Is anyone else exhausted? Just a show of hands please. I know I am. It's the kind of busy where instead of coming home after a long day of work and resting I've come home, rested for an hour, and then left to go do something. Several friends came in town for one weekend only so for four nights straight I went out. A feature film I wrote is shooting. I'm applying for a position on the Dallas Ultimate Board. I try to workout three times a week (and three times on the weekend.) A short film I directed, Pillow Talk, made it into the Portland Comedy Film Festival! That's a huge deal! I wrote my first freelance travel writer's piece!
Cydney Cox's graduate thesis film - my producing partner Ryan's head featured most prominently in photo
I say all this, not to stunt on anyone but to demonstrate: I keep busy. Too busy, in point of fact. It's all my fault really.
I helped do some promotion work for this Festival so now I may be going to it!
I've started saying 'yes' to everything that comes my way. Part of me likes going this speed. Going 1,000 miles an hour makes me feel like I'm productive all the time, but every thing comes at a price.
Friday night/Saturday/Sunday a stomach bug gripped my entrails and ransomed my stomach to me. I survived, but only after a healthy day of doing absolutely nothing. No writing. No filming. No working out. No nothing. Just a whole lot of napping and watching tv. I didn't know how badly I needed it until it came crashing down upon me.
Where was Lent during all this? Why didn't I do something for Lent? The obvious answer: I was gonna, but then I got busy. Don't get me wrong! I like Lent. It's a good reason to practice healthier life habits and stronger faithfulness. I like challenging myself for Lent with physical changes and spiritual ones. Last Lent I focused on praying every night. This Lent.... I.... worked through five out of the seven days and slept the other two.
So what are my Lenten commitments? Well, if there's anything I've learned recently it's the sheer pleasure of silence. My house rings with the noises of tv shows aired, video games played, and a myriad of other sounds. It's nice to not watch tv, not stare at my phone, and not stress about whatever's coming next. Instead I'm committing myself to just sitting and reading during my time off. I've found it to be more refreshing than an episode of tv. This Lent I'm going to cut down on literal noise.
My second commitment? Pray more intentionally. You know how people say they're praying for you? You ever think about it and then forget they ever said anything? I do. Days pass by. I slave over a keyboard. Life moves on. I see the person again and they're still praying for me. I didn't even ask for that. I just thought it was a one time deal. Well, I want that to be me. Or at least I want to focus more on what I pray for, who I pray about, and how I pray. I feel a bit like a bad Christian not preparing for Lent. In the months leading up to this season I worked myself into an excited frenzy thinking of all the changes I was going to make. I could give up swearing, or alcohol, or coffee. I could write daily. I could write weekly. I could compliment people more. I'm too caught up in my daily living to hone in on my spiritual needs. I shouldn't neglect that. The good news is things ease up eventually. The light at the end of my tunnel sits roughly two weeks away. There's hope! Until then... Sorry if I disappear again. I've got my hands full!
Is it just me or are people overreacting over their movies as of late? All this murmuring I hear about Star Wars and liberal propaganda? What's this about? One minute I'm hearing it's fantastic and the next thing I know I get rumors that liberals need to stop politicking in movies. I haven't seen Star Wars yet, but I think it's safe to say the movie's a lot less propagandized than we think. Or is it? I suppose the message is in the eyes of the beholder. We'll get to that.
First, you have to consider where this is coming from. Hollywood is no fan of the current administration. I think I've heard Meryl Streep's stump speech more than Paul Ryan. Not all Hollywood royalty side with the democrats. Celebrities like Rob Schneider (that's right Deuce Bigalow: American Gigolo), Kid Rock, and Gary Busey stood up for the GOP. Some played both sides (re: Harvey Weinstein), hedging their bet. Still, the movie industry from it's Producers to it's Boom Ops skew liberal. So we have to acknowledge the movies coming our way are created by elite liberals.
Second, there's more basic elements to consider. I never studied art history, but I know there's a belief that: after an artist exhibits a work the interpretation belongs solely to the audience. In that sense people are up in arms over 'propaganda' because that's what they want to see. It's a form of really elaborate confirmation bias.
I am a young twenty-something. I do lean liberal. It makes sense that I see my movies in the context of the current social climate. I didn't always do this, but I only recently invested in politics.
I saw the Shape of Water earlier this week, and it made my heart sing. A mute woman, a homosexual man, and an African American woman (all played by incredible actors) undermine the authority of a christian, white, heterosexual man by helping a fish-man (the metaphorical 'other') escape captivity. It's hard not to read into that.
Or what about Downsizing? A story where man solves his scarcity problem by shrinking down in size. Matt Damon downsizes only to discover the underbelly to his shiny future. Or the Post? Steven Spielberg directs Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks as Washington Post executives who to decide to leak government papers on the Vietnam War. Or maybe even The Disaster Artist: an outsider, trying to make it a star, decides to buck the system by making his own movie. The sheer mental gymnastics he has to perform to convince himself he's never wrong shocks and amazes you.
But what about Paddington Two? Or that one movie where Ed Helms and Owen Wilson try to find their long lost Dad? Or whatever the hell the Mummy was... Not all of these films merit a political analysis. It might even be fair to say the skill level of the craftsman is commensurate with the message they're trying to spread.
What was the point of this movie?
I'll confess I definitely read into it. I see it as my prerogative to engage art the way I know how. I like to be challenged by art, forced to see a different perspective. I want to grapple with ideas and to say "I didn't like this _____ because _____ and I think ______ . " Art should make you feel things, but we need to reverse-engineer those feelings to find the thoughts that's got us started there.
Whether or not you see politics in your movies you have the choice to endorse or reject it. I prefer to settle on more middle ground. I despise binary systems of 'good' and 'bad.' Tell me what you didn't like, tell me what you did like, and hold these two in your head. That's called a cognitive dissonance. They help you grow and mature.
We can choose how we want to see our movies. I understand that others see a political side to it. The author(s) might have wanted to share that message so congratulations to you for being receptive. Either way, message or not, I don't want audiences to reject or accept anything wholeheartedly. You should struggle with it. Engage with these movies. Try and see the world in a different light. You may find your perspective widening ever-so-slightly.
There's this funny comment Americans realize when they go to Europe (and Europeans go to when they visit America.) It goes kind of like this: Europeans don't mind sex in their movies/tv shows, but they hate raw violence. Americans love raw violence, but they hate sex. It's emblematic of a huge cultural concern: guns. Gun violence. Domestic terrorism. Whatever form it takes. There is probably no better (and more poorly timed) example than Netflix's new show The Punisher.
The Punisher, by nature, resorts to gun violence. When Punisher catches a bad guy they go away for good. The wheels of justice grind too slowly. The justice system, extremely flawed in all our comic books, can't even clean the streets of regular criminals let alone spies, assassins, and tech wizards. Frank Castle metes out justice eerily reminiscent of Gene Hackman in Unforgiven.
America's suffered from shooting after shooting after shooting. In the wake of Las Vegas (a horrific tragedy) I assumed we'd had our fill of public violence. Surprise surprise when I pour through an episode of The Punisher and I hear "the Liberals are attacking us" and later witness an armed shooter running around the streets of New York City.This show not only talks selectively about gun rights (there's an anti-gun senator who's targeted by this active shooter) but also includes a story that could just as easily have been from yesterday's newspaper. That once-in-a-million chance where art imitates life and vice versa and it scares me.
Let's start with the shooter. A white, hetero (I'm assuming here), young, male American with serious military training and a major aggression issue you might describe as a mental disorder. The show deliberately takes time painting this character as a tragic figure: he can't get a job, he can't sleep at home, he almost shoots his dad, and people keep lying to him. His downfall, as rewarding as it feels, saddens us. The System failed this man. We will pay the price.
Home made bombs explode in Federal buildings all over New York City. His firmly anti-establishment position couches him against anything part of The System. Lewis Wilson, the shooter, identifies with Frank Castle because he assumes both work extraditially to correct the broken system. Lewis keeps telling Frank they're alike, they want the same thing, they use the same methods. Frank Castle has to correct him.
Lewis Wilson wants to take on the Government. Frank Castle wants to take on bad people. The show asks the question: where is the line between The Punisher and another active shooter? How can we worship a gun-toting civilian who kills people and fear the exact same thing?
The show's best answer: Innocence. Frank Castle only kills guilty criminals. He lays flat several thieves and would-be murderers in the first episode. Lewis Wilson kills innocent people. He tries to murder the leader of his recovery group.
Frank Castle, the Punisher, is a second amendment proponent's wet dream. An NRA poster boy for American vigilantism. Dual-wielding SMGs and capable of murdering anyone with anything from a wooden spoon to a sniper rifle.
Lewis Wilson is the reason Americans should be entitled to guns in the first place. A lone shooter, with severe military training, access to arms, and an implacable desire to destroy everyone and everything a part of the system that failed him.
The Punisher's not a comic book built on forgiveness, but it seems to me the moral of this show is: violence only begets violence. By searching for revenge Frank Castle descends down a well of violence that grows with each episode until he literally gouges a dead man's eyes out and scrapes a man's face against a shattered mirror.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised since vigilantism and America go hand-in-hand. Most of our comic books reflect a general foreign policy of unnecessary (or unlawful) intervention or brinksmanship. As a national identity the right to bear arms reflects the outdated idea we can protect ourselves from tragedies like Lewis Wilson. Except let me point something out: The Punisher is a United States Marine Corps veteran. I doubt a high percentage of gun carriers in the US have the same background and training. We're living in a fantasy world where we happen to be at the right place at the right time with a pistol in our hands, well within our right to take a human life.
Where are words among all this? They always fail in comic books. No hero saves the day by negotiating a peace treaty. The whole point of the Punisher is he's going to kill people. He's the vigilante always on the edge in every comic book. Every team up he's ever been a part of the heroes reject him because he kills. Frank Castle is always going to kill the criminal, and that's what makes him outdated. He will never find mercy in his heart.
All of this makes me incredibly sad to say it's a well-written tv show. Ignoring all the blood and guts it's deftly developed with strong characters impinging on each other until every last bit unravels and all that's let is Frank Castle standing in a pool of blood with his justice. The good guys win, the bad guys lose. Does that make me a hypocrite for enjoying a show with enough support of second-amendment rights to make me nauseous? Yes.
John Bernthal's statement about the show does not suggest an easy answer, instead he offers: "art can hold up a mirror to society and show the problems in our society. It is not up to art to give an answer to these problems." The Punisher weighs in pretty heavily on this one, mirror or no.
The video shares Bernthal's statement regarding the show.
Americans digest violence as easy as candy. To differing degrees but compared to the rest of the world we love vigilantes and we love watching people bleed. The Punisher delivers in spades on all of that. His image brands cops and military alike (to alarming degrees) empowering the role of public servants to public watchdogs. He's the dark fulfillment of many of our desires, but the whole point is we need to be better than Frank Castle. Despite our darkest wishes and evil desires we can not succumb to murder and lose ourselves in fighting injustice with injustice. Unfortunately we'll never see that in The Punisher. We'll never see Frank Castle be anything less than slightly murderous. Perhaps we should let that sink in. Heroes are not always heroes.
Hey friends! I know I've been lousy about writing. It's been probably half a year. The reason I've been so lousy about this is because I've been reviewing movies for a media source!
A short list of movies I've reviewed: - Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
- Suburbicon
- The Snowman
- Goodbye Christopher Robin
- The Florida Project
- Battle of the Sexes
- Rebel in the Rye
- A Ghost Story
- Baby Driver
- Awakening the Zodiac
Pretty neat right? I still haven't written full blog posts or essays or anything like that. I've been busy! Working, writing, playing, having fun.
I'll share the reviews with you guys I promise. They just have to go up on Irish Film Critic first. Don't worry, I've got lots more to write. I've been working on a piece about the Punisher on Netflix. I have some blurb on Justice League in mind and I'm enjoying LOTS of stuff.
Just some things I'm watching now (or recently watched):
- Yu Yu Hakusho
- Samurai Champloo
- The Punisher
- Brawl in Cell Block 99
- Colossal
Keep your eyes peeled gang! Plenty more reviews to go!
It all started with Howl's Moving Castle on a lazy Sunday. My good friend rented the movie earlier on a whim. I recalled watching it while abroad, but the details escaped me. Together we snuggled into one of Miyazaki's fantastical films to date. Eventually it all came rushing back to me and I remembered the scope of his film at once so personal and still so grand. It was both pensive, dreamy, and endearing all at the same time. Then I thought back on some of his other movies and recognized a similar theme. So I went back and watched as many movies as I could.
From Howl's Moving Castle I went on to Princess Mononoke. Onwards I crept to Tales From Earthsea and My Neighbor Totoro. I stalled out there mostly because my local DVD rental shop went out of business and the summer movie season exploded on to local screens. But I still remember Spirited Away, that capstone of Miyazaki films.
One thing I want to celebrate is the music in these films. Sweeping scores performed by entire orchestras carried me off my seat to it's very edge. Battle scenes took all the emotional context of such orchestral grand pieces. Lonely piano keys echoed the character's loneliness. Even the opening song of My Neighbor Totoro (a catchy Saturday morning cartoon theme) sells the tone of the film all by itself. The music, on many different scales, conveys emotion and tone so thoroughly that often entire scenes run on ninety percent music.
The second thing I want to celebrate is the fantasy in these films. Miyazaki's unique blend of period and fantasy in Howl's Moving Castle distinguishes it as a uniquely visionary piece. Not quite steampunk but nowhere near fantasy alone. It toes the line. There's a clear evolution to his work from the pure fantasy of Tales From Earthsea and Princess Mononoke into modern fare like Spirited Away and Howl's with a transition of Totoro to demonstrate his interest in staying periodically relevant. His movies contain magic, and not the kind of magic you can explain but the kind you have to take for granted. Whatever the gimmick it is easy to sea Miyazaki does not waste time explaining.
The third thing I want to celebrate is his character's complexity. In many films whoever starts as the villain becomes a victim later in the film. Miyazaki speaks often about his interest in displaying the complexity of every character. In his films there is no outright villain. The story wraps these punishing characters in it's own melodrama releasing them as protagonists instead of the antagonists they once were. There is no moral black and white in Miyazaki's films.
The fourth thing I want to celebrate is his love and respect for nature. We can debate over the meaning of Spirited Away forever or Howl's Moving Castle forever, but I think they're just extensions of his message from earlier films. Mankind's fractured relationship with nature sets up a majority of his movies creating the source of dramatic tension. In the outright respectful tones of Mononoke we see his most distilled form of demonstrating a respectful relationship or we reap the repercussions. In his later films the consequences of our violent actions against nature take on a more nuanced perspective in the form of anti-capitalist or anti-imperialist sentiments. Either way, they're all just branches on the same tree.
The fifth, and last, thing I want to celebrate is his use of the beat. Miyazaki's films leave me with a sense of serenity. I often find myself finishing a film and staring dreamily out my window to the world around me. His stories take time to develop. Totoro doesn't even appear for the first thirty minutes of the movie. Even when his stories take off and run along at speed Miyazaki takes the cinematic equivalent of a deep breath. They are the moments we remember the most about Miyazaki films: Totoro holding an umbrella over a little girl in the rain, A girl sitting on the train with her friends as it travels, the beauty of a forest lake ensnaring a young warrior. He never rushes the story and these soft beats allow us as an audience to gorge on all the cinematic details I mentioned above. Miyazaki, as a filmmaker, combines elements of many disparate genres to create stories centered around empowered women (even girls) that talk about our relationship with the natural world and give us time to breathe.
I can't wait to watch another Miyazaki film considering the inner peace it gives me. To Mister Miyazaki, I salute you. Please continue making films, under whatever guise you decide. Thank you!
What started as my favorite TV show of 2015 turned quickly into a short and disappointing trip down failed Netflix road. Now, before I dig into the show itself we have to acknowledge a few factors that contributed to the show's demise.
1. Florida's tax incentives. In an interview, the show's creators acknowledged their show was cut short significantly. While they planned out for five or six seasons of television ultimately their budget was too high to continue shooting in Florida. Since the show was married to it's Florida look their was no conceivable way to film it outside of it's locale. Take note Texas: when you get rid of film incentives tv shows stop filming there and people lose precious work. Seems pretty obvious.
2. Netflix's mystery data. Have you ever asked yourself why there's two seasons of The Ranch? Nobody knows exactly which show is the most popular show on Netflix. I mean we can all guess. The actual data that says which show attracts which demographics though remains a mystery. I like to imagine it's in a locked box in Netflix's office where Reed Hastings goes to masturbate from time to time. Unfortunately Netflix has collected enough data they can start cancelling shows. After the glut of television, original movies, and media Netflix let loose they are finally starting to reign it in. Obviously big contracts like the Marvel/Netflix comic book originals are gonna stay, but those shows on the fringes (your Hemlock Grove's or your Bloodlines) are finally getting cut short.
So Netflix can't afford to finance six seasons of a show that (as far as we know) is failing. Which is too bad. What we have left is three seasons worth of material crammed into one. Boy, what a whirlwind that is.
The end of season two leaves us on a cliffhanger. The question: Are the Rayburns going to get away with this? The answer seems most likely not. Season three kicks into first gear by starting immediately where it left off. The Family's in deep shit again. Between Kevin covering up a murder, John trying to leave his family, and Meg drinking herself into oblivion roughly seven hours (of actual time) occur. Four if we're being honest with ourselves.
The "escaping a murder" bit constitutes one narrative season. You can tell stylistically: operatic music, visual metaphors (the incident with the alligator), breakneck pacing. Season-wise the A plots (of John, Meg, and especially Kevin) fit an odd number of episodes. Three and a half with the end being a title card telling us five months has passed. Meg leaves the family for good. Kevin gets away with murder. John saves his family, yet again. Eric O'Bannon takes the fall. These are the kinds of things we would expect from an entire season of Scandal or How to Get Away With Murder.
We transition into a new 'season' of episodes with a simple title: Five Months Later. It's a bit of a narrative cop out since we jump directly into a brand new circumstances: John and Diana split up, Kevin recovered from his gunshot (and works happily with Roy Gilbert), Meg has vanished. The dramatic time between Eric getting framed and the family falling apart alone could have occupied an entire season. Instead we get 'Five Months Later' which essentially drops us right into a different plot.
Just when I worried the show lost my interest it does something unique. It changes genres. It was simply a family crime drama, but it turns into a court-case crime drama. Bloodline takes a page from The Night Of's book centering it's drama around the court case indicting Eric O'Bannon. Lawyer interrogations, courtroom reveals, and back channel deals create the dramatic tension we're used to. The 'season' (roughly a four episode run) finds Meg written out of the show, John losing his grip, and Kevin celebrating getting off scot free. As if that wasn't enough this new 'season' brings back minor plots like Nolan's regret over his father, Ozzy Delveccio's dogged hatred of the Rayburns, and Chelsea O'Bannon's love for her brother. The switch reinvigorates the show for a bit.
The final 'season' of episodes centers around what I call the Tell Tale Heart (based off the one Edgar Allen Poe story everybody is familiar with.) John lapses in and out of paranoid psychosis with hallucinations, Kevin falls deeper into his life of crime, and Sally Rayburn renounces the family name. Each of these arcs, mildly developed in the first part of the actual season take front and center now that the narrative's actual drama has come to a head. It's kind of the next question we have to ask ourselves: Can these characters live with what they've done? The answer: no.
What I loved about the first season was the tragic conclusion. The ending of season one felt cosmic and inescapable. Season Two's finale carried all the randomness that violence carries with it. Season Three.... pulls a Sopranos on us. I'll get to that.
Where the first two-thirds of the actual season focused and honed in on the narrative drama (Kevin getting away with murder, the trail framing O'Bannon) the last third wanders distinctly. We get one whole episode with all the cognitive coherence of a Luis Buñuel film. Hallucinations become pretty much standard. Meg is completely gone by now. All that's left is Kevin, Sally, and John. Oh! And Ozzy, Chelsea, and Nolan.
An entire story about the DEA's investigation into Roy Gilbert's drug operation becomes a two episode arc (something that took Vincent Gilligan three seasons to develop in BB.) To quote the DEA agents: "Things move fast." Loose ends tie up, Deus Ex Machina style (Roy has a heart attack and Ozzy shoots himself.) Considering there's little-to-no motivation for either event to happen we can tell the showrunners are tying up loose ends as quickly as possible.
The show wraps up thematically with Sally Rayburn reaching her own inevitable conclusion. She is unable to escape her family's curse and leave the property. Instead, in ten years time, the sea will flood the property taking everything. All of her life's actions are rendered obsolete and it is not to be taken lightly when every evil thing you've done in your life was all for naught. She rounds on Kevin and John with a monologue I have to admit chilled me. We last see Sally Rayburn contemplating the complete loss of her morality as the only anchor in her life (the resort) will inevitably erode to nothing. She has nothing left and no one to share it with. Her legacy will literally be washed away by the sea.
Roy Gilbert dies of a heart attack and Kevin is left with his dick in his hands and the police down his back. Kevin.... tries to escape the DEA. Fails on a technicality. Gets arrested. The most drama his story reaches is when he confesses (by silently staring) to Belle all that's happened. The end.
John, meanwhile, wades through madness to decide whether or not to tell the truth. The answer, ultimately, being a YES. His conscious (the Tell Tale Heart here) won't let him sleep and plagues his waking life. That entire dream sequence episode was something out of Twin Peaks with it's obscurity. I had a hard time understanding exactly what was going on. Even when John tries to confront his actions legally, he's rebuffed. He's lied so much that to tell the truth seems like a lie to his peers. The only person he has left to share the truth with is Nolan; Danny's son.
There are a few themes to this show and the most resounding one is Family. I think it's genuinely the most used word in the entire show. How far will you go to protect your family? John Rayburn confronts his family's legacy and realizes they have left nothing behind but lies, trauma, and lying children. As John comes to understand (through a ghostly visit by Ben Mendelson) all his family does is lie, and it's a cycle. He lied. His parents lied. Their parents lied. He has a choice: break the cycle. That's where we get to the Sopranos mic-drop that is Bloodline's last scene.
Everyone's favorite dramatic closer: a cut to black mid-scene. We're all left wondering. Maybe he will tell Nolan the whole truth of what happened to his father. Maybe he won't tell him. We're left wondering. Which is too bad, because a show about deceit and family trauma should probably offer a little more closure and honesty.
Bloodline. You were a great show to start. Season One convinced me I needed to go to the Keys. I loved the way you teased from day one. I lost my shit when you surprised me with brand new cliffhangers for season two. Then you abused my faith by dragging me around. I didn't realize until it was too late: Ben Mendelson was your anchor. Without his menacing presence we lacked an inspiring plot. Instead we got to watch every character dwindle into self-conceited guilt until the lashing out was inevitable. Season Three you tried to wrap up everything. You didn't do it cleanly. In fact, you left quite a mess. Still, we had good times and I'm going to blatantly ignore all the bad times in favor of your incredibly well paced first season. Sorry, I don't think I'm going to be recommending you much anymore.
P.S. I'm starting House of Cards season five. Please don't be upset. This is what makes me happy now.
So, I'm as torn on this show as Luke Cage is on being a hero. On the one hand - this show is super cheesy y'all. But on the same hand - that's kind of what it's going for.
Allow me to begin by layering on praise for the depth of culture shared through this show. In thirteen episodes the show pays homage to everything from Lebron James to Ralph Ellison to Tribe Called Quest. Whether it's having characters discuss sports history or villains referencing infamous politicians, the heart and spirit of the Harlem Renaissance and black culture is there.
Special shout out to the soundtrack to this show. Especially coordinated between Tribe's Ali Shaheed Muhammad and Adrian Younge each episode features performances from many different artists and goes deep into the rich history of music. Motown, soul, blues, R&B, disco, DJing, and the almighty Hip-hop rip through the tv show amplifying scenes that otherwise might have felt lackluster. All the in-episode performances practically saved the show for me.
The shows nails it's environment and it's culture well. Unfortunately what fails to come across is some form of dynamism. Within three episodes of watching I knew this wasn't going to be my favorite show. We meet Luke Cage after his rendezvous with Jessica Jones and after Frank Castle goes on a rampage so it's pretty much after all the other Marvel shows. Luke's serious intent to remain just "like any other guy" is honorable, but acts as a singular motive that grows very old very quickly. Misti Knight spices up her scenes, but in a manner that feels very contrived and that's partially because of the dialogue.
The dialogue in Luke Cage is incredibly cringey. I had moments where I couldn't take anything seriously. For a show that treats sexuality, violence, and drops all sorts of language bombs the tone flips 180 degrees as soon as somebody opens their mouths. Every time a police officer opens their mouths it's to offer some witty quip or make a horrible pun or insult their partner. Luke Cage's corny dialogue comes so often that it garners it's own in-show joke. It's cheesy there's no way around it, but I have a theory about this.
So, in much the same way that the show honors Black literary and musical traditions it also honors cinematic traditions. I'm talking specifically about Blaxploitation cinema, a genre which is universally recognized for it's cheesy elements. Lots of Blaxploitation movies center around criminals or former criminals looking to redeem themselves by putting an end to crime in their neighborhood. Oftentimes these stories took place in New York (in Harlem.) The trouble is that this aesthetic being honored here is directly at odds with the aesthetic of Marvel Netflix tv shows.
Being known as the "R-rated superheroes" of the Marvel universe these heroes deal with injustice on the streets. They come from a morally gray area since they fight not aliens or monsters but other super powereds (but often really smart humans.) Daredevil's catholic guilt languished over two seasons. Jessica Jones quested to combat her personal demons, representing women all over. Luke Cage lives the African American struggle today. All three of them struggle to maintain a human identity despite being superpowered. Violence, sexual assault, police brutality. Each show rests slightly on a political spectrum that gives it gravitas the movies could never have. That being said Luke Cage's blaxploitation elements flips that tone entirely on it's head, leaving me confused about how to view this show.
(It's also worth noting how the film honors not just Blaxploitation specifically but crime movies as well as the Barbershop movies.)
In an also ironic sense this show felt the most Comic Book-y of all of them so far. With narrative events turning in a matter of minutes the show's story can turn on a dime when it's felt like it was a slow build. Luke Cage can go from being persecuted in one episode to being adored within a two minute sequence. Characters pop up out of nowhere in a manner that's more Arrow than Sopranos. Which annoys the hell out of me. Where was this character before? How can they conveniently explain some plot detail through one flashback sequence? It's all exposition at times.
The show has a lot of potential topics to address especially when it comes to police brutality. They rake in lots of imagery: Luke in a hoodie being fired upon by the cops, Cottonmouth under a Biggie poster, the countless shoutouts to Luke Cage's original comic design. It's tough to wrap my head around though since this entire show feels like it's kept "in house." The antagonists are black (minus one who's Spanish?), the protagonists are black (and Rosario Dawson), the ancillary characters are black. The majority of the police are white, but even then the black cops consistently seem to abuse the system. The whole show demonstrates more black on black violence as opposed to addressing the real life race narrative we're living today. Then, in a big rush, they seem to talk directly about these issues in the last two episodes. All the commentary I was hoping to feel (because often times it's something you feel as much as see) came crashing down in the last two episodes. And what are we left with? A black man, with incredible powers, forced to go to jail (for a crime he didn't commit) despite saving his community from 1. An overarmed police and 2. A black gangster. So where do we really end up?
Just a side note: I was thoroughly disjointed when I watched Alfre Woodard's Mariah Dillard whip a crowd into a frenzy. She gets them all to shout 'down with Luke Cage' and convince them they should give police especially powerful guns. I found that moment where my suspension of disbelief stopped. Perhaps there's subversion to be said for that moment, but the result is direct: Cops with big guns can finally threaten Luke Cage and put him in handcuffs.
When the show flies it absolutely soars, but when it's down it's in the trenches. The environment is richly established and the show basks in African American culture. The players however, are struggling to perform with such stilted dialogue for an aesthetic that's counterintuitive for the content it's conveying. The one eighty pivot jars not only the audience but also the show. Still, it's saving grace is it's soundtrack. With much to say and a lot of mixed up Luke Cage falls behind it's predecessors as a Marvel Netflix original, but stands up on it's own. Enough for me to miss Mahershala Ali and to pray that season 2 addresses some of these real-life dramas we're living today and maybe offer some inspiration to those who need it. As it stands we end on a note for the show that basically says: the system will get you no matter what. I'm not sure I can get down with that.
(Also, I have to confess I'm impressed with their color schemes. In the way Daredevil utilizes different gradations of red throughout and how Jessica Jones focuses on different shades of purple Luke Cage practically shines in it's yellow aesthetic.)
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