Best Picture

David Fincher's Mank was the best film of the eight nominated for Best Picture this year - click on the link below to read my review.  If you're interested in my opinions on the other seven films, they're here too.

The Father

Minari

Nomadland

Sound of Metal

Judas and the Black Messiah

The Trial of the Chicago 7

Promising Young Woman

Mank

Mank

This afternoon I finally got to the theater to see Mank, and I am glad that I saw it after re-watching Citizen Kane not too long ago, as the former has enriched my appreciation of what is considered by many to be the greatest film of all time.  The story of Mank is quite straight forward; the screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz ("Mank") was hired by Orson Welles to write a screenplay, which eventually would be made into the film Citizen Kane.  Mank wrote the screenplay based on the eccentric newspaper tycoon, William Randolph Hearst, someone who Mank had developed a relationship with.  The screenplay of Citizen Kane was seen a betrayal of Hearst, as Mank cast him in a very unflattering light.  The main performance in Mank are also quite straightforward, with Gary Oldman in the title role, playing the screenwriter as a mostly-functional alcoholic, who just so happens to be bed-ridden for the entire time that he's writing the screenplay.  The music in Mank is also quite straightforward, composed by Atticus Ross and that other guy from Nine Inch Nails, creating a sound that may be the best dramatic 1940's film score ever recorded.  And if that wasn't enough, Mank in its entirety is also quite straightforward, directed by David Fincher, everything that made it to the screen is flawless.  Take for example the scene where Mank, and the actress Marion Davies (played by Amanda Seyfried) walk through William Hurst's estate; it is clear that we are to be reminded of Xanadu from Citizen Kane, but Fincher references the background images only as needed to support the story, and never at the expense of the conversation that is taking place.  When I mentioned before that Citizen Kane is considered by many to be the greatest film of all time, you may have noticed that I qualified the statement; I personally don't think it's the greatest film, but I also cannot find any flaws.  Of course being flawless, and being the greatest don't necessarily have anything to do with each other.  Mank is a flawless film that has enriched my appreciation of another flawless film, I guess that's pretty high praise.

Promising Young Woman

I was surprised when it was announced that Promising Young Woman was nominated for Best Picture, as my impression of the movie (before seeing it) was that it was a one-note revenge fantasy anti-man flick.  I was wrong, it has more than one note.  Actually, I was impressed by the range of emotions that were displayed in the main character, played by Carey Mulligan.  There are the emotions that you would expect in a woman who has taken it upon herself to protect vulnerable women from despicable men; anger, distrust, hurt, and numbness.  But Mulligan makes the character sympathetic by showing other emotions, which aren't expected in someone so hardened; joy, optimism, and mercy.  The result is a revenge fantasy anti-man flick that's also a well made film, checking-off the previously mentioned boxes of story, character, and action.  The director Emerald Fennell's stylistic approach is very interesting, and also elevated the film out of its genre.  The look is best described as Sofia-Coppola-esque, with one of my favorite moments coming towards the end of the film, as one character's reaction to the Pepto Bismol colored furnishings was priceless.  I had to smile at the music selection; the "man" theme, and the cover of Britney Spears' Toxic were perfect choices, helping to establish the atmosphere, and were in service to the story.  After seeing the film, I'm not at all surprised that Promising Young Woman was nominated for Best Picture; in a year where absolutely nothing happens in half the films nominated, it was refreshing to see a film that saw something through to the end.

The Trial of the Chicago 7

I have to give the filmmakers credit, with The Trial of the Chicago 7 one of the most embarrassing moments in the modern political era has been spun into the best courtroom drama since Coppola's The Rainmaker.  A review of this film exclusively regarding its technical merits would be overwhelmingly positive; the director Aaron Sorkin demonstrates a mastery of storytelling as he weaves together the trial with events leading up to the trial, all while wrangling a large cast of character.  Sorkin keeps the dialogue tight; I never felt lost, but I also never felt like I was being talked down to.  The casting is spot on, with standout performances by Eddie Redmayne as Tom Hayden, Sasha Baron Cohen as Abbie Hoffman, and Mark Rylance as their lawyer.  Of course it would be unfair of me to give The Trial of the Chicago 7 a pass after so recently being critical of Judas and the Black Messiah.  After all, the events of these films overlap, and two of the primary characters from Judas are prominently featured in Chicago 7.  Although there are some similarities, and while the progressive leftists are clearly meant to be sympathetic characters in Chicago 7, Sorkin didn't create a revisionist film, rather he is offering a view from the leftists' points of view.  I feel comfortable drawing this distinction in part because of some research that I have done after watching the film.  At the time of Tom Hayden's death, the New York Times printed an obituary (you can read it here) detailing Hayden's accomplishments, and the political stances that he took, to include his involvement in the events depicted in The Trial of the Chicago 7.  While it's incredibly important that we don't find ourselves among the throng of people admiring the emperor's new robes, we should be open to hearing other points of view.

Judas and the Black Messiah

Once upon a time there was an emperor, who ruled over an empire that encompassed the known world.  To mark the 50th anniversary of his ascension to the throne he decided to throw himself a extravagant banquet, and for the occasion he commissioned a new set of robes from the best tailor in the land.  The tailor, knowing how unreasonable the emperor was, fretted over the design, and stayed up every night for weeks trying to decide what material would be best.  The tailor's indecision escalated into inaction, which is known in certain circles as "tailor's block".  The day of the banquet arrived, and the tailor had nothing to show for his sleepless nights.  But a strange thing happened that day.  When the emperor and his entourage arrived at the tailor's shop, the tailor had a stroke of genius...  The tailor welcomed the emperor and his party into his shop, and asked them to please be seated.  Then he told the emperor that he had received a special fabric from somewhere beyond the boundary of the empire; a fabric that could only be seen by a person of good character.  The tailor told the emperor that he knew that it was unbecoming to speak highly of one's own work, especially in the presence of someone so important as the emperor, but this had to be the most beautiful robe that he'd ever made.  Then the tailor turned to a rack of robes, took out an empty hanger, and bowing before the emperor, extended his hands, and presented the hanger to the emperor.  For a moment the emperor sat there, just staring at the empty hanger.  Then he caught out of the corner of his eye, his closest advisor, also looking at the hanger; he had a smirk on his face, or maybe it was a look of wonder...  The emperor reached out and accepted the hanger, and rising to his feet he exclaimed, "this is the most beautiful robe I've ever seen!"  A moment later, one of the emperor's aides chimed in, saying "that's the most impressive cross stitching I've ever seen!"  One after the other (and in some cases, at the same time) each member of the emperor's entourage praised the magnificent robes.  Long story short, the emperor wore those robes (and nothing else) to the banquet that night.  Depending on who's telling the story, either some young peasant boy blows the whole thing wide open, or the story ends with the robes getting lost at the dry cleaners.  In either case, the moral of the story is that people who are woke won't be satisfied until we all agree with their bullshit.  

When I watch a movie where a terrorist is portrayed as a hero, I can choose to cheer, or I can maintain my integrity.

Sound of Metal

The last scene in Sound of Metal is from the point of view of the main character, a man who has been learning how to be deaf, and has finally reached a major milestone in that journey.  The last scene is meant to be poignantly introspective, a moment of peace and understanding, but the end doesn't come.  Then a few moments later, the end still doesn't come.  Then finally, the movie ends.  My plan for this review was to suggest that the ending is representative of the entire movie, and I was going to argue that the movie was too long, and spent too much time trying to convey simple messages.  But as I began to write, the thought came to my mind that the ending was intentionally representative of the entire movie, and the point is that sometimes it takes a long time to drive a simple message home.  More so than any of the other films that I've reviewed recently, Sound of Metal succeeded in making me sympathetic to its main character.  Even with all his flaws, I found myself wondering how I would handle loosing my hearing.  I definitely identify with his initial denial, and the strong desire not to reach out for help.  I've probably mentioned this in a past review, but as I'm getting older I try not to let my first impression of a film be my final impression.  Years ago I saw the film Blackhawk Down in the theater, and I hated it with all my being.  I told everyone who would listen how bad the movie was, and how frustrating it was to watch.  The opinion that I formed, and the adamant stance that I took, have kept me from re-watching the film to this day.  That being said, I have this sneaking suspicion that Ridley Scott intended on making a film about the horrible situation that those soldiers found themselves in, and likely made the most frustrating war movie that he could.  If that is true, then I've been judging the movie all wrong these past twenty years.  In conclusion, either Sound of Metal held on fifteen seconds too long, or it had a perfect ending; I'll choose to believe the latter.

Nomadland

There are four takeaways that I would like to share after viewing Nomadland:

1.  I have seen YouTube videos by people describing the techniques for van camping, which is the practice of living out of a van, car, or RV without paying a camping fee.  The videos I've watched primarily give advice on where to park overnight, how to avoid drawing unwanted attention, and how to make the inside of the van as comfortable as possible.  One specific video I watched explained the importance of ventilation when heating the van overnight, to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning.  Watching those YouTube videos was a good prologue for Nomadland, which is basically a mocumentary about van camping.

2.  I've now seen Frances McDormand relieving herself twice, which is precisely two more times than I had hoped.

3.  Frances McDormand reciting a sonnet by Shakespeare on a beautiful night in the desert almost makes up for Takeaway No. 2, but not quite.

4.  I have many complaints about Nomadland, first and foremost being that it was shot unnecessarily in a documentary style.  That being said, I found McDormand's performance to be compelling, and I respect that the director, Chloé Zhao allowed the performance to stand on its own, and didn't depend on exposition to explain the character's motivations.  

Minari

Every movie should fall into one (or more) of the following categories:

1. Story (see Apollo 13)

2. Character (see As Good As It Gets)

3. Action (see Jurassic Park)

Obviously the great films span all three categories; for example, Braveheart excels at each, and beats almost every single-category movie at their respective game.

The film Minari doesn't belong in any of the three categories; it has not plot, its characters are unremarkable, and nothing happens.  Minari is about a family that has moved from California to Arkansas so that they can carve out a piece of the American dream by owning their own home and land.  As might be expected, there are challenges and hardships that accompany the transition.  One of the first nights in their new home there is a tornado warning, and not surprisingly everyone is frightened.  The father takes up farming in an attempt to provide for his family, the wife's mother moves in, the son has a heart condition, and the daughter wants to fit in with her peers.  I should have started this paragraph by saying "spoiler alert", because I just described the entire film.  The interesting thing is that I actually enjoyed the film, and I am glad to have seen it.  From time to time it's good to take a break from movies that have plots, characters, and action.  Sometimes it's good to just take a glimpse into another family's life, and look for the lessons that can be learned.

The Father

If David Spade were to review The Father, he would likely say, "I really liked The Father when I saw it back in 1997, under its original title Lost Highway."  The film is expertly crafted, and Anthony Hopkins unsurprisingly delivered an excellent performance, but the techniques used to portray the effects of dementia on the main character end up feeling somewhat gimmicky.  

I find that as time passes after I first view a film, my initial reaction melts away and is replaced with an impression of the given film.  This impression is peppered with distinct memories that support why I feel the way I do about the film.  For example, when I think of Chariots of Fire I can't help but feel joy; joy that comes from the music, from a runner wiping the sea-spray from his face to reveal a huge grin, and the line, “I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast.  And when I run I feel His pleasure.”  When I think back on watching The Father, my first thought goes to Fincher's Fight Club, and spatterings of films I've seen by Lynch.  Inevitably a director will make artistic decisions that do not work for every viewer, but a good director would be careful not to misuse techniques that evoke such strong memories of completely unrelated films.  Right now I am imagining an ending to The Father in which the daughter enters the apartment, places her scarf on the coat rack, picks up the letters that are strewn haphazardly on the entry table, and turns to see her father standing in the kitchen doorway.  Only instead of it being Anthony Hopkins, there dressed in a heavy grey sweater is a tall and brooding Daniel Day-Lewis.  Cut to black.  Ok, let's see if I can save that as my new memory of The Father. 

Parasite

One of last year's nominees for Best Picture was a black & white film, Roma, about a girl who works as a servant for a wealthy family.  Over the course of the film we see the wealthy family treat their servants with indifference, and sometime with cruelty.  Yet, the closing moments of the film are offer some important perspective; even family members are often treated with indifference and cruelty.  It becomes clear that the girl is a member of the family. 

This year, one of the nominees for Best Picture is a film from South Korea, Parasite, about a family that is struggling to survive by folding pizza boxes for a local pizza shop.  Their WiFi has been turned off, which is a clear indication that they've sunken to a new low.  A friend of the family helps one of the family members get a job as a tutor for teenage daughter of a technology company executive.  In no time at all, through a series of carefully orchestrated personnel changes, the entire family has traded in pizza box folding for jobs in the executive's home.  Roma and Parasite have central characters who are servants for wealthy families, and that's where the comparison ends.  The central characters of Parasite don't have any respect for the wealthy family, to the contrary, they have animosity for them, and look to manipulate them at every opportunity.

What's interesting is that the director of Parasite, Bong Joon Ho doesn't focus on the class conflict, rather he is interested in a certain struggle that is unique to the human condition; shame.  From the opening scenes where it is revealed that the central characters have been failing at everything; they can't keep jobs, they can't stay in school, and they can't fold pizza boxes very well.  As a result each of them feels a certain amount of shame, and they each are handling it in their own way.  What makes this film unique is that it is an amalgamation of two genres; part thoughtful ultra-realism character study (like Roma), and part twisted thriller (like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo).  While this mixture ultimately worked, there were certain elements that just fell flat.  The scenes that were meant to be jarring felt uninspired, and the believably that was established in the first half of the film was missing during the climax. 

Marriage Story

Marriage Story features two strong performances by its central characters, Kylo Ren and Black Widow.  They started out as happily married couple, but Kylo is frustrated that the Black Widow "took his youth", and Black Widow is bitter about living in New York, when Kylo "promised" that they could move to California to be closer to her family.  This wouldn't be such a heartbreaking film, except that they have a 6 year old son, and apparently they can't decide who should get the couch (even though it seems pretty obvious since Kylo is the one who brought it to the relationship).  Laura Dern plays the opposite of her role in this year's Little Women, Alan Alda plays himself as a lawyer, Ray Liotta plays himself as a lawyer, and Wallace Shawn disappoints as a member of Kylo's theater troupe (because he never utters the phrase "inconceivable", even though it would have worked plenty of times).  It's a good thing that Black Widow is such a good writer, and is able to express her feeling through words so well; otherwise we wouldn't have gotten that amazing happy ending.

Wallace Shawn Disappoints in Marriage Story

1917

1917 is a masterfully executed piece of filmmaking.  The director, Sam Mendes does not use this film to make a case for or against war, rather he use the backdrop of war to celebrate the qualities of the human spirit which only become evident in the harshest of conditions.

The promotional campaign for 1917 has made a big deal about its use of the "one shot" effect, which makes the entire film seem as though it's been captured in a single, long continuous take.  I believe that drawing attention to the technique is contradictory to what makes it so effective.  Mendes and his team of filmmakers took painstaking steps to make the technique invisible; the mechanics of filmmaking should exist with the singular purpose of immersing the audience.  In theory, you shouldn't even notice the technique if done properly; you should be fully absorbed by the events occurring onscreen.  Mendes comes close to accomplishing this.

I am fascinated by the idea that great art is somehow ingrained in our nature.  Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder, rather it is an absolute.   You may have experienced this when listening to a beautiful piece of classical music; even though you don't remember hearing it before somehow the arrangement of the notes does not surprise you because each one is so perfectly placed that you can't imagine it any other way.  Classical music doesn't even have to be "your thing" to appreciate that perfect composition when you hear it.  It could be argued that every attempt at creating art has one single perfect outcome; a misplaced note, a heavy-handed stroke of the brush, or an unbalanced frame of film can be the difference between a masterpiece and a mediocre attempt.  1917 opens on a peaceful scene in the French countryside, and introduces us to two young soldiers who we will accompany for the next few hours as they make a harrowing journey across the battlefield on an extremely dangerous mission.  As the film unfolds each moment perfectly compliments the one it follows, and that is a truly an astounding accomplishment.  As an example, towards the end of the film, one of the main characters stumbles into a building which appears to have been severely damaged by artillery.  The people he meets, and the way he leaves them is not simply a detour as it may first appear, but it turns out to be a poignant segment of the overall arc of the film.  1917 consists of a series of events that are perfectly orchestrated to form what ultimately should be considered Mendes' masterpiece.

Best Picture

1917 was the best film of the nine nominated for Best Picture this year - click on the link below to read my review.  If you're interested in my opinions on the other eight films, they're here too,

The Irishman

Joker

Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood

Jojo Rabbit

Little Women

Ford V Ferrari

1917

Marriage Story   

Parasite 

Ford V Ferrari

Ford V Ferrari tells a story that I wasn't previously aware of, but now I am.  Matt Damon plays a guy who can't race anymore, so he uses his passion for the sport to encourage Christian Bale's character to utilize his gift for racing instead of squandering it.  It's pretty much Good Will Hunting in fast cars, with Matt Damon playing the Robin Williams character, and Christian Bale playing the Matt Damon character.  Since I liked Good Will Hunting it should come as not surprise that I also liked Ford V Ferrari.  I like when a movie is enthusiastic about its subject, even when I wouldn't otherwise be interested.  I get the impression that the filmmakers who collaborated to make Ford V Ferrari believe that the competition between these two famous, but vastly different car manufacturers is an important piece of history, worth documenting for posterity.  I'm not sure that I walked away from the movie feeling any different about the history of cars, or the rivalry's impact on the public's perceptions of certain brands of cars.  Ultimately I still think that Ferraris are fast, powerful, and beautiful works of art - but American-made cars are better.  Hands down.  How do you like them apples?

Little Women

You might be surprised to learn that one of my favorite movies is the 1994 version of Little Women, directed by Gillian Armstrong, starring Winona Ryder, Kirsten Dunst, Claire Danes, Eric Stoltz, and Christian Bale.  This is one of the first films that I ever watched with my first wife Jess, and we've watched it dozens of times together over the past 24 years.  I think it's safe to say that I've seen this movie more than any other, and I hope for many more viewings.  This is a sweet movie, about kind people, and builds-up its characters without it coming at anyone's expense.  Little Women is the film version of being wrapped in a blanket, sitting by a crackling fireplace, and watching Little Women with the one you love.  If you sense that there was some sort of paradox in the previous statement, please know that it was intentional.

Oh, now I remember.  There's another film version of Little Women, that just so happens to have been nominated for Best Picture this year.  I actually started this review to discuss the new film, but I really don't believe that I can provide an unbiased criticism since the previous version is so close to my heart.  I will say that the current version of the film is much broader in its scope, and the filmmakers have achieved something quite nice; this is definitely a much needed diversion from the most of the other films nominated for Best Picture this year.  The film is, is directed by Greta Gerwig, who clearly is is trying to say something with the chronological back-and-forth style in which the story is presented.  She may simply be looking to make the story feel more contemporary, but I have a suspicion that its something deeper.  Gerwig definitely succeeds at giving each of the cast an opportunity to connect with the audience.  Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Timothée Chalamet, Meryl Streep, and Chris Cooper all give wonderful performances, in some cases bringing to life characters that were simply in the background in the 1994 version.  Chris Cooper's portrayal of the grandfather who lives next door to the little women was especially moving, and a welcome addition to this interpretation of the story.  That being said, the time spent on supporting characters did mean less attention was paid to those who had all the screen time in the previous version.  I was surprised that Saoirse Ronan's character Jo was given so little time, and felt underdeveloped.  There is a scene towards the end of the film where we see a montage of Jo madly scribbling away at her manuscript (fortunately she's ambidextrous), in a rush to get her novel finished before the film comes to a close.  I won't spoil the ending, so you'll have to go see the movie for yourself to discover whether she was successful.

Jojo Rabbit

Jojo Rabbit is an extremely entertaining, and sometimes heartwarming story about an enthusiastic, but somewhat naïve boy (who goes by the name "Jojo").  Oh yeah, and Jojo is an active member of the Hitler Youth.  If you're uncomfortable with the last sentence, don't worry, this movie is about as left-leaning and politically correct as any movie could possibly be, so there's no risk of sympathizing with anyone who's not as open minded as you are.  The film's director, Taika Waititi also plays the role of Hitler, taking inspiration from Jimmy Stewart's friend Harvey, being there for Jojo as he navigates everyday life as a boy in Nazi Germany.  Waititi understands that contemporary audiences would have difficulty fathoming the atrocities that were committed by Nazis, so he depicts them as ignorant, patriotic, gun-loving, partisans. 

What's worse, to mischaracterize an ideological adversary as being comparable to a Nazi, or to misrepresent the Nazis by assigning them the traits of your ideological adversary?  Both are bad, but I would argue the latter is reprehensible.

On any other night of the year I probably would have closed with the following statement:  Even though I realize that I should be offended, Jojo Rabbit was just entertaining enough that I can't stay angry for long.  But tonight is different, since I found out just yesterday that a man that I admire greatly, Rush Limbaugh has been diagnosed with advanced-stage lung cancer, and the prognosis is uncertain.  Rush wouldn't let a movie like Jojo Rabbit get away with being reprehensible, and laugh it off in for the sake of entertainment.  He would call-out Waititi, and would caution his listeners not to unwittingly support such a perverted worldview.  And I'm reminded of many Godly men in my life who would be disappointed to find me promoting such a film.  So I must refrain from recommending Jojo Rabbit; its faults far outweigh its merits.  There are many better films to choose from.  I for one endeavor to search them out, and I will share my findings with you.

Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood

My introduction to Quentin Tarantino films 25 years ago came at a time when I was very impressionable; there was something electric about Tarantino's personality that sparked my imagination and changed the way I think of movies.  The mid to late 90s was filled with filmmakers young and old trying to capture something of Tarantino's style, but they were all uninspired copies.  I believe that the description "Tarantinoesque" is only applicable to the works of the master himself, and some of his films deserve the honor more than others.  Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood is definitely Tarantinoesque.  This is a film about characters who are loved by Tarantino, so he treats them with care.  I was surprised by the measured pace at which the story unfolds, it's quite clear that Tarantino is in no rush to get to the end; these are characters that he wants to spend time with.  The observant reader may notice that my recent review of The Irishman was critical of its long runtime.  The difference is that any reasonable person would want to spend as little time as possible with the despicable gangsters depicted in The Irishman.  Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood, on the other hand, has Tarantinoesque heroes; hopelessly flawed individuals that somehow get on your good side.  Now these heroes aren't necessarily the type of people that you would want to have living next door...  On second thought, maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Over the past 25 years what it means to be Tarantinoesque has changed, and it's likely that any film geek you ask will have a different definition.  There are some who associate Tarantino with graphic depictions of violence, and would be disappointed if there wasn't at least one scene that would necessitate some clean-up advice from The Wolf, and a closet full of Jimmy's towels.  I myself have always ascribed to Roger Ebert's analysis of Tarantino, who argued that the most effective scenes in Tarantino films are the ones with the threat of violence.  Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood contains one such extended sequence; the sense of danger that Tarantino creates is nerve racking, and has a much greater impact on establishing characters and the theme of the film than the closing moments of graphic brutality. 

I believe that Tarantino takes pleasure in creating graphically violent scenes, and that is disappointing for two reasons.  The first and most important reason being that "from the fruit of his mouth a man eats what is good, but the desire of the treacherous is for violence" (Proverbs 13:2).  And the second reason is that I expect more from Tarantino than to have every story he tells deteriorate into a revenge fantasy bloodbath.  Only Tarantino to can change the what it means to be Tarantinoesque; I for one am hoping that he gets better with age, and by that I mean "like wine". 

Joker

The amazing performance by Joaquin Phoenix in Joker is on the same level as Jack Nicholson's portrayal of McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  Unfortunately the movie is undeserving of the performance, with the writers and director seemingly confused as to whether they wanted to make a comic book movie or a serious film.  This may seem like a contradiction if you know how much I admire Nolan's Batman series; the difference is that Nolan made serious comic book films.  Todd Phillips, the director of Joker, comes so close to conducting a compelling examination of a deeply troubled man, but allows psychological thriller clichés, and forced comic book references distract from the central story.  The what's real, and what's in his head flashbacks worked really well in Fight Club, but that was a comic book of a movie.  I get that this movie was sold to the studio as a Joker origin story, and is meant to lend relevance to the genre like Logan did a few years back, but a few references to Wayne family members that could have been replaced by any rich family seemed completely unnecessary and out of place.  Honestly it would have been better if the movie would have been named after the main character, with no explicit references to the Batman comics; then perhaps a fan theory would have developed with people arguing that Arthur Fleck is really the Joker, and that would have been a truly interesting contribution to pop culture.  But movies are business, and a film about some average Joe with a mental disorder wouldn't have been enough to sell tickets; so instead of a great film, we get a great performance in a forgettable movie. 

The Irishman

It is difficult to consider The Irishman on its own merits; while some may suggest that the film represents a culmination of the director, Martin Scorsese's career, I found it to be a moderately good film, and  unnecessarily long.  Please note that I am not complaining about the length of the film, I am simply suggesting that this could have been a great film if Scorsese would have trimmed the superfluous elements.  I have considered the possibility that Scorsese intentionally crafted the film with an extended runtime to convey the sense of weariness experienced by the main character.  If Scorsese's intent was to bore me, he was triumphant.  Unfortunately I believe that even the greatest directors suffer from their own success; whatever drove them to strive for perfection has been replaced with the belief that they can do no wrong.  Examples of this can be seen in anything from Wes Anderson post The Royal Tenenbaums, Quentin Tarantino post Pulp Fiction, and George Lucas post A New Hope.  That's not to say that Scorsese and these other great directors don't continue to demonstrate greatness after achieving success, it's just that their subsequent work is muddied with self-indulgence.

Jude and I watched Goodfellas just a few days before going to see The Irishman, and it's impressive how the former film epitomizes Scorsese's ability to weave a cautionary tale into a virtuoso visual experience that would have been an exploitation flick in the hands of a lesser director.  Only a complete moron could walk away from seeing Goodfellas with aspirations of becoming a gangster.  Where Goodfellas dispels the glamorous portrayal of gangsters in popular culture, The Irishman is interested in the effects that one man's life of crime has on his soul.  This is a lofty theme for Scorsese to tackle, yet when measured against cinematic standards that he established in previous films, the result is not as satisfying.  We're shown one example after another of the main character (played by Robert De Niro) committing horrible crimes that end up hurting his family and friends.  Scorsese is interested in exploring how this behavior changes the man over the course of his life, and whether he has regrets as the end draws near.  I can admit that my disappointment in the answers to these questions may be a sign that Scorsese was successful in conveying his message.  Alright, maybe this was a great film.

Avengers: Endgame

I wrote the following immediately after seeing Avengers: Endgame for the first time.  I've seen it again since, and I believe that my initial impressions hold true:

True heroes must be defined by the sacrifice that they make while accomplishing great feats for others.  Let me explain what I mean; a guy dropping a bomb from a UAV could never be a hero because he gets to drive home to his family after work that day.  An NFL quarterback could never be a hero because ultimately everything he does on the field is self-serving.  As an aside, I recently saw an advertisement for Budweiser featuring Dwayne Wade in which his off-the-court contributions to the community were detailed; showing that it's possible for a professional athlete to be a hero, just not during his day job.  Using this definition of heroes, none of the Avengers qualify because none of them face any real risk of life and limb, therefore there is no real sacrifice.

Hawkeye's family dying during the opening sequence would have been an emotionally powerful stroke of filmmaking genius, if only there had been one iota of a chance that they wouldn't be returned safe and sound by the movie's finish.