Review - Supernatural 7x03: The Girl Next Door

Grade: B-

Wow, Dean. Really? After all you’ve learned and grown in the past few years, you’re still taking a hard line on monsters.

I generally have a lot of faith in Supernatural’s writers room, but it seems like years of development went out the window when Dean offed that pleasant Kitsune, a brain-eating monster with Catwoman’s fingernails. Yes, I know Dean has always taken a very black-white view of monsters, but he seemed to have grown a little over the years, gradually accepting that not all monsters are…well, monsters. Didn’t he?

I’m getting ahead of myself. The Girl Next Door opens with Sam and Dean trapped in Sioux Falls General and at the mercy of the LeviaDoc. Bobby, who is as not dead as originally thought, comes to the rescue, only to find Dean with a broken leg and Sam on his way to becoming dinner. After a half-escape, the three settle in at one of Bobby’s safehouse. With Dean on injured reserve, Sam picks up a case that seems connected one he investigated as a teen, which means…flashbacks!

As Sam starts tracking a mysterious Ice Pick Killer who drains its victims’ brains, he recalls a similar pattern from years ago. Colin Ford returns as young Sam, growing enough that we probably won’t see flashbacks before the boys’ teen years anymore. The young Sam flashbacks are interesting because, for what seems like the first time, Sam is hunting alone. I always assumed the boys stuck together when they were younger and didn’t separate until Sam went to college, so this is an interesting twist on their history. Of course, young Sam is a capable hunter but pretty inept with these young ladies. It’s pretty funny to see young Sam ask his big brother not for advice on hunt but for advice on talking to girls.

With a little advice from Dean and a timely thrashing of some bullies, Sam sparks a cute fledgling relationship with young Amy Pond (for the Doctor Who fans out there), and her mother just happen to be the objects of his and, to his surprise, Dean and John’s hunt. With Sam’s father and brother closing in, Amy’s mother outs Sam as a hunter, forcing young Sam to contemplate killing Amy and her mom. But, young Amy provides him an out by killing her own mother. Obviously, a sacrifice like that means Sam has to let Amy go, with the caveat that she never kills again.

Back in the present, Amy seems to be killing again. In actuality, she feeds on dead bodies, but her son needed live brains to fend off an illness. Amy, as Sam tells Dean, did what anyone would do to save their child and offed some criminals. This development puts this week’s story clearly in the gray area that works so well for Supernatural. It is also a return to the notion that monsters aren’t evil, which leads back to my problem with Dean’s actions. The show has always seen the world in gray terms despite Dean’s moral absolutism. Over the seasons, Dean’s gradual shift from a black/white view to a more balanced vision of the world and creatures in it has been one of Supernatural’s strengths. Yet, seeing Dean kill Amy, in front of her son no less, is either a bold step or a discouraging misstep. Dean’s actions are also going to cause a brand new rift between him and Sam, as Sam specifically asked Dean to let Amy go. Thus, we have another slight regression, as the brothers are back to hiding things from each other, something I thought they’d learned not to do, especially after Sam’s openness about his mental wall.

Thankfully, it looks like next episode will directly address Dean’s actions. How effectively it will address those issues remains to be seen, but Dean has to feel the pain for this, either by his own hand or others. If not, Supernatural’s writers will come off as painfully inept, and they’re better than that. Aren’t they?

On the side:

Besides the Amy Pond reference, this episode is stacked with easter eggs. Anybody else catch the ad for My Bloody Valentine, in 3D, or the Batman: Under the Red Hood t-shirt on the convenience store clerk?

Review - Real Steel

Grade: B

Yang: Awesome robot-on-robot violence that rivals Transformers; a surprisingly heartwarming story centered on human beings rather than CGI creations; a classic Speilbegian tale of a boy with daddy issues and his robot.

Yin: Jackman is playing Wolverine with a kid; the kid (Dakota Goyo) is a love-hate character; May insult Transformers fans with its ambitions to replicate over-the-top robot action; a classic Speilbegian tale of a boy with daddy issues and his (fill in the blank with fantastic creature).

In-Between: The main robot, Atom, learns to dance like Justin Bieber. Take that as you will.

Who watches boxing these days? Honestly. I occasionally hear people talking vaguely about organizing a fight party, but, outside of a few whispers from folks old enough to remember when Mike Tyson was actually a pugilist, I don’t hear much in the public consciousness about the sweet science. The media has, in particular, long left the sport behind, with the most recent kerfuffle over the Mayweather-Ortiz bout being the most significant ping on the cultural radar in years. So, when Hugh Jackman’s character, ex-prize fighter Charlie Kenton, in the new Rock’em Sock’em Robots movie (and make no mistake, this is Rock’em Sock’em Robots: The Movie), Real Steel, tells his son Max (the chipper, fey, Bieber-esque Dakota Goyo) that the fight game left humans behind decades ago, it’s a not-so-subtle commentary on the very real phenomenon of sports fandom abandoning boxing.

Despite sports fans generally ignoring the once-dominant spectacle of pro boxing in favor of MMA tourneys, moviegoers have not abandoned movies about boxers. In the past year, audiences have seen awards heaped on David O. Russell’s The Fighter while smaller pictures like the MMA drama Warrior draw consistently positive reviews. Why? My theory: America, despite being top dog for decades, has always loved an underdog story, even more so now that the country is sliding right into underdog status among world powers. Real Steel is the perfect flick to satiate that taste and it does so by combining the mainstream audience’s ‘love’ for a calculated combination of gloss and heart. Run Transformers into Rocky, add a dash of Over the Top and a pinch of The Iron Giant and witness the unsurprisingly fun, but shockingly heartfelt, Real Steel.

Real Steel follows Jackman’s Charlie Kenton as he scrapes out a living by fighting remote-controlled giant robots with jackhammers for fists and wicked names like Ambush, Zeus, Midas and Noisy Boy. Kenton is a bit of a deadbeat, a could’ve-been-contender with a propensity for welching on debts. When he loses two robots to separate hubris-inspired tragedies, he is forced to find something, anything, to keep him in the game. To complicate matters, the son he long abandoned, Max, has resurfaced after the death of his mother, one of Charlie’s old girlfriends. Forced to hold onto Max for the summer after making a deal with his son’s adoptive parents, Charlie is now backed into a corner where he just may have to bond with the son he never wanted to know. Things turn around for the Kenton boys when a trip to scrap yard leads them to discover Atom, a sparring robot with a smile carved into its faceplate and, maybe, a soul. Atom is special because he is the rare robot who doesn’t require remote control—he shadowboxes—and can, literally, take a licking and keep on ticking. With a new robot in tow, the three begin a journey to learn about each other—Charlie and Max teach Atom how to fight, and dance like Justin Bieber, while Max teaches Charlie how to be a father—and climb their way from unknowns to genuine contenders, in the ring and in life.

Real Steel seems terribly hokey at first glance. Nobody asked for a Rock’em Sock’em Robots movie, but now we have it, and it’s so much fun that it qualifies as something audiences didn’t know they wanted. This is a far better merging of the Speilbergian, an executive producer on the film, ethos with contemporary tastes than Super 8 ever was. The fights, alone, are amazing. Taking a note from Michael Bay’s Transformer epics and delivering ridiculous robot-on-robot violence in far clearer manner. Director Shawn Levy (Night at the Museum I and II, and Date Night) shows a much better command of an action scene with CGI ‘bots than Bay did on his first time out. While Steel doesn’t come anywhere close to the carnage of Transformers, particularly Dark of the Moon’s assault on Chi-town, it is still frenetic and colorful enough to match, and surpass, some of Transformers' lesser action scenes.

One thing Real Steel has over Transformers is the necessity of the human performances. Real Steel is about people first and that bodes well for the schmaltzier material, which keeps scenes between humans from appearing like a stopgap. Jackman is adequate as washed up ne’er-do-well, but much of what he brings to the table is just toned-down Wolverine. Dakota Goyo actually carries more of the movie as Max, building a makeshift father-son relationship with Atom that recall’s Brad Bird’s underrated animated classic The Iron Giant. While Goyo carries a lot more of the film than the trailers would lead one to believe, he can be grating. His character was obviously based of the kids from 80's blockbusters, either total enthusiasm or overwrought attitude and angst. There will be no in-between in how audiences respond to him. He’s either adorable or insufferable. Evangeline Lily shows up for a few scenes as the daughter of Charlie’s former trainer who probably, definitely is in love with Charlie, but offers little more than a voice of concern or support when necessary. The ever-reliable Anthony Mackie is also hanging around the edges of the proceedings as an underground fight promoter, being underutilized, as usual.

Thankfully, the story has enough heart to overrun the stock performances. The underdog fight plot and the father-son reconciliation threads are typically win-win scenarios, and those threads are even more effective when woven together. Audiences may not be moved to tears, but even the most jaded viewers will feel that weird warmth in their left ventricle, if only for a second. Between the solid action and legit amount of heartwarming, Real Steel proves to be a surprisingly entertaining, and slyly moving, summer flick stranded in the middle of Oscar season. It may not knock audiences out, but it will surely make them smile.

Review - Supernatural 7x02: Hello Cruel World

Grade: B

Cas is gone, but Dr. Sexy M.D. is still on the air. Somehow, the Winchester’s world just got a little bit darker.

I want to take a moment to lament what is, ostensibly, the last we’ll see of Cas for a while, hopefully. When Bobby asks Dean how he’s holding up in the face of Sam’s hallucinations, the rise of the Leviathans, and the “death” of Cas, he mentions that Dean just lost one of the best friends he’d ever had. Hindsight being 20/20, Bobby’s right. For the past couple of seasons, Cas and Dean were, at times, closer than Sam and Dean, despite Cas’ weak grasp of human emotion. So, when Dean fishes Cas’ trenchcoat out of a river after Cas explodes into an ink stain and releases the Leviathans into the local water supply, it’s a tough moment. Cas was a welcome counterpoint to the brother’s constant angst. His lack of any discernable emotion besides confusion was necessary in a series that saw its leads become more hopeless with every episode. Cas wasn’t the brightest sign of hope, but he was never trapped in his own despair like the Winchesters do.

Now, it seems like the fellas won’t be getting that break Dean was looking for last episode because the Leviathans are loose and they’ve already started wreaking havoc. The Leviathans are essentially a cross between Supernatural’s demons and vampires. They possess any unlucky souls who, in this case, ingested the polluted water then they maneuver themselves into positions and places where they can unlock their bottom jaw and become Pez-like people eaters. Like Supernatural’s demons, these new beasties have a pecking order. Apparently, there’s a Big Bad leviathan behind everything, but he/she/it is relaying its orders through a leviathan inhabiting the man who was once The Shield’s Capt. Aceveda (Benito Martinez). A few more leviathans have possessed a pair of teens from a local swim team and another inhabits an innocent young girl. In an effort to circumvent the pattern of Supernatural’s baddies being young women, the little lady leviathan quickly switches to the body of a cheeky surgeon.

The leviathans’ need to satiate themselves leaves a trail of bodies that hits the news, landing them right on the Winchesters’ radar. Normally, this is the point where Sam and Dean mount up for one of their DIY-style hunts, but our boys have learned from their past mistakes. Sam fesses up to his hallucinations, letting Dean and Bobby know exactly how bad it’s been. Dean is only shocked for a second before he benches Sam, and Sam agrees. All the while, Lucifer—Mark Pellegrino delivering finely-tuned villainy that tiptoes between unnerving and hammy—is poking at Sam—who is spending most of his time field stripping and cleaning his guns—urging the poor kid to kill himself and rejoin him in the cage. It occurs to me that Sam has been constantly besieged by mental torment since the first episode, and now, seven seasons deep, is no different. As much as Dean needed that break from hunting last season to live a normal life, I can’t help but think Sam needs it a lot more. While any Supernatural vet knows the boys will always face torment, with Sam more often than not getting the lion’s share, this feels like a retread of many of the Sam arcs from years past, but this time, at least, the brothers have learned enough to avoid avoidance and try to head the problem off.
With Sam benched, Dean on the hunt and Leviathans on the loose, everything seems totally disjointed until Bobby gets a call from Sheriff Jody Mills, last seen in Season Five’s Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid. See, Sheriff Mills was in the Sioux Falls, SD hospital for a routine appendectomy when she spotted LeviaDoc kidnapping his dinner. Bobby wisely leaves Sam by his lonesome and thus at the mercy of Lucifer, who lures Sam to an abandoned warehouse tailor made for suicides. Dean arrives just in time to pull Sam back, thanks to dropping a GPS on him earlier in the episode. This all sets up the standard Winchester heart-to-heart albeit with a lot more honesty than the average post-game wrap between these two. Of course the post-game wrap came about ten minutes early so there was more left to this fairly stuffed episode.

When the boys get back to Bobby’s, they run into Captain Leviathian who gives Sammy a pipe to the head before Dean manages to drop a car on him. Worse for the wear after their first run-in with the Leviathan, Dean and Sam end up in a ambulance on its way to Sioux Falls Hospital while, back at Bobby’s, Captain Leviathan proves that dropping a car on them isn’t enough to slow a leviathan.

This episode was mostly a place setting ep. Hello Cruel World merely put all the players in place and set the stage for the conflict between the Winchesters and the Leviathans that will form the spine of the season. Compared to last year, this is a much more serialized approach, which isn’t a bad route for a series as seasoned as Supernatural. I know and most longtime viewers know that eventually Supernatural will get around to the one-off episodes that are its bread and butter, but, for now, this is a solid way to build the season. Hopefully, the Leviathan arc won’t get buried, forgotten like some of the major arcs introduced early last season. As long as the writers keep with this momentum, we’re looking at the beginning of one of Supernatural’s most promising seasons.

Review - Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #2

Grade: A

Let me start this review by thanking Brian Michael Bendis for showing the comic-reading public that some African-American fathers do stick around to raise their children.

Conversely, I’m saddened that, by the same token, he also perpetuated the stereotype that most Black man are or have been incarcerated. But, since Bendis focuses more on showing a powerful father-son relationship, I’ll let him slide on the jailed Black man stereotype, no matter how unfortunate and uncomfortable its truth may be.

Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #2 continues the excellence of the first issue, this time focusing more intently on Miles. The last issue of UCSM ended with Miles being bitten by a genetically-engineered spider and then discovering he has the ability to become invisible. Issue #2 picks up right from that moment and follow Miles as he discovers some of his new abilities. While wandering towards home, Miles finds he has the ability to not only disappear but to jump and, when he runs afoul of some bullies, emit a shocking sting like a spider. Scared to death of being a mutant in a world where the remaining free mutants are quickly on their way to a days of future past scenario, Miles rushes to share his fears with his friend Ganke, a chubby, intelligent Asian with a passion for Legos (one stereotype out of two isn’t bad; kudos, again, Mr. Bendis). Not long after showing off some of his new-found powers, Miles’ father, last seen arguing with Miles’ uncle Aaron, arrives to reclaim his son.

The second half of the issue is dedicated to an awkward but moving conversation between Miles and his father, where his father reveals that he was once imprisoned—after running and robbing with Aaron—and how he hopes Miles will never have to face such a fate. This moment, which took at least three pages, is a pitch-perfect example of why decompression is a viable approach to comic storytelling. Allowing the conversation between Miles and his father to continue unburdened by a rushed gives the characters a chance to breath and enabled Bendis to employ some very human pauses and reactions. That scene single handedly shows that the best written and illustrated comics can easily match television or film in their ability to capture emotional truth.

But Bendis and his alone do not carry this issue, artist Sara Pichelli continues to deliver some of the best art of the year on this title. Pichelli is already well known for ability to add essential details to her illustration without overstuffing her panels (***coughJimLeecough***). Rather than rehash that praise, I’ll point to a couple of exemplary panels. Page 1, Panel 1 is an establishing shot of the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn focused on the varied faces of modern New Yorkers. The variety of faces in that panel is exemplary. There are no lookalikes or switched templates. Each face is unique and utterly human. The splash on page 14 is superb, delicately revealing the emotion on both Miles and his father’s face while showing that life goes on around them. Bendis is very lucky to have Pichelli on board with him because, despite the current praised heaped on writers, comics live and die based on the quality of their illustrations. As long as Pichelli continues to bring her gorgeous pencils to UCSM the comic should enjoy a long, prosperous existence.

While I’m hoping UCSM will enjoy a long run, this is just the beginning for Miles. By the end of this issue Ganke has reasoned that Miles is not a dreaded mutant but the survivor of a freak accident like the now-legendary Spider-Man, a conversation told completely through text. On that note, I’d like to heap some more praise on the writer, as many are wont to do these days. Bendis’ decision to eschew narration boxes in favor of a dialogue driven issue is not just inspired it’s a welcome. Today’s audiences, or at least those who Marvel and DC hope to court with initiatives like Ultimate Comics and the New 52, are used to entertainment, like television and film, that typically avoids narration. In using the non-narration approach, Bendis is delivering information in a more contemporary manner and delivering a product from the Big Two that is starting to look like it wants to shake off the shackles of tradition. To Bendis, again, I say kudos. Wisely, Bendis ends this issue where any story about Spider-Man should rightfully begin with Miles crawling the wall of his bedroom. Miles may be frightened of what comes next, but I, for one, am eager to see this kid ascend to the heights only spiders can reach.

Review - Machine Gun Preacher

Grade: C

Good: Brings much needed attention to a serious issue and offers heartwarming moments, in the most conventional of terms. Performance by Savane and Magale rise above the weaker efforts of more recognizable stars.

Bad: Another spin on the white-man-saves-the-savages narrative, that seems to willfully lack awareness of its inherent, potentially offensive redundancy. Butler fails to capture the fire behind the real-life Childers in favor of playing a super-cool tough guy who is in the wrong movie.

Ugly: The abject suffering the people of the Southern Sudan and Northern Uganda region face is deplorable.

One of dour comic Louis C.K.’s most popular bits is a rant on “white people problems”. White people problems, or first world problems as they are occasionally known, are those mundane problems that seems to cripple the well-fed, educated and housed people, generally Caucasian, of developed countries like the United States , the United Kingdom, and France. These problems can be anything from Starbucks running out of milk temporarily to upper middle class professionals being forced to devote a fraction of their $100,000 salary to pay for an electric bill that jumped from $150 to $250. All problems that cannot remotely compare to the suffering of people in developing countries like Uganda and Sudan, where children are routinely abducted while their families and villages are brutally destroyed by warlords and their subversive armies.

The majority of the population in developed countries knows little of the strife and suffering the people of these countries face on a daily basis. An even smaller number is aware and able to help, until they forget. Reformed biker and preacher Sam Childers has never forgotten the people, particularly the children, of Northern Uganda and Southern Sudan, and has devoted his life to defending their right to live in freedom and safety.

Marc Forster and screenwriter Jason Keller’s Machine Gun Preacher is solemn, if occasionally disconnected, testament to a man who will not quit and the seemingly-impossible mission has saved his life as much as it has threatened to destroy it. Gerard Butler stars as Sam Childers, founder of Angels of East Africa, a former biker, junkie, small-time hood who lived life beyond the wild side until a violent encounter with a hitchhiker forces him to rethink his way of life. Baptized and committed to Christ, Childers opens a construction company and begins to make a better life for his wife Lynn (Michelle Monaghan) and his daughter, Paige (Madeline Carroll). During a routine trip to Sunday service, Childers is moved by a missionary who spent many years working with the people, particularly the children, of war-ravaged the Southern Sudan-Northern Uganda region. Not long after, Childers visits the region as part of a Habitat-for-Humanity-style program and witnesses the shamefully high amount of suffering. Childers, inspired by a higher power, returns to build a church/orphanage in the region. When his church project is decimated by warlords, Childers takes a radical approach to saving the people on the border of the Sudan and Uganda, one that involves a many guns as it does gauze and one that may push Childers further from the family that saved him.

Gerard Butler does admirable work as Childers. Of course, the former-Leonidas excels when he’s called to be an action hero with a cause. A Rambo of Northern Africa, if you will. But, when forced to delve into the emotion and fire that lives within Childers, he’s a bit muted. Sure, the quiet, reflective man of action archetype fits well within this type narrative, but there seems to be a spark missing from Butler’s performance that would have made Butler’s interpretation of Childers as memorable as his mission. I know there’s a spark missing from Butler’s performance because Childers was present at the screening and to see the literal fire that emanates from this man is to see why Butler’s performance skews wide left of perfect. Childers is ferocious in his passion for his cause—this is a man who, in personal footage shown during the credits, is cocking a shotgun one-handed and firing in a smooth succession(top that, Ms. Connor)—and it bleeds through him. Butler, on the other hand, gives his interpretation of Childers as cool countenance that belies this intensity and his performance suffers for it. Despite the incongruity between real and movie Childers, Butler still owns the movie above and beyond all the supporting cast. Michelle Monaghan is adequate as Childers long-suffering wife, who deals patiently with her husband’s issues no matter what side of the law he’s on. Michael Shannon is sadly underutilized as Childer’s best friend, a recovering junkie who goes through the typical recovery arc, which gives less screen time to deliver the unsettling quality that Shannon typically brings to the big and small screen. Souleymane Sy Savane fares a little better than the rest of the supporting cast bringing a quiet dignity to his role as Childers right-hand man in Africa—jeez, that sounds bad—Deng. Young Junior Magale also deserves praise for his role as pre-teen who has lost all of his family and is desperately trying to find his lost brother, a plotline which probably would have made for a far more compelling narrative.

Forster does an able job of interpreting a script by impassioned screenwriter Jason Keller, who was also present at the screening—an oddity considering how quickly screenwriters are excused from the creative process. Unfortunately, Forster’s vision is serviceable and workmanlike rather than revelatory. Preacher is visually no different or unique than any meditative action film that Clint Eastwood may have made. There’s no visual signature or particular insight that elevates this above the material. Even worse, Forster, who doesn’t shy away from showing the horrors of the war in the region and its devastating impact on non-combatants, fails to present the region as something other than a catalyst for Childer’s redemption, and that’s the inherent problem with this story. No matter how you spin it, this is another “white man-saves-the-savages” narrative. Despite the honesty that I’m sure Keller and Forster infused Preacher with, it’s very hard to conquer that mental hurdle of “here we go again.” I wish Forster and Keller would have been able to introduce some awareness to film, considering that most cultures are cognizant if through visual or written literature that this is a common trope. That effort would have at least proven that the good people of the Sudan-Uganda region weren’t completely hopeless without a man like Childers. And, truthfully, at the rate Childers loses as many lives as he saves, one has to wonder how much good he is actually doing.

As it is, Preacher is an admirable effort, but it could have been so much more. From performances to direction, it seems like it’s going through the motions and hitting the exact same notes as similar stories have in years past. Preacher is a film that will surely make some members audience cringe, albeit for many different reasons, but it does make an effort, if not a particularly effective one, to bring attention to a cause that may go ignored in light of more popular issues. As Keller said during the Q&A that followed the film, this movie isn’t for those who know about the suffering in the Sudan and Uganda; it’s for those who don’t. While this may not be the optimal vehicle to enlighten those masses, you can’t fault Forster and co. for trying.