Director Report Card: Henry Selick (2022)

5. Wendell & Wild

Henry Selick doesn't make a lot of movies. Since the beginning of his career in 1975, while working as an in-betweener at Disney, he's only completed three short films, five features, and a handful of television bumpers. This relatively small body of work is presumably due to Selick's stop-motion animation being an intensive, time-consuming process and the simple fact that his movies are fucking weird.  They're not commercial. "The Nightmare Before Christmas" and "Coraline" are beloved cult classics now but their initial box office receipts – the only language Hollywood really speaks – were middling. This is the likely reason why the numerous, promising projects Selick has been attached to over the years never made it before audiences.

Yet Netflix, in their desperate bid to buy award season prestige, briefly started the habit of bankrolling whatever crazy shit beloved auteurs wanted to make. I don't know if Selick was on the streamer giant's radar but Jordan Peele certainly was. When Peele and his partner-in-crime Keegan-Michael Key began developing a film with Selick, Netflix was eager to pick it up. This is how another entry for the surprisingly packed category of Weirdest Stop-Motion Animated Film of 2022 came to be. Netflix put the film in theaters long enough to get Academy consideration before burying it on their service.

As a child, Kat's parents died in a car wreck, leaving her a ward of the state. Enrolled in an all-girls Catholic school in the dying town of Rust Bank, Kat continues to grapple with the otherworldly visions that she's dealt with all her life. At school, she makes friends – including the daughter of the for-profit prison industrialists the Klaxons – and receives a demonic marking on her hand. Kat soon learns she is a “hell maiden” and begins communicating with two demonic brothers, Wendell and Wild. The brothers have hatched a plot to fund their dreamed-about amusement park by using the hair growth gel belonging to their massive father to resurrect the dead. The demons soon become embroiled in a scheme with the Klaxons to force through their plans for a prison. All while Kat juggles her own destiny.

“Wendell & Wild” reminds me of movies like “Akira” or Ralph Bakshi's “The Lord of the Rings.” By which I mean it feels like a long-running source material, like a comic book or lengthy novel, was adapted into a single motion picture. That the filmmakers were attempting to shove as much of the story into one movie as possible. The film is based on an unpublished children's book Selick co-wrote, the contents of which we can only speculate on, yet it contains easily enough ideas for several books. Extensive backstories for minor supporting characters, such as a nun at Kat's school who is also a Hell Maiden, are only hinted at. Oddball concepts with specific names and rules, like a demonic teddy bear or that aforementioned resurrecting hair gel, are freely thrown around. Wacky plot points with lots of ramifications are quickly introduced and we, the viewer, just have to roll with it. The film includes enough unique phrases, characters, and subplots to easily fill an entire series.

The most prominent, and likable, of those many ideas is a large cast made up of lovable misfits. We like Kat immediately, not just because the film does a good job of establishing that life has already put her through the grinder at such a young age, but also because her goth-punk attitude and fashion simply makes her a cool, stylish presence. She quickly makes friends at school, somewhat reluctantly, with Raul. Raul is trans, his former life as a girl being nodded at a few times but in a tactful way. Wendell and Wild are outcasts too, demons devoted to a whimsical dream that they are determined to fulfill at all cost. It’s easy to see why these four characters get along, even if their relationship is prickly at best. 

Yet even this gang doesn’t account for all of “Wendell & Wild’s” cast. Upon arriving at the school, Kat also meets Siobhan and her trio of friends, as well as their adorable little goat sidekick. (One could imagine a soft plush toy of that character being made and selling well, if this movie actually had any merchandise.) Siobhan’s parents, Raul’s mom, and the various faculty members at the school all have little character arcs of their own. Like I said, this is a lot of plot and circumstance for one movie. Your head starts to spin a little bit, trying to keep track of it all. 

This is probably why, sometimes, “Wendell & Wild” feels like it shortchanges its own protagonist. Obviously, Kat overcoming the grief of loosing her parents at such a young age is the main emotional through line of the movie. With so many incidents, convoluted lore, and wacky characters on its mind, the resolution to the protagonist’s trauma gets shoved into a few scene. One of which is an elaborate light show that represents her struggling with her magical powers. Not the most intuitive way to tell the story. Once her parents are resurrected as zombies, that arc can be handled a little more smoothly. Even then, it feels underserved. 

Of course, maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Perhaps I’m being intellectual. Film is a visual medium and, by that account, “Wendell & Wild” is a success. Because it looks fucking cool. The power of stop motion, when compared to other animation mediums, is how tactile it feels. These are real puppets, on real stages, being moved around by invisible hands. That brings with it a weight and detail that isn’t available in traditional animation. “Wendell & Wild” takes full advantage of this, with its colorful character designs that often bend in likably outrageous fashion. This is most evident in the finale, where the group of zombies go up against a collection of snowblowers. 

If it wasn’t obvious by now, “Wendell & Wild” is overflowing with spooky Halloween energy. The scene where the undead emerge from their caskets, thrusting worm-infested faces right into the camera, wouldn’t feel out of place in any of Selick’s past collaborations with Tim Burton. The visions of Hell in this movie, while far more whimsical than “Mad God” or “L’inferno,” is still ripe with enormous cartoon devils and shrieking, ghost-like souls. The movie also focuses more on slime, snot, and goo more than you’d probably expect, showing that the grotesque attributes of “Monkeybone” were probably Selick’s idea. 

In fact, “Wendell & Wild” resembles “Monkeybone” quite a lot. While there’s nothing here as gross as Chris Kattan tossing his own internal organs from his body, the film shows a similar fascination with decomposing corpses, via its various shambling zombies. Meanwhile, the underworld the titular brothers come from is a Hellish amusement park with lots of infernal rollercoasters. That directly takes me back to “Monkeybone’s” weirdo vision of the afterlife. If there was ever any doubt that the skeletons and ghouls in “Nightmare Before Christmas” were as much Selick’s fascination as Tim Burton’s, this should put it to rest.

As a Key and Peele project, “Wendell & Wild” is only slightly less distinct. The titular characters are visually patterned after Peele and Key, with the stout and child-like Wild contrasting nicely with the taller, skinnier, wackier Wendell. Yet Peele's touch is most evident in the subplot about the predatory prison complex industry. The Klaxons are greedy murderers who gleefully design a ploy that will send troubled kids straight from school to prison. They manipulate local politics to support their evil greed by shoving in votes from literal dead people. They lie to their daughter, who naively assumes the prisons to be comfortable establishments that treat their prisoners fairly. It's a fair take down of the prison industry, albeit one that feels a little forced into a story that's already overflowing with narrative. Considering Peele's love of discussing social woes within the horror genre in his own film, one imagines this subplot was his idea. 

Key and Peele, of course, share lots of amusing banter all throughout the film. The two have such a laidback quality to their comedy, which makes the absurd, circular directions their conversations go in so funny. Yet Wendell and Wild actually only have a supporting role in their own movie. Lyric Ross as Kat is the proper star of the movie and she gives  a likable, suitably caustic but vulnerable performance. James Hong also has a hilarious role as the quickly undead priest that runs the school, while Ving Rhames' baritone is well utilized as the titular duo's demonic father. I wish Angela Bassett was given a little more to do, as the demon-fighting nun that becomes Kat's mentor. 

"Wendell & Wild" undeniably belongs to the creative forces that birthed it. Its visual style and character designs, not to mention its fascination with spooky and kooky things, are so clearly the work of Henry Selick. Its off-beat sense of humor and socially conscious context clearly come from Key and Peele's minds. Even the afro-punk soundtrack speak to the distinctive sensibilities that spawned it, as Selick worked on a few Fishbone videos. As much as there is to like here, I do wish "Wendell & Wild" had been a series, instead of just one film. With more room to breath, its convoluted story, large cast, and extensive lore would've had more room to breath. But I still enjoyed the experience and have no doubt that it'll gather a cult following in the years to come. If nothing else, I'm thankful we got another peek at Selick's twisted imagination. [Grade: B-]

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2022)

12. Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio

Co-directed by Mark Gustafson

Now that he's the director of a Best Picture winner, it seems Guillermo del Toro is working hard to get his dream projects made. While his big budget “At the Mountains of Madness” remains unrealized, his long dreamed-about adaptation of “Pinocchio” has finally arrived. That is thanks to Netflix, who clearly wants the prestige of being in the Guillermo del Toro business. (Even if their backing of weirdo auteur projects like this have done nothing to raise their profit margins.) The often adapted tale – so often, this is the second version to debut on streaming this year alone – has been on del Toro's docket since 2008. Del Toro's version is distinguished by being stop-motion and also, obviously, by the instincts of its filmmaker. How did the monster-loving director, who made the film alongside animator Mark Gustafson, handle this material?

Geppetto is a carpenter living in a small, Italian village with his beloved son, Carlo. The boy is killed when the area is bombed during World War I. Geppetto spends the next twenty years grieving. During a drunken fit, he carves a puppet from the tree that grows on Carlo's grave. That night, a blue sprite appears from the woods and brings the puppet to life. Named Pinocchio, Geppetto is unsure what to do with him at first. The mischievous marionette rubs the agents of Mussolini's fascist government the wrong way. Soon, Pinocchio is launched on a quest that sees him acting in a traveling show, ending up in a military training camp for young boys, dying multiple times, being swallowed by a monstrous fish, and attempting to make himself into a “real” boy.

“The Adventures of Pinocchio” is one of the most published and popular children's story in history, which explains why there's been so many adaptations of it. Yet “Pinocchio” is also a tricky book to adapt because it has such an episodic plot. Del Toro's version doesn't really resolve this issue, resulting in a sluggish pace that moves in a somewhat directionless manner from encounter to encounter. Surprisingly, this “Pinocchio” more-or-less maintains the structure of the beloved Disney version than attempting to wrangle a normal story from Carlo Collodi's rambling narrative. Pinocchio is made, recruited into a puppet show instead of going to school, ends up on an island with other mischievous boys, and ends up inside a whale again with his father. The hangings and gorilla judges of Collodi's text are nowhere to be seen.

The biggest change del Toro and his team makes to the familiar tale is shifting the setting to fascist Italy during the forties. The coachman is replaced with a member of Mussolini's police force, who is determined to make fine young fascist men out of every boy in Geppeto's village. Nazi salutes are done throughout the film, alongside the propaganda poster that are put up around the town. Eventually, the puppet is sought to perform before the dictator himself. The film depicts Mussolini as a stumpy little simpleton whose childish whims are enforced with violence. If that didn't make its anti-fascist perspective clear enough, Pinocchio compares Mussolini to a giant piece-of-shit and farts in his general direction before it's over.

That is a very specific message to add to your children's movie and one that's arguably more relevant than ever. Yet “Pinocchio's” anti-fascist messaging is part of a more general anti-war statement. Carlo was killed during a senseless bombing, planes dropping their explosives simply to lighten their load. This has lead Geppetto to hating all war, in all the forms it takes. This attitude soon extends to Pinocchio too, though the state still does everything it can to indoctrinate him. The film doesn't have time to really dig into these ideas, just finding the thought that war leads to people dying for no reason being enough of a message on its own. Which maybe could've been a little more nuanced, though it's direct and easy enough for kids to understand.

Even these ideas fall towards the background as “Pinocchio” goes on. Early in the film, Pinocchio's cricket conscience – named Sebastian in this telling – describes this as a story of flawed fathers and flawed sons. Geppetto is still grieving for Carlo and creates Pinocchio as a replacement for his dead son. Yet he has trouble accepting the puppet as his boy, seeing him as a pale shadow of the idealized child he once had. Per the tradition of Collodi's text, Pinocchio is a mischievous little hell raiser who is always shirking his responsibilities and getting into trouble. This makes his journey into becoming a good son to Geppetto a long one. The conflict between father and son, and their eventual road towards realizing they love and respect each other, is the main driving force behind the story.

Del Toro's interpretation of “Pinocchio” differs from most every other take in a big way. Pinocchio's goal to become a “real” boy is ultimately not as literal as that seems. When you think about it, I suppose the message of  "change yourself so that you are worthy of love” is kind of a fucked-up thing to say to kids. Del Toro goes with the idea that Pinocchio was always worthy of his father's love. That they simply needed to work through some issues to realize that. Ultimately, we are all just trying to be the best sons and men we can be, right? It's a matter of understanding, not gaining approval. That seems to be the message the director is bringing to this well-known narrative.

Yet even this is not the sole idea inside this overstuffed “Pinocchio.” As in the original novel, this Pinocchio dies a few times. Every time he does, he ends up in a fantastical afterlife where the spectre of Death itself sends him back after a short reprieve. Since a puppet isn't really “alive,” he can't really be “dead” either. The idea of immortality is not one touched upon in adaptations of “Pinocchio” very often. This leads to a moral about making the most of the time we have on this planet and always trying our best to be good people. Yet when the film has so many other matters on its mind, there's not really space to explore this particular theme with too much depth. (Even if it does lead to a likably bittersweet final scene.) 

Guillermo del Toro's “Pinocchio” has so many ideas on its mind, that many others are left undeveloped as well. Geppetto builds Pinocchio during a thunderstorm, which brings obvious parallels to “Frankenstein” to mind. That brings ideas of playing God into the story, which invites religious themes. That is discussed openly, when wooden Pinocchio wonders why the wooden crucifix is so beloved by the townsfolk but he's so despised. You can even read this as a story about the perils of being in show business, when Pinocchio gets repeatedly screwed over by Captain Volpe, the man whose puppet show he is recruited into. Devoting a version of “Pinocchio” to any one of these ideas would probably be enough. This one just has them floating around inside, without coming to too specific a point. 

Del Toro was inspired to do his “Pinocchio” in stop-motion animation because he loved an illustrated edition drawn by Gris Grimley. Making a movie about a puppet with puppets is an irresistible idea. Mark Gustafson has been working in stop-motion to various degrees since the eighties. He's had a hand in projects like the California Raisins, “The Adventures of Mark Twain,” “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” and “The PJs.” With such a lengthy resume, it's unsurprising that he makes “Pinocchio” look great. The tactile quality that benefits stop-motion so much is right on display here. The animation is detailed and smooth. The character designs are likable, with the right amount of facial hair, oversized noses, or weird eyes. Yet it also looks a lot like the various films of Laika. I don't know if “The Box Trolls” was a deliberate reference point here but I was reminded of it nevertheless.

Del Toro's high-profile means there's nearly an all-star voice cast here. Newcomer Gregory Mann plays Pinocchio with all the youthful exuberance that you would expect. David Bradley brings a fittingly exhausted quality to his grieving Geppetto. Tilda Swinton's ethereal presence is perfect for this take on the Blue Fairy, which mashes up a peacock with stories of Biblically Accurate Angels. Ewan McGregor is a nicely eccentric take on the Cricket, bringing a lot of his expected charm to the role. Christoph Waltz is here as Volpe, vamping it up nicely. Even the minor roles are filled out by recognizable names. Tim Blake Nelson voices the trio of rabbits in the afterlife and, most amusingly, Cate Blanchett plays a grumbling little monkey that doesn't even speak English. And, yes, because this is a del Toro project, Ron Perlman is here. His gravelly baritone is well suited to the Podesta.  

Out of everything del Toro's “Pinocchio' sets out to do, it is unquestionably least successful as a musical. I suppose as one final homage to the Disney version, the film includes a number of songs. Not a one of the songs are especially memorable. The best proves to be the mournful ode Pinocchio sings to his father while out on the road. The rest of the songs tend to have the characters just flatly explaining what their deal is. This is clear in Pinocchio's introductory number, called “Everything is New to Me.” Or in Volpe's solo, “We Were Kings Once,” which counts among the film's least essential numbers. All the songs have annoyingly sing-songy melodies to them that never stick in the brain, with forgettable lyrics.

I couldn't help but come away from this “Pinocchio” feeling a little disappointed. I think that Italian adaptation from a few years back set my expectations for weirdness too high. It's not like del Toro's “Pinocchio” isn't weird. An anti-fascist “Pinocchio” with this many ambitious themes inside of it, rendered through lovingly created stop-motion animation, is probably as unexpected a project as you could imagine. Yet you get the impression that maybe del Toro had spent so many years dreaming about this one, he tried to shove in every idea he had. Through it all, he still wasn't able to defeat the meandering pace that effects every version of this story. While it's still a worthy effort, I came away loving it a lot less than the director's previous work. I imagine his next Netflix-backed dream project – a version of “Frankenstein,” that he's been discussing even longer – will be more up my alley. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Lucky McKee (2022)

9. Old Man

I've been a fan of Lucky McKee since 2003, when “May” was released and instantly became one of my favorite movies. In that time, he's released seven more movies without a single one of them really crossing over into mainstream success. His last movie – which was pretty good! – went straight to the Lifetime Network. Despite this, McKee has continued to get a new feature released every few years. His latest work, “Old Man,” is among his strangest and most insular projects yet. Like nearly everything he's done, it's been met with a divisive reaction even among the people who are fans of the director. Yet I liked it!

An old man in long johns awakens in his cabin, in the middle of the woods. He looks for his dog, Rascal, which has pissed on his floor and disappeared. Despite his isolation, there is a knock at his door. A man named Joe, who claims to be a lost hiker, has found his way to the man's abode. He regards Joe with suspicion, interrogating him and holding him at gun point. Soon, the two men begin to reveal more about each other, learning they have more in common then they at first assumed. 

“Old Man” is, essentially, a two-man play. For nearly the entire run time, Stephen Lang's old man and Marc Senter's Joe are the only characters in the film. The cabin is basically the only location. With no prior backstory on either of these men, we have no idea who to trust or believe. The old man certainly seems unstable and dangerous, considering the ease with which he threatens people and the stories he tells of torture. Yet there's something shifty about Joe as well, his story often not lining up either. This is a set-up that draws tension from uncertainty. The audience is never sure which of these guys is crazy, or crazier at the very least. Who is a threat to whom? It's a simple premise that allows for a surprising amount of tension to build.

Adding to this suspense is just how isolated the entire film feels. We only get the briefest of shots of the forest beyond the old man's door. The glimpses of trees and sky were obviously added with green screen. The cabin is an obvious set, an intentional sense of artificiality being added to the proceedings. The effect creates an almost apocalyptic sense of solitude. For most of the story, it feels like the two principal characters might be the only people left alive in the world. Once a thunderstorm kicks in overhead, the oppressive emptiness only increases. It all adds to the movie's sense of unease and the focus the audience has on these two characters.

Despite shooting in such a limited location, “Old Man” is still fairly dynamic looking motion picture. It begins with a cool tracking shot, creeping over to Lang asleep on his bed. Frequently, there's some good use of camera movements. A slow pan over to a mounted cougar's head is one of the prettiest shots in the film. McKee even employs some dream-like colors are the film progresses. The camerawork is expressive but also emphasizes how cramped this location is, continuing to further the feeling of cramped unease. The cabin itself is meticulously designed, to feel both clattered and cramped, while also leaving enough room to be full of the kinds of shadows and visual depth needed to generate thrills. 

Stephen Lang has risen through the character actor ranks and attained a decent degree of star power. His titular role in “Old Man” seems similar to his part in “Don't Breath,” on the surface. Both are stories of creepy old men with intruders into their houses. Yet Lang really leans into the “old” adjective in the title. He begins the film mumbling, coughing, and drooling like an old coot. This proceeds a level of mega-acting that I haven't seen from the performer since “The Hard Way.” He hams it up to glorious, grotesque heights as he spins a yarn of torture and abuse and has frenzied conversations. Eventually, a pathetic side emerges as well, Lang doing a good job of showing the character loosing his bearings. It's a compellingly bizarre performance and shows that Lang is more than capable of carrying a whole movie.

Starring opposite Lang is Marc Senter. Senter has appeared in several Lucky McKee adjacent projects, like “The Lost” and “Wicked Lake” but starred in his “Tales of Halloween” segment. Senter often reaches for Crispin Glover-levels of twitchy weirdness in his performances. You can still see that element to his role in “Old Man.” Joe seems like a normal fellow, an average traveler with no ulterior motives. Yet the off-beat quality that always floats under Senter's quality definitely gives the idea that he's hiding something, which is perfectly suited to the story's needs. Joe is hiding something, we eventually learn, but the audience can't defeat the creeping suspicion that this is the case even before the reveal. In other words, Senter is perfectly cast. 

“Old Man” isn't just a creepy thriller about two guys with dark secrets, stuck in a cramped location with each other. Early on, Lang tells a rambling anecdote about a Bible salesman who came to visit him once and the violence that followed. He expresses his atheism during this speech, denying a belief in the existence of an “old man in the sky.” Considering the film's title, that line couldn't have been an accident. Later on, Senter has a similarly strong monologue, in which he describes how the stresses of life can build up on you, how bad luck never lets up some times. The characters may deny that they believe in God yet the misfortune piled up at their feet suggest fate is at play... Unless every man is his own “old man in the sky” and builds his own tomb from his own misdeeds, an idea the film returns to more and more as it goes on.

Throughout their conversation, the old man references his ex-wife with the kind of disdain you'd expect from a typical codger. At first, Joe claims to have nothing but respect and love for his own wife. Yet, as the evening winds on, he reveals secrets of his own. It's unsurprising that a story concerned with two guys, arguing and bickering about the problems in their lives, would eventually center around a mutual hatred of their old ladies. McKee's films have often studied the mechanisms of misogyny and this is at play in “Old Man” as well,  as the men quickly come to blame everyone but themselves for their crimes against women. 

If the presence or absence of God is another theme in the film, you can see this in the role ever watching eyes play. That mounted cougar head watches over the old man. It always hovers overhead from its corner of the cabin, watching everything that happens, the camera often centering in on its unending gaze. As the story continues, the lioness is quickly aligned with the wrath of a vengeful woman. This is made all the more apparent when an eye emerges from a fatal wound. It seems, if God exists in this universe, he's not an old “man” in the sky.

The somewhat surreal element to “Old Man” only increases as it goes on. In the last act, the film makes an unexpected turn towards magic realism. The old man begins talking about a magical purple water that can restore youth. This brings another interesting thread into the film, adding more layers to the title. We are all going to run out of youth someday. Most of us will become old men eventually. Joe is a man in the prime of his life while the title character is a doddering, old coot whose best days are behind him. By introducing the element of a fountain of youth into the story, it draws attention to how old principal characters are at opposite ends of the same journey. 

All of this proceeds an ending that I probably should have seen coming, that takes some of the subtext and integrates it into the actual narrative. The dream-like quality of the story becomes more blatant as the film heads into its increasingly surreal finale. At this point, any of the inconsistencies and strangeness that came before come into sharper focus. The ideas of youth, resentment towards woman, and the discussion of God all make a lot more sense as the credits start to roll. It may feel like a cheap, narrative rug-pull to some. Yet I found it to be a satisfying way to bring everything full circle, somewhat literally. 

I've probably made “Old Man” sound more pretentious than it actually is. That's what I like about the film. It is both a very simple story, merely about two guys in one location talking to each other. Yet a number of intriguing ideas are incorporated into a story that gets weirder as it goes on. I guess how much you get out of the film will depend on your willingness to play along with it. I'm not surprised to have seen some bad reviews for it. Maybe it's just because I'm already a Lucky McKee fan but I got a lot of it, in addition to enjoying Lang and Senter's performances. Whether it'll acquire the cult followings McKee's best films have, I can't say but I think I'm likely to revisits this particular little offering in the future. [Grade: B+]

Director Report Card: James Cameron (2022)

12. Avatar: The Way of Water

When "Avatar" came out in 2009, it was the culmination of nearly a decade's worth of work for James Cameron. Following the sci-fi epic's record shattering box office performance, the sequel would take a similarly long path to the big screen. It has been twelve years since audiences last visited Pandora. Cameron would often provide updates on the sequels – four in total, supposedly – but it sometimes seemed like these projects would never arrive in theaters. In all that time, it became increasingly common to point out that "Avatar," in spite of its massive success, seemingly left no cultural impact. Was a tetralogy of follow-ups, each coming with a massive price tag of their own, going to be worth the effort at all? 

It was, I think, a response with some merit. The "Avatar" extended universe is composed entirely of an admittedly cool theme park area, a Cirque du Soliel stage show, and a single video game. There have been no "Avatar" comic books, Saturday morning cartoon shows, anime spin-offs, or extensive literature. There are no "Avatar" fan conventions that I'm aware of, nor did I ever see a kid trick-or-treating as Jake Sully. The action figures ended up in the bargain bins and Sam Worthington did not become a huge star, in spite of an honest campaign to make him one. While tweets pointing out the lack of "Avatar" fanfiction are designed for mockery, it is curious that "Avatar" became a "Star Wars"-level success without spawning a similarly intense "Star Wars"-like fan base. 

All of this speculation proved to be beside the point. "Avatar: The Way of Water" immediately became a huge hit. The sequel is showing strong legs at the box office and will probably become the first movie to gross three billion dollars. There may not be much lingering footprint of the film's impact but the fact of the matter is that audiences love "Avatar." Clearly, a lot of people couldn't wait to return to Pandora. I never doubted that, as I'm not stupid enough to bet against Jim Cameron. Yet the sequel's release has reignited the debate over the franchise's merits and what it means in our increasingly crowded blockbuster marketplace. 

Cameron, smartly, does not expect viewers to remember every detail of the first "Avatar's" plot. He begins with a lengthy refresher and moves the story ahead fifteen years. In that time, Jake Sully – a human living full time in a lab-grown alien body – has continued to lead the jungle Na'vi tribes on Pandora. He has fathered three children with Neytiri: The brave Neteyam, awkward middle son Lo'ak, and youngest daughter Tuk. They've also adopted two more: Kiri, the mysterious daughter of Dr. Grace Augustine's Avatar, and a human boy nicknamed Spider. Spider is the son of deceased soldier Miles Quaritch, whose memories have been uploaded into a new Avatar Na'vi body. The reborn Quaritch leads a mission to capture Sully and his family, who have continued guerrilla raids against the human colonization of Pandora. Fearing for the tribe's safety, Jake and his brood flee to the oceans of Pandora. They attempt to integrate themselves among the sea-dwelling Na'vi tribes, where Lo'ak bonds with the massive whale-like creatures the locals share a special connection with. Yet Quaritch and his men, alongside a group of human whalers, are in hot pursuit.

“The Way of Water,” more than anything else, strikes me as a movie about responsibility. All throughout the story, Jake Sully is gripped with uncertainty about how to do the right thing. He wants to protect his tribe, his extended family. Yet the safety of his wife and children weighs heavily on him most of all. Meanwhile, the Sully kids are asked to act responsibility while integrating into a new community. They must respect customs that are strange to them and figure out the delicate social boundaries of these strangers. All of these ideas dovetail with a theme of environmental responsibility as well. The Na’vi must protect their world from those that seek to senselessly exploit it, to maintain a balance and ensure a future for their children. “The Way of Water” concerns itself with the things we must do if we are to live in peace and harmony, with those around us and our planet. 

I think part of why James Cameron’s films connect with such a massive audience is because he deals with universal themes, set within simple narratives. The “Terminator” movies are about fate but they are also simple chase films. “Titanic” was an easily understood romance that also tackled relatable ideas of class division. “Avatar’s” western style “going native” storyline existed on the back of environmental ideas. The sequel does this as well but its premise is even more universal. This is a movie about family, about fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters. 

The Sully brood is, in some ways, the classical nuclear family. Jake is an occasionally overbearing father who just wants to do right by his loved ones. Neteyam is seemingly dad’s favorite, the older brother who succeeds in all the areas his siblings struggle with. Lo’ak is the awkward middle brother, desperate to prove himself and earn respect. Tuk is the beloved little sister that everyone wants to protect. Yet “Avatar’s” family is not defined solely by bloodlines. In fact, this is often a story as much about found family and it is traditional families. Spider and Kiri are part of the Sully clan as well, despite their far-flung origins. They are accepted as much as Jake and Neytiri’s kids as their own flesh and blood. 

Dropping five new characters on the audience within “The Way of Water’s” opening minutes threatens to overwhelm us. It does take a little bit of mental bookmarking to remember who is who, especially since the Na'vi all look somewhat similarly. However, I did find myself growing attached to the kids quickly. I especially related a lot to Lo'ak. He's the typical teenage outcast in some ways. The minute he sees the daughter of the reef-dwelling Na'vi clan's chief, he's smitten. Like any adolescent boy seeing a pretty girl. His status as an outsider among this new tribe emphasizes his own isolation within his family. This is why he ends up bonding with Payakan, a misfit member of the whale-like Tulkun creatures that live in the ocean. Honestly, watching this teenage alien make friends with a giant whale monster is one of the most unexpected delights of "The Way of Water." 

If Lo'ak's story will be relatable for kids and overgrown man-children like me, then Jake Sully's plot is obviously designed to appeal to the dads in the audiences. As a former soldier himself, Jake wants to lead his family like a military unit. He repeats the phrase "Sullies stick together" like a jingoistic mantra. He often barks orders at his kids and he seems to expect them to fill roles, like soldiers in a unit. Yet "The Way of Water" ultimately shows that being a dad is more complicated than that. You can't just be driven by a sense of duty. You have to love, nurture, and protect as much as you lead. It's a balance that he struggles to get right all throughout the film.

Parenthood is, of course, a theme that has run through many of Cameron's films. The ideas of motherhood in "Aliens," the Terminator as a surrogate father figure to John Connors and his complicated relationship with his mother in "Terminator 2," and the bordering-on-divorce Trasker couple uniting to save their daughter in "True Lies" are the prior examples. These ideas continue to evolve in "The Way of Water." Jake and Neytiri have to rescue their kids on two separate occasions in the last third of the sequel. At one point, Neytiri – who has probably the least complex arc in the film – becomes an avenging mother of fury, not unlike Ripley or Sarah Connors. Yet this isn't just an escapist fantasy of parental protection. The kids eventually have to save their parents too. Everyone gives in this family. Everyone works together.

The reason, I think, "The Way of Water" has been embraced by the Film Twitter crowd – even though it's a 300-million dollar sequel to the highest grossing movie of all time, backed by the most ravenous of modern studios – is because it's not solely driven by corporate interest. James Cameron is an auteur, who co-writes the movies he directs. He has quirks and obsessions that reoccur throughout his career. In some ways, "The Way of Water" feels like the director mashing his favorite trademarks together. He loves the ocean and diving, so "Avatar 2" is largely set at sea. The last act features a massive ship wreck and the lengthy scenes of the characters trying to escape the inverted hull intentionally recalls "Titanic." Kiri has the "Battle Angel" haircut and a similar, convoluted destiny as a hero before her. Lo'ak feels a little bit like John Connor. The action movie finale, in which the hero fights the villain in a flaming industrial setting, reminds me of "The Terminator" and the many eighties action movies it influenced. (Including "Rambo: First Blood Part II" which Cameron, obviously, wrote.)

The previous Cameron movie "The Way of Water" is most in-dialogue with is "Aliens." The Vietnam-inspired subtext of that film had its space marines as unwitting minions of an evil corporation, devoured by an enemy they underestimated. The space marines of "Avatar" know who they are working for and to what ends. They don't care that their mission is one of imperialistic destruction. Quaritch and his men seem proud of their status as militaristic tools and display a seeming sadistic glee when terrorizing Na'vi villages. The soldiers have been so absorbed into their roles, their statuses as blunt instruments for those in power, that they have literally ceased to be human. 

Quaritch and his men carry with them many visual signatories of macho, military men. They wear camouflage uniforms over their Na’vi bodies. They have tattoos, wear conservative dad sunglasses, and the Vasquez-like female constantly chews and pops bubblegum. It all seems to represent a rejection of nature and an embracing of a less noble lifestyle. Quaritch, played once again by a growling Stephen Lang, seems to be a two dimensional bad guy. He is programmed to pursue Sully and his family endlessly, seeming to regard the film’s hero as practically a race traitor. Yet Cameron does stop to give Quaritch one layer of complexity. He captures Spider early on and, as the essentially the reincarnation of the boy’s father, feels a bond with him. As much as Spider is disgusted by the earthlings’ actions, he can’t help but feel a connection to the commander as well. If “The Way of Water” is a movie about family, then this subplot seems to conclude that familial bonds are complicated. 

Spider’s presence does connect with probably my favorite subplot in “The Way of Water.” While aboard the whaling ship, he befriends Dr. Ian Garvin, a marine biologist staying on the boat as a chance to study the Tulkun. The whalers are capturing and killing these animals, as their brains contain a highly valuable substance that can stop human aging. Garvin has already realized that the Tulkun are an intelligent species, capable of language and complex thought, but he feels powerless to stop the killing. Spider is also often just forced to sit back and watch the chaos. These characters seem to represent humanity's complacency in the destruction of the natural world. They hate it but they don't fight against it either, feeling swept up in a system too big to disrupt.

The film's environmental themes emerge the most through Kiri's subplot. The exact nature of her existence remains a mystery, a plot thread the future sequels will surely expand on. Yet it's not too hard to decipher their meaning. Kiri feels an intrinsic connection to Pandora, to the Life Tree that all Na'vi bonds with. Throughout the film, she discusses a spiritual link she feels with all living things on the planet. On Pandora, every person and animal really is connected. They are all part of a massive living system. We, here on Earth, are too and that's the point Cameron is getting at. We are all part of a global, interconnected web and we all have a part to play in it. Kiri feels how alive that web is and maybe we all should too. 

There's a lot of heady ideas in "The Way of Water." Yet, like the first film, it maybe works best simply as visual spectacle. Cameron created an immersive world in "Avatar" and continues to expand on it here. It's evident that every creature, object, detail, and piece of made-up language we see and hear here had thought out into it. As the camera watches the alien whales swim through the water, or pauses frequently for other extended peeks at Pandora's aquatic wildlife or Na'vi culture, you can't help but be wrapped up in it. Little details, like the anatomical differences between the jungle dwelling Na'vi and the reef colonies, are appreciated. I sometimes feel like a fictional nature documentary about the world of Pandora would be just as compelling as the stories in the "Avatar" movies.

Cameron knows he is making a popcorn movie too though. "The Way of Water" is obviously loaded with action sequences and spectacle. A Na'vi raid on a human supply train is an early action highlight, the alien heroes leaping through the air as they fire massive arrows right through the invaders. The moment Payakan attacks and dismantled the whaling ship has to rank among 2022's most satisfying moments of blockbuster catharsis. And the special effects are seamless too, the life-like CGI truly being on an extraordinary level. I guess I you can continue to complain that most of Pandora's animal life are sci-if chimeras that merely mash up attributes of Earth animals. Like the massive flying water dragons the reef dwellers ride on, which look like combinations of gars and flying fish. Yet it's all so wonderfully brought to life. 

"The Way of Water" has flaws. From time to time, the film adopts a fake, handheld style cinematography, which includes some rough crash zooms, that I find very distracting. The movie starts to feel the weight of its three hour plus runtime during the extended climax. By the time the heroes are trying to escaped an overturned vessel, it felt like an entire extra act had been added to the movie. The cast mostly does everything they need to do. Sigourney Weaver as the teenage Kiri is not as distracting as I heard. Yet I still do wonder sometimes about the appeal of Sam Worthington. He's really trying throughout most of the movie and you can tell he's become a better actor in the decade between "Avatar" movies. Yet his voiceover narration still sounds extremely bored. 

Despite some minor reservations, "Avatar: The Way of Water" is a massive improvement over the first movie. Cameron has cooked a number of themes that are clearly important to him inside of an exciting, visually spectacular sci-if action/adventure. The sequel seems to exist to convince viewers that "Avatar" is a dense enough franchise to support three more movies. It doesn't just do this by introducing a number of subplots for future entries to capitalize on. It puts as much effort as possible in creating a fictional world for us to get invested in. If I went into "The Way of Water" skeptical that a sequel to "Avatar" needed to exist, I came out convinced and interesting in seeing where this expansive story might go next. Though hopefully it doesn't take another twelve years to return to Pandora next time. [Grade: B+]

Director Report Card: Dario Argento (2022)

21. Dark Glasses

Occhiali neri

Dario Argento making his first movie in ten years should be an event. One of the major genre directors of the seventies and eighties returning to cinema for the first time in a decade would, ideally, be cause for celebration. Of course, Dario Argento's reputation in the modern age is more complicated than that. While few people can agree on when he last made a good movie, most understand that Argento isn't the filmmaker he used to be. Whether you consider 2012's “Dracula 3D” entertaining camp or an utter fiasco, it was hardly a dignified note for the director of “Suspiria” to end his career on. When “Occhiali neri” was first announced, I was skeptical it would even make it to theater screens. Once it was apparent the movie was actually coming out, I still remained cautious. I figured it was best not to get my hopes up. Now that “Dark Glasses,” as it's now known in English, is out and streaming on Shudder, it's time to determine if my apprehension was well placed or not. 

Diana is a high-class call girl going about her life in Rome. While fleeing a violent client, she is pursued by a serial killer who has been targeting sex workers all throughout the city. The chase concludes when she crashes her car into another vehicle. The wreck leaves Diana blind and kills the two adults in the other car, leaving only a boy alive. Diana attempts to rebuild her life as a newly blind woman. She feels guilty about the deaths and finds the boy, a Chinese immigrant named Chin, at an orphanage. The boy sneaks away to live with Diana, intrigued by the woman. They form an odd friendship... But the danger is not over. The killer is still at large and eager to reclaim the victim that got away from him. 

“Dark Glasses” is probably the best film Dario Argento has directed since the early nineties, which is admittedly the faint praise. It is a modest little giallo, not especially beholden to the director's past hits but vaguely reminiscent of many of them. There's a black-gloved killer, several scenes being told from his murderous perspective. A normal person who has, through bad luck, fallen into the position of detective must unravel the mystery before its too late. Though she doesn't do much investigating, instead the killer revealing himself to her. There's a pulsating synth soundtrack and stylized, close-up murder scenes. “Black Glasses” is an example of a director returning to the genre that he defined, playing again with the tropes and themes he started out with fifty years ago.

What does stand out about “Dark Glasses” is how charming the central relationship proves to be. When I first read the plot synopsis for the film, I thought it sounded like a giallo version of “The Life Before Us.” A bond between a sex worker and an orphaned immigrant child is so specific that I can't imagine this wasn't an intentional reference. Sentimentality is not something I really associate with Argento. Yet the bond between Diana and Chin proves somewhat touching. They come to rely on each other. I admire the script – co-written by Argento – for not mining cheap plot twists out of Diana withholding information from the boy. Instead, the guilt she feels for her role in his parents' deaths is what motivates her. You understand why these two come to rely on each other and it's fairly well done.

Considering the accusations of misogyny that have frequently been directed at his films, you don't expect a Dario Argento movie to feature the most sensitive portrayal of a sex worker. “Dark Glasses” surprised me in this regard. The film doesn't judge Diana for her job and treats it very matter-of-factly. Her clients are neither good-hearted suitors nor brutish sleaze balls. When her johns are abusive, that's when Argento utilizes the first-person perspective camerawork he's famous for... Only to have the attacker – and thus the audience – maced in the eyes. If that alone doesn't align the viewer's sympathies with Diana, the time the film devotes to her recovery and adapting to her blindness is surprisingly well thought-out. 

I don't think Diana's profession was chosen just for titillation factor or simply because it's a job that puts women in danger. In the second half of the film, she talks with Chin a lot about his mother. This can't help but make me wonder about the duality of the Mother and the Whore. (A dichotomy that is deeply ingrained in Italian culture, least we forget.) Diana winds up becoming something of a surrogate mother to the boy. Yet this doesn't overtake her profession either, as she continues sex work after becoming blind. Chin seems fine with her line of work. I don't know if “Dark Glasses” ever comes to a concise point about this topic. It's not really that kind of movie. But it is clearly an idea floating around in its head. It's another interesting angle to the story.

I think that's what I liked the most about “Dark Glasses.” There's a number of quirky ideas and themes bouncing around inside the narrative. You get the impression that Dario was interested in exploring something here, outside the standard genre framework of its story. Before the story gets moving, there's a brief scene where a bunch of people – Diane included – look up at an eclipse, wearing dark glasses for fear of going blind. There's a brief line bout how primitive cultures thought eclipses where signs of the apocalypse. Is this just foreshadowing? Or does it build into the idea of Diana being plunged into a world of darkness? The eclipsed sun even looks like the lens of a pair of glasses. What about the killer repainting his van from black to white, so that a brightly colored shape is one that foretells doom to Diana in her new shadow-filled world. Again, it's hard to say if there's a definitive point to these ideas but I'm intrigued by their presence nevertheless. 

An interesting reoccurring theme in Argento's early movies were the use of animals. This returns in a big way in “Dark Glasses.” Shortly after loosing her sight, Diana acquires a seeing eye dog named Nerea. She bonds with the furry creature quickly and it even protects her on multiple occasions. This is not the only time dogs appear prominently in the film. In the second half, it's revealed the killer has a connection with canines. Considering his sexist motivations, is this some commentary on how men are “dogs?” If so, why does Nerea end up saving the day too? The idea is definitely muddled yet it's interesting to see Argento, in a round about way, pay homage to the dog-centric scenes from “Suspiria” and “Tenebre.” And the German Shepherd playing Nerea is definitely a very good boy.

While Argento's best films have always been elevated by artistic, high-minded ideas, ultimately it is the stalk-and-slash scenes that he'll always be most remembered for. From time to time, to my pleasant surprise, you can see some of the old Dario in “Dark Glasses.” Probably the most stylish, suspenseful moment involves two detectives running into the killer outside Diana's apartment. Set in the tight corridor and lit largely by the van's headlights, there's some nicely unexpected camera angles in this scene. As well as a close-up of a knife blade penetrating a back. Later on, there's a mildly suspenseful chase, the camera gliding over and around the walls as our heroes run for their lives. It's not bad.

Granted, you still see signs of the tacky elements that sadly characterized most of Argento's work in the last thirty years. The first murder scene is a decently executed garroting, that sadly concludes with an ugly close-up of blood spurting from a very fake looking wound. The rushed climax is centered on some ridiculous looking gore effects too, with latex looking skin. The entire last act of “Dark Glasses” is an extended chase scene and it feels a bit aimless. Especially a totally gratuitous sequence set in a river, featuring some unfortunately CGI snakes. Still, compared to the gaudy excess and hideous effects in “Dracula 3D' and “Phantom of the Opera,” “Dark Glasses” still ranks as fairly restrained and well-balanced by modern Argento standards.

Also breaking from the traditions that have characterized Argento's work since the eighties, “Dark Glasses” does not star Asia Argento. She appears in a supporting role as the social worker who helps Diana get back on her feet, looking naturalistic and almost unrecognizable. Instead, Ilenia Pastorelli stars. It's an occasionally theatrical performance, Pastorelli sometimes going a bit into histrionics. Yet she has an easy-going charm as well, a lived-in quality that gives character and depth to Diana, making her seem more alive. She has good chemistry with Xinyu Zhang as Chin. Zhang is, honestly, fairly awkward as the young boy. His line delivery is hammy or stiff from time to time. It didn't distract from my enjoyment of the film or its characters but this is definitely an example of a miscalculated child actor.

When “Dark Glasses” was first announced, Daft Punk was announced as composing the score. That would have been quite a collaboration to imagine. Sadly, the wildly popular French electronica duo broke up before the movie could go into active production. Instead, another French pop musician in the form of Arnaud Rebotini was recruited to provide the tunes. Rebotini was definitely inspired by the classic Goblin scores of Argento's seventies masterpieces. The main theme is characterized by resounding bell-like tones and building synths. Rebotini incorporates a little more dance music flavor, via some thumping bass, than Claudio Simonetti probably would've used. But it's a solid score, that definitely helps raises the tension throughout the film. It's pretty catchy too, as far as these things go.

Some may accuse Argento's best movies of having abrupt endings. The likes of “Deep Red,” “Tenebre,” and “Suspiria” basically end right after the killer is defeated. This might be identified as a weakness but anytime his films have an epilogue, as in “Opera” and here, it always feels unsatisfying. “Dark Glasses” concludes on a weirdly downbeat and hopeless note. This is just the most glaring example of how it's a flawed film. Yet “Dark Glasses” still managed to exceed my measured expectations. I don't want to say Argento is back. Considering his age, who knows if he'll even make another movie. (Though he notably did act in a Gasper Noe movie this year as well, so maybe Dario caught the movie-making bug again.) Yet his comeback vehicle suggest the old master still has some of that old artistry in him. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: David Cronenberg (2022)

22. Crimes of the Future

When David Cronenberg's “Map to the Stars” came out in 2014, it was the latest in a critically acclaimed run of psychological dramas from the man once known as the King of Venereal Horror. It was also, sad to say, one of the director's weakest films. For eight long years, it seemed like that might be the final statement from the director too, as he suggested a while back he might even be retiring. Luckily, some financial backers decided we needed more Cronenberg in our lives. The director would make his return this year, in more ways than one. “Crimes of the Future” took its title from a 1970 student film and would be adapted from a script he wrote in 2003 called "Painkillers." These were both clues that the director would be returning to the body-horror that first made him famous, making the new “Crimes of the Future” an event for a certain breed of cinema-loving weirdos.

Set in a world where scientific advances have widely eliminated the ability to feel pain, and pollution has led to bizarre physiological mutations, “Crimes of the Future” follows performance artist Saul Tenser. Saul grows superfluous new organs on an almost nightly basis, which have to be tattooed and cataloged by the government. As part of his act, he has the organs removed while laying in an elaborate robotic machine originally designed to perform autopsies. Saul is contacted by the father of a murdered son, part of an underground culture of people who have evolved to digest inorganic material. Saul is asked to perform a public autopsy on the dead son. He's also contacted by a government agency created to investigate these new evolutionary changes.

As a long time fan of Cronenbery's early horror movies, I was always a little disappointed in the way he drifted away from the more extreme side of his style. Don't get me wrong, I think “A History of Violence” is great and even found plenty of things to like about “A Dangerous Method” or “Spider.” Yet those latter films always felt like Cronenberg had made a conscious choice to move on from the grisly material that defined him and onto more prestigious material. “Crimes of the Future,” I am happy to say, is a proud return to the mutated flesh and kinky sex that defined Cronenberg's earlier films. In fact, “Crimes of the Future” is such a distillation of what we think of when we think of Cronenberg that it borders self-parody at times. It's full of pulsating organs, throbbing growths, and people being enamored – erotically and socially – of these bodily mutations.

If all of Cronenberg's movies have been about the internal becoming external – whether via throbbing tumors bursting through the skin or psychological delusions inflicting themselves on reality – then “Crimes of the Future” moves this idea into an interesting, new direction. In this future, evolution has become a revolutionary act. Environment pollution, such as the proliferation of microplastics in the drinking water, has caused people to develop the ability to digest such material. Like Seth Brundel or the creators of the “Videodrome” signals before them, these mutants consider themselves a bold new step in human biology that deserve to exist. It almost plays like satire of political ideology, something so absurd and bizarre becoming the basis of an underground movement. Yet “Crimes of the Future” feels fairly sincere in its exploration of the idea that a changing world means our definition of humanity must eventually change too.

Yet this is only one aspect of the film. Like all performance art, Saul Tenser and his contemporaries force us to ask what the nature of art is. Saul's act involves laying in a bizarre machine, which cuts out his new organs and then puts them on display. It's an action that the film approaches with scientific detachment, squishy wet innards simply being laid on a table next to Saul's contraption. Yet the audiences love it, Saul being treated as a celebrity of sorts. He has fans, who regard him with hushed awe, and even an attempted groupie. There's also some creative disagreements with his partner, Caprice, suggesting all of this is meant to be an absurdist riff on performance art pretensions by Cronenberg.

At the same time, I think a clear point is being made here. Saul looks at other, similar artists with some bemusement. Another performer has sewn his eyes and lips shut while sprouting ears from his whole body, before dancing for an audience. Saul seems unimpressed with such theater and it's not too hard to guess why. Saul literally pulls his guts out before an audience and shows them off, as direct a metaphor as one can think of for the act of being a creative person. His art dictates his life, his body literally changing around him as his creative impulses shift. The pain he feels from his body mutating keeps him up at night. And if he doesn't perform, and have these strange new organs cut out, he'll die. Inside “Crimes of the Future” is a potent metaphor for the creative progress.

If “Crimes of the Future” has us asking what art is, it also prompts us to wonder what sex is. The most quotable line in the film is “Surgery is the new sex.” We see this play out rather literally. In a world where pain isn't a factor, people slice open their flesh and probe their fingers inside their partner's skin. They all seem pretty into it. Saul and Caprice share an intimate moment inside his autopsy pod, while the little blades cut into them. In this world, it seems bodily penetration has taken on all sorts of new forms. It's a rather obtuse metaphor for how technology can change sexuality. Is internet cyber-sex the distant ancestor of the extreme forms of sensual exploration seen here? If "Crimes of the Future" is all about how humanity evolves, it seems unavoidable that our definition of sex would evolve too. 

Yet I don't think Cronenberg is including these images of bizarre, sadomasochistic paraphilias just to explore his film's theme. I think he likes them. "Crimes of the Future" is maybe the director's kinkiest movie. The cold, scientific detachment that characterized the NC-17 humping in "Crash" isn't present here. Instead, the focus is on the participants' faces, on the obvious pleasure and passion they feel. When Saul has an organic zipper installed that allows easy access to his innards, Caprice uses it to essentially go down on him. In a moment that recalls the motor oil slathered threesome from "Fast Company," a duo of minor characters, technicians for the film's bizarre technology, are so enamored of Saul's vintage autopsy pod that they strip down and crawl inside together. It really seems to me that these moments are here mostly because Dave thinks they are sexy, funny, or both. The protagonist himself admits he's not good at the "old sex" and you wonder if he's speaking for the filmmaker in this scene too. "Crimes of the Future" is, in its own bizarre way, a celebration of alternative sexual practices. 

Of the many classical Cronenberg ideas explored here, one seems a little less essential than the others. The government investigator who interviews Saul from time to time never really contributes much to the story. The eventual conspiracy that forms around the plastic eaters seems to exist mostly as a way to resolve that particular plot point. Both of these subplots are bluntly forgotten by the time the somewhat abrupt ending arrives. It feels like some aspects had to be cut short for time or budgetary reasons. "Crimes of the Future" is mostly a short visit to this strange world and not all of its ideas are as thoroughly explored as they could or should be.

There are other clues that, perhaps, the budget here was a bit limited. The various devices seen throughout "Crimes of the Future" recall the biomechanical game console of "eXistenZ." Saul sits in a chair that constantly shifts his body around as he eats, whose armrest and spindles resemble shifting, waxy bones. The autopsy pod is like an enormous crustacean structure, with plated appendages that reach inside. This stuff looks pretty cool. Yet the squishy organs look more rubbery and less convincing. This is especially true of the corpse that appears prominently in the last act, that looks very artificial. A splashy gore gag, which feels like something from Cronenberg's seventies movies, looks fairly chintzy too. It's clear that there was only so much money and resources available for the make-up effects.

While the part was nearly played by Nicolas Cage back when the project was still called "Painkillers," a collaboration that is wild to imagine, ultimately Saul Tenser would be brought to life by Virgo Mortensen. His fourth appearance in a Cronenberg movie, it's clear by now that Viggo's sensibilities line up with his director. Spending most of the movie in an obscuring black hood, Mortensen constantly coughs and clears his throat throughout the film. While it's a performance full of eccentricities, Viggo is always compelling. The physical aspect of the part, the constant discomfort Saul feels, is well conveyed while the actor brings a wry humor to many of the film's weirder scenes. 

Mortensen has good chemistry with Léa Seydoux, who plays Caprice. She brings a quiet intensity to the role, seeming very serious about everything the film presents with her. Kristen Stewart – whose appearance in a Cronenberg movie felt inevitable at this point – has a supporting role, as a government worker who classifies Saul's new organs. Stewart brings a nervous, uneasy energy to her performance that plays off the other actors in the film nicely. I've never given much thought to Scott Speedman before but he does a decent job as the father of the murder son. Don McKellar, as the New Vice investigator, is also charming in his handful of scenes.

”Crimes of the Future” is not a new masterpiece in the Cronenberg canon. Often, it feels like the director just having fun exploring the themes and images he's been best known for in the past. But being a fan of Cronenberg's body-horror filled tales of weird sci-fi, I did enjoy seeing him mess around with these familiar toys. “Crimes of the Future” has a bit of a shaggy script but is still tightly paced, with more far-out ideas than many directors cover in their entire careers. One can't help but wonder if “Crimes” feels this way because the director was easing himself back into filmmaking after a long hiatus. He already has a follow-up in the pipeline, so hopefully it won't take as long for a new Cronenberg feature to be unleashed. “Crimes of the Future” is weird, conceptual, kinky, gory, and endlessly intriguing even if some parts of it hold together better than others. [Grade: B]