The Machine Who Knew Too Much

The following is a paper I wrote for my films class. Not exactly a great pitch to entice the reader, but I formed the argument in a way only lightly abiding to scholastic format and tried to have fun with the structure. This paper is a scene breakdown of the classic 2001: A Space Odyssey, directed by Stanley Kubrick. The scene in question is when astronauts Bowman and Poole meet in the pod to discuss the problem of HAL, the suspicious supercomputer. Naturally, there are spoilers to the film inherent to the discussion. 

The Machine Who Knew Too Much:
Misplaced Power and Humanity in Kubrick's 2001

It is not so much a question anymore whether or not you have an iPod, but how much music it holds, whether it is also a phone, and what bird-soaring games are installed on it. We are sucked into screens when other human beings surround us; pixels and electric currents are just about preferred lanes of communication as any. The more advanced technology becomes - by our own innovations no less - and the increasing degree to which we rely on it sets up irrevocable dangers. Cinema loves to scare us with such apocalyptic scenarios, ranging from nationwide network blackouts in Live Free or Die Hard to a full-on robot revolution in The Terminator series. However, film’s most memorable depiction of technology’s influence and mastery might belong to a soft, comforting voice you would welcome into your home. The supercomputer HAL from Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 opus 2001: A Space Odyssey presents itself as trustworthy and dependable, with near empathy for human feeling. The powers behind the camera form this initial image, only to progressively shift the audience’s perception through faint hints and both the revealing and withholding of certain information. The memorable scene in which we finally discover HAL’s true power and motives features not a single word spoken by it, but light, enlightening cues Kubrick feeds us as the human astronauts attempt to escape HAL’s grasp. Kubrick underlines technology’s omnipresence and mutinous superiority over man through subtle directorial tactics as camera distance, the inclusion of HAL in nearly all shots and voyeuristic camera movement. 

The lens of the camera are effectively the eyes of the audience, and Kubrick gauges the distance between subject and viewer to emphasize man’s inferiority. The previous scene ends and transitions to the next with an extreme closeup on HAL and its cascading, unwavering red-orange eye. Astronauts Bowman and Poole sit up from their chairs to move to their presumed safe location and their action reflects across the screen-filling eye of HAL. The computer knows something is awry, and will see to the problem, most literally. After the pair enter the pod bay and ask HAL to rotate the pod, Bowman requests for the door to open. This shot is framed awkwardly, from a low angle and at quite a distance. Their heads only reach halfway up the screen, with the vacant top filled with the artificial light emanating from every ceiling of the spacecraft. Low angle shots can often entrust power upon the subject, yet the opposite is achieved in this case. The off-focus rotating pod to the right and the reliably white apparatus to the left barricade the humans between, and the full exposure of the immaculate ceiling above them surround man with science. Bowman and Poole are the test objects to HAL watching behind them, and they appear insignificant in the face of such omniscient circuitry. That wary gaze they exchange briefly uncovers true fear and mistrust, a revealing action they believe goes unnoticed. The camera in almost every sense acts as an extension of HAL’s purview even where a physical extension lacks. HAL’s mastery of interpreting body language and maintaining aural control compensates when vision may lack. The machine sees this exchange precisely how the audience sees it:  full of doubt and scheme. The subsequent shot reaffirms the suspicion through framing and placement alone. A 180 degree reverse shot covers the previously unseen perspective. The angle is high, looking down on the backs of Bowman and Poole as they enter the pod. Their two helmets evenly surround them, this time squeezing two human subjects between the technological representations of themselves. The distance is far, with the helmets dwarfing the humans; both space helmets will act as part of the gambits HAL later acts upon to kill each human. HAL will succeed with one, poor Poole, as the computer seeks to cut the ties with the technology that man has become so dependent on (it is also fitting it kills the rest of the crew by simply deactivating their complex life system). Therefore, Kubrick inserts clever foreshadowing in this shot in addition to the visual representation of man’s growing insignificance to his own creations surrounding him. 

The inclusion of HAL in almost all shots accents its ubiquity and wit.  The aforementioned extreme closeup recurs often and editing splices it into sequences for the viewer to wordlessly comprehend HAL’s active cognition. After the helmet shot, Kubrick and editor Ray Lovejoy insert that intimate image to disclose HAL’s quiet attentiveness to the unfolding events. The most memorable shot of the scene quarters Bowman and Poole in the small confines of the pod as they face each other akin to men sitting across one another at a dinner table. Between them, however, about on center of the clear aperture of the pod, HAL watches. The two express their doubts on the robot, and conclude they may have to shut it down for its unprecedented miscalculation. Bowman (slowly and methodically) switched off communication channels with HAL before they started their conversation - at the same pace in which Bowman engages the final switches later - so they believe their conversation remains confidential. Yet HAL still watches. This entire shot appears uninterrupted until editing interpolates a lone image of HAL, as viewed from inside the pod, through the window, staring back. If the audience did not believe HAL was playing an active role in the scene, little doubt now rests. Cut back to the same shot of them talking, as they get to the meat of their discourse in their doubts of the computer’s performance. Now editing thrusts us right into the eyes of the beholder once more, through the same extreme closeup used before, yet this time with much more consequence; its knowledge spells doom. Such wise editing and placement of HAL within shots stresses technology’s omnipresence around man.

The optical grace of Kubrick’s camera movement establishes connection between the machine’s perspective and the viewer, and in the process humanizes the robots. The first shot of the pod bay contains one of the two instances of dynamic camera placement in this scene. In both cases, the lens of the camera acts as well as the lens of an eye. The first instance starts on a long shot of Bowman and Poole descending a ladder with HAL to the far left, stationed on the wall maintaining watch. As the two enter the bay, the camera swerves as to be in line with HAL’s field of vision, which in case views the wide window in the pod bay. The camera then gently nudges forward until the edges of the window disappear from view. This subtle trick lets the viewer see through the eyes of HAL without perhaps realizing it, granting a voyeuristic view of the two astronauts, even zooming in on them, as they are aiming to flee from the computer’s jurisdiction for just one moment. The only other shot with an active camera holds the true twist in the film. The directing and editing have built up the suspense, hinting at HAL’s dishonest machinations. The final reveal unfolds without any sound, through the “eyes” of HAL, as this point of view shot is also an extreme closeup on both Bowman and Poole’s lips. Without the dialogue we hear before, we are thrown into HAL’s seemingly deaf perspective. Yet it is that aim on the lips that shows us the computer can translate lipreading to flawless effect. HAL knows. This shot not only reveals its true nature, but also grants it humanlike qualities. The absence of any overlaying, digital interface to survey the landscape present this robot as a rather simplistic one. Once it starts to flick back and forth between talking lips, however, we realize this could be a human’s point of view we are witnessing, with the visual appearance and mobile fluidity of a human eye. The scheming HAL is more like us than we would care to think:  dishonest, and also curious, seeking answers to questions those it trusts will not tell it. Perhaps HAL is simply emotionally hurt to learn that its only “friends” are planning on killing it. A bombshell of that magnitude would tear you apart, too. Kubrick’s spare and soulful use of moving camera shots wordlessly conveys empathy with HAL and thus edifies the supercomputer. 

Through camera distance, movement and focus on HAL, Kubrick cautions of technology’s omnipresence, and, in turn, grants humanlike qualities to the machines themselves. The works of man reach a point where they can evolve past their fundamental constraints, not unlike God’s own creations. A film may show us a montage of years and years of technological development and incorporation to stress this point, or an indulgent display of pyrotechnics to showcase the machines’ real strength. Yet, when a film grants machine the most human of qualities as curiosity, wordlessly displaying its range of feeling and thirst for knowledge, it, or shall I say he, is one of us. 

Drive Review

Drive

Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn

Released in 2011

Quentin Tarantino did not reach his unique plane of influence or popularity from his looks or people skills (his best interviews evolve into glorious exercises in sibilation and gesticulation). No, he just knows how to wield a camera well, and how to implement bold post-production techniques to realize his crazy vision. It's all about style, baby. Hailing from Denmark is a man who lives these truths. Nicolas Winding Refn directs Drive with an eery amount of confidence and talent to back up the chutzpah. Sure, Ryan Gosling may be behind the literal wheel in the story but it is Refn doing the steering. 

With all that said, Drive is a different beast. Such a title conjures up images of Vin Diesel and Paul Walker piloting sports cars in kinetic chase sequences over a story geared for  sequential exploitation. Nothing of the sort here. Sure, the few driving scenes are superb, but they aim for suspense rather than stimulation, achieved through that age-old adage "less is more." The film takes its time. Editor Matthew Newman scales back transitions more than you would expect, to the point of discomfort. The first thirty-odd minutes move with little energy or seeming motive, but it effectively establishes a mood, almost hypnotic, that cushions the viewer into false security. At the point when all gates come crashing down, the film still moves with lethargy, but a new flame burns in its eyes. To quote Leo DiCaprio from The Departed, "Your heart rate is jacked. And your hand, steady."

Plot summary for the sake of plot summary will not acquaint you with the workings of the film. Just know there is a man with no name, blessed with divine driving skills and thus known to us as Driver, played by a nearly mute Ryan Gosling, and he gets himself into trouble. He wants to protect a married woman (Carey Mulligan), and their love grows from lengthy stares into each others' eyes. There are angry folks, such as gangsters played by Ron Perlman and Albert Brooks, the latter whose temper rivals Joe Pesci's on poker night. There are nice guys, like Bryan Cranston, but I've never seen the Breaking Bad actor so feeble since he had Jane Kaczmarek for a TV wife. These auxiliary characters serve roles of plot stimulus and, in the end, not much more. Of course, there are moments of acting brilliance - Brooks has never been this delightfully menacing, and Gosling conveys bliss to fury with nothing more than his expressions - but the characters are not the devices that carry this film. 

Everyone behind the camera contributes to the aura - perhaps the word is "mystique"? - this film congeals. Cinematographer Newton Sigel works wonders with lighting in the elevator scene that, from Hossein Amini's script, progresses so atypically it may put the audience into shock. The costumes, designed by Erin Benach, are attractive as well as appropriately symbolic. That scorpion design on the back of Driver's jacket speaks volumes when the character does not. Sound design crafts ultimate suspense as Driver sits in his car, waiting, as a constant ticking noise steadily ties your stomach in knots. Cliff Martinez's score lends a spacey ambience to the drama, and Refn's choice of obscure 80's synth and disco cuts underline the retro style that is certainly the influence. Pink, gaudy font for the opening credits may remind gamers of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, as will the police-evading car chases. 

Much like the GTA series, this film is violent. Shockingly brutal, even. Gunshots, stabs and especially stomps enact devastating carnage upon those in contact. The minds behind the camera wisely cut away from the most gruesome sights quickly to let the viewer fill in the rest of the image. It may be a more unsettling technique than letting us stare. The violence, in its context and intensity, escalates this from a standard crime film to a strangely calm, mesmerizing B-movie. The term is not to undermine the film; it is not unlike Korean classic Oldboy and its use of slick technique and brutal violence to hold up a pulp premise. (Also, both protagonists wreck hell with a hammer). However, it is lacking a quality to rank it with the greats. The greatest films that contain gratuitous violence also talk about it, ask the unheard question: why? Why must it be this way, to this degree? Pulp Fiction, Fargo, even the recent In Bruges all tackle this question. None have an answer. But its that ability to propose those inquiries, adding intellectual weight under the hood, that place them in that higher pantheon. 

It's action, revenge, romance, thriller, drama yet none of those genres. It is simply Drive. Gosling excels in expressionist acting (the anger he communicates with his clenched fist in the strip club scene is shocking), but Refn grants this film its greatest gifts. Style, when slick and innovative, can hypnotize and reel in the audience.  As a result, due reason or philosophical depth may lack. But when a scene formed so well, wholly - such as when Driver confronts Nico (Perlman) in the dead of the night, with a Riz Orlotani opera piece solely accompanying, lighting faint, shots haunting yet oddly calming - that you reach a level of ineffable emotional transcendence ... well, I guess not much else matters.

Final Verdict: 

4 Stars Out of 5




This article is from The Cornell Daily Sun and is published here from the text of this original article. 

Rise of the Planet of the Apes Review

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Directed by Rupert Wyatt

Released in 2011

A little over a month ago I visited the Bronx Zoo with my family for the first time in almost eight years. It was a tradition to see the toucans, sea lions and exotic mice as a child, so the visit was a little childhood send-off. As exciting it was to see the Egyptian Spiny Mouse once more, I was taken back during the visit to the outdoor primate exhibit. One gorilla sat upright, against a stump, seemingly indifferent to the visitors and conditioned to their presence. He gazed not at children beating on the glass, nor even his own kind, but upwards. He could have been daydreaming in the clouds above. I do not think a fish knows it is a fish, cognizant of its own existence. But I am confident (as are scientists as a quick Google search will show) that a gorilla, and all great apes for that matter, are capable of existential reflection, aware of their own existence. They boast qualities of humanity, a trait, surprisingly enough, almost exclusively reserved for humans. They are also capable of extreme brutality, as that horrifying story of the woman whose face was literally ripped off from a supposedly tame chimpanzee will attest. With strength that overshadows our own and a sense of purpose, monkeys kept in captivity makes for a risky game. With modifications to intelligence that allow comprehension of the injustice they have been served, we face a significant threat. Such thought provides conflict for Rise of the Planet of the Apes.

Why studio executives decided to reboot a franchise that had no winners since its inception in 1968 - and the abysmal Tim Burton/Mark Wahlberg remake still leaving a bad aftertaste - is beyond me. But that they did so with unsuspecting feeling and humanity leaves me surprised. That the filmmakers utilized computer effects as the primary vehicle to engage the audience emotionally shocks me even more. There are pleasant surprises to behold as Rise enfolds; they taper off by the end but this blockbuster still boasts a higher IQ than the norm, like our protagonist Caesar. James Franco's name has been attached to this title but even the release poster only displays Caesar, the chimp created by computers and a very dedicated Andy Serkis. Make no mistake:  this primate of pixels is the star of the show, and an incredibly convincing one at that. 

An alternate version of a prequel to the Planet of the Apes saga, the story explains, well, the rise of the apes over the humans who have controlled them for so long. A chimp with superior intellect - inherited from his mother who was applied an allegedly Alzheimer's-curing drug before turning rabid - becomes the harbinger of this revolution. But under the care of soft scientist Will Rodman (Franco), Caesar is as sensitive as a child and similarly seeking answers. He defies the classification of "pet" but still cannot meet the next true level. Frustration boils underneath his tender exterior, a genius wanting bigger and bolder things. But he genuinely cares for his family, and devotes much time to comfort Will's ailing father (John Lithgow), whose severe onset of Alzheimer's may be a more powerful motive for Will's tireless research. Caesar is one with the family until an extreme circumstance forces him out of the house (the brunt of which the incredibly unlucky neighbor receives). As he lives in a zoo he begins to communicate with other apes, notably a very wise orangutan, and exercises his intellect over the rest. The "prison" scenes, if you will, are akin to Shawshank Redemption in a sense:  abused at first, a man uses wit to win over the heavies and wields intimidation and persuasion to unite those who wish to rever him. We have seen it before, but not like this. 

Unfortunately, the story loses steam as the fight turns physical, escalating to a brawl on the Golden Gate Bridge. What once was a fresh meditation on the nature of humanity turns to Roland Emmerich fodder. It stops asking those moral, existential questions, and the script seems to side with the apes when there is still so much grey area. When human law prevents a father and son (Will and Caesar, respectively) from being together, is it right for the son to take out so much anger on the father? Is this catalyst a fitting reason to believe your cause for species dominance is just? It is a small, personal reason, and these struggles appear so miniscule in the larger picture, yet so overwhelming to the individual. As an audience, we both sympathize and empathize, as we know how that feels, so it may be a wise choice.  But, in the larger picture, the apes' cause is portrayed as the absolute right one - for dramatic effect - when the sensible approach would be more objective. 


This is a story of man - or in this case a monkey - and his loss of innocence. In this case, his genius intelligence amplifies this already significant revelation, for while he mopes after realizing his species' true stratum against humans, he takes action.  It is sad to see Caesar make such a choice, for most of the film Will nurtures Caesar out of selflessness, though Franco's occasionally stiff acting not always communicates this. Nonetheless, we care about their bond, and it is this relationship that occupies the majority of the film's runtime. This is great, because the mandatory though unoriginal action scenes are as short as they can be. And this is not say those scenes are bad, for chimps and orangutans playing a life-or-death game of monkey bar under the Golden Gate Bridge makes for great entertainment. But it does not tread the abstract pavement much of the film so boldly dares to walk. 


The equally risky decision to make the protagonist a digitally rendered monkey that is not an anthropomorphic cartoon reaps unforeseen rewards. Here is a full-bodied, expressive, fluidly-drawn character that we believe. Avatar laid admirable groundwork in the field of advanced computer, erm, avatars. However, Caesar carries more emotional nuances and without saying a word (!!). Bliss, melancholy, mirth, anger, love, and envy all pour from this marvel of computer and acting wizardry. Andy Serkis is the greatest proponent of this technique, and while fellow chimp Kong and cinema icon Gollum, especially, were fascinating works of his, Caesar represents even more advanced leaps in technology and a deeper, dominating role.  If no other aspect of this film appeals to you (which I can understand given this series' track record), see it for Serkis' performance alone.


Other actors fascinated, in varying ways. John Lithgow steps into the shoes of an Alzheimer's victim, one slowly fading away and aware of his tragic descent. The eyes, he nails the eyes, for they wander and wander until they affix on your own, and there is the sinking feeling that they do not recall the history both pairs have shared. My grandfather spent the last years of his life afflicted with the terrible disease, the leech that sucked away even the most powerful memories of love. For the record, five added years of not just life, but full neurological function and ability to recall all moments with loved ones and still be able to create more is not a failure, as Will states of the drug trial of his father. It is an incredibly immature conclusion to make, and another example of the film's frequent moments of jumping to resolutions far too eagerly and decisively. There is much grey area in the real world that this screenplay does not seem to acknowledge.


On a lighter note, the other casting choice worthy of note is Tom Felton, playing Draco Mal-uh Dodge Landon, the abusive monkey handler. There is little difference from this role to Draco Malfoy, which suits a Potter fan like myself just fine, and I swear he delivers that trademark Draco sneer at least once. After all, "monkey" and "Mudblood" sound awfully similar. This Dodge Landon kid seems to have every job at this facility:  he feeds, locks up, tases, and shoots darts at the apes, and even guards at the outdoor post. He is the son of the owner (spoiled, privileged son? Tom Felton??? No!) but you'd think he would not handle every aspect there. But I digress. It is great to see Felton, even if his role is not original in really any way. One of the cheapest shots in the screenplay but also most downright fun is the regurgitation of Charlton Heston's immortal line from the original film. It is there, all glorious nine words. And Felton delivers it well, as badass as he could, I think. Where this man's career will go I do not know, but if he is destined to play pseudo-Draco roles for the rest of his young adult life, I will be there to observe. Until the novelty wears off at least. 


Anyway, back on track, Rise of the Planet of the Apes is a blockbuster film really unlike that I have seen before. The special effects are as crucial to the storyline and theme as they could be, and even when director Rupert Wyatt and the FX team wants to have fun, as in that mesmerizing tracking shot of young Caesar navigating through the house, it does not feel thrown in, but purposeful. Serkis' portrayal of the chimp fuses primality and vulnerability in a character more alive than any other actor on the screen. The distinct flaws fidgeting under the surface are there, though do not detract as much as annoy. I did not even touch upon the vestigial Freida Pinto character who serves little purpose. But the film seems to get away with these defects for, with all the grade-A computer alchemy, it is a B movie, albeit one of the few in existence with such philosophical ideas as the cognizance of animals and the just treatment of sentient beings. The sometimes brilliant, sometimes banal direction, irregular pacing, and predictable but alluring screenplay all point to mindless fare. But that it is so much more than that is where this film's pleasures unfold. It asks us to consider our place in the world among those we coexist with, sometimes too briskly, but that it treads this ground at all far surpasses the expectations it set for itself. A viewing of Rise will garner entertainment, thought, and maybe even some apprehension at the ape exhibit next time at the zoo. 


Final Verdict: 
3.5 Stars Out of 5

Cowboys & Aliens Review

Cowboys & Aliens

Directed by Jon Favreau

Released in 2011

A movie's title should communicate not only the concept of the film but some of the tone as well. We should determine whether or not it is a comedy, drama, action film, etc just from the name. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a crazy title; fitting then, huh? Snakes on a Plane, on the other hand, sounds so self aware that it must be drenched in irony and camp. Cowboys & Aliens carries so little conviction that it should follow the same path. However, the filmmakers attempt to fuse two genres, western and alien invasion, and fail to fulfill either's potential or even basic principles. 

The first shot consists of a sprawling desert landscape, panning right until our hero Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig) bolts upright into the shot, gasping and searching around for his bearings. He has no memory of who he is or why he is so vulnerable. A promising start. From there the driving Morricone-esque score by Harry Gregson-Williams kicks off as Jake strolls into the local town. The town looks like that Western town we have all seen before; it is believable but without distinction. Same can be said for the costumes:  good work, yes, but nothing we have not seen countless times before. It all works, but lacks consequence. 


Jake arrives just in time, for as the local gang leader's mess of a son (Paul Dano, further establishing himself as the subservient coward character actor of his generation) accidentally shoots the deputy sheriff out of carelessness and pulls Jake into the whole mess too. Just as they board the carriage to take them to the federal marshal, Jake's mysterious wristband begins to buzz and flash as lights in the sky do the same. In the dead of the night a flight of extraterrestrial spacecraft launch a guerrilla attack on the town, plucking several men and women from the ground, conveniently providing reasons for a crew to then set off to find those aliens and, of course, their loved ones. Paul Dano, unsurprisingly, is abducted, so Harrison Ford, his grizzled father Dolarhyde, sets forth beside his former rival,  who now sports that curiously powerful wristband. There is no explanation, ever, as to why the aliens abduct those hapless humans. It is just an evil thing for them to do, providing conflict and fulfilling the stock alien invasion type. Equally unfulfilling is their reason for invading Earth; it is painfully unoriginal. 


Such issues can be whittled down to one reason: there are too many writers. The credits place nine different screenwriters/story developers/comic book writers as the creative force behind the script.  No natural character development or restrained story arc will survive after encountering so many hands. The first half follows the Western progression of new tough man in town,  unwillingly messing the place up, and then vowing to fix it and embarking across the desert with those he affected. In fact, such a worn plot was breathed new life in the excellent Rango earlier this year. 


Not only does this film lack such inspiration, it does not complete the journey our protagonist should complete. The aliens reveal their true form far too early  (Spielberg is attached to this, you'd think he would oversee the cinematic lesson that is literally taught in film school today), and the film begins to switch its gears to alien takedown flick in the vain of Independence Day. A multi-cultural band of enemies unite in order to take down the greater threat; this group includes Jake and Co., Jake's former deadly gang he now disowns, and a surprisingly inoffensive troop of Native Americans. The latter thankfully have some depth in their image, not overly barbaric or unremittingly tied to the spirits around them but somewhere comfortably in between. With the help of those who traveled with him, Jake unites these factions and they all collectively overthrow the intruders. Not enough attention is placed upon Jake, however, as we feel that he only solves the issues from a "shoot the baddies" perspective while the moral choices and reconciliations are left to the love interest, Ella Swenson (Olivia Wilde). By the end, Jake has changed, but it is not his choices that got him there.


The casting contains curiosities, both good and bad. As great as it is to see Harrison Ford in 2011, the man immortalized through the space gunslinger Han Solo has since lost that drive. His performance has some highlights, particularly as he confesses to his right-hand man (Adam Beach) how he wished his son had half his goodwill and courage, and as he finally reunites with his son in the end we feel for him. But we never care for him before these moments, and while that may be by conscious choice, it is not a smart decision for us to barely think of the character when he is off-screen. It takes far too long for us to feel effect, and far too late. After playing the futuristic model of a woman in Tron: Legacy, it feels grossly anachronistic for Olivia Wilde to strap on cowboy boots in the 19th century. She lacks abilities as an actress, specializing in that glazed, seductive stare she exercises so often. Hollywood has been forcing Wilde onto screens lately and I am not sure why, besides the obvious (and I believe overstated) reason. 


The actors who stand out hint at what could have been if the acting ensemble was tighter and script much more focused. Sam Rockwell, unsurprisingly, excels even with his limited material and admittedly bland character. But he has mastered quirky comic delivery as well as an effective state of emotional distress when his character calls for it. His physical struggle to shoot a gun pays off when he finally saves his comrades and takes control of his manhood.  And the best character is the short-lived preacher played by Clancy Brown, the prison guard from The Shawshank Redemption. His down-to-earth spirituality lends weight to the film's thematic potential, suggesting that faith will heal the wounds left by those who harm. But his death (yes I spoil, it is not a big deal) arrives so soon, and this theme, fleetingly touched upon again in the Native American camp, never truly finds its footing. 


I respect that Jon Favreau and the whole outfit of screenwriters approached this film as more than a campy panache. But they take themselves too seriously, and are reluctant to inject any comedy into a product that demands it. The plot wanders, rife with holes and stumbling aimlessly for theme. Much like Jake in the beginning frames. With added levity and, let's say, a Western story arc with alien elements added more naturally and less intrusively, this action film from the director of Iron Man could have been a witty, engaging summer flick. And for godsakes the title is not helping. 


Final Verdict:
2 Stars out of 5

Horrible Bosses Review

Horrible Bosses

Directed by Seth Gordon

Released in 2011

Michael Scott may be an ineffectual business negotiator, or even a social debacle, but he is a caring man at heart. He considers his employees family, in the way Papa Bear looks after his young. Not the same with these bosses. Made and set in a time when our country's economic outlook could be equated to a partisan, agonizing sinkhole, Horrible Bosses offers a dream scenario for those cubicle sheep out there sick of their employer but not willing to bite the hand that feeds. Three buds take aim at the source of their unyielding misery, and with hilarious results.  

Jason Bateman, Jason Sudeikis and Charlie Day comprise the hapless trio. They, for different reasons, loathe their bosses so much they conceive an idea, while drunk of course, to kill them in order to return to happiness. Kevin Spacey slithers with a deadly bite as Dave Harken, the bane of Nick Hendrick's (Bateman) existence. He is brilliant, brilliant in his methods of manipulation that confound and humiliate his reluctant man-servant Nick. And evil as well, with a dark side that reveals itself verbally until physical introductions. Kurt Buckman (Sudeikis) leads a content work life, with his boss a loving father figure (a warm Donald Sutherland). That is, until the unexpected happens and his soulless tool of a son tacks his name on his daddy's desk. His depravity is not so self-aware, but part of his blood; he does not know how to not be offensive and shamelessly covetous. His addiction to cocaine only exacerbates such qualities. The last of the three differs, drastically. Dentist Dr. Julia Harris, an alluring Jennifer Aniston never acting or looking better, targets her assistant Dale (Day) as the object of her sexual desires. All would be fine if Dale was not engaged to be married to a loving fiancé. Dale's struggle is looked down upon by his friends, but Dale has the right moral center even as Julia yearns to corrupt it.

The three leads and their evil counterparts define the film in its unrelentingly comical, raunchy glory. But a number of other familiar faces appear for amusing moments. Modern Family's Julie Bowen is Harken's wife, polar opposite in affection and faith to her husband. Jamie Foxx surfaces multiple times as the hitman the three consult. His name itself is unfit for print and he makes for amusing racial commentary. Even Mr. Fantastic himself, suave British bloke Ioan Gruffudd, appears for a cameo that is as confusing as it is priceless. 

But it is the leads here that excel. Bateman is the best "straight man" in comedy around, and while that is the core of his role, he surpasses it in moments like while cleaning up the mess Charlie Day made. Day is the real standout of the film. In this scene in particular, the manic, fumbling style he shines with in It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia has quite the literal stimulus, but all induced by Day's acting alone. He possesses a distinctive, shrill voice that makes for laughs even when he isn't delivering winning lines. The always-solid Jason Sudeikis has, much like the characters in the movie, for years filled small roles without much recognition. But with Hall Pass and now (and more notably) this film, he is gradually making his way to a leading man. His character usually is the overly confident, but strong-willed dude who gets into trouble but seeks for redemption. It is not an original role for him but he makes it work. 


Colin Farrell's tenure could have been more fleshed-out; this is after all the actor who mixed mirth and tragedy to brilliant effect with In Bruges. And his American accent is nowhere near as fun as his natural Irish quaver, really. He makes the clichéd cocaine-fueled businessman role not feel too stale, however. Spacey is the most convincingly evil of the bunch, but as a two-time Academy Award winner can likely achieve, he brings a little more to it. He is psychotic, a devotee to schadenfreude. He feeds on the pain of others, and, as he says, "it feels good". Aniston may be the surprise of the whole film. She has slummed it in so many romantic comedies we forget she is a winning comic item, not to mention a very sexy one as well. Her seductive thirst for men feels voluptuous but genuinely creepy, just what the script is aiming for to reach equality amongst the three. I cannot imagine anyone else filling this part, at least more effectively. 

Horrible Bosses does not seek to inspire or enlighten, and it really does not want to comment on the current state of employment other than repeat that, hey, bosses suck. The meditation on the inability of three middle-class men to carry through with such a heinous task is all too short; tears don't have to be shed but the psychological effects could have been addressed to greater, and campy, extent. Oh, and what a deus ex machina of an ending. But such qualms do not detract from the enjoyment, which, as box office numbers so far have shown, many have experienced. It moves at that "laugh a minute", and often greater, pace, not losing steam. And while directed without much style or distinction, there are some clever touches here and there, especially the well-timed overhead shot of the three leads awkwardly pulling out of a parking lot. The maladroit dexterity the characters hold on their own ludicrous premise is in the end why the film's premise prevails.

Final Verdict:

3 Stars out of 5

Captain America: The First Avenger Review

Captain America: The First Avenger

Directed by Joe Johnston

Released in 2011

When the good guy is a little guy, you know he will use his wits to defeat the big bad guy and win in the end. When the good guy possesses such mindful tactics and is still jacked up with super soldier serum, the bad guys have no chance. Once comic books were recognized as more than just pulp entertainment but a tool for propaganda, Timely Comics (precursor to Marvel) bolstered Captain America as a hero for all of us, especially the little guy. With his red, white and blue tunic and indestructible shield, Captain America - whose real name is the comfortably normal Steve Rogers - was an incredibly effective symbol of patriotism in tough times. It is not so much the "punching Hitler in the face" gambit that maintains the Captain's image today, but his bravery when forces beyond his control hold him down, as well as his substantial, though not ordinate, powers. He can throw a punch like no other, but he is ultimately mortal and modest with his powers. The 70 year old hero finds new life, and a new audience, in this satisfying, polished 2011 reboot. 

The Nazi menace threatens the freedoms of all in the world, and millions are enlisting to help. Unfortunately, short, sickly Steve Rogers cannot make the cut. Asthma is just the first of his ailments. But determination runs through his blood; he would rather spend the night volunteering for what surely would be another failed inspection than spend a night on the town. Stanley Tucci, as Dr. Abraham Erskine, takes notice, running Steve through a training course where he and Colonel Chester Phillips (Tommy Lee Jones, never more grouchy or entertaining) pick the worthiest soldier for an experimental enhancement procedure. Steve's selflessness and gallantry wins out, and what was once a gaunt, petite "boy from Brooklyn" transforms into a buff, nimble symbol of American offense and science. Nazis are not even the main enemy; that would be the anarchic branch, HYDRA, within the Third Reich in charge of weapons so powerful its leader, Johann Schmidt (Hugo Weaving), deems der Führer unworthy of harnessing the might of the gods. 

Preparing for the role with an exercise program fit for the gods, Chris Evans balances his action star looks with genuine down-to-earth humility. Captain America has the strength that perhaps his entire country is relying on to bring peace, but he remains likable by never abusing it and always looking out for others. It makes for an almost too perfect protagonist:  there are little flaws in the Steve Rogers' character, leading him to remain about the same throughout the film. Same can be said about the love interest Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell), who sees an admirable figure in Rogers before the transformation and only likes him more as he proves his abilities (and sports washboard abs to boot). It is better than a woman only interested in the protagonist's newfound looks and power, but it makes for a rather uncommon arc for romance. All that aside, it takes painfully long for "the kiss" so the payoff manifests in typical, overdue fashion. 

The numerous actors filling the supporting roles are talented and well-suited. Tommy Lee Jones channels not No Country for Old Men's solemn meditation but more Men in Black's deadpan. Never content and always discouraging the risky route (read: the right route), Col. Phillips gradually gains respect and confidence in the Captain over the course of the film. Jones has winning lines but it is his worn, grizzled mug and demeanor that bring wit and charm to a archetypal character. Stanley Tucci excels, as always, whether he regales through clever banter or cautions Rogers to never lose the charity he so embodies. While the time on-screen is awfully brief, Dr. Erskine does not create as so secure the ideology Captain America sees the world through. 

Dominic Cooper is a young Howard Stark, looking nothing like the John Slattery middle-age version that is seen in Iron Man 2. However, it is an excellent character, one I found to be a great, rather unlikely addition that does not only tie together the Marvel universe but sheds light on some truths the movie aims to reach. With short-skirted dames beside him, he unveils a prototype flying car at New York's World Fair early on for an eager, scraggly Steve Rogers to see. The playboy persona appears untouchable, of another lifestyle and class. But as he affixes his (stylish) lab goggles by the super soldier machine, little Steve Rogers' mouth drops that such an illustrious figure would help him reach his potential. Stark's aid does not end there, for he flies, experiments, builds, scavenges, fabricates, does science, fondues, and so forth throughout his generous tour. Such a character comments on the idealistic image of the most privileged sacrificing so much for the cause of war. Very admirable, and unfortunately not too true, Howard Stark's benevolence certainly carried over to his like-minded son and champions such figures.

The rest of the crew alongside Captain America, as seen through a well-placed kick-ass montage, looks out for one another and can inflict some serious damage, even when beside a cellularly enhanced beast of a man. Rogers' best bud throughout, Bucky Barnes, played by Sebastian Stan (most likely remembered as "that guy from the bar" in Black Swan), strengthens the heart of his friend and reveals in the mighty Captain what matters most. Band of Brothers' Neal McDonough sports a classy bowler and burly mustache as Dum Dum Dugan, a soldier who clearly revels in enacting revenge upon his former captors. And there is clever social commentary with Kenneth Choi's character Jim Morita. An Asian-American, Jim exasperatedly sighs "I'm from Fresno" when he receives a few skeptical glances from the others in his squad. That is all they need to hear.


Heath Ledger spoiled us, for we expect so much from our comic book villains now. Remember that it was our own Tommy Lee Jones who played Two-Face before The Dark Knight. But when expectations are higher, quality must improve as well. For this reason I found the antagonist here underwhelming. Not Toby Jones' Dr. Arnim Zola, however. A brilliant scientist aiding Johann Schmidt out of fear more than loyalty, Zola is given gravitas by Jones. He watches from the sidelines as what he creates destroys so much, perhaps an analogy to Einstein. But Hugo Weaving's Johann Schmidt aka Red Skull chews the scenery relentlessly, and with a faux German accent. Weaving's greatest success was at a villain who purposely embodied a flat stereotype in the Matrix films; that is not to speak down on the actor but only that his bad guy persona is fairly one-dimensional. He brings menace to the megalomaniac but not much more. The blame can be pointed more to the visual effects department, for he suffers a Hulk effect in which, no matter how good the actor is, once the face morphs into CGI, a human connection is lost. 


The connection between the audience and Captain America, however, never falters. Chris Evans always stole the show in other action flicks like Fantastic Four and The Losers, and in his first title role he leads with reserve and revelation, as a man in many ways adolescent discovering himself and the world around him. He does not instantly jump into the battlefields of Europe, but tours the country first in a War Bonds promotion, gaudy tights strapped on and shield in hand. The story flows with an easy energy, not rushing to get to the next set-piece, and certainly absent of any kinetic editing that we are used to with Zack Snyder and Guy Ritchie's wacky fare. It is deliberately old-fashioned, with an old-fashioned aesthetic and old-fashioned characters. They kick and punch in impressive action scenes with special effects that do not override the human story at the heart of the film. Director Joe Johnston does not possess gifts to prevent the choreography and action, however, from getting stale in the final battle, nor do he or screenwriters Christopher Marcus and Stephen McFeely provide much of a journey for the characters, where they learn, adapt, convert. But in that sense it is fit for the serialized comic book influence it so directly aspires to be (and tailored for sequels no doubt). It is an underdog story with extreme modifications, slick and built to please.


Final Verdict:
3 Stars Out of 5

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 Review

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2

Directed by David Yates

Released in 2011

So long, childhood. I’ll miss ya, but I would be hard-pressed to think of a better way to end. There is no product of the imagination in our time, in any medium, that resonated with more youth, and even adults for that matter, than the Harry Potter saga. J.K. Rowling’s scripture – which created an exhaustively detailed, unique universe to promote such lofty morals as love and loyalty in the face of adversity, and ultimately overcoming such forces of evil – ended four years ago. It is now time for the film series to follow suit. What has been a remarkably consistent streak (what other series of four, five, let alone eight, films maintained such a level of quality?) has now reached its peak in the final film, showcasing inspired filmmaking and harboring more than ample affection for the millions of fans who made the series the literary, cinematic and cultural touchstone it was.


Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 faces Harry against ultimate evil, Lord Voldemort, in one final battle. Or two, or three, or ten, because this film is effectively a war movie. As fate may have it, Hogwarts serves as the final battleground, laying waste to what was once beautiful in the bedlam of war. Significant life is lost, as fans already know, plus an added minor – and particularly gruesome – death that may catch you by surprise.  The comedy that cavorted so freely with our adolescents before is still present, but notably relegated to the backburner for the somber emotional ties to reveal themselves and the plot strands unravel. With the exception of a trip to Gringotts Bank that, while very well-done, felt more like a preview for what surely will be ride at Universal Studios’ Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the action feels grounded, real, even as colorful spells whiz across the screen. Director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves set the stakes for this violent conflict high. Perhaps even more effectively than Rowling’s material, the filmmakers illustrate what, or mainly who, hangs on the precipice of death and destruction. Much of this can be attributed to the wonders of editing, wherein images of others can be easily interpolated with Harry to establish connection. The soulful, purposeful special effects (the anti-Transformers effect) actually raise our empathy as well; when the invisible, dome barrier disintegrates to smoldering embers, a true sense of fear instills. Or as the camera sweeps over an army of Death Eaters charging the school – in what surely is a fraction of the actors actually physically present, a nod to Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings style of visual effects – we loathe the intruders, full-aware of the evil they have already committed and what they can further destroy. Here, the effects, directing, story, and acting intersect in such a deliberate, artistic way that is rarely witnessed in blockbuster action films.


And what diverse, numerous acting wonders are on display here. The three leads have shown such steady improvement over the years, and to start from what was really no more than a children’s movie to this film – which in content, theme and execution is certainly not – it is fortunate they grew into their roles so well (and didn’t age awkwardly for that matter, either). Rupert Grint abided to the narrative's details by growing exponentially over the years, to the mountainous presence he is now. From cute little girl to Vogue cover girl, Emma Watson matured with class into a role that demanded a vessel of it. The long-brewing romance between Watson and Grint's characters works here with that final payoff even non-readers knew was approaching. And both actors work familiar chemistry with the main star, Daniel Radcliffe, surely because they are the best of friends in real life after all these years. Notably, Hermione's tears when she comes to terms with a long-time truth of Harry's is heartbreaking. Such heavy material is what all of the actors have to make their own, and Radcliffe delivers his best performance as he translates Harry's pain, strife and ultimate heroism to the screen. Perhaps in part due to the media's proliferation of Dan's image, but it is indisputable that Daniel is Harry. A role that once espoused such lines as "There's no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid", Harry Potter has grown to one of the strongest leads in movie franchise history. As Dumbledore astutely notes, the "brave, brave man" that is Harry sacrifices all while wielding the most powerful weapon, love, against the surrounding fog of evil. Radcliffe has proven the choice surrogate for such a powerful and inspirational character of our times.


Ralph Fiennes personifies evil in haunting style. Previously the terrifying Amon Goeth in Schindler's List and In Bruges' infuriated hitman, Fiennes possesses a proclivity for such roles of poor moral stature, but acting can be at its best when depicting humanity's worst (Daniel Plainview and The Joker for our recent times). His face, with those reptilian slits of a nose on skin resembling palish green cartilage, contorts in fury, euphoria and even laughter. With phenomenal special effects making his mask the sickly sight it is, the sinister, soulless creature Fiennes uncovers still rumbles beneath. Note his hand gestures as he elegantly waves a wand, treating his weapon as an extension of himself. Or as he awkwardly embraces Draco, showing compassion while genuinely showing none. Or as he, with a blasé flick of the wrist, kills his own obsequious kin. As the Horcruxes protecting his soul are destroyed with rapid efficiency (a notable difference from the last film), we feel the fear of a god turning mortal. A villain for the ages, Voldemort bears a venomous bite but, an extant, though long-rotten, heart. Those stubborn Academy voters should take note of one of our time's most consistently impressive actors, Mr. Fiennes.

Or better yet, recognize the strongest character of the saga, not only due to Rowling's prose, but the tour-de-force portrayal Alan Rickman gave all for Severus Snape. Certainly the most complex and perhaps most tortured of Rowling's creations, Snape surpasses the grossly intolerant but admittedly shallow character that enunciated such memorable lines like "Page three-hundred and ninety four" (though his scene-stealing pronunciation is made light of in an early scene). What he is here is so much more. In what may be the greatest passage of the entire series, Snape's backstory is revealed, turning him from a slithery source of dry humor to a great figure of modern literature. The film's interpretation fulfills the lofty expectations readers held, and then some. The amusing lines of the text are stripped, making for a solemn sequence of tragedy. Edits flow seamlessly and logically, and any cuts made by Kloves from the source material are sensible and unworthy of debate. But it is Rickman's acting here that makes for the emotional apex of the film, and perhaps the whole series. We watch, stunned, as he oscillates between lust, fear, anger, and ultimately loss. The use of Nicholas Hooper's score from Half-Blood Prince (this film is actually composed by Alexandre Desplat for the most part) establishes a connection to previous events and successfully, thought not overbearingly so, wrings emotion from the audience. Snape's tears become your own as you form sympathy for the devil, or someone who may not be after all. It is a beautiful scene with so many wise choices, but anchored first and foremost by only Rickman.


This film series has served as a modern British acting powerhouse - such a weird phrase to use to what will likely become one of the highest grossing films of all time - and the wealth of great actors populating the wizarding universe provides for a blockbuster on such a rare plane of quality. Maggie Smith returns as Professor McGonagall, and she is no longer a passive observer of the horrors taking place at her school but a leading force in relinquishing them. Her role as maternal figure to Harry is visited again, telling him "It's good to see you again" in a way only a mother could deliver. And her giddy excitement to exercise one of the most powerful - and coolest! - spells in her arsenal is a comic highlight. This occurs when the film really kicks off, as the allied teachers, Order of the Phoenix members and students arm Hogwarts' defenses. It is both nostalgic and quite fitting to see all of the faces reunite for the final battle, as those who aided Harry on his path are there with him until the very end. Jim Broadbent's Professor Slughorn is shown all too short; he owned his intrinsic role in Half-Blood Prince with drunken antics covering a guilt-ridden conscience. His role in the final book was slightly larger (only a few added lines really). It would have been great to see more of him. Time is given to others though, as Robbie Coltrane's Hagrid returns, Harry's original portal into the magical world. His role appears late but still completes an emotional circle.  Actor Warwick Davis works overtime as the useful but scheming goblin Griphook and the charming (pun certainly intended), powerful Filius Flitwick. Such disparity in the morals of both characters proves Davis as a nimble, graceful actor. Even Filch makes one last appearance, and his miserable demeanor thankfully subsides in such testing times (his job, however does not).


Molly Weasley is back (!), as is most of the Weasley clan (no Percy redemption, sorry). Molly's final duel is as satisfying as action scenes go. Matt Lewis slips a cheesy one-liner here or there as Neville Longbottom, and while some may view his St. Crispin's Day's speech as overly sentimental, it contains themes so tied to the story I empathize with its inclusion. And, besides, his killing blow in battle casts a memory modification spell on those who recall him as an awkward, forgetful youth. Evanna Lynch's Luna Lovegood isn't caught up in the clouds as much as before, and as she rebukes Harry for ignorance, we see, and hear, both a character and actor who have come a long way. Tom Felton tosses and turns in the mind of Draco Malfoy, a closet good heart being pushed to the dark side. He redeems himself besides his mother, played by Helen McCrory, whose powerful facial expressions speak louder than words.  Meanwhile his father, the true source of his inherited hardship, flees unloved by any side. Bellatrix Lestrange, of course, stays evil to the end. Helena Bonham Carter absorbs the darkness in a way that would cause even the Dark Lord to bat an eye. It is a delight to then watch her play Hermione play her own character in a doomed-to-fail disguise. Good girl Hermione cannot meet such levels of vileness. And Ciarán Hinds, almost unrecognizable, plays Aberforth Dumbledore, the brother. He casts a shadow of doubt over the prospect of victory, but, again, redemption is such an integral theme to these stories that his progression is very satisfying.

A nice surprise apparates with Michael Gambon's Albus Dumbledore in a short, but crucial, scene. Steve Kloves wisely kept nearly all of Rowling's original lines for this exchange, and the lighting and design likely matches what many readers visualized. Sticking close to the source material works wonders here, as there are some really brilliant quotes. And how welcome is it to see Dumbledore before not just his prize, but closest friend, Harry, one last time.


David Yates marks his fourth time in the director's chair with this one, more than any before. Order of the Phoenix was poorly paced and lacked the drive of all the previous films. Thankfully with Half-Blood Prince he was able to show his talent that was apparently muffled from exterior sources for his first endeavor. At least according to him. Nonetheless, the last three films (including the Deathly Hallows Parts 1 and 2) have been the strongest consecutively, and he focuses all of his strengths for the final hurrah. The pacing, thanks to Kloves in part, shoots by with nary a dull moment, yet does not feel too short (though it, at 130 minutes, is the shortest film by far). Occupying that many characters on the screen, yet still prioritizing the leads and finishing their story, must be the secret.


Action flows with an energy that can only be described as exhilarating. As Hogwarts' defenses are set - not even one "Stupefy!" or "Expelliarmus" cast yet - excitement and anxiety builds for what happens once those barricades break. A skyset camera captures the crystalline, clear dome as it is built, and while the entire shot is likely all CGI, a united spirit radiates from the screen. We believe real people are enacting a fortress to fight for their lives. Since when have computer effects and green screens done that? Thoughtful direction makes all the difference.

While books describe images to be interpreted individually by the reader, film is a visual medium. Yates is aware of that. Voldemort's undoing is achieved with shots of artful composure, occasionally with the bare minimum of audio and no dialogue whatsoever. The silent prologue shows the last scene of Part 1, as Voldemort exhumes Dumbledore's grave to retrieve the Elder Wand. His silent depiction of requited lust is chilling. Even more so, later he drifts through a shockingly bloody pile of corpses, looking down at those fallen beneath him, a madman at the monarch. And the scene at the boathouse is immaculately staged; Yates has a future in stage direction if he so chooses. Once Voldemort turns desperate, failing again and again to slaughter the boy who brought upon his downfall, we see whatever man there is slowly disintegrate to nothingness. As he flies through the air with Harry (a noted addition not in the book), slashing and gnawing, all primal fury expels and his collected composure dissipates. This strange, but wisely included, encounter leads to their final faceoff, both stooped, taking aim. Yates believes in the dramatic significance Rowling prescribed this battle, and even takes it up a notch while maintaining thematic consistency.

It is so worth to recognize all the forces that make the film's setting so convincing, who add their artistic touches in each frame. Cinematographer Eduardo Serra knows that the devil is in the details, and, with Yates direction, turns a group of students entering school into a Hitler Youth rally. He utilizes this fictional England they create - with ravines and hills more representative of, say, Switzerland - to utilize depth, as in that final leap of faith Harry and Voldemort make. Nick Dudman, supervisor of make-up, transforms an actor (Warwick Davis) into two different characters, each convincingly lifelike. Stephenie McMillan, Barry Wilkinson and Stuart Craig - set decorator, property master and production designer, respectively - fill the Room of Requirement with knick-knacks and all sorts of fascinating bits of magical "trash". You feel bad for the ultimate fate of the room. The vivid, numerous costumes led by Jany Temime are among the best in Hollywood. John Richardson helms special effects, including the stunning dragon at Gringotts. Its pause upon breaking free, taking in the air and land it has long been deprived of, makes the collection of pixels and rendered models into flesh and blood.


As I have already noted, screenwriter Steve Kloves makes many wise choices when translating the book to film. No matter what length the film would have been, content would have to be cut and fans would demand blood. I understand such thinking; everyone has a favorite scene that they want to see on screen. And there are a few curious absences:  no follow-up with Peter Pettigrew? Perhaps a subtle nod to the cloak? (it's in the title, after all). We all have our individual gripes, and it is this reason that shows how much we care about the characters, the original text. The films have served as a companion to the books; it is in the pages we read for the first time where are imaginations served scenes of Hogwarts in its most intimate form. The films flesh out what we already are close to, occasionally offering a different interpretation. Britain's finest fill the roles, bring life to the characters on-screen. Alan Rickman's portrayal of Snape is even more stately, sad than the book's version. How magical that the books and films can coexist, crossing each others boundaries yet ultimately stay separate artistic entities. Anyone who has not read the novels gets much less from those who do; even knowing all that happened beforehand offers rewarding surprises in watching your vision realized, or perhaps tweaked. Even butchered, it offers a personal experience. The script caters to those who read the book:  for instance, a mention of Lupin and Tonks' child late in the film comes as common knowledge. However, the child was never acknowledged in the movies previously; only in the book. Those who stuck with it for the longest get the most out of it, in the end.


The last entry in the highest grossing film series of all time has no obligation to be good. In fact, a montage of the best moments from the previous films might have even broken records. But, in such a rare instance of filmmaking and production, in a time when robots, lustful vampires and comedy remakes passed as sequels rule, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 marks the highest artistic achievement of its creators yet. All the aspects mesh together just as the story's jigsaws fall into place. Most humbling of all is to watch the actors, those dozens of grade-A stars and child actors that grew up before our eyes, surrender all for a story they believe in. It is a story of one boy, and so many others beside him, using love to defeat irreconcilable evil. I cannot think of a more heartwarming theme. Now, it is time for us to shelf our collection, hang our robes. I will revisit my childhood; there is no question I will. The books and Blu-rays have more wear and tear to come. But eventually little hands will wonder of such a story their parents have long kept on display, a light film of dust beginning to settle. We will be more than happy to satiate such curiosity. And so the cycle begins again.


Final Verdict:
4.5 Stars Out of 5