Blade Runner 2049: The Future isn't Female

Warning: Contains major spoilers

Blade Runner 2049 is a great, ambitious sci-fi movie that is gorgeous and original. There will be tons of pieces analyzing everything about it, but I just want to focus on how the film failed to develop its female characters in the way it develops its male ones. The characters played by Ryan Gosling, Harrison Ford and Jared Leto feel fully thought out and developed, but Ana de Armas, Robin Wright and Sylvia Hoeks aren’t given that same respect.

This is seen most in the character Joi, an AI hologram who acts as a wife to Ryan Gosling’s ‘K’. Her character could have been a look at how AI’s are created to pleasure humans, but develop humanity themselves. Instead her character is just there to help K, she’s introduced as a 1950s housewife preparing dinner for him, then goes through a series of outfits to arouse him; not once does he do the same for her, in fact the movie never addresses her own sexual interests. At one point, she even calls a prostitute over, a criminally underused Mackenzie Davis, so that he can have someone to have sex with. The scene has astonishing CGI that puts Armas’ hologram over Davis’ body, but it’s just another example of Joi making a sacrifice for K’s pleasure and doesn’t really fit in with the movie. This is not to say Armas is bad in the film, she’s a revelation, she gives so much presence and pathos to a character that the writers’ figured out what they wanted to do with. In the one scene that she is allowed pleasure, where she goes outside and experiences rain for the first time. It’s a highlight of the film, but then she freezes because K has a call from work and is shut down and forgotten till he needs her again. Near the end of the movie she’s destroyed, yet another sacrifice she makes, but he doesn’t find a way to bring her back. He just stares longingly at a nude projection of another version of her, so we can feel bad about his lose.

Every other female character is two dimensional, Davis as the hooker with a heart of gold. Sylvia Hoeks as the sexy femme fatale. Robin Wright, giving the role her all, as the hard drinking police captain who tries to solicit sex from K. The movie even ends up centering on Carla Juri’s character but she’s never more than a plot point. No female character is more disgraced than Rachael. Everyone talks about Rutger Hauer’s performance as Roy Batty, but Rachael is the beating heart of the original Blade Runner. Sean Young’s astounding performance as Rachael as she discovers she’s a replicant, all her memories are someone else’s, and will now be hunted for as long as she can last. Young’s performance is a tightwire act performance that is both robotic and cold, but also deeply human and emotional. She only has solace in Deckard, but when she saves his life, he takes advantage of her. Even though he cares for her, she’s still just a replicant; a beautiful thing that he can own.

Blade Runner 2049 centers around how she gave birth to a child, which should be impossible, but it’s never about her. She’s long dead. All mention of her is about how Deckard saw her, how she was beautiful and he loved her; never mentioning that she went to him for help and he raped and abused her. She finally appears at the end of the movie; a new model of Rachael is made and she comes out looking just as young and beautiful as in the original film. However, it’s just as a manipulation for Deckard and when he doesn’t go for it they callously kill her. Harrison Ford was paid millions and was given a deep, complex role. Sean Young got to be CGI’ed to look young again and shot in the head. Just another Hollywood story.

By: Ben Ritter

The Humanity of David Lynch

One of the most memorable moments of the original Twin Peaks comes at the end of “Lonely Souls,” the 7th episode of the 2nd season, the murder of Madeline “Maddy” Ferguson by BOB who had just been revealed to be Leland Palmer. BOB beating Maddy to death, often shown in slow motion with her and his screams distorted to sound unnatural and unearthly, is the most brutal and horrific scene ever shown in the original Twin Peaks, possibly in all of David Lynch’s work. However, it is the crosscuts with the Roadhouse that makes the scene so powerful and isn’t given the attention it deserves. The Giant appears to Special Agent Dale Cooper in a vision saying “It is happening again.” After the murder, a figure simply known as “Waiter” comes up to Cooper and says “I am so sorry.” We also see a look of despair on Bobby Briggs face, and Donna Hayward bursts into tears and must be comforted by her boyfriend James Hurley, all while Julee Cruise mournfully sings “The World Spins” on the stage. Somehow all these people are feeling the exact same pain and lose that the audience is even though they haven’t seen what we just have. Somehow, they just know, they just know that something is wrong and the world is darker than it was a second ago.

David Lynch has always been a controversial figure. Famously, after a test screening of Blue Velvet, someone wrote on a response card, “David Lynch should be shot.” Roger Ebert hated most of Lynch’s early work, especially Blue Velvet, writing this about Isabella Rossellini’s character in his review, “She is degraded, slapped around, humiliated and undressed in front of the camera. And when you ask an actress to endure those experiences, you should keep your side of the bargain by putting her in an important film.” Lynch is obsessed with the darker side of humanity, of the violence inside of us, the animalist desire to kill.

This isn’t what makes the collective work of David Lynch so powerful though. It’s the moments like the response to Maddy’s murder. It’s the tears that people shed as they learn about the murder of Laura Palmer in the pilot of Twin Peaks and beyond. It’s in the affection Betty and Rita share in Mulholland Drive. It’s Sailor singing Love Me Tender to Lula in Wild at Heart. It’s in the decency Dr. Frederick Treves sees in John Merrick where everyone else just sees an animal in The Elephant Man. Everyone remembers and talks about the brutality that he depicts, but forget he balances those out with acts of love. He loves his characters and hates to put them through what he does, but he knows there is no avoiding the darkness of the world.

One of the best depictions of Lynch’s humanity is in one of his least talked about movies, The Straight Story. A Disney movie, co-written by Mary Sweeney, a longtime collaborator and now ex-wife of Lynch, it tells story of Alvin Straight, a 73-year-old man from a small rural town in Iowa who learns his brother, whom he hasn’t spoken in 10 years because of a falling out, has had a stroke. Alvin needs two canes to walk and has had his driver license taken away because he can’t see very well, but he decides to take the 300-mile journey to see his brother by hooking up a trailer to his lawn mower and taking it on the road. It seems like it should just be your average cheesy Disney family movie, but Lynch and Sweeney turn it into so much more. Strange things happen throughout, but nothing unnatural or violent, just an old man who knows he’s near death who’s haunted by much of his past and wants to at least fix this one relationship. It’s never explained what happened between the brothers, and it doesn’t really matter, humans are stubborn and squabble over the dumbest things. The film doesn’t even show us much of their reunion, all that matters is that they are now old enough to know that whatever happened to them wasn’t all that important in the first place, what really matters is family.

Lynch is an imperfect director who has some considerable blind spots, not surprising for a 71-year-old man, but also important to point out. One very noticeable aspect of his work is the whiteness of the cast, his work rarely features actors of color and almost never in prominent roles. Wild at Heart features an interracial couple and makes it seem almost unnatural, in Twin Peaks: The Return there is an extended scene where a black prostitute is shown fully nude, and black people are often cast as criminals in his films. He also casts little people in his work a lot including in Twin Peaks, Mulholland Drive, The Elephant Man and his unproduced film Ronnie Rocket, but they are almost always depicted as unnatural or supernatural.

The issue that gets most discussed in his work is his depiction of violence against women. One of the most common themes in Lynch’s films is the violence that lies in the hearts of men and too often he shows it by having a man attack or sexually assault a woman. Normally he balances this out by having the women who are attacked be fully formed characters and show the affect it has on them, but it still can feel exploitative at times, like in Twin Peaks: The Return when he shows a woman in her underwear brutally murdered just so we can understand the guy she’s with is evil. Its partially why I feel Blue Velvet isn’t quite one of his best films, because Blue Velvet concerned about men who do women harm, how the hero Jeffrey Beaumont isn’t all that different from the monstrous Frank Booth, and isn’t as interested in the woman herself.

This is what makes Lynch’s greatest creation so special, the character of Laura Palmer. When Twin Peaks begins, Laura Palmer is just a sexist cliché, another dead, beautiful woman who we know nothing about. However, as the show goes on we do learn about her, we see the affect her murder has on the town, how almost everyone on the show inexplicably bursts into tears whenever her name comes up, and throughout we slowly learn more and more about her. Lynch was fascinated by her, which is why after the show was cancelled and he had a chance to make a Twin Peaks movie, instead of continuing the story like everyone wanted, he made a prequel about Laura Palmer. When Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me was shown at Cannes it was followed by boos, audiences hated it and it flopped at the box office. In retrospect, it’s actually one of Lynch’s best movies. Audiences had fallen in love with Laura Palmer, but they never wanted to admit to the cruelty that she faced, they just saw a beautiful all-American girl who’s live was sadly taken to soon. In Fire Walk with Me, Lynch showed us everything that happened to her, how her father raped and abused her, how the demonic presence BOB tried to drive her insane so that he could feed off her pain and eventually possess her, how she coped with drugs and sex with a variety of men, and possibly women, fluctuating between being sexually dominant and being sexually dominated.

More so with Laura Palmer than any other character does Lynch show us just how cruel men can be, but it’s not this that makes Laura Palmer so special. What makes her special is her strength and inherent goodness, no matter how much pain she suffers she never gives in and the goodness in her is never corrupted. This is why everyone in town cries whenever she comes up and continue to cry even 25 years later in Twin Peak: The Return, because they realize someone truly special had been taken away and it wasn’t fair. That’s why the movie ends not with her death, but with her spirit being lifted up and comforted by Agent Cooper and an angel. This is the image that should define Lynch’s work. Lynch’s work may get dark and violent but that’s not what he’s about, he loves these characters just as we do. He’s a humanist who realizes that the world is a cruel place filled with pain, but he never gives up hope that things will get better; if not in this life then the next.

By: Ben Ritter

REVIEW: Passengers (2016)

Warning: The following review contains minor spoilers.

It’s rare to find a movie that is not a direct adaptation of another work, as just about everything released to theaters seems to be adapted from a book, TV show, comic or another film. This is hardly a new phenomenon as Hollywood has used other mediums as source material pretty much since the dawn of the film industry. I’m not exactly complaining here, but it is still refreshing to see a truly original idea on the big screen. Unfortunately, the end result of a fresh concept isn’t refreshing when it turns out to be average at best. This is disappointing to say as the premise of Passengers is rife with the potential to be something truly extraordinary.

Set in the far future, Passengers is the story of Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) and Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence), who embark on a 120-year trip to colonize a new planet, naturally to be spent in suspended animation. However, something goes wrong and the pair awaken nearly 90 years early. Unable to go back to sleep, and aware they will die long before reaching their destination, the two form a strong bond, one which is tested when catastrophe strikes their ship.

A great premise, obviously, and a unique one as well, but an idea is only half the battle; it’s the execution that matters in the end. The first element of execution is tone, and this movie flip-flops on tone quite a bit. A good portion of the film is Pratt and Lawrence on the ship together, trying to find meaning in an utterly hopeless situation. They have each other and the ship is equipped with every luxury they could ever want, but they are nonetheless trapped inside a gilded cage. Though this is an extremely tragic scenario, the film seems determined to gloss over it. There is room for comedy here, but it should carry an air of the dreadful circumstances to it. That’s not what occurs. Instead, the film delivers light-hearted montages set to pop songs and improvisation on the part of both Lawrence and Pratt; elements that don’t match the previously set tone.

The other big problem with the execution rests in the script. The central conflict between Pratt and Lawrence is established well, but the third act crumbles to pieces. The climax of the movie is set-up beforehand, but it’s made abundantly clear to the audience far too soon as the characters spend the whole movie playing catch-up. As for the ending, it’s pretty trite, including an out-of-left-field reveal that quickly renders itself colossally pointless. A happy ending does not fit this story, and what the narrative concludes with is nowhere near as bittersweet as it needed to be.

Even with all those complaints, I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy the movie on some level. The visuals are a gorgeous sight to look at, the chemistry between the Pratt and Lawrence is strong, and there are some tense action scenes (even if the one at the end stretches suspension of disbelief beyond all logical reason). If viewers were hoping for a nicely shot and well-acted sci-fi flick, they won’t be too disappointed. However, if they’re expecting an intelligent and dramatic film similar to the likes of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Close Encounters of the Third Kind or Arrival, they’re sadly not going to get it.

Review by: Zak Kizer

REVIEW: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)

The start of a new franchise is always a gamble. Even when a series's name has been well established for years; trying something new always comes with a chance of failure. Rogue One: A Star Wars Story is one such experiment and is, for the most part, quite successful. Any nerd worth his/her salt, myself included, can tell you that Star Wars and prequels have not mixed well in the past. Why exactly that is has been discussed time and time again by other critics, so instead of falling into the same grouping, this review will strictly focus on why this film, which serves as a direct prequel to the original Star Wars, uses the prequel concept to its advantage.

All prequels in every form of media have one common obstacle to overcome: a lack of tension. Setting a story before one fans and/or viewers have already seen is a huge disadvantage, as any and all major events are proven to be inevitable. This is especially true in doing a prelude to a story as well-known as Star Wars, so how exactly does Rogue One bypass this issue?

The narrative is original and interesting for longtime fans and casual viewers. The main characters introduced to the story are completely new to the universe, and thus their ultimate fate in the overall mythology is ups for grabs. The film illuminates elements of the original Star Wars that, while not entirely necessary to explore, are nonetheless pleasant to see on screen. Both of these elements elevate Rogue One no less than several hundred notches above the cosmic train wreck that was the prequel trilogy.

To elaborate on my aforementioned points, the characters of this film are mostly original ones, allowing for a great deal of freedom in terms of their story arcs. The two primary leads, Felicity Jones as Jyn Erso and Diego Luna as Cassian Andor, are certainly the heart and soul of the cast. Both fill rather standard archetypes, with Jones as the jaded cynic who rediscovers hope and Luna as the hardened killer who finds mercy, but in typical Star Wars fashion the performances manage to create compelling and multidimensional personas. I won’t say their arcs carry the same weight as those of the Skywalker clan, but their brand of smaller scope is actually another bonus, serving to differentiate this spin-off from the main saga.

As for the supporting cast, the major standout among our heroes is Alan Tudyk, who voices the droid K-2SO. He has some legitimately funny dialogue, stemming from his blunt, analytical personality; humor which resonates much more than the comedy found in the rest of the movie. It’s no secret that this film went through some well-publicized re-shoots earlier last year, and the plenitude of awkward humor is by far the biggest outcome of this fact. This is especially true of Donnie Yen and Riz Ahmed’s characters who have some pretty cringe-worthy “jokes” earlier on.

Having said that, it is indeed the final act of this film that cements its quality. The entire film is a prelude to A New Hope, but trying to mix that in with its own story and characters at the same time comes across as a little clumsy. However, the finale of this movie is where the two blend together seamlessly. The appearance of Darth Vader (that’s no spoiler, he’s in all the advertising!) is legitimately chilling and exactly what audiences have wanted to see for a long time. Other fan favorites pop up by way of motion capture recreations, and while the effect can be flat at times, it’s mostly solid.

Overall, whether fans truly asked for Rogue One or not, the end result is a slightly uneven but ultimately engaging film. If this is a sign of what’s to come from these “Star Wars Stories”, then it’s a sign to be hopeful.

Review by: Zak Kizer

REVIEW: Arrival (2016)

Language is a fundamental concept to the human race. It may not be entirely unique to our species, but it is a feature that distinguishes nearly every facet of our lives and civilization. As messy as translation can be, the proper amount of work and training can bridge nearly any language barrier on Earth. But what happens when the barrier that must be crossed is not from Earth?

Arrival tells the story of a linguist (Amy Adams) and a physicist (Jeremy Renner) who are contacted by an Army colonel (Forrest Whittaker) to make First Contact with an alien race that has landed spaceships around the world. As they slowly decipher the species' mysterious written language, Adams and Renner become more and more enraptured by the visitors while tension and fear of the extraterrestrials’ motives grows among the general population and the world’s military leaders.

The acting, as expected with a cast of this caliber, is strong, but the most exceptional aspect of Arrival is the narrative. This film is a mix of two genres, science fiction and mystery, and it’s execution of these factors is fantastic.

The aliens are among the most unique and fascinating extra-terrestrials to be seen on the big screen in quite some time. Unlike most movie aliens, the mystery doesn’t come from not seeing them, rather, the suspense comes from getting to know them and understanding their language and thinking process. It’s a unique and clever take on the alien invasion sub-genre that has rarely been seen in mainstream sci-fi.

Usually in fiction, the protagonists simply destroy the aliens (i.e. Independence Day, War of the Worlds, Aliens), or interact with them nonviolently and have at least a minimal understanding of how to communicate with them (District 9, Star Trek, Alien Nation). The concept of first contact, or at least one that doesn’t involve immediate hostilities, is extremely rare in media based on extraterrestrials.

The closest comparison to this film one can envision is Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but the comparison lies solely in the first contact premise, as the execution of the two films could not be more different. Close Encounters builds its entire plot-line around the fact that the aliens have come to Earth for benign, yet incomprehensible reasons.  They affect the human psyche and rock civilization to its core, but the heroes don’t understand them or their intentions. The aliens are as strange as there are beautiful. They may frighten humanity and upend all that they thought important, and humans will never understand why, but in the end, that’s okay.

By contrast, Arrival is about understanding, a complete and total understanding to be precise. The aliens’ want is every bit as wondrous and frightening, but they have much clearer goals in mind for the human race. Without spoiling the ending, the aliens show humanity the deepest meaning behind all language. Language, spoken and unspoken, truly is all that there is to us; it’s how we make sense of the entire universe and how we convey every single thought or feeling in our lives. Arrival reflects that sort of infinite complexity brilliantly, not just telling the protagonists what language can capture, but all the things it can’t.

Review by: Zak Kizer