Top Ten Games of 2015

2015 was a pretty stellar year for video games while somehow delivering some of the most flaccid entries in several beloved series. Despite that, even the most disappointing games of the year were a step above many titles in recent years, and somehow in the same year as a 4-hour indie game and a level editor we also saw a dozen large-scale open world titles full of hundreds of hours of content apiece. So without further ado, here's a list that will please absolutely nobody.

Honorable Mentions

I'd love to have put these games on my top list, but each one has some big nitpick that I would feel very guilty about snubbing a game that deserves to be on the list for one of these.

Yoshi's Woolly World

Oh, how I wish I could make a place for Yoshi's Woolly World. The game is beautiful, with an aesthetic that completely destroys Nintendo's previous yarn-based title with Kirby's Epic Yarn. The game is incredibly cozy and well-made, but the game is simply too easy in some parts while being unbelievably frustrating with its hidden collectibles. I'll be playing this for a while, but there's not enough to set it apart from the amazing spectacle that is Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island. Most of the game feels like a yarn-based redux of the previous entry without enough teeth. Unless you count jumping around looking for hidden clouds, but that's hardly difficult as much as it is frustrating.

Shadow Complex

I only had an Xbox 360 for a little while, but in that time I never managed to pick up Shadow Complex. What a fantastic Metroidvania--I completely understand why it was spoken of so highly after its release. That said, my PC is a toaster and could barely run the new Remastered version at a decent framerate so I feel this isn't the best way of playing the game. Also, Shadow Complex is several years old and I don't feel very comfortable putting it on the top ten when taking that into consideration, especially since I didn't play it in an ideal setting. I even had it on my top ten at one point, but I can't in good conscience put it over this year's new games. Shadow Complex Remastered will very likely be one of my favorite games when it releases next year on current-gen consoles, but I can't help but feel I missed the boat on this one.

Mortal Kombat X

Of all the games I wished could be on my top ten, Mortal Kombat X hurts the most. In-depth mechanics, different styles that change characters in very subtle ways, a complex story mode that utilizes every single character meaningfully while developing both the old and new--for a fighting game, there's way more here than in most. For everything positive there's something negative right away. The new characters feel very much like rehashes of some old ones, the roster is disappointingly small, the story mode doesn't feel nearly as expansive in both tone and scale as the previous entry in the series, and in the same vein there are so many fewer gameplay modes in favor of shallow multiplayer faction silliness. Why is there no challenge tower? Where are my character trial modes? Why does the character select screen try to shake me down for money? The inclusions of micro-transactions are sleazy at best and the DLC characters were absolutely not worth the money. Mortal Kombat X is a great game with a lot of baggage and most of the impressive features were done better in the Mortal Kombat reboot from a few years ago.

The Top Ten Games of 2015

I'm very picky about the games I funnel time into, and aside from that I have neither a decent PC nor do I own either Xbox console. These are the games I loved putting time into and will likely continue playing, especially since half of them are hundreds of hours long and I actually couldn't finish some of them this year.

Number Ten - Undertale

I heavily considered replacing Undertale with Shadow Complex. The Earthbound inspirations do nothing for me but want to play that game--even more given that I finally finished Earthbound earlier this year. The character design is forgettable at best, and don't give me your stupid "but they're skeletons!" bit. I don't care. I actually turned off the game at one point to just play Cave Story because Toriel and Asgore look disturbingly similar to the Mimiga race, and that game actually had a color palette. The EPIC FEELS moments made me feel absolutely nothing--even more than usual for me. I've heard the word "twee" thrown around in describing Undertale and I can't agree more. Every single moment of Undertale is the cutest and sweetest and most precious special adorable thing you've ever seen in your life and I was annoyed by it in the first hour. This might be a complaint many people won't share, but the run time is far too thin. I never felt a real connection with these characters I was supposed to have some sort of emotions toward; they just start being silly and then we're all best friends. This hurts the unique boss fights even more: in one boss you're expected to run away after spending the entire game talking down and sparing every encounter, while in another you're supposed to attack the boss despite the fact that you're told rather explicitly you'll never have to fight anybody. With a longer runtime I feel these encounters could be introduced better, because as it is I'd even call them counter-intuitive in the way they reverse the way the player is taught. Undertale's five hours feel like fanmade tourism of Earthbound full of dad jokes, which makes its ravenous fanbase all the more confusing. Seriously, some of the fans of this game are actually crazy and act like this game is their gospel. The fanart is legitimately terrifying and I couldn't open a single website for over a month after the game's release without seeing the protagonist hugging every character in the most over-indulgent fan drawing I haven't seen since Sonic or My Little Pony hooked...those people.

All the complaints I have are basically meaningless by saying Undertale is actually very fun to play. The jokes--while being groaners most of the time--are actually pretty fresh, the gameplay is an interesting take on 16-bit era turn-based games, and the many ways the game checks your choices to use them later is very interesting, especially in an era when "your choices matter!" never seems to pan out. And the soundtrack! If I had to give the best soundtrack to a game it would be Undertale without a second guess. To have such an incredible soundtrack accompanying every unique encounter and every track feeling so full of life and energy would be difficult in any game, especially considering it was done entirely by the developer, but this one pulls it off so well that I've had it on repeat several times after finishing the game. I'd love to have played Undertale in an aesthetic and story that wasn't actually Undertale: the gameplay mechanics and soundtrack are subversive and interesting, the jokes have a tendency to be clever, and it's nice to see a game promising multiple endings actually deliver on that. Divorce yourself from the fanbase and any knowledge of the game and go in blind, and you will likely enjoy yourself. But as it is now, I feel Undertale has been dried up by the people who love it the most.

Number Nine - Resident Evil Revelations 2

It's been very difficult as a Resident Evil fan in the last few years, and I don't think it's an exaggeration to call myself a massive fan of the series. In middle school I did nothing but play Resident Evil 2 and in high school, that title was replaced by the absolute masterpiece that is Resident Evil Remake. When I said "did nothing," I mean that very close to literally. I invited a friend to hang out one day and neglected to offer him food, and after an hour into my Resident Evil 2 run I had completely forgotten I invited him to my house at all. I don't care if he ate that night or not, because I cleared ClaireA/LeonB in an hour and a half. I love Resident Evil and you should too, but if you weren't aware of the series until after the wet splat of Resident Evil 5 then I don't blame you for being weary. This innocent take on B-horror movies did not deserve the likes of Operation Raccoon City, Mercenaries 3D, Outbreak, Resident Evil 6, and the light-gun Wii games, and now the series has a near-decade of utter trash weighing down the same legacy as titles like Resident Evil 2, Resident Evil Remake, and the game responsible for revolutionizing 3D aiming: the masterpiece action-horror Resident Evil 4.

The Revelations series is the exact breath of fresh air Resident Evil needs, but the first game had a few missteps. Some of the character swapping was annoying and I really wish I could never see Chris Redfield again in my life. That said, for a 3DS game the original Revelations was pretty nice, and the later HD versions complimented the title's action very well with more intuitive controls. Resident Evil Revelations 2 fixes many of the issues of the first game and brings new additions that finally feel like the newer action style of the series has found a great middle ground with tense horror. The same game that can give one of the most exhilarating bosses in the series can also have some of the most desolate, creepy locales. This is helped by the return of objectively the best characters in the series: Barry Burton and Claire Redfield. Aside from that, Capcom seems to have finally realized the tone for these games works better as cheesy horror; I laughed out loud several times from many of the corny quips, including a certain one in the opening cutscene that involves every character onscreen turning to the camera and winking. The new crafting system feels right at home here, and for the first time in years I'm actually excited to see where Resident Evil is headed.

Number Eight - Until Dawn

I was not excited about Until Dawn. A Playstation Move-exclusive horror game from a largely untested studio? No thanks. I appreciated the premise--a video game of every single cheesy '80s slasher movie cliches with horny teens willing to sacrifice safety to get laid. I can't think of many video games that have attempted that kind of story, unless you want to count the NES Friday the 13th game. So when Sony revealed that Until Dawn had been bumped up to a fully-fledged Playstation 4 title with controller support my ears pricked up right away. And boy, am I glad that this change was made. Until Dawn was one of my surprise hits of the year, flawless in execution and absolutely gorgeous to look at. Sure, it's no beefy PC game, but for what it is Until Dawn is beautiful. Whether you're playing by yourself or hosting this game for your friends, Until Dawn works on every level. Having a game in the style of Quantic Dream's games, like Heavy Rain or Indigo Prophecy, actually fulfill the promise of branching paths and choices with real consequences is a joy to behold, especially when people are arguing over which choice will ensure you don't get killed. For a game that I had absolutely no feelings toward before, I'm now completely onboard the hype train to see what Supermassive Games has in store next.

Number Seven - Monster Hunter 4 Ultimate

I've never gotten my Hunter Rank up in the four Monster Hunter titles I've played. I'm so sorry. You can have my "hardcore" card if you want, I don't care really. Despite that, I've spent hours upon hours just going through the single player Village quests in all of the games I played, and the new Caravan quest line is the best single player content the series has ever offered. Fun new weapons, changes to existing weapons, and a great mixture of revamped old monsters and brand new ones alongside much-needed mobility options make this both the most accessible and the most fun Monster Hunter entry. Sure, I won't be G rank any time soon--and probably not even after Monster Hunter X finds a stateside release--but even if it's just for a few minutes or long playing sessions there's always something to enjoy about this game. Now, where's our Monster Hunter 4G HD Ver., Capcom?

Number Six - Super Mario Maker

I can basically sum up my enjoyment of this entire game with a suggestion from a friend while making a throwaway level: "You can probably fit more Hammer Bros. over in the corner there." Super Mario Maker isn't the first level editor and it certainly isn't the most affordable at a whopping full $60, but it's just so accessible while full of tricks to create levels so challenging I doubt Nintendo's playtesters could penetrate them. This game could have been ruined in so many ways: if it didn't ship with online sharing, if it had just a few less options, if it only had one or two tilesets--really, it could have been screwed up on so many levels and it's just such a perfect package. Add in curated levels, new event modes, and constant updates with new features and you have one of the best Mario games of all time.

Number Five - Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

I wish I could show you, beloved reader, some of the speculative conversations I've had about this title. I envisioned a dark tale of self-destruction, one of the first Metal Gear games grounded in relative reality without nanomachines or singing AI robots. Everything to be seen of The Phantom Pain in pre-release videos and content shown to the press made it look like the best title in the series and one of the greatest games of all time. For reference, much like Resident Evil I played Metal Gear Solid for the first time when I was very young. Playing a demo disc of Solid Snake sneaking into Shadow Moses is one of my most breathless game memories, and seeing so much of that game (much of which went over my head, I mean I was like nine so can you blame me?) after being an outspoken Nintendo fanboy for my entire life up to that point completely shifted my perspective. I played every single title in the series as they came out, stood in line for Guns of the Patriots, and replayed all the games in the series--including the MSX and PSP games--in the year leading up to this game's predecessor, Ground Zeroes.

Much like Mass Effect 3 and L O S T, The Phantom Pain wagged its finger at me while reminding me that hype is a very dangerous thing. The troubled development time, absolute bonkers story, a twist that went nowhere, a completely lifeless main character, the ending just happening with no real lead-in, micro-transactions (especially some introduced after the game's release) really, really marred my enjoyment of this game, and as far as Metal Gear games go this is one of the worst. The story is worse than even Portable Ops and I will fist-fight you in the street if you say it's better than the masterpiece that is Sons of Liberty or MGS1. Or Snake Eater, even. That's a good game, and we all remember the teardrop at the end. What do we remember about The Phantom Pain? Nanoma--er, parasites? A cute half-hour of hamburger discussion? I want to forget the story of this game even happened, and now it's forever canon and I cannot escape wolbachia talk.

But you know what? This is one of the most fun games I've ever played. Not a single part of my 130-hour playtime was wasted, and I still haven't finished all the Extreme levels. That 74% is going to be chipped away at with glee, but if this was a different series or even a different part of the Metal Gear timeline I wouldn't be so upset--yet, like Undertale, I'd be lying if I said actually playing the game wasn't one of my best experiences of the year.

Number Four - Xenoblade Chronicles X

I can tell you every last detail about the Xenogears Perfect Works story without batting an eye. I played it for the first time three years ago and it has actually kept me up at night thinking about some of the outstanding moments that game presents. Go play it right now. Don't go play Xenosaga, Tetsuya Takahashi's re-imagining of Xenogears Perfect Works with his new studio, unless you're willing to dig through some actual bad games to reach the shining beacon that is Xenosaga Episode III. Even the best parts of that game are callbacks to Xenogears. To say the least, the Xeno- series had some problems. As much as I love the game, even Xenogears is a bit of a mess--the second disc is largely unfinished, and the rumors surrounding it are horrifying at best.

Then, something beautiful happened. Something incredible and unbelievable occurred: Takahashi's Monolith Software was bought by Nintendo. Their new title, Xenoblade, finally showed off what Takahashi could dish out without budget or time constraints. And with the Wii U, Monolith's new game Xenoblade Chronicles X steps up the scale and world of the previous game while creating a grand science fiction story of intergalactic war, of mankind being stranded without a home. X is one of the most breathtaking open worlds ever made, and to think it's coming from a console as underpowered as the Wii U without breaking a sweat is even more impressive. The story beats sound gleefully similar to Xenogears Perfect Works and the new mythology surrounding events of the series is engrossing; I cannot wait to see where the series goes from here, but for now I just want to jump back in my giant mech and fly over the beautiful world of Mira.

Number Three - Yakuza 5

I can't believe this game came out. Up until now it really seemed like Sega had given up on Yakuza--or as it's known in its home country Like a Dragon (a much better name for the series)--in the West. The last entry released here, Yakuza Dead Souls, was an absolutely dreadful experiment in third-person horror shooters. Yakuza 4 is a great game, but that game came out in 2011 here and it really seemed like that was the last of this amazing franchise we would ever see. There are walkthroughs for the entire game to translate the script, and now that I've gotten my hands on it I can see why.

If you're unfamiliar with the series, here's a rundown: take a third-person beat-'em-up, drop it into a roleplaying game system complete with character inventories and random encounters, and throw in a ton of side activities like arcades, restaurant hopping, karaoke, hostess clubs, and basically all the stuff that made Shenmue fun without the baggage of sailors or places they hang out. Yakuza 5 expands the series even more with rhythm games, great new characters, and even more side content including the new Another Drama system, a complete sidestory for every single character alongside their main story and sub quests. This isn't the best Yakuza released in the West--that honor belongs to the ungodly rare Yakuza 2--but it's very high in the running and I can't wait to get the full completion for it. Now that Yakuza 0 is coming out here I don't have to urge people to drop into the series with 4 or 5, but I'd still recommend you try any of the games you can.

Number Two - The Witcher 3

While this is the first game in the Witcher series to go open world, the attention to detail alongside the sheer scope of the world absolutely humiliates other developers with higher budgets. There's really not much to say about this that others haven't: the writing is sublime, the acting is on-point, and even on PS4 the graphical quality is second-to-none. No, I haven't finished it yet. Sorry. My in-game time counter says I've spent a total of ten actual days exploring the world and I really desperately hope that's wrong, but even if it's half that I wouldn't be surprised. There is so much content and the developer just throw out free DLC for months to show appreciation for their fans, much in the same way they did for the second game which is also excellent. This is one of the best open world games of all time thanks in part to having the detail of a much smaller game, and it revels in that intimacy while showering the enormous landscape in points of interest. I'm still up in the air over whether or not this game trumps Red Dead Redemption as my favorite open world game, especially given that game's heart-wrenching ending, but the game's RPG roots with character building and customization might just push it over the edge by the time I see the game's ending in 2018.

Number One - Bloodborne

I've spent three hundred hours on the first Dark Souls and I'm completely okay with that. FromSoftware knows how to create a world seeped in history that is just beyond your reach, begging  you to dig up the world's dirty secrets. I loved that game so much I finally finished Demon's Souls after being completely destroyed in my original run, and even though I spent less time on that game there are very serious arguments about which of those games is better. Bloodborne, while not bursting with content like Dark Souls or even Demon's Souls, instead focuses on complex systems, a horrifying world, and a story that belongs right alongside the creepiest works of H.P. Lovecraft. Bloodborne hooked me in its first trailer and I'm still playing through New Game+ on several characters. Its mechanically complex history is reflected in its mechanics, with some of the most rewarding fast-paced combat seen in years. Go buy a PS4 for this game. Succumb to the nightmare of having no other exclusives and hunt...whatever, this metaphor sucks. Game of the year.

Review: Krampus

Seeing trailers for Krampus, the new film by the director of the 2007 cult classic Trick 'r Treat, I immediately thought it would be a forgettable horror movie cashing in on the holiday season. What I wasn't expecting was one of the most enjoyable films I've seen this year, and one of the most surprisingly heartfelt Christmas movies in a while--easily a top contender for "best Christmas films featuring Hell."

THE PREMISE

It's Christmas and, naturally, everyone is miserable and crabby. The lead character, Tom, is forced to deal with his in-laws whose children torment his own and whine about his wife's meticulous cooking. Tom's son Max and his elderly mother are the only people who seem to be hyped for Christmas and a visit from Santa, but after a fight with his bratty cousins Max becomes downtrodden and tears up his heartfelt letter to Santa Claus. This somehow causes the town to turn into Silent Hill and the family tries to survive through Christmas while a terrifying demon haunts their town.

THE GOOD

Nearly everything about this movie is oozing with detail and spirit, and before getting into specifics you should know that this movie is worth every penny. Go see it immediately, you will not regret it. That being said, I can't sing Krampus's praise enough. The dialogue is charming and gives every character a well-rounded feeling; despite its running time of less than two hours, I felt every last member of the cast had an important part to play and there's a great balance of character development, tense moments, actual horror, and genuinely funny moments. The pacing is just where it needs to be, and more than just enjoying the movie itself I was stunned by how well it blended all of its elements without it feeling drawn out.

The children are annoying, as children are. There's no good child, and I don't say that in the context of the movie but just as a fact of life. That being said, the five children (and one baby) in this movie don't clog up the plot like you might think. When I think child actors the first image that pops up is Anakin Skywalker trying out his spinning trick, but thankfully that's entirely absent here. David Koechner's bratty kids actually cause much of the tension in the plot, and the movie never shies away from treating children like cannon fodder. At no point did I think "this kid needs to please go away and never be in a movie again" like most of the movies I watch (even the ones without them at all) but instead felt a bit of remorse for the sheer terror they're thrown into.

Like I said earlier, there's some seriously unnerving horror in Krampus. You remember when horror films had build-up and tension? Much of the first half of the movie is pure build-up with some fairly terrifying imagery--not to give too much away, but I'll never feel the same way about snowmen again. The titular monster, a creature from an obscure European folktale, only shows up a few times and it's almost always as a way to escalate an already tense moment. This thing might be one of the best horror monsters in recent memory: imposing, threatening, and when he appears it really does feel like all hope is lost. You won't see his face until the very end, but at that point you probably won't want to see him on screen again.

I'll be frank, a major reason the movie is so frightening is because many of the monsters are practical effects and men in costumes, aside from the ones that are simply too small. I'd have like to see some of them as animatronics, but the way they're animated gives life to the monsters that would have been difficult with practical effects. CG is used sparingly and the rest looks absolutely phenomenal, with some of the overall best creature designs I've seen in years. There's one scene in particular I don't want to spoil, but it involves stop-motion cartoons that I simply fell in love with. The entire scene is done in CG, but you really need to be nitpicking to find a flaw in its presentation.

Sure it's scary enough, but this film is billed as "comedy horror" and it absolutely deserves that classification. David Koechner and Allison Tolman bring a great deal of life to the movie, but Conchata Ferrell completely steals the scene when she's featured--not a surprise really, but it needs to be reiterated. As the dysfunctional in-laws they should by all means be completely irritating, but paired up with the charming and down-to-earth Adam Scott and Toni Collette everyone bashes heads to a point where you really appreciate all of them coming together as family, despite being polar opposites. There aren't many cloying moments of family bonding, but by the end you really want to see all of these stressed-out weirdos make it out just to see if they can ever gel outside of a terrifying situation.

To only give the cast credit to the film's humor would be severely downplaying just how charming and terrifying the monsters can be. I really don't want to spoil much of the movie because you need to go see it right now before Christmas, so instead I'll try to compare it with another classic comedy-horror it takes many inspirations from: remember the scene in Gremlins when a monster is thrown into a microwave and explodes? Go see this movie.

The ending had me a bit worried in that I expected a little "everything was saved by the power of love," but you don't need to worry about that. Krampus knows its audience and plays with your expectations at every turn. It is a bit cliche, but it's pulled off in such a way that I can't think of a better way to tie up the story.

THE BAD

There aren't too many moments that stood out as being too terrible, but I do have some nitpicks. Of course, because I specifically mentioned this as a nitpick earlier, I really wish the CG stop-motion scene had tried being a little more faithful to the style. It's not much, but there are a few moments where the framerate is a bit too fast to keep up with the aesthetic and it's a bit weird. Much of the scene mimics the low-framerate element that gives stop motion its particular style, and when it breaks that it took me out of the moment just a bit. For a small movie that I found myself loving this much, it was heartbreaking that I had to find such a tiny complaint that anyone else would just hand wave as a concession. The film has a very small budget and it's very hard to tell, so having a complaint that there's too much budget here is something you shouldn't view as a negative, because it takes a cracked, morbid heart to find fault in something like this.

Also kids. I hate kids. As far as the movie is concerned though, I thought Max was a little too "smart" at times. Like he's just a bit too eloquent for his age and it took me out of some of his scenes, but the weird thing is that it's not perpetual. He's not always saying things that are too intelligent for a kid like him. It feels like this kid is reading a script, but he's a fine actor so maybe the problem is that kids are impossible to write well. And it's just him. It's just this one kid who feels like he's saying a line rather than being a human talking to other people. Maybe I'm just looking too close at something like this--possibly. Let me know if you found this kid to be overly eloquent, send me an AOL chat when I don't have my icon set to "busy." I have to look at my web pages and can't be distracted while writing my ultra-timely movie review blog.

THE VERDICT

I adore Krampus. I adore every last second of this weird little movie. Go see it as soon as you can, preferably before Christmas so you can get really in the mood. There's something for everybody, it's tight and well-made with a lot of love in every aspect. This is the first movie all year (outside of Mad Max, maybe) that I wanted to watch again.

Highly Recommended

Review: The Judge

You've been there before: standing around in a movie rental store, a Redbox, looking through your Netflix queue—whatever—and sometimes you just know you need to walk out with more than one little movie in your hand. I don't know. Maybe you had fears your first movie isn't going to be so hot. Maybe you have company. Maybe you and your girlfriend couldn't agree on a second movie for your date night and she picked something neither of you had heard of. And maybe, just maybe, you both regretted it immediately and she's still being heckled over such a poor decision.

I started writing this review in June. There's so little to comment on with this movie that it's taken this long for me to get the motivation to even finish this thing. I'm so sorry.

The Premise

Robert Downey Jr. plays Hank, a palette swap of Tony Stark—er, I mean, a wise-cracking attorney whose life is suddenly flipped out of control. In the middle of divorce proceedings and subsequent custody battle, Hank is requested to come back to his rural home following the death of his mother. Hijinks abound and Hank, his father, and two brothers are embroiled in a long-standing family feud that could tear their fragile family balance apart. Subplots occur. The film indeed ends.

Objectively...

There's so very little to actually discuss with The Judge; in fact, it might just be the most cliche movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Just look at the reviews: 7.5 on IMDB, 48 on Rotten Tomatoes, 47 on Metacritic, and 7.2 from users on both of the latter sites. Just a look at the critical response to this movie should give one important takeaway: no matter what your expectations may be, The Judge exudes some sort of overwhelming mediocrity like a force field. Even the box office returns were completely average, overall 1.5 times that of the budget almost exactly.

Future generations will look at The Judge with a confused melancholy while film professors present this as a movie that has been manufactured to an exact science, a product that resembles a movie with no inherent flaws but absolutely zero soul or personality. A star-studded cast of Robert Downey Jr, Robert Duvall, Billy Bob Thornton, Vincent D'Onofrio, Dax Shepherd and more mill about, drink, and reminisce about their terrible relationships for more than two hours.

Every last character is a stereotype. Downey Jr's character is wise-cracking but has all the answers. Duvall is both an angry, unlikable old curmudgeon and the sympathetic, disease-stricken patriarch of the family. D'Onofrio is a former high school football star who works at a car shop (or something, it's really not expanded on), the main character's love interest is his childhood friend who works at a bar, Thornton is a ruthless prosecutor, Shepherd is the nervous amateur lawyer—the character tropes are so ubiquitous that as soon as a character steps on screen you know exactly what he's going to do and say for the entire movie.

No character is more confusingly misused than Jeremy Strong's character, Downey Jr's younger brother with autism. Because the writers of this movie have no understanding of subtlety and the script is so cliche, this character falls under the unfortunate trope of being the I Am Sam sympathetic mentally retarded figure. More than a few scenes are dedicated to this character's love of filming as his family chews the scenery and some sad licensed music plays to make you feel things like a puppet. More disappointing than creating this heartstring-tugging character is that he's used to defuse serious moments by having him repeat a double entendre or someone swearing and the character innocuously repeating it. All I got out of this actor playing a severely impaired character is that The Judge is horribly mean-spirited for the sake of having a weird all-in-one film with every last stereotype possible. You're not What's Eating Gilbert Grape, you're a commercialized product.

Subjectively . . .

All this is to lead to the biggest flaw of this reeking pile of film refuse: subplots. Every last character in this movie exist to fluff out the running time for a completely bland, useless subplot. Hank's daughter at the beginning? Yep, better cram her into a subplot. The father character's lawyer? Let's just have a weird comparison between him and Hank. The father character played by Robert Duvall, aside from being the focus of the main plot, swings from being a remorseless monster to a lovable grandfather between scenes. Of course, because it's hard to really sympathize with a character so heavily steeped in contradiction, The Judge throws in a very heavy-handed subplot about Duvall's character somehow hiding the fact that he is suffering from a severe and very advanced form of cancer.

All I felt out of this was that The Judge is trying too hard to be too many things, and depicting a horrible disease with the tact of a high school kid in a movie with more mood swings than one just felt exploitative and cheap. I'd go so far as to say some of the ways Duvall's disease is portrayed is just tasteless. I didn't get anything out of this movie other than a sense that this C-grade movie was wasting my time.

Speaking of time, The Judge is nearly two and a half hours long.

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O N E H U N D R E D F O R T Y O N E M I N U T E S O F Y O U R T I M E

Because every single subplot demands to be given time to flesh out, The Judge doesn't feel like it respects your time. In fact, I got the opposite out of it. And because I don't respect The Judge, here's an example of one of the thrilling stories the movie shoves on you:

Hank's love interest, who works at a bar, is introduced early on and at first serves to unnecessarily expand on their childhood. Later, in a seemingly unrelated note, Hank picks up a girl at the same bar and the two make out, then nothing happens at all. A few scenes later Hank and his love interest (I can't believe her name escapes me so much, but that should be indicative of how memorable any of these characters are) are driving wherever and she introduces her daughter--the girl Hank made out with! Uh oh! And then nothing happens, again. The two drop it and the daughter never appears again...on screen. A few scenes later Barwoman mentions that she got pregnant right after Hank left town, and the implication is that her daughter is also Hank's. The issue, however, isn't that the protagonist made out with his own daughter, the focus is instead placed on his fear that he's been a bad parent to two daughters rather than the groan-inducing typical little girl who of course has her own subplot with Robert Duvall and it's terrible. Near the end of the movie Hank brings up the matter of his daughter to Barwoman who says "oh I was just messing with you, she's your brother's kid." What a relief, he only made out with his niece! Oh, but they forgot about that plot point already, so if the writers aren't worried about it you shouldn't be either.

I can go on but I'd basically have to complain and bellyache about the entire movie. That's about the level of writing you can expect out of it, and no, it doesn't get any better. The main plot is made entirely of legal thriller cliches, there is absolutely nothing original here and it's so crass and tasteless that it feels immediately like a bargain bin version of better movies. And that might just be the worse thing here: with such high production values and one of the most impressive casts in recent years, The Judge meanders until it lands with a big wet plop.

The Verdict

Please do yourself a favor and skip this movie. Tell your friends to skip The Judge. All I want to do is shame everyone involved with this movie and just brood over the time I wasted with it. It's taken me like five months to force myself to put how much I hate this movie into words and, as you can see, I couldn't. I can't possibly write a review long enough to properly describe how much I dislike this travesty. It's crass, it's tasteless, IT'S A MILLION HOURS LONG, even Billy Bob Thornton phones it in here. Please don't watch this movie. If you see it in Red Box, nudge the person beside you to say "oh man, that movie is so stupid and pointless, don't you hate it? That Subjective Objective review was so good and on-point and awesome and I love that guy." Don't let them avert your heated gaze full of determination. You're better than them. You're better than The Judge--that might not be a high bar of excellence but I believe in you.

Terrible.

Review and Analysis: Go Set a Watchman

The unearthing of a lost work of literature is an event which should, by all means, be met with celebration. Letters involving authors give glimpses into their intimate lives we would never have seen (James Joyce, anyone?). On the flip side, lost manuscripts can resurface which can theoretically augment an author's body of work. Some things should probably remain lost; in this case, 'lost' might just mean 'thrown directly into the garbage and not intended for public consumption.'

This is both a review of the work as well as an analysis of the plot. There will be spoilers for the entire novel.

The Premise

Scout, the protagonist of To Kill a Mockingbird and now an adult, returns to her home of Maycomb, a fictional town in Alabama. While Scout initially approaches her old home as an unchanging entity—a bastion of familiarity to which she can always return—she quickly discovers that her home, and some people, are not as they seem. Scout then mopes for over a hundred pages until the abrupt ending.

Objectively . . .

Before I smite this book with holy outrage, one first needs to be fully aware of Go Set a Watchman's history, its identity as a lost manuscript, and how exactly it fits into the setting of To Kill a Mockingbird. This book isn't the sequel the publishers would have you believe, nor was it 'once thought lost.' More on that later. I encourage you to speculate on your own, but what is presented here is what I assume to be the most factual account of events.

Go Set a Watchman was supposedly discovered at an appraisal of Harper Lee's estate as early as 2011 as a manuscript locked away in a safe deposit box. In this account, Lee's agent apparently took a fairly long time to realize the manuscript was not in fact a draft of Mockingbird but actually a completely separate book; Lee later fired this agent for attempting to transfer the copyright to him. Later, in 2014 (and after the death of Lee's sister, also her manager), Lee's publisher suddenly decided to reevaluate the contents of the safe deposit box, was impressed by Go Set a Watchman, and went ahead to present the work to Lee to ask her permission for publication. As a side note, conflicting reports (many, many conflicting reports) have stated that Harper Lee has been infirmed for years, is nearly completely blind and deaf, and "will sign just about anything you put in front of her." In short, she had a manager for a pretty good reason.

Worse than those facts, than the possible criminal element involved in the novels' publication and the implication of money-hungry scheming, is the dreadful outcome that Go Set a Watchman is simply not a well-written or interesting novel. And that's just to say the novel on its own is merely bad; when compared to Mockingbird, Watchman is many degrees poorer in nearly every way: pacing, characters, even the novel's action is an objective step down.

Nothing much of note really happens—the dramatic action is almost entirely the personal anguish Jean Louise suffers through as she comes to terms with the fact that her small Southern town is, in fact, a small Southern town, with all of its inherent flaws and prejudices.

I have some bad news for people who may find the novel's big reveal shocking: this wasn't a surprise in the '50s. It's not a surprise now. Jean Louise even makes a comment that she only assumed Maycomb wouldn't have a Citizens' Council simply on the basis that she grew up there. The biggest flaw here is that the most interesting parts of the book are flashbacks to Jean Louise as a child and coping with revelations about her impending fate as an adult; as an actual adult, Jean Louise is horrifyingly ignorant of Southern life. She's supposed to be 26, not 16.

To backtrack a lot, one major flaw of Watchman is its terribly extended exposition.  Exposition in a story is generally gradual and serves to introduce the reader to the characters, their flaws, the setting, and sub-plots that may occur. By the one hundred-page mark in Mockingbird, the reader has a fairly intimate knowledge of Maycomb, the main characters, the side characters, Tom Robinson's trial, the gravity of said trial, and most importantly, the novel's antagonist: Bob Ewell, a character who embodies the very ignorance and dirtiness Lee took notice of in the South. We care about Scout growing up but we're reminded of childhood ourselves in her naivete much the same way we begin to cheer for Atticus as a symbol of hope and progress in a town consumed by an ancient and irrevocable hatred, where lynchings still occur and families are living in abject poverty.

At this same pace in Watchman, nothing of significance occurs. The only villainous or antagonistic character, Alexandra, is such a non-threat that her actual threats are presented as jokes. Nothing is truly set up as conflict because the characters are all adults and nothing presents itself as a credible threat either physically or emotionally. Jean Louise gets a little aggravated by Alexandra, but that's not much of a basis for a dramatic character arc. So naturally, when the narrative conflict does arrive, it does so with the subtlety and grace of a sledgehammer.

At exactly the 100-page count Jean Louise discovers a white nationalist pamphlet Atticus had been reading and somehow, at that exact moment, knows exactly that Atticus and her suitor, Hank, are at a Citizens' Council meeting—if you're unaware, these meetings were more or less the anti-Civil Rights movement, where disgruntled whites would gather to discuss such topics as the promotion of segregation or the spreading of racist propaganda. This all happens in the span of one chapter, but more than the abrupt shift in tone, this chapter highlights the emotional immaturity of the writer.

With Mockingbird, themes such as race would come into play with the characters and their interactions. Bob Ewell is hateful, bigoted, dirty, and overall not a very charming figure. We're shown the depths of his hatred through the events of the story; indeed, the themes are presented to readers in a way that we can take away what we want. Ewell is such a memorable antagonist because he's not simply a threat to the main characters—although he does indeed threaten their lives in the novel's climax—but because his victory in court symbolizes a victory for all the negative traits he represents. We don't have to be told what these traits are, they're shown to us through development of his character.

Watchman does not have the sensibilities of Mockingbird, so when a character much like Ewell appears, Jean Louise immediately begins to call him, among other things, "trash." Even more off-putting than being told something like this is the fact that, unlike Mockingbird, Watchman is presented entirely through third-person narration. Despite Mockingbird being written in a far more intimate first-person style, it never explicitly vilifies a character in this way—in fact, I'm going to justify putting this here as a complaint because telling the reader what to think is objectively bad writing. There's no excuse for it, and Mockingbird being so drastically different showcases exactly why this was a poor choice. It's not a very big part of the book, but having the entire thing full of small problems like this certainly adds up.

From here the novel begins a frankly odd and, again, off-putting trend of having every single antagonistic character reciting bigoted thoughts as if they were reading off of a script. These are all long paragraphs and they're almost entirely white supremacist bullet points, told in such a way you'd think Lee just transcribed one of the aforementioned pamphlets. The method in which these scenes are even told is mind-boggling, to say the least. I don't have the book with me (or at all, anymore) so I can't print it verbatim, but an example would be a character saying "all blacks have smaller brains...degenerate...go back to Africa..." and so on with that exact sort of detached grammatical brevity. And these paragraphs just go on and on; I'm sure if it was published in the era it was written that sort of language might be considered shocking much in the way The Jungle impacted readers with its revelations, but to read it now with the hindsight of the Civil Rights movement behind us, this hateful rhetoric is a well-known artifact that should come as a surprise to nobody, and the swathes of page space dedicated to these moments drag on far past their welcome.

This chapter also hits us with the revelation that Go Set a Watchman is in fact not a sequel at all. Not because it was written first; no, even if To Kill a Mockingbird is intended as a prequel to this book, one extremely important fact is noted that completely changes the landscape of the story in the space of a single flashback:

"Atticus took his career in his hands, made good use of a careless indictment, took his stand before a jury, and accomplished what was never before or afterwards done in Maycomb County: he won an acquittal for a colored boy on a rape charge. The chief witness for the prosecution was a white girl."

That is simply not what occurred in Mockingbird. In fact, it weakens the dramatic swerve and thematic injustice of that novel's key conflict: despite the evidence being overwhelmingly in his favor, Atticus loses that case for his defendant (a man, not a boy) and shows the audience an ugly side of racial bigotry: that of the uncaring, unflinching reality of apathy. By being published in such a state that contradicts the drama of To Kill a Mockingbird's key scene, Go Set a Watchman in turn weakens it by indicating to the reader that the trial could honestly have gone either way, and it didn't matter in the long run because it was no more than a footnote in Scout's memory.

Jean Louise then spends over a hundred pages moping. She talks about being sad, throwing up, sleeping for several hours, and in general doing nothing of note but wasting pages upon pages by being a completely uninteresting blob. Basically, being me.

I've heard, however, that the climax of the novel emotionally impacted some readers. Therefore, I'd love to tell you how you're all wrong.

Subjectively . . .

After running away from the meeting, as well as some time after Scout's unbearable moping, the plot moves again as slow as it possibly can. Her aunt sets up a "Coffee" for her where her childhood friends are invited to her house for coffee and cake—a coming-of-age ritual of sorts. More paragraphs of disjointed thoughts (not stream-of-consciousness, it's not coherent or written well enough to be that) and blatantly evil discussion of race crops up from her contemporaries with little to no context. Scout becomes a flawless representation of progress by spouting college-level observations and smirking when her brainless friends are too stupid to pick up on it because every last person who is a bigot is also very stupid and can't think for themselves. It's such a huge strawman argument that it comes off as the author not actually knowing the thought process of a bigoted person and just made them as outright villainous as possible, despite how poorly it is told. Scout then pouts a little more.

Near the end of the novel Scout pretty much breaks and confronts her hopeful bride-to-be about the meeting, who more or less tells her the hard truth that—as a former member of one of Maycomb's very real impoverished families—he is forced to assume the role of a social chameleon, being something of a Yes-man to his mentor, Atticus, as well as the governing party of Maycomb. While this should come as no surprise to anyone who has had to grow up around a majority they do not agree with, for some reason this shakes Scout to her core as she ruthlessly denounces Hank as a spineless coward in front of the entire town. While I don't disagree with her assessment, her reasoning for doing so is that of an emotionally stunted child; I didn't feel Scout's dejected outrage, all I felt during these scenes was that Scout, in all her sudden revelations about life, neglected to look inwardly to reflect on whether or not she herself was thinking critically as an adult.

Don't misunderstand, she was totally justified in her horror upon realizing her quaint hometown was something of a bastion for bigotry, but the method in which she deals with it doesn't give me the impression of an individual standing up for truth and justice. Instead, for the entire last two thirds of the book Scout is just a screaming child, lashing out at the world for an injustice that should not have come as a surprise whatsoever. She's twenty-six, did she really believe a small town in Alabama would be some sort of beacon of progress, just because Atticus lives there? This should have been an epiphany for Scout during one of her very many flashbacks, and the novel should have instead dealt with her coming to terms with and acknowledging that fact rather than her disgust and anger at being so slow on the uptake.

What follows is perhaps the most cringe-worthy excuse for a climax I've read in a very long time. Scout confronts Atticus, who espouses some very out-of-character rhetoric about how horrifying it would be to see Scout's children going to mixed schools and other segregationist talking points, but while doing so he attempts to explain why exactly he attended the Council meetings. Truth be told, I was expecting it to be a twist like Atticus was only there as a mediator or something, and in truth that's a part of it. It's revealed he even went to Klan meetings not because he supported the cause, but instead because he feared the concept of anonymity within a hateful backdrop like the KKK. Much with that same fear Atticus attends the Council meetings partly because he wants to know exactly who is on either "side" with the argument of Civil Rights, but at points he mysteriously backpedals and goes back to being a fairly hateful bigot, talking about the "negro race" being in its infancy, that they can't be trusted to make informed decisions on their own.

Part of his fears about the NAACP, however, are still being argued about to this day. The legitimacy of the group's causes, perceived race-baiting, and faux-scientific claims are nothing new, especially now with the prevalence of the internet to allow this sort of discussion with complete anonymity. Said arguments are wrong, but Atticus isn't just some progressive beacon who has notions to wave away this sort of rhetoric. He was born in the 19th century in the South; how is there any surprise that he harbors bigoted thoughts? But that's more or less the climax of the novel: Jean Louise shouts at Atticus like a petulant brat, telling him that she hates his guts and that she never wants to see him again and that he destroyed her. It doesn't read like a mid-twenties adult coming to terms with her surroundings, but instead like a child who can't handle being told they can't have a toy—not a very good analogy, but some of the things she says to Atticus while denouncing him are downright uncalled for. She whines and cries and shouts but in the end, I only felt sorry for Atticus: a man who, despite being so flawed in this novel, calmly states his beliefs (his opinions) and tells Scout that, no matter what, he will always love her. I felt sympathy for this old man who didn't even put up a fight when his daughter, who he raised as a single parent and led her to her own maturity by himself, told him she never wanted to see him again because she couldn't handle his faults.

And this ties into an objective fault of the book: This is not the Atticus of Mockingbird because this takes place in a world where the events of that book did not occur! As much as people want to throw around that this is a sequel, that this is a continuation of To Kill a Mockingbird, if the book contradicts prior story elements then it is objectively a different story entirely. There's no additional depth or nuance to the character; it's impossible to tell whether or not he truly had an emotional attachment to the case because, in this world at least, Atticus successfully defended Tom Robinson. That trial is the single-most important plot detail in either book, and not only is it glossed over like nothing in Watchman but it's given such little importance that it was never even edited after the publication of Mockingbird.

I want you, the reader, to think about that fact a bit. Despite the changed outcome of the story, Lee never thought to go back and change the Go Set a Watchman manuscript. It never occurred to her this novel would ever see the light of day; it was such a low priority that, in the span of FIFTY YEARS, the single word "won" was not altered. That's because this book is a rough draft. It was never intended to be published because rough drafts are merely an additional step in publication. To Kill a Mockingbird is the perfected version of this novel to such a degree, in fact, that the original manuscript for Go Set a Watchman was entirely discarded.

That's not to say the book is entirely not worth your time; rather, I would encourage any hopeful amateur writer to pick this up and then read To Kill a Mockingbird. It's not because one is objectively better (although that is true); a direct comparison is fruitless because these are very different books. Rather, a writer who has yet to suffer through a rough draft might be unaware of just how differently an author's original vision might change over the course of writing a story. Characters may change, events may change, even the dramatic twists and revelations may be entirely different. Regardless of this, a writer may just come to discover their unique voice in a way that the original work couldn't necessarily allow. The best parts of Go Set a Watchman are the intimate flashbacks to Scout as a child, no doubt the biggest inspiration to the change of tone in To Kill a Mockingbird. You might be surprised at how closely the two novels support one another in unique ways, despite being fairly dissimilar in tone and structure.

The Verdict

Go Set a Watchman is not a good book. Even despite its contradictory nature to Harper Lee's claim to fame To Kill a Mockingbird, there really isn't enough here that stands out. The protagonist is insufferable; the dramatic conflict is that she can't handle opinions that are different to her own, even if they are negative or harmful, there's no real villain aside from an enfeebled old man the protagonist has a disagreement with and her crotchety aunt; there is a boatload of exposition that doesn't really pay off—in one example, the novel goes into a long description of an old family and the payoff is that Scout goes to a shop one of the family works at, a pretty annoying detour for a completely irrelevant destination.

That being said, if you're an aspiring writer, then please give it a read. Get it from your local library to compare and contrast Lee's work and you will truly appreciate her growth as a writer. That said, do not buy this book. Don't reward the shady business practices that went behind the publication of this unfinished draft of a better novel; I implore you, rent the book if you want to read it. This is not a sequel, nor is it worth the thirty dollar price tag. A better example of this sort of work was last year's The Haunted Life by American author Jack Kerouac; that novel was correctly labeled as a found, unfinished manuscript with letters by the author, and I found it to be far more interesting taking that element into consideration. With Go Set a Watchman being pushed as a sequel, the only thing that's going to be set is your soon-to-be crushed expectations.

Flawed

Review: Jurassic World

1993. 4-year-old me had never even seen a movie theater before—I'm pretty sure. For the sake of the story, let's say I hadn't—but I still remember that rush. The giddy excitement of seeing DINOSAURS moving around, interacting with each other, interacting with real humans who I wanted to believe in. The soaring vistas, the somber moments, the tense moments; even tiny stupid baby me was awe-struck. I think. I vaguely remember shouting at people and laughing when Samuel L. Jackson said the word butt. It was a different time. Regardless, Jurassic Park is more than just a film to me: it's an experience. I go back to that movie as often as I can and every time I find something new to love. The sequels...well, I liked The Lost World when it came out. Same reason as the Star Wars prequels: children like seeing flashy lights and dumb action. Going back to that sequel now isn't so great, and I haven't even watched 3 since the first time I watched it in theaters. The less said about it, the better. So like an idiot, Jurassic World lured me in with its promise of riches, a return to greatness for a franchise that so desperately needed an injection of life. Life finds a way after all, right?

The Premise

Two decades have passed since the incident at Isla Nublar, and Jurassic Park has become a legendary attraction, now renamed Jurassic World: after the death of John Hammond, the rights to the park have been bought by Simon Masrani, who has turned the island into the park Hammond might have imagined. Zack and Gray, nephews of the park's director Claire, are invited to a week at the island while their parents finalize their divorce. Meanwhile, Ingen's new military division wants to militarize the velociraptors raised at Jurassic World, leading to a dispute with the raptor trainer, Owen Grady. In a shocking twist, the genetically engineered Indominus Rex, a mixture of several dinosaurs and modern animals, tricks the foolish park workers into allowing it to escape and wreak havoc.

Did none of that sound particularly compelling or make much sense? Don't worry, it isn't and it doesn't!

Objectively...

Nearly everything about this movie seems to have some completely baffling flaw from the writing, the score, the cinematography, even down to the acting and casting of the main roles. Nothing makes sense, and almost every iconic scene is a cheap call-back to Jurassic Park. When it's not doing that, it's either failing miserably or stealthily taking plot points from the other films in the series. Even 3, an undisputed trainwreck. Looking at a purely objective stand-point, there are details that are simply inexcusable for a movie with such a long filming period and with such a massive budget.

Where to begin? I'll save the writing for later, so let's look first at the cinematography. For the most part, nearly every scene is either a wide-shot or completely plain at a safe distance from the actors. Dinosaur reveals are often completely ruined by this, as chunks of the bigger dinosaurs just bob in and out of shots that should hide them from the audience—imagine if Jaws just constantly had the shark occasionally peeking out of the water. Another odd technique that occurs a few times is this weird, panicky camera work that can only be described as "I guess it's a handy cam now." The same kind of handy cam you'd see in found footage movies like Cloverfield: rapid, out-of-focus zoom-ins which randomly intercut the typical action scenes. I'll gripe about this in the second half of the review, but even looking at it objectively the effect is ugly, too rare of an occurrence to be a necessity, and overall kills the tone of a scene. Either film an entire scene in a found footage style or don't.

Other scenes in the movie are wide-shots where every little detail, every actor and every screeching CGI dinosaur, is put into focus. That would be fine if not for the fact that these action scenes are so safe. We're never given a reason to really care about the 20,000+ park-goers; in fact, some shots make a large chunk of the population seem like the true villains of the film: greedy consumers lapping up the shameless excess that Jurassic World has become.

Which leads me to another very big problem I have with Jurassic World: because the shots are typically so bland, the soundtrack takes a big hit because it's almost entirely the soundtrack from the original film. Those big swells in the score; the bombastic theme; those tender, quiet moments are all ripped from a much better movie to tug on your heart-strings, and the result is something that seems more like a bootleg than a sequel or even a loving homage. For example, take the first big reveal of the brachiosaurus—really, just take it all in and listen to the score.

The epic swells in the music are accompanied by such an awe-inspiring scale that cannot really be put into words, especially on a first viewing. You're totally immersed, and when it crashes down to a thundering roar the music is right there with it. And it keeps going further in the scene as the herd is revealed, when the gravitas of Jurassic Park, both the park and the film, finally hits. "They finally did it," Ian whispers in disbelief, horror, and awe.

The same music is used in Jurassic World near the beginning when the kids enter the welcome center. The swell in the music happens exactly as the camera focuses on an escalator, of all things. Then it swells again when we finally see the tourist center, but honestly, what's impressive about that? It's a building. We've seen buildings. I'm sitting in a building right now as I stew over writing about this disaster.

The acting isn't so great, either. The two kids' mother overacts like crazy, emoting so many times in a single minute you'd wonder what the script was even supposed to convey. Completely stone-faced love to her kid leading directly into face-contorting heavy crying? Is that an emotion? She's not the only one to overact, though. Near the beginning, Claire flings herself around the helicopter over a small amount of turbulence in such a way you'd expect her to simply leap out of it. Worse, this scene is clearly a nod to the helicopter scene near the beginning. You know, the one with the still-debated moment where Alan Grant "finds a way" with the seatbelts? Yeah, that one. They even use the same music when the camera pans over the waterfall! Only this time there's a person losing her mind over what looks like nothing at all, most likely causing more problems for Masrani than intended, and there's absolutely no subtlety or symbolism—just like the rest of the movie. It's obnoxious and cheapens an already cheap call-back to the original film.

And what was the deal with the characters pausing between dialogue? There was an actually well-written part acted out so bad I can't help but wonder if it was intentional.

"Can't you track them by scent?"
-pause-
"I'm from the Navy, not from the Navajo!"
-pause-

It was like watching a sitcom. Like the director told them to just wait for a second, the audience is still catching their breath. I get the joke, it's pretty clever (if not out of place), but seriously, what is even happening here? And no, this isn't the only problem with the acting. The child actors cry and whine and over-emote and honestly it reminds me exactly of why people hated Anakin in The Phantom Menace. I get it, you need kids for the obvious call-back to the first film, but those kids were supporting roles and these are introduced as if they're the protagonists. And why is Vincent D'onofrio slurring so badly? Were those the first takes? Could they not slap the bottle from his hands for ten minutes?

But that's all to be expected, given the quality of the writing. I don't even think I need to really go into it; just go Google "Jurassic World plotholes." If you're too lazy, well, I'll dump a spoiler into the second half of the review. I'll just say this though: A T-Rex that can keep up with—and even briefly hit—a Jeep until it eventually gets tired and gives up. This same T-Rex apparently cannot chase a person wearing heels at a maintained speed over a pretty large distance. That's simply a plot hole and it's been making me so unbelievably angry that I can't think straight. It's been bothering me since I saw the film opening night. I could go on, and on, and on, and on about the problems with the story from an objective point of view, but honestly, there's too much to list without getting into spoilers. I will say this though: you cannot outrun a T-Rex. You can't, I can't, no actual human in this movie should possibly be able to do such a thing.

It didn't take long to find this clip, but I should note I didn't upload it and I don't own the footage blah blah blah, I'm linking to it for educational purposes.

The T-Rex very nearly catches up with the Jeep in what appears to be at least second gear. In fact, near the beginning (in the first linked video, even) Hammond casually mentions the T-Rex was clocked at speeds of 32 miles per hour. Taking that into consideration, the world's fastest runner was clocked running at speeds of about 28 miles per hour. If, say, you were wearing heels, it would be less time than that: in fact, after a bit of research, the fastest clocked speed of a person wearing high heels was 100 meters in a little under 15 seconds—about 24 miles per hour.

Even at a sustained speed right out of the gate, a human being cannot objectively outpace the established speed of Jurassic Park/World's T-Rex. Even the most physically fit athlete in the world would be chased down and turned into a big pasty blob of food within seconds. Objectively. It cannot be argued. Yet this is the logic Jurassic World attempts to push on its poor, helpless viewer. When looking at an inconsistency it's typical to point out plot holes that creep into a movie—this is a matter of shattering one's suspension of disbelief so drastic it makes the existence of fifty-foot-long dinosaurs seem trivial in comparison.

Another glaring fault of Jurassic World is the bizarre mishandling of the film's main theme of rampant, out of control consumerism. This issue, however, I will admit is more...

Subjectively...

I can't wrap my head around whether or not the product placement in Jurassic World is intentional. Some parts are charming: the massive "SAMSUNG INNOVATION CENTER" is so tongue-in-cheek that it made me legitimately turn around on my intense dislike for the film's opening. Characters deride all the product placement in the park: "Just imagine, Verizon presents the Pepsisaurus." It seems charming at first, and it's a fairly interesting theme.

The consumerist theme gets a bit muddled when immediately after this characters interact with their Samsung™ Galaxy© phones, typically shown in crisp detail. There are scenes in this movie where the entire screen is taken up entirely by phones. Phones on dashboards, phones in hand, phones everywhere, all Samsung brand with the phone's front display garishly splayed out. A character screams bloody murder...when she sees her family member's cracked phone on the ground.

And it's not just that, although the Samsung marketing is extremely jarring. Characters walk around with their Starbucks cups so the logo shows completely. One character says something like "we need to get a fast ride," followed immediately by a shot of some Mercedes SUV with the logo so prominent I thought it was a commercial. The teenage boy is constantly shown with his Beats by Dre in such a way that you'd think he was averting his gaze completely from the camera—how else would we know exactly what sick beats he's enjoying his music with? Chris Pratt even has a close-up where he wipes sweat from his brow and takes a deep swig of Coca-Cola from a glass bottle, the logo displayed directly across the center of the screen. The only thing missing would be for him to wink at the audience and say "refreshing!" Why is there a Pandora's Jewelry in an amusement park?

I can appreciate jabs at consumerism, but being so tone-deaf as to mix the criticism directly into product placement is not only a missed opportunity as much as it is insulting to the audience. It's like the movie's glaring use of CG: the audience is expected to have their eyes gaze over and just enjoy the mindless action (A VELOCIRAPTOR IS THROWN BY THE I-REX AND JUST EXPLODES!), but it's just not working on me. I don't appreciate the product placement. I don't appreciate replacing practical dinosaur models entirely with floppy CG monsters.

With the CG, though, I'll admit that it's more disappointment coming straight from the recent Mad Max. That movie is full of so many amazing practical effects that it comes off as simply classy movie-making. Jurassic World...not so much.

Verdict:

I don't expect much from movies. If you're just an action movie, impress me with the action, Show me some scale that really makes me gasp, have some practical effects that make me question "How is that actor not dead?" Jurassic World stands on the shoulders of greatness and just middles around with the sequels of the first film. It might be the best sequel to the original, but when over half the film is shameless product placement, lame jokes and lazy call-backs to one of the best films of all time, it feels more like I'm being sold a pitch for a sequel—and don't you worry, Jurassic World sets up what will likely be a massive franchise of the same drivel. But look at those box office returns: it might not be what I wanted, but audiences most certainly did. I'll be skipping the next Jurassic Whatever.

Heavily Flawed

Review: Nightcrawler

With widespread praise and favorable comparisons to one of my favorite films of all time, American Psycho, I knew Nightcrawler was going to be something special. I finally had a chance to watch the film after a while, and it certainly did not disappoint.

The Premise

Louis Bloom is a desperate creep willing to do anything for a job. He lives in a dingy apartment and resorts to pawning stolen property for a bit of cash, wasting away on TV and watering a tiny plant. His life changes when he comes upon the scene of a grizzly car accident and discovers his new passion in life: filming the aftermath of whatever accidents he can find, no matter the cost to himself or the people around him.

Objectively...

Nightcrawler is shot brilliantly, weaving a dream-like tale with brutal succinctness. Lou is a man at home in shadows, both real and metaphoric. Nearly every scene is shot at night, and a large number of daytime scenes take place in Lou's unlit, cramped apartment. The tone is set visually, and when the narrative's dark underpinnings are revealed it never comes off as forced.

Because of the tone, the film itself is often very quiet: Lou comes across scenes of accidents while the police are cleaning up, so rather than focusing on action, much of Lou's job is sneaking around in dark houses or flitting between victims thrown from cars at the scene of a grisly crash. Development of Lou's character comes from just how far he is willing to sink to get that one perfect shot.

It's a success story where the audience wants the protagonist to do everything but succeed. Points of Nightcrawler's plot can be compared one-to-one with "underdog" types of movies, but the one defining characteristic is that Lou is simply an arrogant, creepy, and overall loathsome sociopath. This is where the film shines at its brightest; from the very beginning the audience can sympathize with Lou as a disaffected youth, willing to do anything for steady income. In any other movie of this type, Lou would be the antagonist whose ideologies clash with the more "moral" protagonist. But here he is—the hero we're supposed to be rooting for, underpaying his intern and rummaging through the houses of fresh murder scenes.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Nightcrawler's supporting cast, who are at best meandering and at worst completely supportive of Lou's cause. Those who aren't are functionally useless, and because of that there's simply not much of an antagonist. That's not to say there isn't one, but suffice it to say the opposing force for the protagonist is a road bump in their best scene. As Nightcrawler continues there's not a whole lot stopping Lou from accomplishing his goal, and the tension comes from the actual jobs he takes on rather than his initial goal of simply becoming a major ambulance chaser. That's not to say the movie is devoid of tension; in fact, closer to the end of the film the action itself becomes tense more than the initial premise. Which leads me to...

Subjectively...

The only single problem I have with Nightcrawler is that it's not quite focused enough. While there's plenty of intrigue and tension throughout the entire thing, it lacked focus for me. Not that the plot itself is unfocused, but after a while it seems like the movie just jumps between disconnected story arcs. Lou needs a job, he gets a job. There's a rival ambulance chaser, Lou takes care of him. It reflects the character as a guy who takes care of problems when they arise, but it didn't work out quite like I hoped.

The American Psycho comparisons are obviously drawn from Lou's similarity to American Psycho's protagonist, Patrick Bateman. I wouldn't go quite that far. Both characters are clearly multi-layered, deep but flawed in their own ways; and, of course, both are complete monsters when left to their own devices. While their characters might share some similarities, the story around them are entirely different (and not all in Nightcrawler's favor). For instance, Patrick is already established at the firm he works at; he's a yuppie, and he hates his empty life. A portion of Nightcrawler is dedicated to Lou finding his calling as an ends-meets-the-means photojournalist, although the "how" only really slows down the plot. Of course, the beginning establishes that Lou is willing to do anything for money as well as showing (rather than telling) the rivalry between he and a rival journalist. A chunk of the beginning could have been dealt with if he was already trying to start up his career, and honestly, I feel it could have started stronger if Lou was in the middle of starting his business.

But then, that's not the movie I'm reviewing. Clearly, the director wanted us to see Lou at his lowest before he started his filming career, and for what it's worth, it's just fine as it is. That's not the only area in which the two leads differ: a major subplot in American Psycho is the game of cat-and-mouse between Patrick and Detective Kimball, who is implied to be trying to wear down Patrick and have him reveal his crimes. Kimball's plot is more thematic than a key point of the plot and serves as an attack of conscience with the protagonist. Nightcrawler has a very similar subplot, and I imagine this is where a pretty fair amount of comparison is drawn. Like my earlier point, it's not a comparison I view as being very favorable.

Detective Fronteiri in Nightcrawler is everything Detective Kimball is not; emotional, following leads she cannot connect, and overall a fairly useless detective, Fronteiri gives very little tension to the scenes in which she attempts to pin Lou for his crimes. The depth of Kimball and Patrick's relationship is entirely missing, and even if you haven't seen American Psycho (thou must!), it's pretty apparent that, despite Fronteiri being so immediately hostile to Lou, she doesn't offer much as an antagonist with opposing ideals. She merely exists as the necessary symbol of justice, but instead comes off as more of a pushover. As multi-faceted as Nightcrawler actually is though, adding more to Fronteiri might drag the movie on. Even still, the morality of the film is mostly present in Lou's intern, Rick (also down on his luck and desperate for work). He's a very sympathetic character, but his role is largely comic relief until a later part of the film.

Of course, those are very specific complaints for such an incredible movie. For all the criticisms I have, I'm sure there is more than one reason why the final product is better for not addressing those specific areas. Aside from that, those are merely the reasons why I find comparisons to American Psycho off-base. Both movies are stellar character studies, but they're wildly different and excel in their own specific ways.

Verdict:

Nightcrawler is a rare movie: dark, subversive, deep and oozing with satire, this by all means should be a miracle from a first-time director. The American Psycho references are a bit weird, but I see where they're coming from; if you hated that movie Nightcrawler stands pretty far apart from it, but if you liked the former there will almost definitely be something in here you'll enjoy. Jake Gyllenhaal absolutely nails the role and you won't want to take your eyes off of him for a second.

Highly Recommended

Review: Sleeping Dogs Definitive Edition

I don't know where to even begin with this thing. I have a ton of praise that's met with equal amounts of criticism. I didn't even want to review a video game at the moment but Sleeping Dogs left me with such an immense amount of confusion and disappointment that I had to. I'll do the standard format here but the subjective part is mostly going to be full of spoilers.

The premise.

Sleeping Dogs was at one point the smoldering remains of the third title in the True Crime series of video games. Like those, the story follows an undercover cop digging into the criminal underworld. The main character is Wei Shen, a Hong Kong-born young man who joins his childhood friend to join the Sun On Yee, a branch of the Triads. Lines become blurred and Wei has to come to terms with his own loyalties.

Objectively...

The game is clearly a love letter to violent, over-the-top Hong Kong martial arts cinema, as well as open-world games such as GTA and the aforementioned True Crime games. In that sense, the game is incredibly well-made: from grungy run-down docks to the serene natural beauty of Buddhist temples dotting the landscape, Hong Kong comes to life with astounding detail. That being said, the game is only an enhanced port of a video game from 2012 and built for the last generation of consoles. While Hong Kong generally looks gorgeous with its brilliant neon, the foggy and cramped sky overhead, and fairly detailed roadwork, a closer look reveals the game's downsides. Models for non-player characters are typically bare, leading to some moments where Wei (detailed down to his pores and light beard) appears to be talking to a character ripped straight from a PS2 game. It doesn't happen often, but it's not pretty when it does.

Whether it's driving around the winding streets or challenging master arts clubs, there's a wealth of stuff to do. Racing challenges, cop missions, favors for citizens—the list goes on and on. This leads to another problem: the mission structure is generally pretty samey. One race looks like another, some favors involve just driving people around or shooting people while they drive around, occasionally beat up a drunk. For a game with such an enormous world, because of the repetitive nature of missions the world actually feels somewhat limited. And tough luck if you want to go on a GTA-style rampage: unless you hold on to a firearm from a mission, you'll have to either steal a gun from a police officer or level up a perk that allows you to take guns from cop cars. This reflects the staunch gun laws in Hong Kong and gives the world some depth, but considering your character is a cop, it seems odd that you have to jump through so many hoops if you want a pistol.

In fact, many of the games problems arise when guns are so much as hinted at. Sleeping Dogs works best as a martial arts game, but at a certain point in the story a third-person shooter element is introduced. This is more of a subjective problem, but when it comes to shooting mechanics all I can think from this game is just pure misery. More on that later.

All of this serves to point out the major flaw in Sleeping Dogs: for every area the game excels, an aspect of that drags the experience down. Fist fights are deep and tense; Wei can dish out pain but has to be quick to counter or a fight will end quickly. Upgrades involve the addition of new mechanics, different methods of countering or a new throw. Likewise, shootouts are typically groan-inducing slogs and shooting perks are almost always something like "for one particular moment you can slow down time to aim." Driving and racing is fun, but every race typically plays out the same. Some character models are extremely detailed, while others look like they're from a PS2 title.

Keep all that in mind when approaching Sleeping Dogs. The game is very well made, there's a ton of stuff to do and it looks gorgeous—but don't expect perfection simply from an objective approach. If you can look past the flaws, this is a seriously well-made experience.

Subjectively...
In Which I Complain About Guns for Several Paragraphs

Any time a gun appears in Sleeping Dogs everything becomes so stupid I can't handle it. Sleeping Dogs is largely a nod to Hong Kong Kung Fu movies, right? So what's up with the abundance of third-person shooting, especially after the first quarter of the game? That's rhetorical, of course. You gotta have shooting in your AAA shooting game. And yeah, it makes sense in context of the story. Wei's involved with the cops and the Hong Kong Triad, guns are going to come up in some fashion. It's just that whenever they appear, the game's own logic can't seem to handle the gravity of firearms and just huddles in a corner while waiting for the player to end the section.

I'm going to spoil the game at this point. Jump to the end for my score.

Sleeping Dogs manages to handle gun play fairly competently for the first few missions after firearms are introduced, which is why I'm so baffled by how it's handled later. Even when Pendrew hands you your first handgun, he makes it seem like a big deal. Guns are contraband in Hong Kong and only cops really have access to them, and if you're coming across Triad members with guns, you should be prepared for some hardcore thugs to get them. The implication exists that the shooting elements of Sleeping Dogs would be a major event, something that only occurs when you're coming up against a major enemy, or for taking down criminals in high-stakes cop missions.

For me, the shooting isn't very fun either. You have a cover button, a reload button, an aim, and shoot. There's no combat roll, your health recharges after a point (nonexistent in fisticuffs), and general over-the-shoulder aiming is so basic it would not be out of place in an early 7th-gen title. There's nothing to speak of, which makes the fact that you're forced into it even more irritating. You have one gun, no auxiliary weapons like explosives or anything—ever—enemies are all basically bullet sponges in every shootout. For me, this isn't just a low point of the game, it's one of the poorest examples of third-person shooting mechanics in recent memory.

I'd have to go back through the game to pinpoint an exact moment, but the one that stands out to me is Winston's wedding. The twist is shocking and effective and it really feels like you'd need to sneak around to avoid being seen. But no, these highly skill and trained assassins just happen to leave guns lying around and are easily dispatched by Wei, despite being in an emotionally compromised state. With overwhelming odds against him Wei murders with perfect precision (assuming you're skilled at the game) every single 18k assassin, who are unable to effectively surround him or form any logical counter-attack. These are people who tricked the entire wedding procession, including Uncle Po (the chairman of the Sun On Yee Triads), but are incapable of stopping a cop who doesn't even carry a gun with him.

That's what I mean when I say the game's logic doesn't seem to understand what's happening. The 18k attack at a moment when every member of the opposition has their guard down and are unarmed. The gameplay should reflect that, and does so very briefly when Wei finds Uncle Po and carries him out of the building with just a single handgun. Of course this doesn't last very long and Wei runs straight into groups of armed assassins and effortlessly eliminates them with their own guns.

After this point nearly every story mission becomes a shootout. I'm not exaggerating—even missions with huge potential to become giant fist-fights instead devolve into cover shooting. That's it. Cover shooting everywhere and the repetition I mentioned earlier becomes so much worse because you get the sinking feeling that you're going to be just shooting. Favor missions become "lean out of a window and shoot men riding motorcycles while your friend drives." All this aside, a few missions in particular stand out as being particularly poor form.

The funeral of Uncle Po should be a somber event. In all honesty, the 18k and cops should be there as an insult and nothing else happen. Instead, Pendrew uses the opportunity to intimidate Wei by showing he is affiliated with the 18k, supplies them all with guns, and tells them he is going to look the other way while the Sun On Yee gathered at the cemetery are killed. If nothing else, this should have been an escape mission where Wei is the sole survivor of the massacre. It would set the stage really well for the endgame and also give the 18k even more of a threatening presence.

Instead they're reduced to stupid bullet sponges for a stupid cover shooter where Wei and his stupid friends magically spawn guns out of thin air. Another opportunity is missed here, because I simply do not understand why Pendrew and the cops don't just arrest every member of the Sun On Yee for having access to firearms. If he's willing to look the other way for the 18k, why not just go all the way?

That scene leads to Jackie, your hyper and all-around naive buddy who wants nothing more than to be a bonafide Triad member, being abducted and buried alive by the 18k. It really makes you feel for the guy because up to that point, he just wanted to be seen as a serious gangster. But then you have a stupid shootout while riding a boat over to where Jackie has been buried; however, the culmination of this mission isn't the boatguns, it's all about saving Jackie. Wei digs him up and gets him back to the main island, and it becomes clear Jackie doesn't want this to be his life. We see him in a vulnerable state and sympathize with him. Despite the fact that he came off so obnoxious before, this is a man who has given up on his dream and is scared for his life.

When Jackie is brutally murdered in the next mission, it's genuinely shocking and emotional. I can't think of a moment that's hit me so hard in a story-driven game, and when Wei is captured and tortured in the coming scene it's even more effective because we never thought the 18k would come after Jackie and finish the job so soon.

The next mission begins so tense because we feel weak after losing Jackie and having been tortured. I'm usually opposed to quick-time events, but the timing on the mission is pretty tight and I accidentally even died at one point. Yeah, it's embarrassing to admit, but it made the mission even more frightening. This, to me, was finally the stealth mission I thought should have been implemented before. I wasn't so disappointed when the room right after the QTE happens becomes a brawler room, because it seemed like such an easy cop-out to make a shooting section.

So when it became a shooting section I rolled my eyes and went with it. Of course that's it. Luckily the boss of the mission is a hand-to-hand fight, and it's actually one of the more difficult fights in the game. Which makes the final boss in the next mission so mind-boggling.

In the final mission, Wei raids the antagonist's compound in a big dumb shootout, then kicks in the boss's room in a display of being a big tough guy and immediately is shot by the final boss. Here's the problem: this is the first time the boss is shown to be shooting anything, and there's only one round in the shotgun. I don't get it. Why only one round? What happened to the rest of them? He wasn't in the previous shootout, so what? Was he just carrying around a shotgun with a single round of it?

Anyway, the next section is a boat chase and then the final boss begins. But the final boss is Wei, tired, fighting this boss who's been built up for nearly the entire game in a quick-time event. Look, I don't think I'm really a stupid guy, but the mechanics for this mission in comparison with the previous make me think maybe I missed something.

Why not make the next-to-last mission entirely a stealth mission with quicktime event stealth kills, culminating in a QTE boss fight so the actual final boss is a real fight? It seems like the boss design from one mission was cut out and replaced in another. I know this is a different type of complaint, but the mere fact that a gun is involved at one point of this mission goes back around to the fact that firearms are like a black hole of stupidity that drags down the game's story in such a way that it makes the rest of the game look lazy and cheap in comparison.

I'm finally done. Verdict:

The game's story really isn't bad. In fact, I'd say it's pretty engrossing. The world is fun to explore and I really liked the 70s Kung Fu DLC mission, it felt like a supplement to the lack of real combat at the end of the game. I'm glad it was included in the Definitive Edition of the game, because I think I'd have been a bit miffed to have had to pay for it. And honestly, if the shooting mechanics had been as fleshed out as even Grand Theft Auto 4 or Red Dead Redemption, I don't know that I'd be as hard on those missions.

It's a shame that there are problems with Sleeping Dogs, because looking at the game as a whole there's a ton of potential. Outside of the shooting and a few graphical problems, the only other criticism I can give is that the missions are a bit repetitive. Your mileage could vary and maybe I'm just reading too much into it, but even considering all that I didn't hate my time with Sleeping Dogs. It's a great send-up to old martial arts films, there's a ton to do, the story and characters are both fleshed out to a decent degree. For the tight development schedule it was on some of the lazier parts can be forgiven, because with more time and a higher budget a sequel (not that MMO thing) could be very interesting.

FLAWED BUT ENJOYABLE