Blue Eye Samurai: The Poisoned Chalice of Good

Why is revenge universally compelling? From time immemorial, whether in our entertainment spaces or real life, revenge holds fast in the deepest recesses of our fantasies. But what primordial desire can revenge possibly fulfill in us ‘civilised’ folk? Is it following the sordid action-heavy sprees fuelling a bloodlust for justice? What makes us entangle ourselves with another’s undying will to right a wrong?

All those ingredients do conjure up a good revenge tale, but there’s one vital part missing in that concoction which Netflix’s Blue Eye Samurai brings to light, and it is this: good.

Hatred alone does not drive revenge, but love poisoned by betrayal, trust poisoned by manipulation. Revenge is not innate; it is evil bred from good.

A cosmic rage unsheathed by the grander machinations of her harsh reality, Mizu’s path of revenge is a visually-striking tapestry of vendetta.

Blue Eye Samurai’s protagonist, Mizu, suffered tribulations being born as a half-white child (marked by her distinguishable blue eyes) in Japan’s 17^th-century Edo period, which saw Japan shutter its borders from outsiders to remain pure. This decree cursed mixed-race Mizu to a life of abuse, so much so that she single-handedly honed swordmanship so that she could avenge the remaining loved ones that showed her love.

But in an unrelentingly cruel world, true love and goodness can never truly take root, and the remaining fragments of Mizu’s innocence were crushed by the heartless betrayal of those same remaining loved ones whom she sought to stand by. At this juncture, Mizu’s blue eyes have finally and fully condemned her soul into a purgatory of retaliation towards the world that created her.

This betrayal and condemnation reawakened Mizu’s vengeful spirit. Her retribution now is not about avenging anyone else but herself, as she becomes hellbent on wiping out the very heritage that birthed her with blue eyes.

A cosmic rage unsheathed by the grander machinations of her harsh reality, Mizu’s path of revenge is a visually-striking tapestry of vendetta. More notably, it’s a gritty reflection of the truth and appeal of revenge within us all.

Revenge is a poisoned chalice of good, and once drunk from that chalice, only evil is left foaming at the mouth of the drinker who has forsaken their once-decent soul into extinction.

‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’ Review: The Duality of Fate

Shakespearean literature has long been imbued into the very fibre of modern myths and legends, with countless adaptations spanning centuries that illuminate the soloist calamities of human beings against the backdrop of grandiosity – cautioning everyone that none can escape life’s sorrow, no matter your social status.

The story of Macbeth may be Shakespeare’s most accessible work in navigating these thematic signatures, with Joel Coen (one half of the illustrious directorial duo, the Coen Brothers) becoming the latest steward of adapting Macbeth in the film ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’.

The black-and-white cinematic appearance of the film reminded me of a similar Macbeth film adaptation, Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood. Both films stoically captured the desolate landscapes and empty halls that stress the searing solace that the lead characters face, especially Macbeth and his wife.  In Coen’s film, this black-and-white filmic canvas further artistically accentuates the morally grey areas that Macbeth and his wife are tormented with as they languish in the strife in their souls, their deeds of blood and betrayal ascending them to royalty. It is as if their blackened souls, masked behind their pure-white virtuous appearance, emerges outward in every frame of the film.

Of the film’s talented cast, Denzel Washington stands out in the lead as Macbeth, giving a thunderously theatrical tour de force that injects a measured amount of his signature suave in his dialogue and acting, whether it be in wit, anger, deceit or terror. His chemistry with Frances MacDormand is effectually hollow, a good thing given the tragic and distant nature of Macbeth and his wife’s relationship which further crumbles as the film goes on.

Illuminate the soloist calamities of human beings against the backdrop of grandiosity

The film bestows the perfect avenue for those unfamiliar with Macbeth tale, even though the classical source material may seem a tad too highbrow for new viewers (some may even misconstrue it as browbeating). However, the onus remains on the viewer to peer through the classical lens and language to unearth the striking universal themes the film portrays.

The most striking of them all? The sanctification of the one inescapable tragedy that befalls us all – fate. Many of us assume fate can either only be a boon or bane, depending on the person. However, Macbeth’s destiny of becoming king, foretold by three witches, becomes the initial boon that also augurs his baneful existence.

His active role in instigating the quicker arrival of his destiny through murder and deception only further exacerbates the guilt and burden Macbeth was meant to shoulder in the first place, enlightening us viewers with an interesting lesson of how much, and at the same time how little, our choices play in our future. Do choices change fate, or merely hasten or delay its inevitability? Macbeth’s tale suggests the latter.

The tragedy of Macbeth isn’t his actual downfall in conscience or status nor that his prophesied providence led him down a road of catastrophe, but his failure to ultimately understand the duality of fate itself. That fate is double-edged sword of benevolence and malevolence, and no choice made can change how this sword will impale you.

The Lighthouse (2019) Review: This Decade’s Best Psychological Horror Film

Writer-director Robert Eggers’ ‘The Lighthouse’ is without a doubt the most perplexing of the 2020 film award contenders, and it’s not due to its black-and-white 1.19:1 aspect ratio too. A simple setup of two lighthouse keepers tasked to maintain a secluded lighthouse – eventually becoming marooned there by a thunderstorm – turns into one of this decade’s most disturbingly macabre viewing experience mixed in with some ghastly Lovecraftian imagery.

As someone who was unimpressed with Eggers’ critically-lauded debut, The Witch, I was pleasantly gripped by The Lighthouse’s sense of foreboding terror the moment the film began. The Witch’s first half was a plodding watch that hardly infused any sense of dread in me as characters go about their chores despite the initial threat being introduced. The Lighthouse, however, punctuates an unnerving air about its characters just from their daily routine alone with no horrific threats in sight yet. Their isolation from civilization already beckons them to a certain feeling of dread that firmly grips your attention too.

This feeling of slowly becoming more psychologically alienated from reality is captured perfectly by Robert Pattinson’s Winslow. The plunge into his mind’s ever-growing abyss – a mind that’s also constantly being perverted by the occasional subterfuge that the often-intoxicated Wake (buoyed by a career-best performance from veteran Willem Dafoe) masterfully employs – is stirring as it is strangely cathartic once it’s fully unraveled.

Combined with beautiful cinematography that brilliantly encapsulates a hauntingly rustic view of the 19^th century, the film delivers on a horror fantasy that delights in its dastardly depiction of the murky fringes of our minds, and how unveiling one’s guilt-ridden secrets ultimately leaves destruction and sorrow in its wake.

‘I Lost My Body’ Review: A Disturbingly Refreshing Take On Human Connections

I know Netflix’s The Irishman is getting all the hype now, but the streaming giant also quietly released another film, I Lost My Body (French: J’ai perdu mon corps), which could very well be one of 2019’s most disturbingly insightful films, alongside Joker of course.

The French animated film directed by Jérémy Clapin is a genuinely interesting cinematic experience that, on the surface, seems too offbeat with a narrative premise that’ll leave heads scratching. However, look beyond that and you’ll hopefully discover a melancholic meditation on the dark, subtle intricacies of human connection – of the selfish ways that sometimes underline an innocent struggle for companionship (all while being elevated by Dan Levy’s masterful soundtrack that I encourage anyone to give a listen).

I especially love the film’s ending because it kind of twists the film’s prevalent theme of connection on its head. It’s a moving revelation the protagonist realises which, at first, might seem to contradict the film’s main themes of discovering solitude in others. However, the final scene compels a different thinking in discovering your personal peace – finding solace in your own loneliness.

Pure happiness doesn’t derive from a perceived soulmate or even your physical being. You need to reconnect yourself to a primal state of being – of living freely and fervently in the twisted beauty of life’s most painful moments. Only then can you possibly unearth a transcendental sense of joy that will never perish by any external and tangible influence.

Put it simply, to truly find your soul, you need to lose your body.

Image Credit: RollingStone.com

Every Grace Kelly Film Performance Reviewed & Ranked

Six years in showbusiness rarely gets you recognised, let alone remembered. But from 1951 to 1956, one actress defied those odds to become a staple of classic Hollywood filmdom. Grace Patricia Kelly a.k.a. Grace Kelly, the Philadelphia native who burst through the Western entertainment sphere like a raging wildfire and oozed such pure talent and arresting beauty which courted the likes of directors John Ford and Alfred Hitchcock to work with her (the latter cast her thrice in a span of 2 years!). However, just when Kelly began to hit her career stride, another courtship – this time of the romantic ilk with Prince Rainier III of Monaco – saw the eponymous actress ascend from newfound Hollywood royalty to actual regal stature in 1956 by virtue of marrying the prince, becoming the Princess of Monaco.

Despite starring in just 11 feature films, Grace Kelly left an indelible mark on classic Hollywood. She’s ranked 13^th among the American Film Institute’s 25 Greatest Female Stars of Classical Hollywood Cinema with her legacy spreading into popular culture through fashion and music. But what truly made her film performances standout among the sea of actresses during her time? In this article I’ll attempt to dissect, review and rank all 11 of Kelly’s performances on the silver screen to unravel the intricacies of what made Kelly truly one of a kind in her field.

 

11. Fourteen Hours (1951)

Often overlooked by many due to her reduced onscreen presence and overall insignificance to the main film’s arc, nevertheless Kelly’s film debut in this classic thriller helped solidify her claim to filmdom (she had previously clocked in several television appearances and plays). Her performance is really nothing to write home about with only one full scene allotted to her, but it’s commendable she puts in a solid turn as distraught wife Louise Anne Fuller who’s on the verge of divorce. It’s funny that besides the suicidal main character played by Richard Basehart, Kelly’s character shows the most intense emotions of any character in the film – her pain somewhat indirectly foreshadowing the inner turmoil of Basehart’s character.

In The Mouth of Madness (1994) Review: When Fictional Horror Becomes Our Reality

The latest release of the long-gestating film sequel to The Shining, Doctor Sleep, marks an ever-growing thunderous run of Stephen King novel-to-film releases swamping theatres and streaming services the past couple of years. People everywhere no doubt soak without remorse in the pleasurable gamut of fictional horror stories that The King of Horror has put pen to paper over decades. But imagine if there was a story that not only deftly infuses a plethora of King’s finest tropes with beautiful subtlety, but also explores the possible extremity of horror fiction’s impact on the masses (much like our own reality with audience’s consumption of King’s film novels and adaptations). Well, there is. Kind of.

It’s a film I dare deem the greatest “Stephen King” film that isn’t actually an adaptation of the author’s written works – rarely echoed in today’s burgeoning conversation of horror classics in light of the genre’s ongoing renaissance. I’m talking about John Carpenter’s In The Mouth Of Madness. This 1994 psychological horror film stars Sam Neill as a nosy yet nonchalant insurance investigator named John Trent who’s in search for famed multi-novel horror author Sutter Cane (in other words, Stephen King). Entering a ghost town where Crane supposedly resides, John begins experience subtle ghastly hallucinations that eventually transition into tangible, ghoulish incarnations hell-bent on unleashing an unspeakable evil – all thanks to the Crane’s written works that become a vessel for evil’s dominion to crossover to our reality.

At best, the film’s a cinematic serenade that effortlessly injects King’s pension for transforming the ordinary into symbols of unrelenting terror into what’s essentially a classic Lovecraftian horror narrative. Peeling someone apart at the seams of their sanity never looked or felt as thrillingly grotesque than here which is arguably this film’s greatest strength (just look at the film’s poster artwork for goodness sake!). Legendary horror director John Carpenter himself manages to restrain his go-to gory onscreen musings (e.g. The Thing) to flesh out the absolutely insane mental trip Trent braves through. Sam Neill also kills it with his vibrant portrayal of the desperate and increasingly chaotic Trent who’s witnessing his reality being demolished before his very eyes – his attempts at regaining his sanity getting meeker as the darkness leisurely devours the inner machinations of his fractured mind.

The movie isn’t without its fair share of pitfalls, however, with much of it coming from the film’s third act which postulates an intriguing closure for our protagonist but fails to answer a couple of under-explored plot points that might inconvenience you the more you try to wrap your head around them.

In the end, these imperfections fade into obscurity as you ultimately get sucked into a genuinely haunting thrill ride about how human irrationality can be escalated by fictional horror tales that increasingly blur the lines between what’s real and what isn’t. You know, you tend to take so much delight when reveling in dark and disturbing fiction that you become almost insensitive to these horrifying escapades. Does that insensitivity mean you’re now immune to these horrors, or have you already succumbed to evil’s manipulation?

*All image rights belong to their respective rights holders.

Ad Astra Review: Paying For The Sins Of The Father

Full disclosure here; don’t go into Ad Astra with the notion of it being an Interstellar or Gravity replica. This James Gray-directed film isn’t really bothered about exploring grandiose technicalities of space travel nor unravelling the epic mysteries hidden deep in the cosmos, although elements of those are peppered in the film.

Instead, Ad Astra (Latin for “to the stars”) endeavours to contemplate a more intimate tale about the impact stemming from the connection between a child and his father, albeit on a more ambitious scale than any film of its ilk has managed before. Therefore, the film’s deliberately paced and sparse with action-fuelled thrills – something that many might groan at in theatres given how the film was perceived when deceptively marketed to the masses.

I knew what I was getting into when I decided to watch Ad Astra – a moving character study of a man’s personal odyssey in search of his father and the meaning of his inner demons. Space is merely a physical metaphor for the vast void between father and son; a void that’s as much about their estranged relationship as it is the unfathomable distance needed for Brad Pitt’s Roy McBride to reach his missing father, decorated astronaut Clifford McBride, stranded on the outer fringes of our solar system.

Space is merely a physical metaphor for the vast void between father and son.

It’s a cosmic journey that takes Roy into the darkest recesses of his psyche as the closer he gets to his father, the deeper he plunges into a state of mental chaos as he slowly begins to tear down the layers shielding his father’s true legacy that forces Roy to question his own disposition towards space and, more consequentially, the importance of human connection. You see, Clifford’s absence in search for intelligent life in the cosmos gave birth to Roy’s emulation of his father’s devotion towards space travel and cold disposition towards human intimacy. It was the only way Roy knew how to satisfy the psychological need to become closer to his dad.

The film might come off as pretentious to some (Roy’s monologuing even struck me as mildly exaggerated at times), but Brad Pitt’s stunningly ruminative and emotionally conflicted performance, which this film largely hinges on, helps ground the film’s ambitious narrative to some extent. While I would say Ad Astra failings mainly spring from certain logical fallacies imbued in its depiction of space travel, those don’t really matter when it comes to assessing the heart of the film’s story – a son’s intimately haunting journey to the stars as he deconstructs and ultimately breaks free from the sins of his father.

Image Credit: HollywoodReporter.com

Yesterday (2019): Why Erasing The Beatles Is The Best Way To Celebrate Their Legacy

Age 13-15 was a puzzling period for me, music-wise. You see, my childhood days were filled with classic rock tunes ranging from head-banging Iron Maiden jams played from the car radio to Creedence Clearwater Revival tunes that my dad would frequently belt out on his rugged acoustic guitar. However, beginning secondary school was ostensibly the death of those nostalgic music influences in me. It didn’t have to be, but as a wide-eyed 13-year-old kid scanning my school environment to find my musical tastes wildly unpopular compared to the modern pop music of the time that got almost everyone else hooked, I shuttered myself from revealing my “outdated” tastes in music in fear of being misunderstood or even reviled.

I was even attending music classes during this period of musical nihilism. Can you imagine going to guitar classes while running dry of any musical inclination to infuse into the instrument I was trying to master?

I was having a sort of music “identity crisis” – repressing the music I loved while refusing to adhere to the pop hits I personally considered dull (not to put down anyone else’s musical tastes, to each their own after all). It was a senseless balancing act that teenage me tried so hard not to falter in.

And then The Beatles showed up.

Tunes like “I Want To Hold Your Hand”, “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” and of course “Hey Jude” became little life anthems constantly swirling in my head

Maybe it was on YouTube although it’s hard to recall now, but I remember listening to “Hey Jude” playing, and something dormant lit up inside me again – an emotional spark that electrified every fibre of my being. I’ve casually listened to The Beatles before this and I even learnt “Let It Be” and “Yesterday” on the guitar, but hearing this beautifully drawn-out classic rock anthem about consoling the tears of negative circumstances with a light of optimism and compassion was something… more.

I dug deeper into more of The Beatles’ vast discography to discover a huge array of songs that just spoke to me. Tunes like “I Want To Hold Your Hand”, “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” and of course “Hey Jude” became little life anthems constantly swirling in my head as I started to gradually unearth my long-buried rock music influences that I now wholeheartedly embrace today.

It was one of the primary reasons I thoroughly adored Danny Boyle’s ‘Yesterday’ (2019) film that, to me, is one of the best films to celebrate The Beatles’ legacy… by purposefully erasing them from existence with only the protagonist Jack remembering them! It’s a wild premise that, while disappointingly under-explored, does just enough to set up a truly poignant tale about the universality and significance of the classic influences that gave birth to our modern pleasures.

Yesterday reminded me about the idea of embracing something you truly believe in as though it’s in the present, even if it hails from the past, to truly let its worth manifest within you. Whether it’s music, art or anything else, never let your influences die out; wear them like armour and allow them to be a part of your own legacy.

Image Credits: Imdb.com, Letterboxd.com

‘Once Upon A Time In Hollywood’ Review: Tarantino’s Visceral Meditation On Hollywood’s Golden Age

Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A Changin’” would have been the perfect theme song to describe director-writer Quentin Tarantino’s latest cinematic escapade, Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (not to knock on Tarantino’s masterful selection of classic tunes in his 9^th film; proliferating the 60s vibe buried in the heart of Los Angeles).

Yet that song would have been too on the nose in highlighting the film’s portrayal of the inevitable tragedy of classic cinemascape. I feel Tarantino made the right choice to instead showcase this era of Tinsel town in all its unbridled glamour (embodied by Margot Robbie’s Sharon Tate) while mixing into it the unhinged career identity crisis embedded in showbusiness (exemplified through Leonardo DiCaprio’s Rick Dalton) with a dash of classic Steve McQueen-esque coolness that was all the rage during that period (personified by Brad Pitt’s Cliff Booth).

It’s a more ambitious narrative undertaking for Tarantino (picture Pulp Fiction but with a bigger budget) and so if the pacing feels off during your viewing, just know that it was a deliberate decision straight from the director’s chair in order to compensate for the massive scope of following three separate lead characters in their respective journeys.

More than any other film he’s done before, Tarantino’s cinephilia is finally let loose in this film, to my extreme delight. From subtle references to spaghetti westerns (a guilty pleasure of mine) like The Mercenary and Navajo Joe to playful cameos of era-specific radio commercials and film classics like The Wrecking Crew, I was giddy as a school kid because I felt truly transported into this surreal recreation of classic Hollywood. The film’s runtime of almost three hours was just a tad too short.

All in all, Tarantino successfully injects his signature visceral story-telling prowess into a beautifully-crafted rumination about the dying days of Hollywood’s golden age of cinema.

P.S. MINOR END-CREDITS SPOILER: I loved the classic Batman and Robin radio commercial plastered at the end-credits. I feel it’s Tarantino’s way of acknowledging the roots that gave birth to the current landscape of modern cinema that’s now dominated by big budget superhero films – the final nail in the coffin of Hollywood’s Golden Age.

‘Shazam!’ Film Review (NO SPOILERS): The Ultimate Wish Fulfillment Escapade

SHAZAM! REVIEW (NO SPOILERS): I had the chance to catch a preview screening of one of my most anticipated films of the year, Shazam, and all I can say is that it’s the ultimate wish-fulfilment escapade! I’m sure as a kid all of us dreamed of being a superhero – I definitely still daydream about it from time to time! I was smiling from ear to ear throughout the film like a giddy little school kid watching his favourite Saturday morning superhero cartoons! Director David Sandberg successfully emboldens the fun-loving tone of Shazam while also infusing cheeky world-building elements using other DC Comics character references.

A large part of that fun stems from Zachary Levi’s standout performance as Shazam; his onscreen embodiment of a kid-turned-adult superhero is humourously believable thanks to the astronomical level of enthusiasm he brings to the film. Jack Dylan Grazer as Billy Batson’s best friend/mentor is also a lovable character and surprisingly manages to match Levi’s exhilaration onscreen – even stealing the spotlight in a couple of scenes too! I only have a minor gripe with Asher Angel’s performance as young Billy Batson. While Asher manages to channel an astonishing amount of maturity in his role, especially during emotional scenes, I feel his overall energy levels never quite matches up to the raw enthusiasm that his adult version portrays when he turns into Shazam.

At the heart of this film is the central theme about learning to define who your family is and why true strength and happiness comes from sharing them with your loved ones. It’s a resounding and gratifying plot point that will occasionally pull at your heart strings among the vast chuckles you’ll no doubt let out during your viewing. Ultimately, Shazam’s a wholly satisfying superhero romp that’s poised to be the strongest solo superhero outing of the year!