Sweet Valley Why

Okay.  Let’s talk about The Gorge.  If you’ve not been hit by Apple TV’s marketing, I’ll give you a rundown.  There’s a gorge somewhere that is absolutely pivotal and must be guarded at all times.  This is such an important and secretive job, that “the west” has one person guarding it with some automated guns to help out and “the east”, mostly Russia, it seems, also sends one person to guard it.  Makes you wonder, if it’s so important, shouldn’t there be more than one person to guard it?  Now, I have never run a covert operation before, but I don’t think the best way to do something very important that requires 24/7 monitoring is to have one sad person in solitary confinement doing it.  I would assign at least two people to it to each station, so one could monitor while the other sleeps and they can have their Morning Sam/Morning Ralph moments.  And that seems like the bare minimum.  And I also feel like the main criteria for doing the job shouldn’t be that they messed up their job in some way and won’t be missed by anyone if they die.

But that’s where we are in The Gorge, Apple TV’s original (using the term loosely) movie that released on Valentine’s Day this year, an action sci-fi rom-dramedy starring the awful Miles Teller (Whiplash, Divergent series) and the wonderful Anya Taylor-Joy (Queen’s Gambit, The Northman).  I told you before that I really love small cast actor showcases, but that requires a couple of things that aren’t present in this movie. One, you need fantastic actors.  Yes, it’s true that Anya Taylor-Joy is that—despite the fact I don’t always love her movies, her performances are always pretty much faultless, including the underrated Last Night in Soho.  But Miles Teller, well, I know he was praised for Whiplash, but I don’t get it.  To be fair, I have never seen Whiplash (though I have seen the Honest Trailer), because I don’t want to empathize with Miles Teller, not even for a fleeting moment of emotional weakness.  I can’t tell you why, it’s just one of those things where someone rubs you the wrong way completely and their presence in something gives the film or show a steep uphill climb to get into your good graces.  I used to be that way with Jason Segal, but Apple TV’s Shrinking won me over—however, The Gorge was far less successful.

Teller’s character, Levi, is a washed up sniper with an interest in poetry, PTSD, and massive sad boy energy and the movie is very preoccupied with convincing you that Levi’s ability to remember high school English and recognize T.S. Eliot references unprompted makes him unique that it doesn’t realize that if every soldier at the station leaves a quote on a wall from some poet or another, it makes Levi’s emo-poet-Chalamet-channeling character a lot less special, because he’s just like everybody else.  However, that’s far from the biggest problem with Teller’s performance; when discovering the wall of quotes, he reads a few of them out loud.  I’m not sure whether this was to done because his performance was so wooden that we wouldn’t believe that he was able to read and write or because they needed to cover the fact that this lips move when he reads.  Now, again, I don’t know much about Miles Teller personally, so I may be unnecessarily harsh about him in a way I normally reserve for people who are truly despicable off-screen, but, like I said, the guy rubs me the wrong way.  And now I’m getting ahead of myself.

After a short, quiet intro to Levi’s sad boy existence, we get to see Taylor-Joy’s character Drasa perform a long distance assassination and then go hang out with her dad in a cemetery.  Cool.  After 22 minutes of moping and exposition dumping, nothing in the movie has really happened.  Sope Dirisu (Slow Horses) plays J.D., the outgoing wall-watcher who gives Levi a quick briefing as to what life there is like, mentions that there are creatures in the gorge that they call the Hollow Men and he doesn’t know why, which introduces us to Levi’s affinity for 11th grade English, because he immediately recognizes that it’s a reference to T.S. Eliot’s poem of the same name.  Don’t get too attached to J.D., though, because as soon as his exfil team picks him up, they shoot him and drop his body from a helicopter.  On top of this whole thing making no sense, that makes even less sense.  I understand from a narrative standpoint, its function is to let you know that the covert group that hires people with no attachments to guard a gorge full of monsters are bad people (as if you hadn’t figured that out already), but it’s just such a cliche.  At some point, you have to imagine that the pilot of the helicopter turns around and shoots that guy too, and then being a loose end himself, he crashes the helicopter to close the loop.

From there, we see Levi and Drasa both clock each other from a distance.  Drasa finally makes contact, which Levi says they aren’t allowed to do—which begs the question why? The way the outposts are set up, the only way to defend your own station from a direct attack from below is for the other outpost to train its weapons on them.  Why the automated sentry guns don’t work near the station, I don’t know, but the movie makes it seem like they’re just about wholly dependent on each other to defend each other’s stations, but they’re not allowed contact.  Anyway, during this rom-com portion of the movie, Levi and Drasa continue to flirt via the cards from Love, Actually, blast music and dance while they watch each other through telescopes, including a full on rock and roll Christmas song (for goodness sake, it’s February, is there no relief from Christmas music?  Is there no escape from this infernal genre? The Gorge has more Christmas music in it than 8-Bit Christmas) until one day Levi decides to zip line over there for a date.  Of course, for a guy who has made the second longest sniper shot in recorded history (which again begs the question, who is recording the distances of top secret black ops sniper kills?  Is there a rep from Guinness there when it happens, writing down the distance and then promising not to tell anyone?  Does someone near the target yell “Oh no, he was killed from 2,837 meters away!  I can tell, trust me!”?), he shows a shocking lack of knowledge of how gravity works, so he shoots his line straight across instead of at a downward angle and has to shimmy across the rope.  Where did this guy train?  He’s out here using Wile E. Coyote rules.

The two of them bond over their sniper kills—for a guy suffering from PTSD, he sure is happy to flirt using his confirmed kills—and then he drops his poetry interest on her.  This whole courtship reads like a teenage fantasy.  Sure, he’s a cold, hardened killer at work, but when he clocks out, he’s sensitive and sweet and loves poetry and puppies and kitty cats—he’s so dreamy.  It’s the same in reverse for Drasa too; she’s a Lithuanian assassin working for Russia, but really she’s just a girly girl who loves to dance and have fun and she doesn’t even know how pretty she is!  The maturity level of this movie makes Ace Ventura look sophisticated by comparison. Anyway, after a bone session, Levi does his rope crawl of shame, but it snaps midway and the action sci-fi portion of the movie begins as Drasa quickly gears up to jump into the gorge to save him.  This happens about an hour into the film.  An hour.  We’re subjected to an hour of stilted, cringeworthy flirting before something actually happens. From there, it’s shooty shooty at some creatures that look like the White Walkers crossbred with Groot, cliched reveals and twists and turns and a conclusion to the action as boring and rote as the rest of it.

Rarely is a movie both this boring and simultaneously overstuffed.  The back half of The Gorge is a whole movie stuffed into an hour, so despite the fact nothing happens in the first half, the rest of it has way too much going on and every conflict is resolved far too easily and nonsensically—at one point, one of our intrepid idiot lovers is taken prisoner by the monsters.  Now, they don’t speak, they don’t have any need for information, so what exactly is the point of taking a prisoner and torturing them?  It’s not like they’re going to learn anything from them.  Much of this portion of the movie feels like video game missions, point to point with little thought between them and monster closets pumping out enemies until you reach a checkpoint.  It reminded me of many games that were both more fun to play and had deeper, more interesting narratives than this, which is kind of a shame, because sometimes it’s nice to just watch something for two hours rather than engage yourself with a game for 20-60 hours to complete it.  But not since Extraction 2 basically copied the entire train sequence from Uncharted 2 have I seen a movie that felt so much like a video game in a bad way.

There’s so much wrong with this movie, but even if you cleaned up the writing and cast Levi with an actor who can act (and doesn’t make me irrationally hate him, I fully admit bias here), you’d have major mechanical issues with the narrative structure.  There are discrete sections of the film where it changes genres.  I love when filmmakers play with genre expectations and intertwine multiple genres together, but this isn’t that.  It’s not a creative marriage of science fiction and romance, it’s several separate movies smashed together with one set of characters.  And on top of all that, it doesn’t respect your time at all, with a run time of over two hours, much of that is spent quietly doing nothing.  And that’s not to say quiet films where not a lot happens waste your time, but there has to be a payoff.  I remember watching The Power of the Dog and finding much of it very boring, until the third act payoff made it all worth it.  The Gorge is not The Power of the Dog.  It’s barely the power of a hamster.

Had The Gorge been a romantic comedy or a romantic dramedy, it could have been better.  Had it been about a small team sent in to handle these monsters, it could have been better.  But it decided it wanted to be both and more and ended up being far, far less than the sum of its parts or the movies and video games it drew its inspiration from.  I don’t like to criticize something without offering alternatives, but because of the—let’s be nice and say—unique nature of this particular genre mashup, it’s hard to give you one movie to watch instead.  If you want a supernatural military story, I would suggest Overlord, starring Jovan Adepo, Wyatt Russell, and Mathilde Ollivier.  It’s an excellent war/horror story set in WW2 about a squad of American soldiers sent behind enemy lines for a crucial mission on the eve of D-Day who encounter horrors they never expected.  If you want more romance and a little less violence (but still some violence), check out Netflix’s original movie Hit Man, starring Glen Powell and Adria Arjona, a much more successful blending of genres, with a properly charismatic lead man (my fanboying over Glen Powell is well documented).  Actually, just about any Glen Powell movie will fulfill that rom-com/rom-dramedy role better than this (check out Set it Up with him and Zoey Deutch if you haven’t already).  If you want the romance and sci-fi action, Love and Monsters is a handily superior film and it stars the wonderful Jessica Henwick, along with Dylan O’Brien.  If you want to experience the loneliness of wilderness monitoring where your only tenuous connection to life is a voice over a radio, I highly suggest the game Firewatch, which takes only about 4-5 hours to complete.

If the description of The Gorge appeals to you, trust me, you can find much better alternatives.  I try not to be absolutist about criticism because at the end of the day, this is just my opinion.  I’d rather say that something is not for me than say outright that it’s objectively bad, because maybe you’ll find something to enjoy here (and 65% of critics seemed to like it well enough, as well as 77% of the audience), but know that even if you watch The Gorge and enjoy it, you can still do a lot better.

Unfortunately, what they’re watching isn’t more interesting than the movie itself

Limburger Hill

Expectations can set you up for a really nice surprise sometimes.  I was convinced to try the new Fox comedy series Going Dutch (also streaming on Hulu) after being completely turned off by the previews and the concept.  I mean, Denis Leary on Fox playing a curmudgeonly old Army colonel who is forced to deal with Gen Z kids, while all the time railing about millennials—count me out.  I’m all about tossed salad and scrambled eggs, but I skipped the poorly reviewed Frasier reboot for those exact reasons.  But, somehow, Going Dutch managed to surprise me.

Much like A.P. Bio, which was also a pleasant surprise, the premise seemed hopelessly mired in uncomfortably out-of-date views about comedy, with a particularly mean spirit that doesn’t appeal to me anymore.  Denis Leary, famed angry comedian of a bygone era, expects to receive a promotion to commanding officer of the combat base USAG Baumholder when General Davidson, who does not like Leary’s character Colonel Patrick Quinn, breaks the news that not only is he not being promoted, he’s getting transferred to a support base in Stroopsdorf, Netherlands, because of a scathing, profanity-laced video of Quinn laying into his superiors, including Davidson and the Joint Chiefs.  It was an embarrassment to the military and it gave Davidson the opportunity to punish the loudmouth Quinn.  Now, the Stroopsdorf base is a unique one.  The main work they do there is laundry, supplying cheese to combat forces, and maintaining a bowling alley.  The soldiers ride bicycles (as is the custom in the Netherlands, apparently; when I was in Amsterdam, they were everywhere), their uniform standards are lax, and they don’t carry any guns.  For an old war dog like Quinn, this is practically torture.  No combat, no enemy, kindly European villagers, and, worst of all, no guns at all.

But the real torture is revealed when Quinn meets the base’s interim commander who has been running the show ever since the old CO started working remotely: Quinn’s estranged daughter, Maggie (Taylor Misiak), a captain.  It’s at that moment that Quinn realizes what Davidson’s real punishment is; it’s not just taking him out of a combat role and forever barring him from furthering his rank, it’s forcing him to reconnect with a daughter who hates his guts.  Devious.  Brilliant, really, in a way.  I mean, underhanded, surely, but kind of brilliant.  The reunion goes about as well as you can expect, and as Quinn inspects the base, finding fault with everything, especially the personnel, Captain Maggie, as she’s affectionately known by those in her command, grows increasingly frustrated with her father’s presence and attitude.  One of the soldiers that particularly irks him is the tech guy, Corporal Papadakis, played by Hal Cumpston—having to grow up with a name like that, it’s no surprise he became a comedian and comic actor—who is the absolute standout star of Going Dutch.  With his long hair, wispy tween-style moustache, and generous physique, he’s everything Quinn hates about the younger generation.  He’s also overly familiar, very open emotionally, and not at all suited to a life of combat or the type of old school, John Wayne masculinity that Quinn values.  But, luckily for the audience, Papadakis has an incredible sense of comedic timing and line delivery that will have you laughing out loud more per episode than I did in the entirety of the Night Court reboot’s first season.  At one point, as a bonding exercise with Col. Quinn, Papadakis shows up with two feet of a formerly six foot hoagie (sub sandwich, if you’re not from around here) and tells the colonel that they need to “Lady and the Tramp it” as an act of camaraderie.  In the pilot episode, when his hand is taken to show off how soft the soldiers at Stroopsdorf are, the distinct aroma of lavender is mentioned.  He responds that they pick it in the afternoons, right before nap time.  You can read this and it does the line no justice—even if I were to use a direct quote, there’s no way to replicate his delivery and timing in a written medium.  He’s hilarious, relentlessly positive, and extremely wholesome, which was entirely unexpected for this show.

Papadakis isn’t the only one who gets laughs, either.  Community alum Danny Pudi plays Major Abraham Shah, who is effectively Quinn’s valet, his body man.  Completely different from Abed and his ultracapitalist diabolical character in Mythic Quest, Shah is buttoned down, a devoted assistant to Quinn, but the new surroundings start to affect him in uncomfortable ways—that is, he experience the pains of emotional growth and seeing the world differently.  But, as you’d expect from comedy veteran like Pudi, this occurs with great comedic effect.  Laci Mosley plays Dana Conway, the supply sergeant in charge of acquisitions; a slippery character, she also runs a sort of black market of fine goods, and reminds me more of Pudi’s ultracapitalist, but it’s funnier and more good-natured than Mythic Quest’s take on that kind of character.  Taylor Misiak’s character, “Captain Maggie”, is constantly flabbergasted by her father’s behavior and the two butt heads often; it’s not just the fighting that is a source of tension and comedy, but it’s also one of the reasons this show turned out so surprising.

Despite the fact that Denis Leary’s living relic is the face of the show, he’s not strictly the main protagonist here, much like how the doctors in St. Denis Medical aren’t portrayed as the “hero doctors” you usually see in shows like that; rather they’re the butt of the jokes, Quinn is quickly shown the cons of being such a stodgy old stick in the mud, trapped in the toxicity of the past.  He’s not the Frasier of the show—yes, he is fairly hopelessly out of touch and out of date, but it’s Maggie’s openness to her father that drives the show.  With some prompting by Major Shah, Maggie realizes that while her absentee father was never there for her, he was still following her life, still proud of her, albeit in ways his generation didn’t have the tools to express.  She realizes that he actually may have the capacity to change, given the proper guidance.  After all, it’s easy a dig a hole, but without the right tools, it’s very hard to climb out of one.  And this how the show actually won me over.  Quinn isn’t the hero, triumphantly whipping the rest of the layabouts and scrimshankers into his vision of the military; he’s going to learn a lesson—painfully slowly at times—about being a part of the modern world and leaving behind the dead weight of past mindsets.

The fact that we’re just six episodes into the series and there’s already been palpable growth in not just Quinn, but other characters as well is a very promising sign for the show’s sustainability as it continues (if it continues; shows I like tend not to stick around and the 5.1/10 rating on IMDB shows that I’m in the minority here).  Growth and change are natural progression beyond the story level and really necessary to avoid characters narrowing their personalities into caricatures of themselves, which we’ve seen happen to sitcoms that go on too long time and time again.  Of course, this isn’t a guarantee that the show will continue to improve over time, but so far I’ve felt that each episode has built upon the last and that’s a good thing.  Going Dutch could have been a mess of Boomeristic patting yourself on the back, but somehow, it’s a show about the ability to change if you open yourself to the idea of changing and are willing to put in a little effort.  And that’s kind of nice in an increasingly and justifiably pessimistic time.  No, this isn’t Ted Lasso on a military base.  It’s definitely not perfect—the choice of Catherine Tate (The Office, Doctor Who) as local brothel owner and Quinn’s love interest is probably a misstep and I can’t speak to the cultural accuracy of a show where British and Icelandic actors are playing Dutch in a show filmed in Ireland, though reviews on IMDB do say that many aspects are more German than Dutch, there’s that.  So if that’s something that bothers you (and maybe it should be something that bothers me too), it may take away from your enjoyment of the show.  Not every joke lands, but I find myself laughing more often than not, which is more than I can say for many long-running, wildly popular sitcoms (I’m looking at you Big Bang Theory and its expanded universe, which feels really bad to say in a world where The Tick only got two seasons).  But when it comes right down to it, I didn’t think I’d like Going Dutch, I didn’t want to like it, but somehow I do.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading!  And if you’re so inclined, this week I was a guest judge on the excellent culinary podcast No Bad Food, for my second Munch Madness episode, a yearly tradition where foods are pitted against each other in an NCAA-style bracket.  It’s fun, it’s whimsical, and if you feel like you can handle a little more of me, I would love it if you checked it out! Host Tom Zalatnai is a delightful person, incredible to work with, and I’m thrilled every time they ask me back on the show.  You can find it here on Apple Podcasts or here on Spotify.

Fantastic Heists and Where to Steal Them

You’ve got to love when something tells you what you’re going to get right on the packaging.  No bait and switch, just an upfront setting of expectations.  For example, I didn’t realize until second viewing that Blue Jay was the name of the coffee shop.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I watched the movie waiting for a bird to show up, but still.  With Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, you know you’re going to be in for at least one dungeon, at least one dragon, and some thieves with varying degrees of honor.

We open on bard Edgin (Chris Pine, the second best Chris behind Evans) and barbarian Holga (Michelle Rodriguez, who doesn’t have a party, she’s got family) in prison, waiting for their pardon hearing.  After brief fight where a very large man gets what’s coming to him via some potato-based violence, we see Edgin and Holga go to the hearing.  This is a very good narrative device, because it allows for an exposition dump that doesn’t feel like someone’s talking at you the whole time for no reason.  We’re treated to Edgin telling the story of how he and Holga ended up there via flashbacks and voiceover; Edgin was once a Harper, a spy network that is sworn to do good and take no payment in return.  Unfortunately, the life of a Harper means that they make a lot of enemies and those enemies found him.  One day, he returns home to find his wife slain and his infant daughter Kira hidden, the sole survivor of the attack.  At that point, he and Holga turn to a life of crime, eventually teaming up with a sorcerer, Simon (Justice Smith, always great), a rogue called Forge (Hugh Grant, whose talents are on full display), and a very powerful wizard named Sofina.  However, on a heist, stealing from the Harpers to get the Tablet of Reawakening to resurrect his wife, Edgin and Holga get caught in a spell, and Edgin entrusts Kira’s wellbeing to Forge before he’s captured.  He ends his speech to the board with a genuine expression of regret for his actions and a desire to make up for lost time with his daughter—oh, and also a daring escape.

From there, they find Forge and try to reconnect with Kira, and, well, let’s just say things don’t go quite as planned and they have to get the band back together along with newcomer Doric, a tiefling druid played by Sophia Lillis (a very talented actress in her own right), in order to plan an even more daring infiltration of Forge’s new fiefdom, Neverwinter, during the High Sun Games, a brutal game of survival that was ended under the old Lord of Neverwinter for making the Roman gladiatorial fights look like laser tag in comparison.  This takes them on a series of quests to prepare, including running into Xenk, a Thayan paladin played by Regé-Jean Page, who helps them get a magical helmet, called the Helmet of Disjunction, for Simon to use in the heist.  Don’t worry if you don’t know what a Thayan is, I didn’t either before I watched the movie and it really doesn’t matter.  Xenk is a deeply hilarious character, unintended by him of course; so unbelievably good to the core and very literal in the way he speaks, he’s the kind of person that makes you feel worse about being a regular human being with flaws, because he’s basically perfect.  But not in an obnoxious way, it’s actually very endearing.  When we first see him, he pulls a baby cat person out of a giant fish’s mouth without harming either of them and then he just walks away, unfazed by his gentle act of heroism.  How can you not feel inadequate after witnessing that?   I’d save baby cat people all the time if I could.  However, Edgin is very distrustful of him because he’s from Thay, which is a city that has a deep lore behind that I still don’t fully understand.

But that’s one of the biggest strengths of Dungeons and Dragons; you don’t need to know a single thing about Dungeons and Dragons the tabletop game to enjoy the movie.  It doesn’t hung up on lore, it doesn’t get hung up on mechanics, and when they do come about, it feels incredibly natural to the storytelling—nothing ever feels tacked on or needlessly complicated, the film is very aware that people watching it won’t necessarily be steeped in the game’s history.  I mean, I’ve played a campaign or two, never to the end, and I have a few of the LEGO Dungeons and Dragons collectible minifigures, mainly because I love LEGO and many of them are adorable, but I’m far from an expert.  And yet, that never got in the way of my enjoyment of the movie.  If you know your way around Dungeons and Dragons more than someone who has just listened to The Adventure Zone a few times, you may get more out of the movie and enjoy the Easter eggs and references on a deeper level than I did, but even if you’ve never rolled a D20 in your life, it won’t matter.  Every bit of this is a wholly enjoyable film for just about anyone—and I do mean anyone, it’s a very family friendly movie, especially for older kids (some of the scenes might be frightening for younger children).

It’s easy to look at a fantastical ensemble action-comedy and draw comparisons with Guardians of the Galaxy, and I definitely see some similarities.  In fact, just a few days prior to rewatching Dungeons, I rewatched Guardians in preparation (and not just because I’m so obsessed with Marvel Rivals that I am thinking about the world in a Marvel lens).  But there are a few key differences and some major improvements.  I don’t consider it criticism to say this feels like an early MCU movie in the best way, because it’s important to acknowledge how art builds on art.  Much like how Astro Bot owes a lot to Super Mario Odyssey and The Town owes a lot to Heat while improving on its predecessors, Dungeons makes some moves here that surpass the Guardians formula, which Marvel has been trying desperately to recreate with varying degrees of success (and if the Super Bowl’s Thunderbolts ad is any indication, they’re still trying and the prospects don’t look so great).  By making the characters mostly all familiar with each other prior to the story makes for a different style of narrative.  Rather than a call to heroism like Guardians, it’s a redemption story, which can be very compelling in a different way than a call to heroism.  And furthermore, Dungeons embraces the importance of failure in a way you rarely see in film.  The characters are deeply self aware of their foibles and shortcomings; they know their weaknesses and they still strive to move forward, embracing each failure in their path as an invitation to try again.  It’s a surprisingly touching and moving story for one that’s as funny—and, at times, silly—as this one is.  Edgin especially is the driver of this, as his redemption arc is the most prominent in the film, but that’s not to say that the supporting cast don’t have their own rich story arcs to tell.  At one point, Edgin gives an impassioned speech about how he’s not tired of failing because it’s only when you give up that you truly fail.  Plan A turns into Plan B and into Plan C and beyond, but getting up off the mat is far more important the fact you were knocked down in the first place.  And Edgin is there to remind everyone of that.  “We must never stop failing,” he says, and that is such a powerful statement that is avoided by a lot of movies (and movies that do embrace failure, no matter how brilliant they are, like The Last Jedi, are often misunderstood and unfairly maligned).

Edgin’s self-awareness is what elevates this movie above other ensemble action-comedies.  Edgin runs on bravado, he runs on improvisation, but he’s wildly aware of what’s wrong with him and he has a keen understanding of his failings. But he keeps fighting anyway.  Perpetually undeterred by failure, he’s the kind of hero we don’t get to see often in film.  Heroes aren’t expected to be perfect these days, thank goodness, but they are expected to be winners.  Their relentless drive doesn’t have time to think about failure, it doesn’t have time to empathize with others, but it does allow them to bolster those around them. It’s not a criticism of that kind of hero, they can be very compelling, for sure, but it’s also nice to see something different from that.  One of the MCU’s biggest traps that it keeps falling into is having overly arrogant protagonists who are humbled and then go back to being overly arrogant again once they’ve recovered—Tony Stark, Dr. Strange, etc; after a little while, they all begin to feel a bit too similar—but Edgin feels humble in comparison, which makes him incredibly relatable.  He’s there for the others in his party because he knows what it’s like to need people to be there for him.  When there is a moment where they’re called to heroism, it’s not bravado that compels him to answer, it’s empathy.  It’s knowing that the world works best when people work together and care about the wellbeing of others, including strangers.  And he does it without hesitation.  And Simon, Holga, Doric, and even Xenk (who feels more like a dungeonmaster insert character than an actual party member, to be fair) all have their issues to overcome too—there isn’t a bad character in this movie and that really underscores how strong of a film this is.

Dungeons shouldn’t be a hidden gem—it should have been a massive blockbuster with lasting influence on the genre and a spate of sequels.  But it had the unfortunate fate of coming out at a time when people were still in a pandemic hangover (in some ways, it seems like many people still are; I only went to the movie theater for the first time since the pandemic in December of last year), so the ticket sales were lackluster and I feel like a lot of people missed out on this wonderful film.  Every aspect of this film deserves praise, from the storytelling to the visual effects, to the acting performances (I haven’t talked about him much because you really need to experience it for yourself, but Hugh Grant as Forge is one of the most fun performances in a film I’ve seen; he is really embracing these kinds of roles and continually knocking it out of the park), to pacing and personality in the film.  I know I often bemoan the bloated length of movies these days and praise movies that respect your time, and at 2 hours 14 minutes, it’s not a short movie, but it definitely respects your time.  Not a frame is wasted.  The comedy is on point, with fantastic comedic timing from the entire cast, the action is fast-paced and fun, and the characters are truly something special.  This is the kind of film you can watch over and over again with anyone in the room and it was always be enjoyable.  I’ve seen it maybe five or six times already and I’m always noticing new details about it and finding new reasons to love it.  Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves is available for streaming on Paramount+ and Prime Video (for the next two weeks), in addition to being available to rent digitally and I highly suggest you set aside a couple hours and a bit to watch it.  Because this is one campaign you won’t be able to get enough of.

A Talk to Remember

Sometimes there’s a name that, when attached to a project, makes you very excited to see that project.  Those names often come with guarantees—Tom Cruise generally means you’re going to get a high-octane action film with great stunts, Denis Villenueve usually means you’re going to have stunning visuals and visual storytelling (even if I thought Dune was boring Christ-figure nonsense), Ryan Reynolds means you’re going to get Ryan Reynolds playing Ryan Reynolds.  But for me, the number one name that gets me excited might be Mark Duplass.  I know, he’s not really the A-list talent that anchors record-breaking popcorn flicks and you’re likely not going to see him headlining an MCU movie any time soon (though I would have said the same about Paul Rudd and the first two Ant-Man were delightful), but he rarely disappoints. Safety Not Guaranteed, The One I Love, Your Sister’s Sister, Language Lessons, Paddleton; when you see his name attached to a project, especially as more than just an actor, you’re in for a well crafted, emotionally affecting movie that is small in scope and will stick with you for years to come.

Blue Jay (streaming on Netflix) is no different.  Released in 2016 and garnering a 91% RT score, it’s the kind of hidden gem that I love bringing to your attention because even I had never heard of it until I scrolled past it one day in a couch-bound reenactment of browsing the Blockbuster when you don’t know what you want to watch.  Another small scale indie, it stars Mark Duplass, Sarah Paulson, and just about no one else, and is written by Duplass, directed by Alex Lehmann.  Like The One I Love, this is a showcase of two actors’ ability in the craft.  And like a lot of Duplass’s projects, the movie largely improvised; the script itself consisted of a two page outline that was workshopped with a woman-led creative team and then approached fairly cold by the actors.  Duplass said it was the movie that he was perhaps most unprepared for in his career and that was by design.  Much like the overshadowed and underappreciated masterpiece Past Lives, Blue Jay thrives on the genuine performances of its main cast and that was aided by the spontaneity of Duplass and Paulson.  Sarah Paulson especially was a revelation—I’ve seen her act very well before, powerfully even, in shows like American Crime Story (she was fantastic as Marcia Clark), but I’ve never seen her act like this.  It is so low key and natural and just so incredibly real.  The two of them disappear into their roles in really flawless performances that make you feel like you’re there, like you’re watching a memory, not a movie.  I honestly can’t speak highly enough of their performances in this film.

Memory lane is not always the most smoothly paved road to drive down.  Time may be a flat circle, but we experience it as a one way street, always moving forward, relentlessly forward, whether we want it to move or not.  And trying to go backwards down a one way street is at best uncomfortable, at worst inadvisable, and, most of the time, painful.  Even happy memories can be tinged with sadness, because that happiness is in the past.  If you’re not happy now, those pleasant memories may be fleeting moments that leave you feeling more melancholy than before.  I think happiness as a state of being is somewhat of a red herring; happiness comes in moments, perhaps contentedness is more a state of being, but happiness?  A smile on your face and that warm feeling in your chest?  All the time?  Or at least generally?  I don’t think you can reasonably experience that outside of a worry-free childhood.  Maybe I’m wrong and there are people who are truly happy most of the time, but that’s not been my experience.  Regrets stack up, those insomniac nights, those waking somnambulisms; it takes work not to be crushed under the weight of your past decisions, right or wrong.  Blue Jay is a movie about the pain of the past; the mourning of the person you used to be, the life you wanted to lead, and the loss of the fantasies of your future that wither and die as reality sets in.  But that’s not to say that this is a downer or a melodrama.  It’s not sappy, it’s not happy, but rather it’s the natural oscillation of life. It’s a deeply funny movie in some ways and there are moments of pure joy and happiness as the film progresses, just as there are heart-wrenching moments; it’s just like life.  It’s up and it’s down, and, yet, time still marches forward.  The characters play through silly little memories; they are in very different places in life and that makes things difficult.  So yes, memory lane can be a painful place, but it can also be a joyful one.  Life really is a mixed bag, isn’t it?  The bastard.

The black and white film opens with some atmospheric establishing shots before settling in to the quiet picture of Jim (Mark Duplass) standing at the aisles of a grocery story looking quizzically at the items on the shelf when he recognizes Amanda (Sarah Paulson).  Yes, I know, black and white often feels pretentious, but the aesthetic really works here to drive home the dreariness of the town in which it takes place, from where they both fled after their teen years; lacking the vibrancy of color aids the storytelling.  The interaction is short and awkward and Jim is visibly upset at how it went when they part ways, only to bump into each other again in the parking lot.  It’s clear from the off that they have a past and knew each other quite well once upon a time, but have long since grown apart; I’m talking patently obvious from the moment they see each other that their stories were once deeply intertwined.  Jim asks her to coffee and she agrees.  Amanda is in town because her sister is having a baby, Jim is in town because his mother passed away and he is there to manage her affairs.  They haven’t seen each other in twenty years, but it doesn’t take long for them to loosen into an easy chemistry; after the awkwardness of the market aisles, their shoulders stop tensing and they start to catch up.  Amanda is married now, she has two step sons—Jim, upon hearing this news, spontaneously cries.  It’s subtle, not some over the top melodrama, and it’s not the only time it’s going to happen.  He’s emotional about seeing Amanda again and clearly going through a lot in general; surely he must have figured that life goes on, but hearing it causes him to tear up.  He assures her that things are fine, that his face just leaks, and tells her what’s going on with his life, which is considerably less.  No family, a job putting up drywall in Tucson, and now he’s here, sitting in an empty house.

And when I say empty house, I mean a very full house, filled with memories and his mother’s belongings.  It’s haunted by the past.  Overstuffed with supermarket checkout line romance books that somehow make Jim confront his mortality, his room untouched, unchanged since he left town decades ago.  Amanda says that she wants to see it and “the famous lovebirds”, as the only other actor, an old general store owner calls them, return to Jim’s childhood home.  But not before picking up a six pack and some jelly beans and chatting more.  The moments here shared between the two of them are so perfect, so incredibly powerful, such a terrific example of storytelling.  It’s hard to call a movie that is basically a conversation between two people a powerhouse in visual storytelling, but it really is, because of the level of acting between these two.  So much is said with body language and facial expressions; on one occasion, Jim opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.  Amanda opens her mouth slightly, likely to assure him that it’s okay and that nothing needs to be said, but the words don’t come for her either.  And that moment is perfect.  Real.  Genuine.  The product of an occasion that the characters are trying to navigate, not a script where everyone says the right thing all the time.  This nonverbal communication between the two is just absolutely excellent, which adds to this feeling of genuineness and realness in the film.  There’s something about these slice of life films—Blue Jay takes place over the course of one day; an afternoon and an evening—that can just be so powerful when they’re done right.  All the clues of their past are there, they don’t need to sit down and state things that they already know for the benefit of the audience.  If they sat there, eating jelly beans or drinking the bad coffee at the diner they used to go to as kids and said “Well, as we both know, we used to date in high school, it was a passionate and strong relationship that ended irrevocably and significantly and we haven’t seen each other since,” it would take you completely out of the narrative and make the movie feel like a movie, like a product.  If you’ve been reading my blog for a little while, you’ve seen me appreciate when the creative team trusts the audience to pick up on cues and not need everything spelled out.  When you trust your audience and let the actors shine without having to dump a lot of unnecessary exposition, I really appreciate that—when you don’t, when you feel the need to explain every little thing in painstaking and needless detail, and with repetitive retreads, it not only hurts the narrative flow of a story, it also really annoys me.

That is not the case here.  This is the second time I’ve seen this movie and much like watching a mystery again, you see all the clues as to the depth of their story the second time.  But it doesn’t take multiple viewings for Blue Jay to have an impact.  When the penny drops, it hits you like a ton of bricks and upon a second viewing, you see how well everything was choreographed, like a ballet with talking instead of dancing (actually, there is a little dancing, to be fair).  As Duplass himself said, the idea of two old flames meeting again is not new, it’s not novel, but you can tell it in a different way that is new and novel.  And that’s exactly what this movie does.  It’s not about star-crossed lovers who find their way back to each other, it’s not some cliched story you’ve seen a million times, even though the premise isn’t exactly original.  I don’t want to tell you any more about what happens in this film because it’s something every fan of film should experience for themselves—after all, the movie is almost entirely a conversation between two people, if I tell you what they say, it would ruin the whole thing.  And that would be a proper shame, because this is a fantastic movie.  Sit down, put your phone away, and really watch Blue Jay, because that’s the way to really appreciate it.  At a brief 80 minutes in length, it won’t take up your evening, but it might just ruin it in the best way possible.  We are all trying to heal from from something.  We are all dealing with something; perhaps from the past, perhaps in the present, our dystopian now.  But as sad as memory lane can be, I highly recommend this film, even if you’re struggling mentally and emotionally right now, as so many are. Because Blue Jay acts as a reminder that healing is a painful, but possible process.