365 Films in 365 Days — July 31: 12 Angry Men

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Summer is perhaps hottest around this time of year, and the days are long. While this movie's runtime is not long, the characters in it feel like they couldn't proceed fast enough, in large part due to the heat. The heat of morality and responsibility and prejudice. And so:

12 Angry Men (1957, United Artists, Sidney Lumet)

Even for an uninitiated, non-fan of courtroom procedurals and legal dramas, this movie can affect you. I have to say, too, that the first few minutes don't do particularly much for the uninitiated: the ho-hum, routine, almost tired entry the movie makes won't win over a newcomer all at once, but it is the set-up to what is to come. The pace and elegance of this feature is a marvel. Shot virtually all in one room with a cast of "Joe Regulars" (save for Fonda who is the only A-lister of the bunch), it completely lacks any special effects or even any color (the men are all caucasian), and yet it's compelling and delivers as much a message for today as it did then.

Juror 8's holdout objection to the others' quick committal to convicting the young defendant is quickly challenged by Juror 7. Their exchange feels like how a reasonable person would wind up having to deal with the average sports fan, or fraternity pledge, or talk show host (take your pick). Juror 8 feels like he has a duty to uphold, and while he admits to being agnostic to the truth, he isn't about to concede the possible.

I can remember reading as Juror 8 my junior year in high school in Mrs. Christopher's class. I was honored. Even at that time, I felt like there was something different about me from almost everyone else in my class. I don't know that I can even place my finger on it exactly today. What I do know is that I've never been a herd follower or a bandwagoner. I'm highly resistant to peer pressure. I'm a reasonable contrarian. And what I do know is that I felt a distinct privilege and power to stand apart from the others and voice a reasonable concern. There are few certain reasonable concerns in life. God is one, and truth another. Probably love and justice, too. One should always pause to consider what the reasonable concern is at any stage in life.

Juror 9, the "old man," is the first to show a glimmer of support for Juror 8's plight when he stands up to Juror 10's dissent about youth and the defendant's "obvious" upbringing. It's a wonderful touch to see how slowly Juror 9 raises his hand for "guilty" when the first call for votes goes up.

Juror 2's meek tone and delivery reminds me of Arnold Wesker, "The Ventriloquist," from Batman: The Animated Series. His remark about knowing the Constitution when Juror 8 presents the idea that the burden of proof lies on the prosecution seems a dodge to me, as if he feared losing credibility if he answered otherwise. A very human response.

Juror 3 comes off very sedate and pointed about his stance, twice covering for himself on the sentimentality angle. This pays off big later.

Meanwhile, Jurors 4 and 10 come right out swinging with testimony from the trial to lend support to Juror 3's pointed claims. These three form the staunchest rebuttals to Juror 8's stance.

Juror 8 doesn't flinch when he calls out others' hypocrisy. "She's one of them, too, isn't she?" is Juror 8's response to Juror 10 when it comes to believing the stories of those from a different social class. Juror 10's response is predictably sour. And suddenly the movie begins to make us check our own thoughts. Who would we stand with?

Juror 5 asks to be skipped when they are called on to present reasons for the defendant's guilt. His resolve to follow the others in a guilty vote from earlier is already cracking.

Despite Juror 8's continued deliberation, Juror 4's comment of, "Maybe it was two too many," when considering whether the defendant's being slapped by the victim might have prompted murder also prompts a look on Juror 8's face to suggest that even he must take a step back in his considerations. The fight for truth with others and within ourselves is rarely linear.

Juror 3 pulls out a photo of his 22-year-old son and begins to tell the tale of how he tried to make a man out of his son when he was 9. He is trying to highlight "how bad kids are these days," the age old adage, but instead opens himself—and Juror 8, who is closest and watching him at that moment—to his own hurt and frustration. But Juror 3 puts a lid on it and walks away as the discussion goes back to the trial.

The class warfare tension begins to bubble over as Jurors 4 and 10 begin to pile on to the idea that "people from the slums" are no good and always turn out bad. Juror 5, seated next to 4, looks at his hands and fidgets quietly until he's had enough and quiets Juror 10 by outing himself as slum-bred. He, a member of their own jury—seemingly well-dressed and responsible—born in the slums.

As the talks continue around the table, the foreman, Juror 1, tries to keep the pattern going, but Juror 10 pipes up and calls out his process as being that of a "kid." "K. I. D.," Juror 10 spells it out for him—a pejorative underlining the discounting theme that's developed—to which the foreman takes umbrage and almost declines to go on.

The entire exchange about what's possible about a peculiar knife and the defendant's story concerning it is a masterclass in line delivery, framing, and build. I love the fact that Juror 8 was willing to let the entire conversation build to a place where he could reveal an identical knife to the murder weapon he had illegally purchased the other night. It's a badass Batman-level of preparation that I admire and applaud.

The lines are whip-quick and the personalities of each speaker come out cleanly and without a feeling of forced rhythm. The scenes truly feel like a room of twelve angry men trying to sort through the ordeal, and if you aren't a fan of the picture yet at this point you probably won't be.

I love the close-up and dramatic musical notes that play as Juror 8 agrees to a revote that he'll concede to if none of the other eleven votes comes back "not guilty." It's quaint, old-timey, and poignant.

Juror 3's outburst on Juror 5 after the first revote truly outs him as the "primary villain" of the piece. A tragic, not irredeemable villain. And considering the foreman hadn't fully revealed all the new votes when he came to a "not guilty" one, who knows if Juror 5 hadn't changed also at that moment.

The reveal of Juror 9 as the one who revoted "not guilty" and Juror 8's small grin in response is a moment of desperate joy. I let out a little chirp of triumph when I saw it again. There is some humanity left in the room.

The restroom break scene is a fantastic break following the outburst. The movie ebbs and flows naturally. "Nice bunch of guys, huh?" Juror 6 says to Juror 8. "Ah, they're about the same as everywhere else," 8 replies. This is an indictment of us all. We're no better off or worse than they are today, yesterday, or tomorrow. We all come at things from different perspectives and with different biases. We carry different loads into each and every situation we come to. The scene ends with Juror 6 challenging Juror 8's deliberation by suggesting that if Juror 8 convinces them all to change to "not guilty" they might be letting the true killer go free. Juror 8 silently and soberly considers that before they the action returns to the juror's room and the struggle goes on.

As Juror 8 begins to consider how the woman witness could have seen the killing through the elevated train cars, he pauses to snatch paper from Jurors 3 and 12 as they doodle at tic-tac-toe. "This is no game!" he chides them. This echoes to me the same disinterest and vapid care both adults and youth alike seem to put toward things that really matter, ongoing today. Juror 8's righteous indignation at their behavior is justified, though of course they see him as impinging on their own rights. It's the classic but always imagined battle of objective morality against subjective morality. It's not even close. Subjective morality is what is imagined.

I love how Fonda pauses to really concentrate and get his thoughts right before he speaks. This is exampled most effectively during the scene where he is trying to tease out the details of a passing el train. And he engages the whole room. This is how you communicate. This is how you reach people. Move them even.

There's so much darn pathos and credibility in the performances. Little touches. They come off as real people, not characters. There isn't one ounce lacking believability in the whole picture.

"He don't even speak good English," says Juror 10. "He doesn't speak good English," corrects Juror 11. Juror 11 is the one with the foreign accent. Love it. This too feels ripe for today's politique. (Feels like a lesson the self-righteous MAGA crowd or their ilk might take heed of.)

Juror 7's swagger adds just the right amount color and jockish bravado to the proceedings. It's entertaining in it's hopelessness. I'm afraid there are far too many people of his type who are seen as normal in our world today.

Again, after the second revote Juror 8 shares a grin with Juror 11 who goes to "not guilty." I get a real kick out of that! It's thrilling to see someone stand against such odds and mount a defense.

Such a dramatic bear trap that Juror 3 steps into when he belittles the old man witness's mental state, immediately highlighting how the old man's testimony may be in doubt.

Never has there been a more dramatic and simple scene than the one where Juror 8 recreates the old man witness's 15-second walk while the others observe and participate. Simple, pure drama.

The scene where Juror 8 calls out Juror 3 as a sadist is the climactic tipping point of the film.

Great continuity as everyone progressively gets sweatier and sweatier—pit stains and all—as the story plays out.

The little incidental scene between Juror 8 and Juror 1 as 1 shares about his coaching football experience in the rain is another welcome break from the tension that's been ramping.

It gets real for Juror 7 when Juror 11 challenges him with, "What kind of a man are you?" They had already had a verbal dust-up before that, but Juror 7's flippant attitude and ease of changing votes galls Juror 11's sense of ethics.

Gotta love Juror 7's "d'uhh" way of punctuating his expressions when pressed.

I pray to God someday we ignore the MAGA crowd and all its ilk the same way the others do when Juror 10 goes off after the 9-3 revote in favor of acquittal. He exemplifies everything wrong and sick with those who look out and down on the marginalized and the hurting. But we must never treat them the way they treat others.

I like how Juror 4 is able to sway Juror 11 back to "guilty" for a short bit as he recounts the woman's eyewitness testimony. Adds a level of credibility as to why so many of them thought guilty at first.

The emotional power of the scene as the jurors discuss the woman's eyeglass marks on her nose is spellbinding. Juror 9 is the first to notice, and like dominos they all begin to fall in line as the woman's eyesight is brought into question. Soon, holdouts like Jurors 4 and 10 change to "not guilty," leaving only Juror 3 to stand alone in his rage.

Juror 3 is not the villain in the end. He is us. We are scared too that we've done things wrong and messed up relationships. Things we might not be able to win back. It's damning to think we're wrong and at fault in those situations. It's so much easier to blame the rest of the world. It's what Juror 3 did for too long. And it's a lesson in what we must always strive not to do as well. His breakdown at the end is heartwrenching. I get it, and I feel it, even when I'm not him.

You're heroes, Davis and McCardle. Well done.

July 31 — 14 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — February 21: Cool Runnings

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. This year marks another Winter Olympics, and I would be remiss not to take a look at this modern classic. And so, this day's viewing can be none other than:

Cool Runnings (1993, Walt Disney Pictures, Jon Turteltaub)

The Wailing Souls' Love You Want is such a feel-good, positive, excellent way to start this film. A great Reggae tune to put you in the island mood. The song starts us off on a hopeful track, and forms a great counterpoint to the emotional rollercoaster—err, sliding track—the viewer is about to ride. 

The main cast has such an endearing and distinctive set of characters. Derice is the clear leader and straight arrow with a handsome face. His earnestness and drive are easily visible and he doesn't come off as hokey. Sanka is the loveable joker and pressure-release valve on the team. His smile and quick wit play as natural and funny. Yul (named after Yul Brynner) is the strong, abrasive type. His tough-man attitude is a cover for his insecurities and protection against ridicule. Junior is the baby-face of the bunch and quietly the most insightful. His innocence and sweet-nature don't feel contrived. And, of course, Blizter (played by John Candy) brings a veteran comedy actor's timing to a part that interestingly has maybe the fewest joke moments. Candy's own dark side probably fueled the character's own troubled past and gave the performance a believable guilt and gravity.

The opening scenes in Jamaica really amp up the fun factor and get you invested in the mains. The scene where Derice, Yul, and Junior trip and miss the Summer Olympics qualifier for sprinting is a great bit of foreshadowing that stays buried among the early-goings high-notes. The Jamaicans' pursuit of Blizter to be their coach and the subsequent trials getting accustomed to bobsledding on the island are good slapstick. And again, The Wailing Souls' Wild Wild Life injects such cool vibes. Later, the scene where they each scramble to earn petty cash to fund their dawning Winter Olympic hopes plays like a cheeky montage of comedic vignettes.

The film shifts gears when the crew finally makes it to Calgary. Watching them struggle to acclimate to the weather, put together their gear, and draw inspiration from each other and the international atmosphere has an edge of tension to it. The film manages to pull off this delightful air of positivity and good attitude despite the uphill battle that the team continually faces. It's an alluring tension that keeps you bracing for what's coming next after each little character obstacle that comes up, but deep down makes you feel like it will turn out alright anyway.

"I see pride! I see power! I see a badass mother who don't take no crap off of nobody!" This line has always stuck with me. It's a call to self-actualization. It's part of what leads up to the goofy bar-brawl scene, and completely overshadows the played for laughs fisticuffs that follow. In Hollywood, self-actualization in movies often comes down to using your fists. But in real life it more often comes down to taking firm hold of where we stand against the odds.

The best line in the film is delivered with heart by Candy's disgraced coach: "A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without it, you'll never be enough with it." This can be said about a lot of things in life. Money. Love. Power. Fame. All the things the four Jamaicans were after. All the things you and I might be after. Impermanent things.

Still, the Jamaican bobsled team strives to do their best and even starts to turn heads as they compete. It's charming to see their hard work start to pay off, and even more heartening to see them embrace who they are as competitors rather than cheat who they might become just to win. It's an odd reversal of Blitzer's story, who cheated after he had won to try to stay on top.

In the end, as in the true event that the movie is based on, the Jamaican bobsled team crashes out on their third heat after showing some promise. Though they didn't win, the team crosses the finish line on their feet, earning the respect of the onlookers and the hearts of the viewers who have followed them with interest from the opening moments. It should also be noted that the movie ends with great musical soul thanks to Jimmy Cliff's cover of I Can See Clearly Now.

February 21 — 13 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — May 1: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. It may seem sacrilegious to debut this film before the original, but it makes the most sense thematically, and recent reevaluations of this movie and its sequels have shown that its legacy is worthy of the saga and enhances its overall appeal. May marks the month of Star Wars Day and this movie's original release, and so it must be:

Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999, Lucasfilm/20th Century Fox, George Lucas)

Ep I opens with all the pomp and circumstance of a Shakespearean play. With crosswise swords and words. The strange austere nature of the Jedi's arrival to the Naboo system, sent on behalf of the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic to settle a trade dispute, is soon after ruined when the Trade Federation, who is performing a blockade of Naboo in protest of the planet's refusal to do crooked business, resolves to have them killed on the word of a hooded holographic figure with a sinister voice. This all advances past the viewer with pulpy, high adventure vibes, as the performances by Neeson and McGregor as Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi suggest they are above any of the dangers. This instills us with a confidence in our heroes, grounds the villains without making the outcome a foregone conclusion, and establishes some early stakes. The first twenty minutes of the movie play out like a solid episode of a limited series. There are three brief action scenes demonstrating the Jedi's abilities, several scene changes from ship bays to forest floors to underwater cities to decadent palace courtyards, and a daring rescue and escape that sends us into our first plot point. It's a breakneck pace, but it's primary intention is to bring all the major players together and give them reason to land on Tatooine, a core location important throughout the saga.

The use of lightsabers and Force powers is effectively impressed upon the audience during the early scenes. Still, the challenges the Jedi face as they progress are not without risk. Star Wars paints a world where competent characters must navigate their problems with courage and planning and flexibility, not with sheer power and plot armor. Despite being the heroes, they aren't immune to sudden setbacks, and they're often set with entrusting their success in the world and with those around them. The whole incident whereby the Jedi meet the outcast Jar Jar Binks and negotiate his release from his superiors spotlights the Jedi as partners in their dealings, not overlords.

Before the half hour mark arrives, our heroes resolve to land on a desert world run by gangsters to acquire parts for their damaged ship from the escape. Ultimately, their goal is to reach the capital of the Republic, Coruscant, to deliver Amidala, the Naboo Queen, so that she can appeal to the highest authorities about the Trade Federation's transgression.

Chance intervenes on Tatooine when Qui-Gon comes across the child Anakin Skywalker while shopping for parts. The boy is evidently strong in the Force—from which a Jedi draws his power—and summarily has what they need to solve their other problems: shelter from an incoming sand storm, and knowledge of a big racing event that can offer our heroes the prize money they need to deal with the local economy. But Anakin's discovery creates its own new wrinkle in the plot: he and his single parent mother are owned slaves, and so can't be emancipated easily. So much of these circumstantial needs pilot the plot and give events a seemingly arbitrary nature of a world that hides a thousand intrigues. It's the same kind of world-building and scenario design that role-playing gamers and designers dream of—bringing elements from different walks of life together on a grand scale where all play some small part in realizing the truth of their togetherness. It makes one doubt the nature of how arbitrary things are and begin to wrestle with the idea of fate and destiny. (It is a story with an intent, after all.)

Qui-Gon gambles on the boy's prowess as a racer and manages to arrange a bet to settle Anakin's release also as a slave. Naturally, the boy wins—in what is still to this day the most imaginative multi-lap race scene put on film—but must leave his mother behind as the wager was only strong enough to win Anakin's freedom. In Star Wars, there's rarely just pure risk then reward without some further sacrifice.

In short order, paths are set for Coruscant as they continue on their original quest, but the added responsibility of training Anakin as a Jedi becomes a side-quest of increasingly equal importance. For you see: Anakin had no father—the product of a virginal birth—and Qui-Gon sees prophecy in the discovery. This invokes themes both mythic and mysterious, plotting a certain course ahead in the here and now flanked by an uncertain past and future. These ideas also align greatly with Qui-Gon's earlier insistence to Obi-Wan to focus on the present.

Take heed world: being unanxious about the before and after in the midst of many doings is a great message.

And again, in the midst of all these swirling, cascading plot elements, we meet R2-D2, C-3PO and Darth Maul—all franchise characters that get their origin stories here! 

Padmé Amidala's wardrobes throughout are little fantastical takes on a variety of real-world royalty looks that give her character this kind of forbidden, forsaken princess vibe. At 14, she's not even an adult and I contend there's a delicacy behind her sterner words when she effects the "queen's voice" that is both a tell and a dodge.

What for more than an hour of the film has been a series of fetch and rescue quests gives way to political intrigues in the first part of the second half. McDiarmid's Senator Palpatine enters here, by all accounts a friendly fatherly figure who can ghost into Padmé's and Anakin's lives—both of which are conspicuously devoid of father figures—and provide them a solid rudder in navigating the glass and steel city-world that they've stepped into. It's great visual storytelling that much of the film previous to the Coruscant scenes is decked in richly lush or harsh environments that are in harmony with the natural world. Coruscant has no vestige of the natural world left to it. Lucas's work throughout the saga is replete with this kind of image messaging.

Padmé's real personality has been hiding in the background much of the film and her character turn occurs during the scene when (ironically, the outcast) Jar Jar provokes private feelings of belonging in her and she literally turns to Palpatine to announce her exit from his arena. She concludes that politics will only fail her and the best way forward is through self-determination. This, too, is analogous to Lucas's early career struggles against the "Hollywood system" and the founding of Lucasfilm and ILM. The saga may be as much autobiographical as it is set in a galaxy far, far away. I'm sure many of us, too, feel like we're living far away from reality, whether by choice or by circumstance. The symbolism goes deep.

The finale plays out across four major battle scenes: the invasion of Theed by Naboo resistance forces led by Padmé, the Gungans' led by Jar Jar in the Battle of the Grassy Plain versus half-a-million B1-series battle droids, the space assault on the Trade Federation droid control ship by Naboo N-1 starfighters assisted by Anakin, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's duel with Darth Maul. Nothing that is shown is wasted, and just as each character has had to overcome obstacles to this point in the story each of them is given their final exam. Even Obi-Wan—to become the most famous of Jedi—who is mostly a supporting character here, is made to step out from behind his master and graduate to the level of Jedi Knight and master all at once. In many ways, Ep I is the story of how the events the mains experience catapult them into circumstances they are not entirely ready for. Who is ready? What does it mean to be ready in life? Are we prisoners of the actions we and those around us take, or do we exercise appropriate agency in the promises we keep and break?

John William's score sets a new bar and further plants the Star Wars soundscape into our memories with this film, in particular with the track "Duel Of The Fates". Lots of poetry here. Qui-Gon's moment of calm during his fight with Maul is the perfect picture of a Jedi vs a Sith. His has probably the most earned death in a film not based on a true or historical event that I can think of. And then the lightsaber exchange between Obi-Wan and Maul after Qui-Gon falls is everything anger-fueled lightsaber duels ought to be.

In the end, the phantom menace (Palpatine), thought to have been Maul, remains undisclosed in plain sight. The unseen phantom menace (time) continues to soldier on as light begins to give way to dark. In fact, all of the Star Wars trilogies work on this routine: day into night into a new dawn.

Ep I is equal parts whimsical, poignant, adventurous, and virtuous, much like the mains in its story. I've never once watched it and felt I was wasting my time. A winning entry in the canon!

May 1 — 12 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — April 18: The Passion of the Christ

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. This next movie is so good and yet so jarring that I always swallow hard when preparing myself to watch it. It's Good Friday, so I can do none other than:

The Passion of the Christ (2004, Icon/Newmarket Films, Mel Gibson)

The opening of the Passion is rich with dark beauty and menace. The music has a dark sensuality to it, and the performances are raw and theatrical. Jim Caviezel's Christ is the modern template, and productions like The Chosen have definitely benefitted from his portrayal. It simultaneously goes to places no other actor has gone to before and sets itself apart by not inviting imitation. The whole movie plays out that way. Simultaneously setting itself apart and provoking reactions that no other film might dare to emulate. It's indicative of the life Jesus lived—wholly unique and unimpeachable by human standards.

The scene with Satan and Jesus as he asks for the cup to pass from him continues the duality of raw beauty and pure pain. It is an emotional crucifixion. The spirit must be right for the body to obey. The imagery is strong and stark and the words are sparse but unsullied. It's unsettling in its crystallized finality.

The Aramaic, Hebrew, and Latin used in the film lends it such an authenticity and the filmic way in which its shot is enough to tell the story without subtitles. Truly an achievement.

It's truly heart-wrenching, too, to watch Jesus' betrayal and treatment. The "passion" here is His suffering. It's undeniable and very honestly depicted. Jesus' tumble while chained over the bridge as Judas watches on in horror is just-under-over-the-top, which sets the table for what is to come.

Judas' betrayal of Jesus is all of ours to own. We each betray God in our own ways. And the penalty for that is death. But Jesus saves us from ourselves, if we follow him to the end. Judas followed Jesus only most of the way, sadly. Being a follower simply isn't enough, if it's only with our bodies. We must die to our old selves to follow him in spirit. The film deftly evokes all of this.

The scene with Jesus and Mary at the tall, rich man's table is such a needed relief. The movie is heavy throughout, and rightfully so, but we need those little warm touches and kind remembrances to survive the ordeal. We are, too, what we remember in life.

The spoken words of Aramaic during Jesus' interrogation in Caiaphas' court has such power to it. The words they speak and the manner they deliver them in have a spellbinding power. I can't watch that scene without trembling and verging on tears. Why does this scene affect me so? Why does this story affect anyone so dramatically in this day and age? These are questions one must honestly consider.

I remember a religious studies student standing up in class in the Spring of 2004 after the movie came out. The professor—in a class on the teachings of Jesus—had elicited comments from the students as to their reactions to the film. The student who stood—a young woman—claimed she thought the film had many silly contradictions and didn't make any sense. Some others in the class laughed at this. I even recall the professor smirking at those comments. I don't think I had ever felt so much disconnect and pity for my fellow man than at that time. It's not a shock to me that the film was received so by some at that time. That was the height of the "new atheism" movement in America. A movement which has spawned nothing to remember it by, and given us no answers, no solace. A movement that will have lasted less time on earth in its heyday than Jesus spent bodily while here. That's telling.

Pilate's first encounter with Jesus in the film doesn't feel like a movie. This is when filmmaking is at its zenith: when you forget you're watching moving pictures on a screen and you're transported.

"If you cannot hear the truth, no one will tell you." This is a line in the film and a thing of absolute truth. Interesting that it comes from Pilate's wife, Claudia, who is as forgettable a named character that there is. And yet there she is, saying those words to her man in a moment of uncertainty for him. Jesus is, was, and always will be to the Son of God, God incarnate, and no amount of him claiming literally that he is God would have changed anything for the better. Evidence aside, every person must decide for themself.

The scene in Herod's court reminds me a lot of the Jabba's palace scenes in Return of the Jedi.

They chose an insurrectionist over the truth two-thousand years ago. We did it again in 2024.

The flagellation scene is repellent and wrong. It had to be. It's awful. But it also kinda purifies you by experiencing it. I've rarely felt more clarity and urgency than what these scenes spur out of my soul. We should feel uncomfortable and poised to move when we watch this. Let it purify you, I say.

Jesus' amazingly strong proclamations in the midst of such agony makes me heave and makes tears to flow every time. It's not emotional manipulation. It's pure emotional outpouring.

Simon of Cyrene's outburst during the scene when Jesus falls carrying the cross should be the reaction of all of us. Fantastic direction, staging, and performances by all here.

The scene revealing Golgotha ("The Place of the Skull") is sufficiently epic and stirring.

Caviezel's face during the Sermon on the Mount scene is full of grace.

And again, in the midst of awfulness, we're given the Last Supper scene to help sustain us. The poetry and parallelism is not lost on me.

The crucifixion itself is wonderfully presented. All the beats and moments you can imagine reading the passages from the Bible are here to see.

By the time the credits roll, you've been marked by this picture. Despite the fact that one might argue this movie is the height of fictional storytelling, I believe in the historicity of this tale and all that implies. Amen.

April 18 — 11 of 365 logged

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King of Atlantis

AQUAMAN, KING ORIN (Atlantean name), ARTHUR CURRY (human name)
Male Unique Half-Atlantean Legendary Strong Hero 3/Fast Hero 2/Tough Hero 3/Charismatic Hero 2/Helix Warrior* 8; CR 22; LA +6
Medium Humanoid (aquatic, mutant) (height 6’ 1”, weight 325 lb.); Age late 30s
* See Future
Experience ~280k

Init +5; Senses (core) Listen +5, Search +1, Spot +4; Senses (house) Listen/Spot +10, Search +1
Languages Atlantean, English

Defense 27, touch 26, flat-footed 24; Defensive Martial Arts, Dodge (+3 Dex, +13 class, +1 gear)
hp 253 (18 HD); Mas 29; DR 12/— (DR 22 vs depth pressure)
Fort +18 (+2 vs poisons, diseases, radiation; +4 vs. hot/cold environments, suffocation/drowning/depth pressure), Ref +11, Will +8
Action Points 14

Speed 30 ft., swim 305 ft. [30] (good)
Melee unarmed strike +27/+22/+17 (1d6+12 lethal/nonlethal, 20) or
Melee unarmed strike +25/+20/+15 (1d6+12) and
Melee unarmed strike +25 (1d6+6, two-weapon) or
Melee +1 keen harpoon hand +27/+22/+17 (1d10+13 piercing, 19-20) or
Melee +3 trident of Neptune +30/+25/+20 (2d6+15 piercing, 20)
Melee by weapon +26/+21/+16 or
Ranged +1 keen harpoon hand +19 (1d10+13 piercing, 19-20, 60 ft.) or
Ranged +3 trident of Neptune +22 (2d6+15 piercing, 20, 20 ft.)
Ranged by weapon +18/+13/+8
Space 5 ft. by 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
Base Atk +15; Grp +26 (+8 under water)
Atk Options 2d6 base unarmed damage under water (–2 on atk/Def), Coordinate, Power Attack, Two-Weapon Fighting

Special Qualities ability drain = ability damage, action point roll is 4d6 (take highest), Atlantean traits (see below), carrying/lifting cap = Str +4 and as large creature, electricity resistance 8, conditions lasting less than 1 rnd are ignored (durations 2+ rnds halved if cowering, dazed, exhausted, fatigued, nauseated, panicked, paralyzed, shaken, or stunned), darkvision 120 ft., immunity to cold/depth pressure damage (see trident below), legend traits (4), Listen checks take no penalty while asleep

Abilities Str 32 (18), Dex 16, Con 26 (18), Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 14
'(-)' indicate original ability scores.
Allegiances good, Atlantis, justice, the ocean, chaos, the Justice League; Rep +5; San 70
Feats Animal Affinity, Archaic Weapons Proficiency, Armor Proficiency (light), Athletic, Brawl, Combat Martial Arts, Defensive Martial Arts, Dodge, Endurance, Far Shot, Improved Damage Threshold**, Mobility, Power Attack, Simple Weapons Proficiency, Tough Plus (x2**; Cold/Electricity Resistance, Robust, Second Wind [11 hp, 5/day]), Two-Weapon Fighting, Ultra Immune System, Weapon Focus (trident)**
** Bonus feats acquired from the Legend template.
Skills (core) Balance +5, Climb +15, Concentration +10, Diplomacy +5 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Gather Information +5 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Handle Animal +10 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Hide +5***, Intimidate +8, Jump +12***, Knowledge (arcane lore) +5, Knowledge (current events) +3, Knowledge (history) +4, Knowledge (tactics) +4, Listen +5, Move Silently +5***, Navigate +7, Read/Write Atlantean, Read/Write English, Ride +10 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Sense Motive +5, Speak Atlantean, Speak English, Spot +4, Survival +7, Swim +13***, Tumble +5***
Skills (house) Athletics +19*** (+2 on Climb, +2 on Swim), Control +12, Handle Animal +10 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Gather Information +5 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Knowledge (arcane lore) +5, Knowledge (current events) +3, Knowledge (history) +4, Knowledge (tactics) +4, Perceive +10, Persuade +11 (+10 on Diplomacy toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Read/Write Atlantean, Read/Write English, Ride +10 (+10 toward aquatic animals w/spell-like ability), Speak Atlantean, Speak English, Sneak +8***, Survival +7, Tumble +5***
*** –1 armor check
     Note: Swim has a –4 due to gear weight.
Talents (Strong Hero) Extreme Effort, Melee Smash
Talents (Fast Hero) Increased Speed
     Note: Aquaman elected to apply this increase to his swim speed.
Talents (Tough Hero) DR 2/—
Talents (Charismatic Hero) Coordinate
Talents (Helix Warrior) Darkvision (120 ft.), Haul (Str 4 pts higher for carrying cap), Light Sleeper (Listen checks take no penalty while asleep), Strong as an Ox (carrying capacity as large creature), Superior Conditioning (condition durations lessened), Survivor (add extra d6 on action point roll)
     Note: As a member of the Justice League, Aquaman’s Strong as an Ox ability also allows him to wield weapons as if he were a Large creature. This is his membership perk.
Starting Occupation (core) Adventurer (Intimidate, Knowledge [arcane lore] as permanent class skills; Archaic Weapons Proficiency)
Starting Occupation (house) Adventurer (Knowledge [arcane lore], Persuade as permanent class skills; Archaic Weapons Proficiency)
Possessions (carried weight 23 lb.) +3 trident of Neptune (large-sized weapon, see below; 8 lb.), +1 harpoon hand (see below; 7 lb.), Atlantean pauldron & bracer (worn on the right shoulder and arm, grants the protection of a light steel shield; –1 armor check penalty; 6 lb.), scaled & finned leggings (grant +4 on swim checks; 2 lb.)
Wealth Bonus +27 (most kept in deep sea treasure troves and Atlantean vaults)

ATLANTEAN
     Species Traits
Atlanteans are a subset of humanity that adapted to live under the waves in a quasi-extra dimensional space called Atlantis (a megacity located on Earth). They possess a number of special adaptations and superhuman qualities that set them apart from normal humans. Some of these abilities are due to their unique heritage, while others are a result of the high science/magic nature of their home. All Atlanteans share the following traits, which are all supernatural in nature unless otherwise noted.
     Atlanteans speak their native tongue of Atlantean, though many of them learn to speak the native tongues of the land-dwellers closest to their borders.
     Type: While humanoids, Atlanteans all have the “aquatic” subtype also.
     Ability Modifiers: Atlanteans receive racial bonuses of +8 to Strength and +6 to Constitution.
     Size: Medium. As medium-size creatures, Atlanteans have no special modifiers due to their size.
     Speed: Atlantean speed is 30 feet on land. In water, their base swim speed is 150 feet with a good maneuverability.
     Damage Reduction: Atlanteans are particularly hardy and receive DR 5/—. This DR is 10 against depth pressures when under water.
     Water Breathing (Ex): Atlanteans can breathe water as a fish would (with neck gills). They can also adjust to breathing air (through their noses), but this often requires succeeding on DC 15 Fortitude save (during which they begin the first round of suffocating) that they must retry every round until they’ve succeeded or passed out due to lack of oxygen.
     Xenophobia: Atlanteans are inherently xenophobic toward outsiders and land-dwellers, hampering their ability to reason or get-along with others outside their own. Atlanteans suffer a –5 circumstance penalty on any interaction Cha-based checks they make toward outsiders. Furthermore, when Atlanteans first encounter any outsiders by surprise, they must succeed on a DC 20 Will save or succumb to the cowering condition unless they opt to instead immediately attack the target of their surprise.
     Challenge Rating: +2.
     Level Adjustment: +3.

MUTANT ATLANTEAN “Hybrid Vigor” (Template)
     Template Traits
The only known mutant strand in the Atlantean line is made when a highborn, pureblood Atlantean mates with a land-dweller. “Hybrid vigor” is a unique term used to describe those special Atlanteans that enjoy mixed bloodlines. It describes their ability or more vigorous nature that often surpasses standard Atlantean powers (due to them being overly homogenous for generations upon generations). Of them, only Arthur Curry, called Aquaman by the outside world, is well-known.
     All hybrid vigor traits are extraordinary in nature unless otherwise noted.
     Challenge Rating: +2.
     Level Adjustment: +2.
     Type: His type gains the “mutant” subtype, which may change what other effects and spells will interact with him, etc.
     Special Qualities: Arthur retains all of his special qualities and gains the additional special qualities listed below.
     Movement/Speed: His swim speed increases to 300 feet per move action (that's a maximum of 240 squares at character scale/24 squares at chase scale, which is about 136 miles per hour, when moving at 4x speed).
     However, upon spending an action point Arthur can move at much greater speeds—10x or even 50x that of the maximum above—though for progressively shortened periods of time (days or even hours). These speeds are useful for traversing intercontinental distances by waterway (permitting travel from London to Hong Kong in little less than an hour-and-a-half). Moving at these incredible speeds is a full-round action.
     Communicate with Sea Creatures (Sp): As the spell speak with animals, except the effect is limited only to living creatures of the aquatic subtype, the duration is 1 min per day per point of Constitution modifier (8 min/day; this time need not be used all at once), the means is telepathic (no sound) with a range of 100 feet per point of Con mod (800 ft max), and it provides an empathic link to those same aquatic creatures which grants an added +10 bonus on Diplomacy, Gather Information, Handle Animal, and Ride checks. This ability requires a standard action to initiate and concentration to continue while conversing. The effect permits Arthur to establish and maintain relations with aquatic creatures, and even encourage favors, but it does not charm or otherwise control those animals.
     Damage Reduction: His DR is doubled for both the base (10/—) and against depth pressures (DR 20).

      Super-strength: When under water (submerged), Arthur gains the virtual size category of huge. While his space and reach remain unchanged by this, he receives a +8 bonus on grapple checks; can use improvised weapons of large/huge size (one-handed) or gargantuan size (two-handed); inflicts 2d6 base damage with unarmed attacks; can lift 4x normal carrying capacity; but incurs a –2 penalty on attack rolls/Defense.
     Water Breathing (Ex): As standard Atlantean, except Arthur can transition to air breathing without a Fort save.
     Xenoplatonic: Arthur was never raised xenophobic, and because of his dual heritage tends to favor and champion embracing both worlds.
     Allegiances: Loyalty to Atlantis may be included but is not required. In fact, due to their inherent xenophobia, many “true” Atlanteans may even regard any being of hybrid vigor as a “half-breed” or “mongrel.”
     Ability Scores: His hybrid vigor also grants Arthur an added +4 to Strength.
     Advancement: By character class.

NEW FX Item Trident of Neptune
This oversized (large) trident is made of rare green-gold Nth metal and imbued by the ancient god Neptune with magics sacred to the protection of Atlantis and its peoples. Nth metal behaves as cold iron would for hardness and hit point characteristics, ignores the damage reduction and disrupts the spellcasting (forcing a Concentration check) of fey, fiend, or native outsider creatures within 30 ft of it, grants the possessor immunity to cold and depth pressure damage, and permits them to extend those same protections and their water breathing ability to anyone they hold or take by the hand, and the trident’s metal also slows the possessor’s aging process to 1/2 what it would be normally. As the trident has traditionally been used to identify the rightful king of Atlantis, it is also an important mark of ancestry and rulership, and thus grants the possessor advantage on any Cha-based interaction checks with subjects and loyalists of Atlantis. It is a +3 enchanted weapon, and when under water also grants the wielder advantage on critical hit confirmations and checks or saves to inflict/prevent weapon loss or damage with or against it.

     To be considered a “possessor” of the trident of Neptune requires that it remain in the hands or on the person of the individual wielding it for at least a full 24-hour period. If, after that period, the wielder is of an evil persuasion, they must make a Fortitude and Will save DC 20 or be struck with paralysis (failed Fort) and/or blindness/deafness/dumbness (failed Will) until a remove curse (or similar) effect is cast on them.
     Type: Weapon (magic); Caster Level: 10th; Purchase DC: — (34); Weight: 8 lb.

NEW FX Item Arthur’s Golden Harpoon Hand
This is a refined version of the improvised harpoon hand Arthur had made for himself after the loss of his left hand at the wrist. It is made from the same green-gold Nth metal as the trident of Neptune, but lacks the added enchantments and rulership bearing. It is a +1 magic weapon with the keen quality.
     Type: Weapon (magic); Caster Level: 9th; Purchase DC: — (28); Weight: 7 lb.

365 Films in 365 Days — January 21: The Thing

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. January 21st is about one month into winter. For those who hate winter, that places the date deep enough in the season to be ready for it to end (in the northern hemisphere, anyway), but not deep enough to hope that it actually will. This movie, too, is set in the earlier half of winter (ironically in the southern hemisphere given my premise), with the ultimate realization that too much of it remains for there to be any hope of surviving the ordeal. And since I'm unlikely to watch it south of the equator, I yield unto you this day:

The Thing (1982, Universal Pictures, John Carpenter)

This movie, Star Wars, and Predator all (vaguely) begin the same way. Ship screams into view as it approaches a nearby planet. That's the all-time great way to establish things. Start unfocused, writ-large and then narrow, narrow, narrow. Turn as many lights off as you can with this one and enjoy.

The original The Thing from Another World (1951) is quite a watchable gem of old school B&W cinema. It's very talky and fast and plays like a lot of vehicles of that sort from the era, but I can still watch it and enjoy it after seeing Carpenter's take. That said, this is definitely one of those times when the remake outpaces the original in almost every way. The plot, mystery, acting, effects, and ending all surpass the original without insult or injury. Admirable.

The ensemble cast (including Keith David, Wilford Brimley, and Donald Moffat) is headed by Kurt Russell in hot-blooded but not hotly contested scenes—no one seems to try to upstage anyone else, and all the parts played are important and/or complementary to the whole. Carpenter's simple synth soundtrack is used for punctuation rather than to cover vast tracts of emptiness. And the "soundless" parts are just as necessary. If all you have of a thing is the thing itself, than do you really have anything at all? It's the quiet scenes that underscore and set up the louder ones.

Case-in-point: The original does a fine walk-around at the original crash site to determine what it is they're dealing with, but this remake really shows you what happened at "ground zero," and does a better job of foreshadowing what is to come for the current crew.

The scenes with the dog skulking and watching as proceedings take place are equally creepy and real. Who says you can't work with pets or kids?

Rob Bottin's work on the practical effects in this are top-notch. I actually thought it was Stan Winston's studio. Shame on me. Bottin probably kept Winston very honest in the 80s with outings like this. No room to cheat.

The scene where they all find the thing mid-transformation with the other dogs is pure nightmare fuel.

The great improvement this movie has over the original, though, is the introduction of doubt. After Blair's convo with Clark, you have to doubt whether anyone might be the thing. You doubt whether it's possible for anyone to even know who is or isn't the thing. The original never ventured into that territory. Is that a factor of a post-Nixon, post-Vietnam era storytelling versus one from before? There are absolutely better told stories from before this time and from before other remakes and retellings that would demand you take them more seriously than anything that came after, but again, here: '51 < '82.

I totally forgot that they make two trips back to the Norwegian encampment, or technically once to the camp and then a separate time to the dig site where the Norwegians found the 100,000-year-old ice where the ship was found. What a nice homage to the original. Clearly, Carpenter was a fan. 

The simple but effective object-that-you-thought-was-inert-a-moment-ago-moves-slightly-under-cover-when-you're-not-looking scene is quality horror. Not novel or unexpected, just quality.

Blair's character and situation might be the most damned of all. He knows what is going on, but has no chance of convincing the others of what he knows and how he knows he has to go about it. Summarily, he knows they've all got to die to ensure this thing doesn't spread to the rest of the planet. Or, at least the others think that's what he knows—or pretends to know—given that they can't trust whether he isn't already the thing himself! Just damned.

It's fun the way that everybody refers to each other by last name. I guess it's a military thing. Mac. Fuchs. Blair. Childs. Nauls. Windows. Names that immediately speak to their characters and live in the memory.

The scene where Windows goes to grab a shotgun and has a standoff with Garry goes absolutely nowhere (mostly)! Nothing significant happens other than the exchange of command. But it's a gripping scene that really establishes the emotional vulnerability of a bunch of grown men in a desperate situation. It's also notable for the set dressing and how they made the hallways up to be reminiscent of the way they were in the original: pretty bare and lined with boxes. Again, Carpenter was a fan.

The level of stress-born distrust is portrayed so convincingly it's almost stressful to watch. Mac's predicament is all a matter of distrust and it just about ends him by way of lynching. He's practically saved when Norris falls and stops breathing only for the doctor to show up and get his arms chomped off when the doc goes about using a defibrillator on the fallen man. Norris's thing-head then just casually slumps off the body, uses its whip-tongue to lash onto a nearby anchored object, and then grows spider-legs to crawl away. But not before a healthy dose of flame-thrower!

The hot needle blood-test scene is pure tension that leads to pure mishap. And the only part of the movie that really gets to me on a visceral level is the thumb-slicing shots. Good Lord! I couldn't even watch it as Windows did his own. Poor, poor Windows.

Best line in the whole mess is delivered by Moffat as Garry: "I know you gentlemen have been through a lot, but when you find the time, I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter TIED TO THIS FUCKING COUCH!" Everything up until the all-caps part is delivered with such calm sincerity. The all-caps part with utter face-vein bulging anger.

When all else fails, kill it with fire!

And then when Blair puts his hand through Garry's face you realize, "Yeah, he was damned. And damn him!"

The giant tentacle-dog monster that the thing reveals itself as at the end definitely deserves consideration to be put on the Mt. Rushmore of movie monsters.

The ending is rather bleak. But appropriately so. It doesn't cheat right up till the end. I'm not sure I can conceive of a better ending. If you showed them "paddling to shore" like Brody and Hooper at the end of Jaws, it would sort of rob your imagination of anything better, besides aping that classic too much.

January 21 — 10 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — October 29: Young Frankenstein

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. I knew this one would be an October watch, but I was puzzling over which day it should be. With the passing of Teri Garr this week, it suddenly became obvious. And October 29th belongs to:

Young Frankenstein (1974, Gruskoff/Venture Films Crossbow Productions, Inc./20th Century Fox, Mel Brooks)

Mel Brooks is the "Weird Al" Yankovic of film. (Or maybe it's more proper to say "Weird Al" is the Mel Brooks of music.) In much the same way that it might be difficult to nail down which "Weird Al" song is the best, so too can Brooks' fans agonize over which is their fav movie, but I'd wager Young Frankenstein usually tops any respectable list. Allow me to attempt to highlight the reasons why that is for me.

The opening act is admittedly slow and apes the long, often quiet establishing shots that the early B&W monster films made as their hallmark. As with most "Weird Al" spoofs, Brooks and Wilder had a similar approach of lampooning the source material without disrespecting it. The same is true here as the scenes start from a more traditional classic horror approach, with orchestral stinger reveals, etc., and gradually lean into zanier and kookier portrayals. It's high praise and high comedy.

Gotta love the university talk and lab demonstration that ends with Wilder's character ("Dr. Frederick Fronkenstein," who goes by a different pronunciation and it is established cares not for his grandfather's work, which he calls, "doo doo") stabbing himself in the thigh with a scalpel in an outburst while dueling words with one of his students on the subject of his forebear. He blithely ignores the wound, crosses his legs, and says, stifling his alarm and pain, "Class—uh … is dismissed." It's both urbane and sophomoric at once, and sets the same dichotomous tone throughout.

Marty Feldman's Igor is definitely in the top 10 movie sidekicks of all time. His "walk this way" introduction is simple, inoffensive comedy at its best (and sparked the famous Aerosmith song). His is the only character who routinely "winks" at the audience in fourth-wall breaking moments. He gives banter as good as he gets. And it's his character that nabs the "Abby Someone", next "Abby Normal" (his words, a dodge for abnormal) brain to further the plot and give us a retread of the original Frankenstein story. 

Hardly outdone by him though is Teri Garr's Inga. Her "roll in ze hay" intro is eternally quotable. She wears her German affectation with such cuteness and in an unpretentious way that neatly fits in with the odd-ball performances. Almost every scene that she's in with the doctor has some double-entendre to it that goes completely over the heads of little ones but always leaves adults tittering, and steals each moment when it occurs.

Dr. Fronkenstein's tantrum after failing to get a reaction from the Monster after electrocuting him is pure comedic gold. He sighs peacefully and talks of accepting failure with quiet dignity and grace. A moment later, he turns back to pound the corpse's chest with his fists: "Son of a bitch! Bastard! I'll get you for this! What did you do to me? What did you do to me?!" Inga tries to intercede, but he continues, "I don't want to live. I do not want to live!" he moans like a child. "Quiet dignity and grace," Igor repeats, deadpanning to the camera with an eye-roll. The doctor moans as the scene fades to black, "Oh … mama…"

One of the richest scenes in the film is when the three of them "play" a game of charades as Dr. Fronkenstein is being strangled by the Monster they've freshly reanimated. "SEDAGIVE?!" lol.

The cast is rounded out by supporting roles of Madeline Kahn's Elizabeth, Cloris Leachman's Frau Blücher, Kenneth Mars's Inspector Kemp, and Peter Boyle's the Monster. Even if the movie had only two others of these plus the main three, you'd still have a classic on your hands. No one tries to upstage anyone else, and everyone still has moments to shine and add to the whole. It's an ensemble outdone by maybe only a few films ever (12 Angry Men among them, which I'll definitely cover later).

It isn't until the latter half of the movie that Boyle's Monster logs some serious screen time. The scene with the little girl is charming and a bit whimsical. The part where she goes soaring through the air off a powerful see-saw motion and lands peacefully tucked in bed is absolute cartoonish hokum, but it works. That's followed by the Monster's scene with Gene Hackman's blind priest Harold, the three failed attempts at hospitality, and the infamous ad-lib at the end: "I was going to make espresso."

Another top-shelf funny scene ensues after the three mains recapture the Monster and lock him up, only for Dr. Fronkenstein to resolve to lock himself inside in a vain attempt to force a bond with his creation, bidding both Igor and Inga not to open the door should anything happen. Needless to say, he almost immediately regrets it and turns tail pleading, "Let me out. Let me out of here. Get me the hell out of here. What's the matter with you people? I was joking! Don't you know a joke when you hear one? HA-HA-HA-HA. Jesus Christ, get me out of here! Open this goddamn door or I'll kick your rotten heads in! Mommy!"

What follows is a trademark turn of character, and indeed in many of Wilder's performances, from apparent coward to reluctant hero. The sheer volume and intensity Wilder rises to when he delivers the penultimate, "MY NAME IS FRANKENSTEIN!" line is startlingly dramatic and played less for a laugh. The movie has a story and the characters still have arcs and it delivers on both fronts without skimping on the laughs and while still remaining faithful to the original material. Rare. And hard to do.

The "Puttin' on the Ritz" number is another pure charmer.

The scene when Elizabeth, Frederick's fiancee, arrives and briefly interacts with Igor and Inga is full of great little interactions. It's fun to watch the others' faces when the speaker is delivering their lines. Acting is truly as much reacting as it is anything else.

The scene where Elizabeth and Frederick are in her bedchamber is delightful. She neatly exerts her dominance in their relationship all while tempting him, but gives him none of what he wants, and as he leaves—on his knees—all he can do is mumble through tight lips the words she bids him good night with.

Not long after, she and the Monster consummate their wicked little union after he abducts her. She's all for it, however, and when they consider going for round 7 in their off-screen sexcapades, she admonishes him with, "Seven or eight quick ones and then you're off to the boys to boast and brag! You better keep your mouth shut! [swooning] Oh, I think I'm in love!" Such a woman.

The movie nears its end when Dr. Frankenstein elects to have a mutual operation done on him and the Monster to share portions of their brains with each other so that the Monster can be more balanced. The operation is successful as an angry mob breaks in, but we the viewers are left to consider whether a comatose Frederick will be left that way or not. The Monster, too, having recovered his faculties, delivers an impassioned plea to spare them both as the town mob led by Inspector Kemp—and his ever hilarious mechanical arm—agree to cease their lynching siege and leave the two in peace.

In a pair of codas, we learn that the Monster and Elizabeth got married and have recently gotten back from a party thrown by her dad in his honor. Her entrance to the room, complete with "bride of Frankenstein" hairdo, is sizzlingly funny.

In the other, we find that Frederick seems fine and is now married to Inga. She starts to hum the haunting violin music that Frau Blücher had used earlier in the film to put the Monster in a trance. To this, Frederick seems himself a bit bewitched. It's only when they're finally in bed that she adds in regard to what he gave to the Monster, "But whatever did you get from him?", to which his monstrous libido is unleashed on her and she sings a refrain from, "Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life," echoing what Elizabeth had done earlier when the Monster took her as his own.

So, you know, basically sex carries the day. And laughter. Sex is pretty funny, after all. Sex and laughter: the medicine of life.

October 29 — 9 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — August 7: Monty Python and the Holy Grail

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Despite the fact that this next movie came out in the spring, it had a largely summer run and was likely dipping at the box office around this time of summer that year, and my kids and I have been on a kick of rewatching it since first introducing them to it earlier this summer, the seventh of August now belongs to:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975, Python Pictures/EMI Films, Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones)

This movie begins as it ends: unexpectedly and confusingly. Summed up, it would seem a disappointing outing for the Pythons if this were all, but I think it hints at the greatly acerbic and "disappointed" view they generally held of "Western culture and mythology" writ large and the sort of Christian mores that often go along with it in the late 20th century. It's post-modern and thus irreverent, but actually manages to be so without insulting or denigrating its audience and fans, the vast majority of which are Christian. And the most recognized part of the Christian canon, outside of Christ, is that of King Arthur and his noble knights.

I had the great joy of reviving the coconut-horse-hooves gag during this year's summer church camp theater performances that I helped write and act in. It's effective foley and was purely for the adults in the room, as I'm sure the kids understood the nature of the gag but nothing at all of where it came from. This is somewhat to Holy Grail's detriment, I suppose, given that many of the comedic gags that this and other Python performances have spawned may be well known today, but their original whereabouts don't often point back to this film. At least, probably not until you're a teenager or in high school.

Fortunately, my world history teacher in high school used the scene of the anarcho-syndicalists jawing with "their king" about the virtues and pitfalls of differing governments as a lesson reinforcer, and it has stuck with me ever since. The action in Holy Grail is very cartoony, and rightly so, but its content and context are largely adult in nature. (In light of this, I'm pleasantly surprised my kids like it as much as they do before either one of them reaches double digits.)

The "bring out your dead" scene preceding this is probably pretty accurate when plague swept through in Europe. The boys darkly poke fun when an old man who is not quite dead (a gag that returns several times later) is carried out and protests only to be clubbed over the head and laid atop the heap.

The Black Knight fight(s) are the most sophomoric parts in the film, but they always demand watching. The choreography, while not sexy, does a good job of illustrating the average man's ease at fighting in full armor. The violence and blood is over-the-top and yields some of the most memorable lines from the film: "Tis but a scratch!" and "It's just a flesh wound!" and "I'll bite your legs off!" all delivered by John Cleese.

The witch trial is the second great scene in the film. It neatly lampoons the oft-ridiculed nature of witch hunts and the illogic of those who perpetuate such sham judgments on minority or outcast peoples, but it's also just darn funny without being obnoxious. The faces and words in this scene all serve the funny from an absurdist standpoint, but they also help to move the plot along and give Arthur his first real compatriot in Sir Bedevere. John Cleese's, "I got better," after saying the witch turned him into a newt lives long in the memory.

The "Camelot" song is one of the funniest parts of the whole thing. The careless dance moves that send things flying left and right. The lyrics, which you have to read to understand, mine some decent depths in terms of rhyming "-able" for laughs. The hapless chained prisoner in the dungeon clapping his hands to the beat. It's all madcap silliness and again serves the plot by keeping the characters on the move when they deem it too silly also. The movie kind of peaks here other than the Trojan Rabbit scene and Sir Lancelot's attack on Swamp Castle until about the time you meet Tim the Enchanter.

The Knights Who Say "Ni!" bit is one of those instances where you find it funnier in your head afterward than when you're watching it. It's not a scene that really grabs you necessarily, at first, but the callback later on really helps to pay them off and is unique in that this is the first supporting character to make a return appearance. It effectively pokes fun at the secret, forbidden word, Rumpelstiltskin-type stuff embedded in so much of fantasy lore.

The knights' misadventure with Tim and the Rabbit of Caerbannog is another peak moment. You can tell that a lot of the acting in the movie was probably just the Python mates screwing around and trying to make the others break while filming. I find the whole holy hand grenade instructions and counting bit of this scene quite effectively funny even upon repeat viewings. This again demonstrates the Pythons' sardonic sense when it comes to "the church" and its seeming ridiculous or even unnecessary procedures on the right and wrong way of doing things.

Nice absurdist breaking of the fourth wall when the animator dies of a heart attack to save the knights from the legendary black beast, a scene all done in animation.

The bridge of death sequence is the last peak moment of the movie, but it's well worth it. The strange old man returns, like the Knights Who Until Recently Said "Ni!" previously, and he asks three questions: What is your name? What is your quest? and What's your favorite color? But not always these three. Two of the knights fail this seeming easy task after Sir Lancelot gets across. King Arthur gets the old man instead when he turns the tables in a callback to the swallows and coconuts scene from the beginning, to which the old man doesn't have the answer and perishes. Dumb, but funny.

The only other repeating gag we get is at the end when now only Arthur and Bedevere reach the Castle Arrgh and find it again in the possession of French forces. Their taunts of Arthur and company follow rather typical lines such as: "I unclog my nose in your direction, sons of a window dresser! So, you think you could outclever us French folk with your silly knees bent running about advancing behavior. I wave my private parts at your aunties, you cheesy lot of secondhand electric donkey-bottom biters!" This feels more like stream-of-consciousness ad-libbing rather than script writing, but, either way, it's funny stuff.

And, as mentioned, the movie ends abruptly with something like two minutes of black screen with "carny music" playing behind it. King Arthur never finds the grail but is instead arrested on suspicion of murder, given an earlier scene where a historian relating details on the Arthur legend to the audience is unceremoniously killed by a mounted knight. Perfectly in keeping with all else that's happened thus far, eh?

August 7 — 8 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — June 28: Jaws

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Coinciding with the June Friday this year that marks the first scene as the story unfolds circa 1974, let's dive into the waters of:

Jaws (1975, Universal Pictures, Steven Spielberg)

I don't recall when or at what age I was when first I saw Jaws. I feel like it was before I was a teenager, but after the age of 10. I certainly didn't appreciate it until I saw it later—probably one of the umpteen times it was re-televised on the boob tube—but it still remains as one of my personal favorite movies, horror and thrillers aside, that demands watching almost any time of year. It's so effectively in its favor, too, that it plays mostly in the bright of day, so I can't help but think of the best time to watch it as just after lunch on a lazy afternoon with the blinds drawn tight.

Speaking of boobs: this movie starts with a well-endowed young gal who gets killed while skinny-dipping. The old "innocent girl meets a horrible fate" trope. Much to its credit, I don't mind the fact that it has this horror hallmark in it as an eye-roller. In fact, I almost feel like her death is deserved. I've never sympathized with late-night partiers and the "hanging-out-to-get-drunk-and-or-laid" crowd. Normal as those activities may—albeit disguised—seem for people at a certain age, I think they hide an unscrupulous "frat-boy" way of life that is too often lauded and less than admirable and moral.

The intro of Chief Brody's family, house life, and professional circle is all done so effortlessly that it doesn't really play like a movie. I feel like I'm watching candid footage of real people in a documentary, but without the pomp and narrative critique of a documentarian's stylings. Way to go, Spielberg!

Pipit the black lab and little Alex Kintner are the shark's second (probably) and third victims. A naked girl, a dog, and a kid in the first 15 minutes. Straight cold-blooded.

Quint's chalk-board scratching scene and Hooper's examination of Chrissie's remains scene give us the perfect picture of both characters in support of Brody at the center. The three of them are so different and yet so evenly complement each other that you can't help but be eager to see any of the two of them in scenes together thereafter.

Poor Brody during the tiger shark scene. I watched Scheider's reactions and eye movements as he listens to Hooper talk about bite radiuses and then when Mrs. Kintner slaps him over the death of her son, and you can really feel his dilemma. Top shelf acting.

That scene is then followed by the sweetest, most stage theater sequence in the film at the Brody house when Hooper comes over to talk shop and share wine at the dinner table. Love Brody's interaction with his son and the line, "Give us a kiss." Reminds me of my dad.

It's a shame they didn't go out to hunt "Bruce" (the great white) later on in Hooper's boat. That's not a plot hole though. They go out in Hooper's boat, and you've got no Quint, and probably no shark. And easily 1/3 less of a movie.

"It's only an island if you look at it from the water." Brody's line sums up his worldview. He is a simple but flawed man who moves through life unafraid of what he can't control but unwilling to fully confront or acknowledge those fears. His is the most complete story arc, and everyone else in the movie serves to help him realize it.

Ben Gardner's death marks Bruce's fourth likely kill. Despite the fact that you see his corpse's head float into frame and in full view, I'm not as disturbed by it as I am the other deaths. Maybe it's because Hooper's state-of-the-art boat is so nearby. Maybe it's because the head is just a very lifelike lifecast of the actor's real head. Maybe it's just because I know it's coming.

Love the beach scene on the 4th. Brody is the only one who doesn't seem to have a place in the action. Even as the fake shark is revealed to be boys pulling a prank, and the real thing swims into the estuary to claim another life, all Brody can do is race to the scene late and in a panic. Love also how the shark passes visibly under the bridge where Brody vaults onto the sand, and everyone is pointing and shouting at it, but he doesn't blink as he sprints to find his sons and make sure they're safe.

The scene in Quint's shop after they finally hire him is full of color and tension. As big a problem as dealing with the shark, so, too, will Brody, Quint, and Hooper have to find a way to make their charter work.

I find it interesting how Quint doesn't bring his mute toadie along for the ride. Probably to make room for Hooper, whom he brought along as "ballast", but it completely makes sense from a storytelling stance how you don't need a "fourth wheel" in the mix with the established personalities already providing enough drama.

In the ongoing battle between Quint and Hooper, Quint seems to get the better of Hooper in many of the early exchanges. The unconfirmed scene where something "bites" through the piano wire would seem to be a Quint win, given Hooper's claim that whatever it was at the end of the wire wasn't a shark, but the incident could just as easily be interpreted as a draw because the scene doesn't give us anything definitive. Quint's boat might have been doomed all along, if for no better reason than Quint's pride, so it may have been simply due to the inadequate condition of Quint's wire. Or it was actually the shark. The viewer decides, or doesn't. And doubt lingers as the tension thickens.

Williams's score gets a lot of credit for the iconic "dun-dun dun-dun DUN-DUN" piece—and rightfully so!—but I love, too, the soaring, swashbuckler's theme that plays during the chase after they put a barrel in Bruce. It's stirring and adventurous and perfectly helps to release some tension before the next build-up.

Best. Drunk. Men. Guffawing. Scene. Ever. The whole comparing scars, drinking to legs, and unbridled laughter is so joyous and real that it demands your attention and causes you to fully invest in the fate of these characters. They're brothers now. It's that power of the drink again. It's a vile practice, but a vital one at times. Preceding something bad, more often than not.

The Indianapolis monologue is pure legend. And the truest story in the film. It's a sobering reminder that their briefly shared levity and camaraderie—not unlike what naval crews at war might share—can't foresee what lies beneath the surface.

The tragic moments start bubbling over when Quint takes a bat to the radio and has a spat with Brody over his rash actions. Then again when Hooper jaws with Quint over his stubborn refusal to admit anything when he is at the wheel of the Orca right before her engine blows. Quint tossing the life jackets to them and bowing to Hooper's shark cage strategy is him conceding.

"Show me the way to go home, I'm tired and I want to go to bed!" and "Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies…" are utterly embedded into the soundscape of Jaws.

Worst. Movie. Death. Ever. Quint's demise is so explicitly shown and so poetically tragic. The stuff of nightmares. Short of being crucified, I can't imagine a worse way to go than to be helplessly eaten alive by a remorseless creature of the depths. No small wonder this movie has traumatized audiences for decades about going into the water. I can almost psyche myself out of going into the deep end of a pool for fear that there might be a shark there waiting for me—ridiculous, I know! That's the power and appeal of Jaws.

The movie ends with a great cathartic release and a final tension unwinder as you watch Brody and Hooper climb on shore behind the scrolling credits. It's standalone perfection and requires no sequels to be enjoyed over and over.

June 28 — 7 of 365 logged

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365 Films in 365 Days — November 21: Trains, Planes and Automobiles

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Given that this post will be published 2 days before Thanksgiving this year, I give you…

Trains, Planes and Automobiles (1987, Paramount Pictures, John Hughes)

The film starts quietly enough, in a quiet board room, no music, and all painful stares. It's a bold way to start a comedy, which is intended to evoke laughter and noise. The scene is amusing, the way it's shot, but it mostly serves to set up the stakes: Martin's Neal aims to fly home for a family Thanksgiving in 2 days.

Thanksgiving is not as glamorous as Halloween or Christmas, between which it is sandwiched on the calendar. Other movies toy with the look and tropes of Thanksgiving, and while this one isn't specifically about the day or the tradition, it probably has the best message to share on the subject. And, I like to think, it manages to achieve a certain wistful charm related to the idea of Thanksgiving and being with family, even if one's family isn't the kind that would best be there to spend time with. It's a deft hand at play, and the film works better than you remember it does.

The "bad trip home" model the film follows is ruthless from the beginning. Neal pays $75 to lose a taxi cab, only to arrive at the airport and learn his flight is delayed. He has already struck out before the real plot begins, though he'll be up to the plate again many times before it's over. It's unironic how Neal's troubles begin with Candy's Del (i.e., tripping over his trunk while in a foot race with Kevin Bacon to a cab), and almost as if Del is some kind of "bad luck angel" sent to mildly torment his target (rather than gently support like Clarence does in It's a Wonderful Life) into becoming a better person.

On the first plane, Neal is confronted by being bumped from first class to coach in a middle seat, endless chatter and stinky feet (both Del's), and a wheezing cough from the passenger on his other side. Three strikes again!

By the way: How dare the movie have the title that it does and not offer up the vehicles displayed in the same order!

If the differences between Del and Neal weren't apparent, Del's choice in rides and dives drives the point home near to finality. It's classic blue collar vs white collar. But the movie never preaches one over the other, or seems to take sides. Neal is traveling through Del's worlds. Or is Del a satellite who can't help but orbit Neal's planet. Both moving through and past each other on mutually exclusive collision courses with life.

Both their reactions when they arrive at the shared motel room to find a single bed is ripe silver. And the shower bit when Neal finishes to find that only a single tiny towel remains for him to dry with is pure gold.

There's almost nothing funny about Neal's "have a point" tirade that he levels against Del after he goes through his sinus clearing routine in bed. And there's nothing funny about Del's quiet but devastated reaction to Neal, showing Candy's real depth as an actor. Comedy can cut to the quick. Sometimes it cuts too deep, too. We need to be reminded of that. Not everything is a joke, even if it might seem funny to pile on the "fat guy" (or gal). Thank you for that reminder, movie.

Del stands up for himself without malice, which is great. We are both Neal and Del at times, simultaneously overly critical and all too vulnerable to what the world throws at us.

"Those aren't pillows!" and the context behind those words is one of the best laughs in the film. It's ridiculous, but it works. And the way they shake it off after by jawing about "da Bears" is a nice chuckle to follow. (Funny, too, how men slamming into each other on a field is the cureall to the gay.)

"People train runs out of Stubbville." The Owen character is a full-on caricature, and I'm here for it.

Neal's gift of a train ticket to Del is sweet and mostly redeems their relationship to that point. Del's want is still written on Candy's face as the scene ends.

Del struggles as if his whole life is in that trunk as he drags it from the broken down train. Neal rebounds from his disappointment quickly and helps to take up Del's yoke.

The bus scene is probably the most over-the-top bit in the entire piece. Probably any or all of it has happened in real life, though.

One of the all-tie greats curse word scenes occurs when Neal reaches the Marathon rental car counter. I honestly cannot stand the way the woman is chatting and carrying on on the phone before this happens. It's a perfect send-up of those type situations.

"You play with your balls a lot." It's almost a throw-away line, and it's a cheap but decent laugh, but most of all it tells us how closely Del has been watching Neal. (Of course, it's been good, and he doesn't have gloves, so you can hardly blame Neal.) Even Neal's response to this might suggest he does play with his balls a lot. 

Poor Del's goofiness and nicety finally catch up with him in the car at night. The best physical bit of comedy is found here as Del straight-jackets himself to the driver seat.

The movie hits cartoon-levels of hijinks when Del skirts the car between two big rigs going the wrong way down the interstate. Skeleton heads and all. It's pretty awesome.

And then the car catches fire. The whole thing has such a naturally satisfying progression of bad to worse.

The drunk scene after when Neal calls Del into their second shared motel room together is so honest and well played by both.

I feel like Dumb and Dumber really took a page from this movie when it came to their respective state trooper scenes. I like both, but this came first.

I feel like that bluesy, down note, harmonica-based musical motif in the film went on to influence practically every comedy and buddy drama TV program that aired in the late 80s and 90s as a marquee "scene-transitioner."

The realization of Del's homelessness is so well handled. There were clues throughout. Neal's choice to go back and include Del is the film's Thanksgiving blessing. Leave no one alone who you can afford to include. It's comedy with a heart, and those are often the best kind.

November 21 — 6 of 365 logged

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365 Films Across 365 Days — June 11: Jurassic Park

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Bowing to the day it original came out, I now take a look at what is arguably the most famous creature-driven thriller of all time:

Jurassic Park (1993, Universal Pictures/Amblin Entertainment, Steven Spielberg)

This and The Rocketeer (1991) are the only two films I have a distinct memory of going to see with my family at the theaters in the early 90s. To this day, I always like to watch Jurassic Park in a dark room because of this.

The bass sound drop at the beginning of the film is immediately attention grabbing. Chances are always high that if you're dealing with a great Spielberg film, you're also dealing with a great John Williams soundtrack.

The opening scene is kind of strange really. Great, but strange. It almost has a big budget, made-for-TV feel. Upon this, what is undoubtedly my umpteenth viewing of the film, I have to acknowledge that the faces you first see aren't memorable or important to the plot. The danger they're all safe-guarding against isn't abundantly evident. And the scene ends in a terrifying but mostly unsatisfying way. This is all good stuff, and is a setup that demands you keep watching out of morbid curiosity. And it's really the best place to start the film, given that the opening depicts the incident that kicks off the tragedy to follow. (Oops, spoiler alert!)

"Because Grant's like me. He's a digger." Such a solid scene ending on the piece of amber. Again, another scene with characters who we don't much see or care about again (Gerrano dies and is hardly mourned, after all), but is perfect for foreshadowing more of the world we're in and gives us the perfect segue into Montana. Grant and Sattler are a truly fun duo to watch. They are both kind of dorky and lost in their scientific expertise, but they have a lovable charm and cuteness about them (not at all hurt by their good looks) that stays with them all the way through the end of the movie. Neill and Dern deserve a lot of credit for this.

Goldblum's Ian Malcolm has such a strong showing in the first movie that his character ended up headlining the sequel over Grant or any of the others. Malcolm comes off as the perfect foil for Grant without ever being unlikable or unimportant to the plot. He is the first to truly question the wisdom of the park's planners and his cognizance here would seem to make him the villain, but he is more the cool, sunglasses-and-leather-jacket-wearing soothsayer.

The scene about DNA and dinosaur blood and gene sequences would have utterly slowed down and killed the momentum of a lesser film, but in Jurassic Park it plays like a captivating bit of education that pulls together everything since the "He's a digger" scene till now in all its pseudo-science animated glory. It's easily the "weakest scene" in the film because it's purely exposition, but for all the thinking viewers who ever enjoyed this movie it's essential.

I had a crush on Ariana Richards's Lex character when I watched JP in the early days. Coupled with the fact that she had a crush on Grant who is a paleontologist, a career for which at that early age I was already keen on exploring when I got older, I found myself identifying most with Grant, which always heightened the thrill of the viewing experience for me given that Grant is the main hero.

Malcolm poetically remarks, "God creates dinosaurs. God destroys dinosaurs. God creates man. Man destroys God. Man creates dinosaurs." To which Sattler then adds, "Dinosaurs eat man. Woman inherits the earth." Poignant and funny.

It's such great writing, pacing, and acting/character development to have Grant and Malcolm discussing Ian's tawdry family/love life when the weather starts to pour and they draw closer and closer to danger. This is probably the lowest relational point between Grant and Malcolm, but they still manage to have brief little moments of realness and brotherhood. Like the shared words on being scared, Grant offering him his canteen of rain water, and their collective efforts to save Lex and Tim from the Rex. It's super hard not to love both characters at that point.

The Rex attack on the lead car all the way through the car drop that just narrowly misses Grant and Lex who are literally hanging by a rope is one of the all-time greatest thrill sequences in film history. The movie pretty much doesn't let go of you at this point until the end. It's not all absurd, pompous action and obnoxious developments that aren't justified. It lets quieter moments back in every few scenes, but they always serve some emotional purpose beyond simply resetting your decibel levels lower before blasting you with the next thrill chase.

Dennis Nedry's death at the jaws of dilophosaurs at 1 hour and 14 minutes into the film is truly the point at which doom starts to set in. You now know that potentially no one is safe and all hope at getting the park's computer systems back online is in jeopardy. The movie officially turns a page into disaster film territory, the mission becoming only to survive and escape, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love how not all of the challenges and dangers the characters face are dinosaur related. Escaping the falling car out of the tree. Climbing an electrified fence. Navigating a UNIX system database to initiate computer programs. The story never fails to deliver on basic action-adventure elements that allow all the characters moments to shine or be vulnerable.

Grant completes his character turn and growth when he promises to stay up all night to ensure the kids stay safe, and then he tosses his lucky velociraptor claw to the ground. His love affair with dinosaurs is over.

Another one of those quieter scenes: Hammond and Sattler's conversation about the flea circus. This scene redeems Hammond from being a simple dinopark tycoon villain to something more sympathetic.

And right after that, Grant and the kids discover the dinosaur eggs. This scene, too, redeems the dinosaurs from being simple eating/killing machines. "Life found a way." After all, the dinosaurs are only adapting and reacting to survive in the environment they've suddenly been thrust into.

Ever since the first time I watched this movie, I thought it was a little more than convenient that a trapeze-swing-like pair of vines with a stick between them happened to be just in the path that Sattler ran to get to the shed. The only bit of hokum in an otherwise perfect movie.

"Clever girl." This line may be one of the most quotable in the entire film. And with Muldoon's quiet admission and violent death at the teeth and claws of that clever girl, one of the most thrilling sequences begins as the humans square off in a hide and seek match of wits and nips. It's fairly clever on the part of the storytellers to have the kids escape the clutches of the deadly velociraptors thanks due to two things that would have only been found since the age of man: mirror-like reflections and ice cubes.

The shot of the velociraptor's profile covered in computer screen reflections of lines of DNA code is full of symbolism!

In true Spielbergian fashion, the Tyrannosaurus comes out of seeming nowhere to rescue the heroes from the velociraptors—a final bit of redemption. There is a pattern to Spielberg's films where a lot of work is done earning the audiences trust in the first 2/3 of the film, only to burn through all of that capital in the final act in over-the-top turns of event. Go big or go home. It's solid Storytelling 101.

And the movie ends without any witty dialogue or pontificating about the future or lessons learned. The characters that survived are just glad the nightmare's over. We as the audience obviously want more, and that's a great way to leave your audience. Don't overstay your welcome in storytelling. And while there have been many sequels to follow in the Jurassic franchise, the first movie is and always will be the best. It's because of that want for more that more were made, and I completely understand from a business perspective. But as the credits roll their last, John Williams's score subtly treads into cautionary territory with those low swaying horn sounds. Return to Jurassic Park, only if you dare!

June 11 — 5 of 365 logged

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