to humanity, but may resonate to some who experienced the songs during their teenage years and early 20s. Nostalgia is the primary reason anyone would see SMS.

I saw the movie twice, first on opening night September 11, when Cousin pleaded with me to travel to Florida so he could watch it, as it was not playing in New Orleans. The draw that night was a live Q&A with the band. It was extremely loud in IMAX, but the experience was somewhat fun. The crowd was filled with buoyant Talking Head fanatics, and much of the crowd was on its feet, singing as loud as it could, during the majority of the film. I had not been in a theater as enraptured since Never Say Never, when pre-teen and teenage girls could not get their fill of Justin Beiber. Most of this audience was in their late 40s and 50s, but the air was of the same quality. It was, save, for the incredibly loud noise, a fun experience.

This week, I chose a rewatch to determine my true feelings of the film. They are not good. With a theater empty of nostalgia stricken quinquagenarians, the film falls as flat as the topography of New Orleans. The songs, at least to someone who did not experience them until this month, are alien and sound strange, and most seem to have no significant meaning. The exception for this for me is "This Must Be The Place," which has a prominent role in both chapters of Wall Street, starring Michael Douglas. Before looking up the song for this review, I thought the title of the song was "Home" because I interpreted it as a song about home, homecoming, memories of home, and yearning for home. As the song came on, I immediately, from the empty theater, called Mother and sang to her “Home is where I want to be.” 3/10.... Experience on opening night: 9/10. Experience this week: 1/10.

I checked into this thread soley because of your choice of paw patrol and saw double feature

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour

There is a better than a small chance that one day Taylor Swift will be President of the United States. She speaks to women across the country, from teens to the middle aged in ways that no man can. She is confident and speaks a story that connects with them. That is not always good.

Before this evening, I had never knowingly listened to a Taylor Swift song. We do not have a television. When our car radio is on, it plays either NPR or LifeSongs, or during the Advent, Magic 101.9. My connections to pop culture are few, and I did not think I had any connection to Ms. Swift. But it became quickly apparent that Ms. Swift’s influence is more powerful than I expected, as I recognized four songs she sang: "Shake It Off," “You Belong With Me,” “Love Story,” and “I Knew You Were Trouble.” Somehow, without any conscious knowledge, her words and tunes have seeped into my being. This fact is a reminder of how potentially powerful and dangerous popular culture can be. To listen, the Romans, understood, is to fall submissive to the words and obey them.

What I gathered from this three hour slog is that Ms. Swift is a wolf in sheep’s clothes, or barely any clothes at all. How a parent could allow a child to listen to her promiscuous, vengeful, hateful, prideful, self-centered lyrics is more evidence of the decline of parental wisdom in our land. At one point in the film, she and her co-stars have illuminated golf clubs that they use to destroy a previous boyfriend’s car. The crowd actually cheered this vandalism. I was taught that all violent acts are reprehensible; it is a shame that others did not receive the same lesson.

The crowd tonight was mostly teenage females, perhaps 50%. Another 30% were 20 year old females. I saw only five males in a theater of 300. The rest of the crowd were females in their 30s and 40s. For the first hour, the crowd was quite fixated on the concert. There was an entire row of girls waving these light saber-like rods, which I found distracting. A few rows stood the entire first hour, some gyrating and waving their hands without any control. I saw two girls weeping uncontrollably when their favorite song came on. It felt a bit like a Pentecostal revival.

But once we moved to the second half, the energy in the room dissipated. Was this a result of the girls having spent their energy? Or was it a school night and most of the girls were there past their bedtimes? Or was a three hour tour through songs perhaps unknown to the younger crowd too much?

To Ms. Swift’s credit, she put on a heck of a show, singing loudly, dancing, and giving it her all. She clearly loves being at the center of attention and thrives off it. She gave me a vibe of unfettered egotism, and successfully masked it from the crowd telling them how special they were. The crowd inhaled the platitudes like a mako engulfing a blackfin.

Equally impressive to her energy in this concert film, which is quite better in quality than Stop Making Sense, is the diversity of her music. She comfortably and effortlessly shifts gears from country to 80s pop to 10s pop to female emo to rap or something like it. Her lyrics may be repulsive and misandrist, but they have a dangerous and mesmerizing power that connect with the largely female crowd.

When compared to the greatest concert film of all-time, Justin Beiber’s Never Say Never, Ms. Swift's marathon drags and fails to elicit the same energy and emotion. It was quite evident in the crowd tonight that the youth today simply cannot give their focus to any film for three hours. I thought we would all be dancing in the aisles all night long, followed by a mad rush at the end to touch the screen and dance together at the theater’s front, as we did for Never Say Never. But it was not meant to be.

The last half hour of the movie, not a single person in that theater was on his or her feet. When she announced she was singing her last song, I expected the crowd to get up, but it did not. So I dutifully ran up and down the stairs, across the aisles, waving my hands and dancing, encouraging as many people as possible to join. Perhaps only half the audience stood for the last song after my entreaties. And we ended on a somewhat positive note. I was sweating and my heart pounding when the credits rolled, which helped burn off some of my record three large popcorn refills and six large Icees. Those Iriish step dance lessons Mother gave me for Christmas 1994 at Michael O’Flaherty’s in the Quarter are still paying dividends today. When I came home tonight, I recreated the scene and my erratic dance moves to Mother, who thought they were quite entertaining.

But I was quite disappointed in the crowd tonight. Tomorrow Mother will join me for the actual premier of the film. Our showing tomorrow is already sold out, as are 7/12 of the Palace’s $25/ticket October 13 showings. I imaging by tomorrow night, all of the shows will be sold out, so act now if you want to be among the first to experience a remarkable spectacle. 5/10. Experience 5/10

Just saying hi so I’m included when they show this thread on Dateline or 20/20.

Remember, when they interview you, respond, “TulaneLSU seemed normal enough. We had no idea what he was really up to.”

quote:

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So I dutifully ran up and down the stairs, across the aisles, waving my hands and dancing, encouraging as many people as possible to join.

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The Exorcist: Believer

We are on the eve of the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea, the Church’s first ecumenical gathering. The meeting at this small town in present day Turkey was arranged to unite the many branches of the Church against the heresy of Arianism. Arius, the Bishop of Egypt, taught that Jesus was a creation and was not eternal. Jesus, therefore, was of a different essence from the Father, and thus, subservient to the Father. The churches, however, rejected this as false teaching, against what early Christians believed and what the Bible teaches: namely, that Jesus is of the same substance as the Father and that Jesus is not a creature, but was with the Father at creation.

At its heart, The Exorcist: Believer is a movie about ecumenism: the house of faith gathering together to defeat what is false. This takes the form of a Catholic priest, a Southern Baptist minister, a Christian Hoodooism, and a doubting Thomas late to faith gathering in a kitchen with two chairs bolted to the ground with vitals machines around them.

I have never seen the original movie, so I was a bit scared to see this one, having heard how terrifying it was. While several scenes are quite jolting, the level of fear that the current film elicits is not equivalent to It Lives Inside. It entertains and has a deep Christian current running through it, far more interesting than most movies today marketed to Christians. But at the end, it does not inspire or create any thought provoking ideas or questions.

Perhaps the film’s most enduring message is that Satan exists and if anyone so dares to enter into any agreement with Satan, death and destruction are born. This is a message more Christians, whether Roman Catholic or Pentecostal, should take to heart. 5/10