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  • ROCKY The Knockout Collection [4K-Review]

    ROCKY The Knockout Collection [4K-Review]

    Stallone’s underdog franchise packs a punch on 4K-UHD

    Coming in the wake of Creed III’s big box-office take, we finally see Sylvester Stallone’s long-running franchise make its first foray into the 4K platform. After six films (and three more on top with the Creed series) Warner Bros. Home Entertainment is kicking things off with this Knockout Collection, bringing together on 4K-UHD, ROCKY, ROCKY II, ROCKY III and ROCKY IV, and the recently recut/rereleased ROCKY IV Ultimate Director’s Cut, ROCKY VS. DRAGO.


    Rocky (1976)

    Where it all began. Kickstarting not just the franchise but Stallone’s career. A low-budget film that won the Oscar for Best Picture, and is now part of the United States National Film Registry The underdog tale of a man (Stallone) rising from the Philadelphia streets, chasing a once in a lifetime shot at glory. Beyond it’s boxing angle, we also get the human element. A common man, punching above his station, who while in search of his dream, also meets the love of his life. It’s a perfect setup, centering the film around this humble, driven man, and enabling us to root for his success, in both ventures. Rocky himself is the anchor of the series, an endearing, deeply authentic man, devoted to his work, his family, and his turtles. Beyond the emotional, Rocky is a damn good sports movie, with impactful boxing sequences, the emotion behind then drawing you even further into the spectacle. A legendary score from Bill Conti, moving dialogue, and memorable characters, including franchise mainstays Adrian (Talia Shire), Mickey (Burgess Meredith), Paulie (Burt Young), Apollo Creed (Carl Weathers). Ingredients that ensured not only the success of Rocky, but the 5 sequels that followed.

    The 4K-UHD transfer for Rocky is a marked improvement on the last round of Blu-ray releases. There is no wholesale change to the look/color tone of the film, rather an increase in detail and definition. Brighter scenes in particular benefit from increased image stability. Natural grain preserved, and no artifacts were evident. Looking at the 5 movies included in this set, this one is the clear winner.


    ROCKY II (1979)

    A direct sequel, and one that puts Rocky into a position he will wrestle with the rest of his life, his health, or his career. Taking retirement due to his injuries, Rocky is enticed back into the ring when given a shot at rewriting history and finally securing the world heavyweight championship in a rematch with Apollo Creed. There are plenty of parallels to the first film, if it aint broke, why fix it? Revisiting the underdog story, dipping into relationship development (now as a married man), only everything is just ramped up a bit more, as you’d expect in a sequel. It also marks a larger embrace within the series of that conflict between athlete and celebrity, between competitor and commercialization. Familiar in formula, but there’s enough freshness here to carry Rocky II along, and who can fine fault with spending more time with the Balboa’s and their expanded family.

    The transfer here is of similar quality to the first film. A step-up from Blu-ray, with a sharper and more healthy image, good color representation, and no real sign of changes to the color palette or artificiality creeping in.


    ROCKY III (1982)

    Rocky III poses that interesting question about athletes and sport in general, once you reach the top, what keeps you going? Finally, Rocky has it all. The title, sponsorships, a nice home, a family. Then he endures a crushing defeat to an young, aggressive, and hungry boxer. What does Rocky do about it? Montage. Yep, he becomes the underdog again and doesn’t just have to get in shape, but rediscover his thirst for winning. The film narratively harkens back to the first, but the fact that Rocky faces off against “Thunderlips” (Hulk Hogan) and Clubber Lang (Mr. T,) here kind of tells you a lot about where the franchise was going. A tilt into more entertainment and bigger in scale. The result is something that is at times uneven, and lacks the raw emotional stakes of the first two. Where the film shines though is in its focus on the bromance between Rocky and former adversary Apollo Creed, and the feel-good factor that comes with it.

    While again a step-up from the Blu-ray editions, there are some compression artifacts that creep in here, especially during brighter scenes. The natural grain covers up much of this though, and overall the improved detail and depth of image feel a worthy tradeoff. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty damn good.


    ROCKY IV (1985)

    With the Cold War tension between America and the Soviet Union reaching it’s peak, who better to extoll ‘Mericuh’s values and take down the Iron Curtain than the Italian Stallion? Rocky, having reached the upper echelons of fame and wealth, and holding the world heavyweight boxing championship , faces the emergence of a behemoth out of the Soviet Union. Ivan Drago, a mountain of a main, seemingly bred and trained to pummel those he faces in the ring. First refusing to meet him, he later agrees after Drago’s boxing tour results in tragedy for Balboa. Stepping up, and montaging hard, he has to avenge his lost friend, and fight for national pride. Yep it’s capitalism vs communism in this patriot-fest which continues the tilt into cartoonish entertainment. It doesn’t reach to human heights of the first, but there’s an macho, emotional swell that’s undeniable. It’s one of the more maligned entries to the franchise, but the pulpy tone and stonking soundtrack ensure good, dumb, fun.

    The 4K-UHD treatment here does look to tilt towards a cooler palette, with elements being a tad desaturated. This does seem to result in inkier blacks, and generally shows off the increased detail and definition well. It’s a good 4K, just not at the same level as the first film in this release.


    Rocky vs. Drago: The Ultimate Director’s Cut (2021)

    With a few decades of experience under his belt, and some reflection on the journey of Rocky himself, Stallone took it upon himself to recut IV. The result if a film that is a more sombre affair, one that tones down the patriotic fare, and ramps up the emotional heft behind things. It’s an interesting experiment on Stallone’s part, and many of the cuts, edits, additions, and alternate takes, do help the film in certain respects. Less bombastic, perhaps better aligned to the trajectory of Rocky coming out of III. Sadly we get less of Paulie’s robot, but it is a fascinating insight into Stallone’s journey as a filmmaker, and how he views this character. It’s great to have both included in the release.

    The director’s cut is aesthetically is in the same ballpark, but some creative decisions strip select scenes of color. The black and white flashbacks hold up well in 4K, but there is some inconsistency in image quality in other scenes due to digital zoom and alternate stock sources. Nothing overly egregious, but it’s there if you’re looking.


    Extra Features

    Disc1

    • Rocky Audio Commentary 1: A group track with director John Avildsen; producers Irvin Winkler and Robert Chartoff; actors Talia Shire, Carl Weathers and Burt Young; and Steadicam inventor Garrett Brown: A rather crowded commentary, but it has some interesting content, largely about technical aspects of the production, and from cast members discussion the experiences under Stallone as director
    • Rocky Audio Commentary 2: Featuring boxing trainer Lou Duva and sports historian Bert Sugar, who convey their affection for the film, and also add some sporting context to the boxing matches
    • Rocky Audio Commentary 3: The best of the bunch, handled with aplomb by Stallone himself, who as writer/director/star, has a rather unique perspective on the film

    Disc 5

    • 8MM Home Movies of “Rocky”: A stock compilation of clips from the franchise
    • 3 Rounds with Lou Duva: An interview with the renowned boxing trainer, manager and promoter
    • Steadicam: Then and Now with Garrett Brown: A technical take on one of the most legendary scenes featured in the film
    • Make-Up! The Art and Form with Michael Westmore: A great featurette on some of the work done to mimic the real damage from stepping in the boxing ring. Westmore is perhaps better know for his work on the Star Trek franchise!
    • Staccato: A Composer’s Notebook with Bill Conti: The music/score of Rocky is one of its most memorable features, so great to see a little content showcasing the work behind it
    • The Ring of Truth (9:37) — Rocky set designer James Spencer talks about his production work.
    • A Tribute to Burgess Meredith: An salute to the man and his career
    • Stallone Meets Rocky: A comedic split-screen affair
    • The Making of “Rocky vs. Drago”: Keep Punching: A solid documentary that gives a run down of the making of this reimagining of the film, large;y centered around Stallone working at his craft. PSA, there is a longer version of this doc. available on Youtube
    • Trailers: For all the included films

    Note: There are no Blu-ray copies included in the release, just 4K-UHD discs, and digital copies

    The Bottom Line

    While there’s something grating about the release strategy here, something also seen with Paramount’s recent splitting up of the 4K Star Trek movies, the Knockout Collection is still a welcome release, especially with the inclusion of the alt-Rocky IV edition. Detailed, pristine transfers give the films a visual upgrade that complement the vitality and enduring spirit of the Rocky franchise.


    Rocky the Knockout Collection 4K-UHD is available via Warner Bros. Home Entertainment now

  • Dario Argento’s PHENOMENA (aka CREEPERS) [4K-Review]

    Dario Argento’s PHENOMENA (aka CREEPERS) [4K-Review]

    Synapse Films present all three versions Phenomena in 4K-UHD

    Dario Argento, the maestro of Italian horror. His creative peak was in the 70s and 80s with cinematic landmarks such as The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Four Flies on Grey Velvet, Deep Red, Tenebrae, and most famously Suspiria. One of his more offbeat ventures was Phenomena, releases in some markets as the heavily edited Creepers. Like Suspiria, this is a tale of a young American girl, who travels overseas and finds herself in nightmarish surrounds, only instead of witches we have murders, monkeys, telekinesis, and talking to insects.

    The girl in question is Jennifer (Jennifer Connelly). Suffering from bouts of sleepwalking, she also contends with her mysterious emerging powers. Sent to a Swiss boarding school by her actor father, she finds herself in the middle of a spate of murders. Falling in with local entomologist, Dr. McGregor (Donald Pleasence) and his chimpanzee Inga, they look to unravel the mystery behind the brutal killings, before the killer strikes again.

    A relatively simple plot, but one accompanied by absurdist, weird fare. We get not just a chimpanzee assistant, but Jennifer’s burgeoning telekinetic powers, and another ability to not only commune with insects, but control them too. A wacky device, handled with a grim weight, that is leverages into the murder mystery at hand, as well as fostering the bond between this young girl and the friendly neighborhood entomologist.

    The screenplay by Argento and Franco Ferrini, is equal parts murder mystery (giallo-adjacent), horror, and psychological thriller. At times it feels like a rigg on Argento’s greatest hits, with him throwing many of his ideas into the mix. They manages to pull all these disparate elements together into something weird but cohesive, unless you watch the Creepers cut of course, largely by leaning into the investigative arc as a way to anchor the film. Argento’s mastery of mood is ever-present, with cuts, perspectives, and camera positions that build an unsettling tone, particularly in several set-pieces, notably those revolving around a killing or a dungeon location in the film’s finale. Connelly shows of that beguiling innocence her early performances are laced with, while Pleasance is always an absorbing presence on screen, even if he is confined to a wheelchair. The cherry on top is the killer heavy-metal soundtrack. A hypnotically entertaining feature.

    The Package

    A round of applause to Synapse films who offer up not just one, but all three editions of the film in 4K. Disc one houses the original Italian, clocking in at 116 minutes, the international cut (110 min), and the U.S. Creepers-cut (83 min) are on the second disc. The differences, notably the hacking up of the film for the Creepers release, is pretty well known amongst Argento fans. One of the extra features included on the release (below) does a very good job of explaining the various differences in the versions.’

    These 4K restorations are notable step ups in quality from previous home video releases, and look akin to a rather pristine 35mm print I saw a few years ago. Blacks are inky and deep, colors have a natural palette but healthy representation. Details is where the 4K stands out, especially those shots zooming in on insects or facial features, of showcasing the foliage of the surrounding forests. Quality is consistent across the three versions, although the grain consistency looks a tad more natural and refined on the Italian cut. Extra features also impress:

    • Audio commentary by Troy Howarth, author of Murder by Design: The Unsane Cinema of Dario Argento (on Italian Version): A comprehensive commentary that not only gets into detail on the various cuts of the film, but Argento’s career in general. He’s pretty critical over certain aspects of the film, sometimes surprisingly so
    • Audio commentary on the international version by Argento scholar and author Derek Botelho and film historian, journalist and radio/television commentator David Del Valle: A more positive commentary, one that largely focuses on Argento’s overall career, and the recurring themes and aesthetic in his films
    • Of Flies and Maggots, a feature-length 2017 documentary produced by Arrow Films, including interviews with co-writer/producer/director Dario Argento, actors Fiore Argento, Davide Marotta, Daria Nicolodi and others…: A superb documentary that assembles a whole host of materials (including behind the scenes footage) and interviews from cast and crew, to sketch out the genesis of the film, on set issues, production problems, and the films release and legacy
    • The Three Sarcophagi, a visual essay by Arrow Films producer Michael Mackenzie comparing the different cuts of Phenomena: The featurette the breaks down not only the specific differences between the different cuts of the film, reasons behind it, and their personal preferences
    • “Jennifer” music video, directed by Dario Argento: An ‘original’ musical tale, using some of the talent from the movie. Looks to be upscaled
    • U.S. theatrical trailer and radio spots for ‘Creepers’:
    • Original Italian and international theatrical trailers:
    • Slipcover with new artwork from artist Nick Charge
    • Reversible cover featuring the new artwork, or the original Italian Phenomena art

    The Bottom Line

    Synapse films offer up a welcome 4K restoration of Phenomena, in all its forms. Visually resplendent, the extras are solid, although some included in previous release are absent. Even with that, it’s the best way to watch Arento’s absurd but enthralling blend of supernatural horror and giallo-esque murder mystery.


    Phenomena is available from Synapse Films on 4K-UHD, via MVD, from March 14th

  • JOHN WICK CHAPTER 4: Rather Impossibly, the Best Entry in a Series with No Bad Ones

    JOHN WICK CHAPTER 4: Rather Impossibly, the Best Entry in a Series with No Bad Ones

    When John Wick hit in 2014, its incredible world-building was one of the key ways in which it pulled ahead of the action pack. This universe had an immense sense of lore and history in its detailed portrayal of the secret underworld economy of not only assassins and criminals, but janitors and hotel personnel.

    The sequels pushed this to the limit, and while the gun-fu action was as violent and potent as ever, the lore felt more burdensome. John’s own backstory seemed better left mysterious, and the idea of a city (indeed, a world) full of hitmen around every corner strained credulity.

    But where the sequels have not quite hit the highest notes of the original, John Wick 4 excels in deriving new meaning out of the tale of the unlucky hitman (Keanu Reeves) by introducing some characters that he’s presumably tried to leave out of his troubles: his oldest friends. Where prior chapters have been based on revenge, rules, and shaky alliances, this one hearkens back to the grander themes of classic action cinema: honor and brotherhood.

    For John Wick 4 is something that the three prior films in the series are not…

    A heroic bloodshed film.

    And in that lofty respect, it’s the best one that isn’t directed by John Woo.

    Lionsgate

    Compelling supporting characters like Continental Hotel manager Winston (Ian McShane), his right-hand man Charon (RIP, the great Lance Reddick), and the “Bowery King” of the streets (Laurence Fishburne) make their return, but leave plenty of room for new characters to enter the fold.

    Much of the groundwork for modern western action cinema was laid by Japanese Yakuza and samurai films, and Hong Kong’s kung fu and Triad movies. John Wick 4 cherry-picks three of the greatest living legends of these three worlds, with Scott Adkins, Hiroyuki Sanada, and Donnie Yen upping the ante once again for the most stacked assemblage of fighters to grace the series yet.

    The story finds a new villain in “The Marquis” (Bill Skarsgård), a man of relentless cruelty who fills the power vacuum in the High Table, weakened by the events of the prior films. He hires blind master assassin Caine (Yen) to take out John Wick once and for all. Caine’s an old associate and friend of John, but is loyal to his oath to the Table and obediently sets about carrying out their command.

    On the opposite end of the spectrum is John’s most trusted old friend Shimazu (Sanada), who places brotherhood above formal allegiance, and pledges not only his sword, but his entire dominion as the manager of the Osaka Continental, in John’s defense. Thus is set the triangle that serves as the tale’s deepest and most dynamic conflict of one-time brothers, pitted against each other by circumstance or choice.

    And yet, the film’s most entertaining fight belongs to modern DTV action star Scott Adkins, whose fat-suited gangster “Killa” is, while not as integral as a character, the most fun to watch, in an extensive action sequence pitted against Wick in a raucous neon-lit nightclub full of mostly-oblivious partiers.

    When Douglas Adams released his novel “So Long and Thanks for All the Fish” in 1984, it was jokingly advertised as the “The fourth book in the Hitch-Hiker Trilogy”. A similar description feels apt here, for John Wick 4 feels like a hell of a trilogy-closer — it’s just not a trilogy.

    Lionsgate

    Director Chad Stahelski and others close to the project have hinted that the film may be the last one in the series. To that end, it’s the best film in a series with no weak entries, elevated by loftier ideas, and — without spoiling anything — ends in a satisfying finale that, and if this is indeed the last one, is a grand conclusion, bringing back one weighty element from the original that wasn’t as evident in 2 and 3:

    It’s got a lot of heart.

  • Living With Miyazaki, Part 5— KIKI’S DELIVERY SERVICE

    Living With Miyazaki, Part 5— KIKI’S DELIVERY SERVICE

    Continuing lessons on living from the animation maestro’s oeuvre

    Previous life lessons:

    Part 1: LUPIN III — THE CASTLE OF CAGLIOSTRO
    Part 2: NAUSICAÄ OF THE VALLEY OF THE WIND
    Part 3: CASTLE IN THE SKY
    Part 4: MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO

    Welcome back to our continuing series on “Living With Miyazaki,” as we examine the lessons one can take from his various films through their recurring motifs and varied approaches. After the massive success of My Neighbor Totoro, Hayao Miyazaki turned his energies to his first adaptation of someone else’s work since Castle of Cagliostro, this time bringing the full weight of Studio Ghibli’s animated magic to author Eiko Kadono’s tale of a young witch-in-training’s misadventures in the big city.

    THE MOVIE: Kiki’s Delivery Service

    Kiki’s Delivery Service begins in a moment of tranquility, perhaps the only one the titular fledgling witch will experience for the remainder of the running time. When we meet her, Kiki is lying in long grass while a gentle breeze stirs the long blades all around her. Fluffy white clouds drift across a bright blue sky while a song plays softly on a nearby radio.

    It’s Kiki herself who shatters this idyll with her impulsive decision to set off that very night and begin her year-long training (we’re told that this sort of working Rumspringa is a tradition for young witches, but otherwise the rules and history of magic in this world are deliberately vague and unimportant). The moment Kiki makes her choice, she becomes a flurry of energy, motion, and single-minded purpose, no matter how much cooler adult heads prevail upon her to slow down, reconsider, take her time.

    Kiki doesn’t want to slow down. The world of adulthood and all the independence and adventure that adulthood represents are irresistible, and, anyway, Kiki isn’t interested in resisting.

    For the rest of the film, Kiki will never once experience a moment even half as calm as the one she so easily throws away in the opening frames. Adulthood, Miyazaki informs his young audience and affirms to his older one, does not afford one many opportunities to simply lay about on a lovely morning and listen to the wind.

    Like My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service is functionally plotless. There is no central threat or mission that Kiki needs to complete. No ticking clock tick-tocking down to zero. There is no villain who shows up to derail the proceedings. Instead, the movie largely consists of self-contained episodes that all progress at a naturalistic pace to illustrate how simple tasks go astray. No matter how easy the task, there are inevitably complications, and the solutions to those complications only makes things even more complicated, leading to more solutions which beget more problems. For Kiki, the consequences often manifest not in magic, but in the basic banalities of young life, a blend of realities that still feels distinctive even decades after the movie’s release.

    I mean, there are countless movies about young witches and/or wizards coming of age, but how many of them feature a scene where the pubescent magic user goes to the grocery store and frets over how expensive everything is? Kiki can fly around on a broomstick and talk to her black cat, Jiji, but she can’t magic her way around a freelancer’s limited budget.

    At every turn, the film underlines just how complex and difficult it can be to navigate the adult world, especially when you are just starting out, and especially-especially when you are largely on your own. Miyazaki even stacks the deck in Kiki’s favor by surrounding her with an ensemble of kind and helpful adults who go out of their way to support the little witch in her efforts. But even with lucky breaks, even with consistent positive reinforcement, Kiki’s progress remains stuck in a loop of two steps forward and one step back.

    In one of the film’s more casually devastating episodes, Kiki volunteers her time and energy to help a customer, a nice old lady, make a special pie for the lady’s granddaughter. For her efforts, Kiki not only misses a date with a lovelorn acquaintance, she also gets stuck out in a torrential downpour, resulting in a nasty cold that leaves her bedridden. And for all that, when she does finally deliver that precious pie, the granddaughter dumps it, unseen and untasted. No cruelty was intended, but the effect is shattering on Kiki.

    Later in the film, Miyazaki draws a one-to-one comparison between Kiki’s magic and artistic gifts, via the amiable painter Ursula who takes Kiki under her sisterly wing during a low moment. With this connection made explicit, it’s easy to equate Kiki’s sudden loss of her abilities for flight and speaking with Jiji with writer’s block, painter’s block, with any sudden stagnation of creative willpower and energy.

    We live in a moment that is still very much at the beginning of the conversation around burnout and the psychological impact of monetizing our hobbies. The ever-present need for a “side-hustle”, if not multiple, means that people turn the things they do after-work for fun into things they do after work to earn extra money, which means that suddenly work is the end-all be-all of every waking moment.

    If there’s a fiduciary consideration to every single thing you do, then there’s no room for art and creativity for their own sake. No room for experimentation, for pleasantly wasted time and mental holidays. We’ve built a culture that sees a young girl lying in the grass, studying the arcs of clouds, and demands to know why she isn’t making better use of her time.

    It’s Ursula who comes to Kiki’s rescue by speaking with her, not as a customer or even as a friend, but as one artist to another. Ursula equates Kiki’s lost magic with her own bouts of creative blockage, periods of utter frustration where a power that once seemed totally innate and intuitive suddenly becomes something foreign, abstract, unobtainable. Ursula’s advice on the matter (don’t stress, take a mental breather, trust that the talent will come back on its own time) holds true for any creative field.

    Ursula likens herself and her painting not only to Kiki and her magic, but to bakers with their baking, with anyone tilting away at the mysteries of creation. In conversation with Kiki, Ursula expresses the double-edged sword of creativity: It’s a gift from God, and it’s also an awful burden.

    Adulthood, Kiki’s Delivery Service reminds us, isn’t about circumventing one half of that equation. It’s about making peace with the balance of a gift and a burden. Kiki ends the film having regained her ability to fly, but tempered with an understanding that frustration and depression are part of her life now, and will remain so going forward.

    We’ll all face similar hardships in whatever fields we dedicate ourselves to, and there will assuredly be times when all we want to do is face-flop onto bed and refuse to come out until the world figures its crap out. Kiki’s Delivery Service fully empathizes with the feeling. But it also serves to remind us that no matter how maddening and/or demoralizing daily life can be, however much we might feel worn down to the barest nub, if we can find it in ourselves to have faith in other people and in our own talents, whatever they might be, then no matter what this life throws at us, we will always find a way to soar again.

    Next up, we take to the sky’s once more with the Crimson Pig: Porco Rosso

  • PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH Buckles and Swashes on Blu-ray

    PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH Buckles and Swashes on Blu-ray

    Last Year’s Biggest Surprise Swaggers onto Home Media

    Puss in Boots: The Last Wish was perhaps the most improbably great movie in all of 2022. I mean, think about it: Over the course of a decade, the Shrek franchise managed to exhaust every last scrap of goodwill engendered by the first and second film by the time Shrek Forever After limped onto screens in 2010. Then, just when the culture at large seemed utterly exhausted by this brand of riff on Happy Ever After, a year later comes a spinoff movie, Puss in Boots. And, surprisingly, it was a totally enjoyable adventure movie, fresher and bolder and funnier than it would seem to have any right to be.

    Cut to ELEVEN years later. Shrek is a relic, the emerald embodiment of a style of animation and humor that has been left behind. The fact that there was a Puss in Boots spinoff movie is a largely forgotten trivia fact. Dredging that world and these characters back for another round of fairy tale lampooning shenanigans wasn’t so much scraping the bottom of the barrel, it was dumping acid into the barrel and watching the acid melt into the very ether of the earth.

    So what to do with the fact that, yes, eleven years after the original Puss in Boots movie and twenty-two years after the original Shrek movie, Puss in Boots: The Last Samurai arrived and isn’t just good, it’s actually great? It’s funny and moving and exciting and scary and boasts some of the most striking animation we’ve seen from any studio in a post-Spider-Verse world.

    Man, even knowing how they did that…how did they actually do that?

    Directed by Joel Crawford, Puss in Boots: The Last Dragon opens with the titular swashbuckling feline (voiced once again by Banderas) living his life to the fullest. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, battling people-eating giants, having a dang good time doing, what more could an anthropomorphic outlaw cat ask for? But when his duel with the giant results in Puss’s sudden demise, he awakens to the discovery that he may indeed have lived life a little too fully: Cats, as we all know, have nine lives. Scientific fact. And our Puss has used up eight, leaving him with only one final go-round before he is shuffled off the mortal coil for good.

    (The explanation of what happened to the previous eight lives is an extremely funny early joke that also tips the movie’s hand towards the vein of genuine darkness that will be mined for the remainder of the film.)

    Puss initially tries to continue swaggering through his remaining life, only for an encounter with a truly terrifying bounty hunter, Lobo (Wagner Moura) to leave him reeling, grappling with mortality for the first time in any of his lives. Puss initially tries to go to ground and remove himself from any and all danger, but it’s not long before he’s drawn into a quest for a legendary fallen star, said to grant whoever finds it one wish.

    The chase quickly expands to include Puss’s rival/love interest Kitty Softpaws (Salma Hayek-Pinault, returning from the first Puss movie), a fledgling crime family fronted by Golidlocks and the three bears (voiced by Florence Pugh, Olivia Colman, Ray Winstone, and Samson Kayo), and “Big” Jack Horner (John Mulaney), who has been collecting magical weaponry for years to overcompensate for the fact that he’s a character from a nursery rhyme rather than a fairy tale. And a lame as hell nursery rhyme at that.

    Written out like that, it’s easy to mistake Puss in Boots: The Last Starfighter for just another installment of smug, celebrity-voiced, pop culture self-devouring pastiche. I mean come on, a bunch of colorful rogues chasing after various magical MacGuffins, colliding for a set-piece roughly every twenty or so minutes? This thing is one sky-beam short of hitting every cliché in the book, and this is a franchise that literally OPENED with its titular protagonist wiping his ass with that exact book.

    SomeBODY once told me, indeed.

    But execution makes all the difference. For starters, there is that animation, about which enough good cannot be said. While not completely abandoning the established look and visual language of the previous movies, Puss in Boots: The Last Unicorn is elastic where they were plastic, lush where they were flat, bursting at the seams with energy and invention in all the places where the previous Shrek films, and most previous CG films period, were mired in dull limitations. The Spider-Verse influence is pronounced throughout, especially in the various fight and action sequences where frame-skipping and cell-shading make the characters appear to vibrate off the screen. But the movie also incorporates the aesthetics of anime, video games, and traditional hand-drawn animation to arrive at a look that feels wholly unique even at a moment when Spider-Verse’s breakthroughs are breaking out all across the field.

    Regardless of what is happening on screen, it is always a pleasure to be watching it.

    Thankfully, Puss in Boots: The Last of Us isn’t just a sequence of pretty pictures. The script (credited to Paul Fisher and Tommy Swerdlow) is genuinely clever and funny, with a strain of dark humor that may have parents gasping even as jokes fly over the heads of the younger viewers.

    (I haven’t discussed him much, but one of the major additions to this sequel is a happy-go-lucky mutt voiced by What We Do In the Shadows standout, Harvey Guillén. The backstory of this adorably ugly little sidekick is such an unbelievably dark joke that even on repeated viewings I still cannot believe it was included.)

    And tying the whole room together is a sincere theme of dealing with mortality, coping with anxiety, and figuring out how to get the most out of life. Banderas has always, Always, ALWAYS over-delivered in this role, effortlessly flexing his ability to slide from goofy/giddy silliness to powerhouse gravitas at a moment’s notice. Here, he brings the full weight of his talents to portray Puss at the twin extremes of Bruce Campbell-ian blowhard and emotional trainwreck, and all the stages in-between. He and Hayek-Pirault have demonstrated their chemistry for decades now, and their give and take is better written and played than the romantic banter in 90% of live action American mainstream films. I don’t know if that speaks to how good Puss in Boots: The Last Tycoon is, or to how much live action cinema has dropped that particular ball, but either way, these cats remain a joy to watch.

    The newcomers all get plenty of opportunities to shine, particularly Guillén, who proves to be every bit as endearing and funny as a voice actor as he is in live action. Pugh, Colman, Winstone, and Kayo are a whole lot of fun as warped versions of Goldilocks and the bears, and Mulaney is just…weird. Jack Horner is a genuinely disturbing creation, and Mulaney seems palpably delighted to sink his teeth into every new freakish dimension of his villain.

    And special shout-out must be paid to Wagner Moura as Lobo, one of the best villains in an animated film in…years? Decades, even? Everything about Lobo is captivating, from his design to his movements to his silhouette, and Moura’s performance brings the whole creation together for an antagonist who is never anything short of riveting to watch.

    Puss in Boots: The Last Wish really is the proverbial That Good. Like the other recent triumphs in the animated space, it serves as not only an excellent film in its own right, but as a gauntlet thrown to any other studio in the game. If the second Puss in Boots movie (and the SIXTH Shrek movie) can be this excellent, this inventive, this gorgeous, if it can contain this much artistry and heart and innovation, then what the hell excuse does anyone else have?

    It becomes, then, the best kind of great movie. The kind that actively dares you to do even better.

    I can’t wait to see how that challenge is answered by animated films down the line. But while we wait, we can always just watch Puss in Boots: The Last Wish a few more times.

  • Let’s Talk About MOVING ON

    Let’s Talk About MOVING ON

    “My other murder canceled this week, so I’ve got time.”

    When Grace & Frankie, the hilarious Netflix sitcom starring Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin was coming to an end, the two actresses decided they wanted to work together again right away. On a whim, Tomlin called her friend, writer/director Paul Weitz, who had directed her in the underrated dramedy Grandma. The actress asked Weitz to write a movie for her and Fonda to star in together, which he happily did. A mere ten days after the end of their groundbreaking sitcom, the two started work on Moving On with Weitz at the helm. Now, fans of the two stars who were worried the actresses would have nothing worthy to do following their show’s end can rest easy thanks to Weitz, who has given both Fonda and Tomlin their best post-Grace & Frankie roles so far.

    Moving On follows longtime friends Claire (Fonda) and Evelyn (Tomlin), who reunite at the funeral of another friend. When Claire sees her friend’s widower Howard (Malcolm McDowell), she announces her intent to exact revenge on him now that his wife has died. Recruiting Evelyn for assistance, the pair decide how to carry out their plan before they lose their nerve.

    I liked it Moving On, I did. It’s a film that (mostly) works. The comedy, which is decidedly dark in nature, was on point, never going too far, but still managing to go further than one would expect. There’s also great pacing and some really good scenes featuring some of Weitz’s best dialogue, as well as a few genuine surprise turns that are bound to keep the audience on their toes. At its heart, Moving On is a movie about trauma, regret, and being faced with the past when it can no longer be avoided. These are all very real, palpable places to venture into and Weitz engages them best not through the use of sprawling monologues, but through the scenes in which Evelyn and Claire are left alone with their thoughts. It’s in these moments when the two women are faced with the memories of who they were and the realization of who they are.

    If I said that I think Moving On mostly works, it’s because its runtime prevents it from reaching its full potential. At a zippy 80 minutes, we don’t get to know these people well enough for the level of emotional investment Weitz is asking of us. We spend quality time with Claire and Evelyn, for sure. Both women have their own revelations and it’s great seeing them being able to let those secrets out. But between the past and the present, the two have a lot to unpack and you have to wonder if Weitz was unsure if his film was veering too far into the drama side of things when it came to fully exploring these women. The secrets each woman carries with her are very specific kinds of “heavy” and Weitz certainly is respectful of them. But there’s a feeling that he’d rather not linger on them too, which means that virtually none of the revelations that come to light hit the way they should.

    It’s the performances that make Moving On worth it, despite the problems it has. Because of its two leading ladies, the humor and heart of the piece can’t help but shine through. Individually, Fonda and Tomlin succeed at making their characters feel like real women with pasts that are easy to imagine. Together, they’re dynamite. The bond, the shorthand; it all comes across effortlessly. Their scenes together are easily the best and are made even better thanks to dependable work from McDowell and Richard Roundtree as Claire’s ex-husband in a subplot that also warranted more exploring.

    I don’t usually end reviews by carrying on about the performances, but Fonda and Tomlin are so good in Moving On, I can’t help myself. Anyone thinking they’re getting a reworking of the TV characters they helped make famous for years on Netflix should think again. Evelyn and Claire are so unlike Grace and Frankie both in the way they’re written and especially in the way they’re played. Moving On is at its best when the folks behind it simply lets these two icons do their thing. One element that struck me while I was watching the film was the cinematography by Tobais Datum, which was so good, it had me in its grasp for the entire movie. It’s stunning; especially for a modest film such as this. For me, it just shows how much the filmmakers were in constant awe of these two actresses during filming and how they did their best to show them as the legends that they are. Fair enough. They deserve nothing less.

  • A Farewell to SERVANT, A Titan of Tension and Terror

    A Farewell to SERVANT, A Titan of Tension and Terror

    Julian says goodbye to one of the creepiest slow-burning TV series in recent memory

    Stills courtesy of Apple TV+

    No matter the medium, there’s a particular trope I love most when it comes to mysteries or horror. It’s a recurring element in everything from It Follows to Twin Peaks to The Leftovers; until Tony Basgallop and M. Night Shyamalan’s diabolical TV series Servant, my favorite usage of it was in Liam Gavin’s spectral summoning thriller A Dark Song.

    The film follows a woman grieving the loss of her child and the occultist she’s hired to help contact him in the afterlife. Their conjuring relies upon mysterious, unexplained rituals whose “rules” are never fully explained. We trust that these opaque tenets are second nature to our characters, and the tension builds as something new is tantalizingly revealed through their reactions to success or failure. The revelation of what is happening, often by gradually confirming what isn’t happening, subsequently allows insidious new possibilities and directions to take root.

    As a creator, to successfully pull off this trope is to demand of your audience a staggering degree of trust and faith in the world you’ve created. By simultaneously confirming and denying where a mystery is headed, the audience’s imagination is both subjugated and allowed to run wild. It’s a herculean task of tonal mastery, yet also one fraught with peril; one false move could betray hard-earned trust in an instant—moments that, despite their compelling highs, admittedly occur in the lowest nadirs of shows like Twin Peaks or Lost.

    Like its central character, Basgallop and Shyamalan’s Servant has inexplicably lurked in the shadows of Apple TV+ for the better part of four years. The show’s relative anonymity deepens the impact of its myriad and shocking twists. The riveting, insidiously slow burn of Servant’s central mystery makes it a worthy contender for television’s most horrifying and emotionally rewarding series.

    Servant’s premise is deceptively simple, revealing the dark secrets of elite media power couple Dorothy and Sean Turner (Lauren Ambrose and Toby Kebbell) after they take in the mysterious young Leanne (Nell Tiger Free) as a nanny for their newborn son Jericho. However, “Jericho” is actually a doll, a surrogate for their recently deceased baby. While Sean admits to Leanne that this charade is absurd, the doll is the only thing that’s brought Dorothy out of her previously catatonic state.

    Leanne takes the doll immediately to heart, much to Sean’s surprise—as well as that of Dorothy’s philandering brother, Julian (Rupert Grint), who also holds secrets of his own. Leanne quickly reveals she is much more than she seems, able to control everything from the weather to bugs to human actions, apparently by chance. Her biggest act upends Sean, Dorothy, and Julian’s lives for better and for worse, as she uses the doll to resurrect a living Jericho.

    Despite the joy of having his family back, Sean struggles to keep the truth about Jericho’s resurrection from Dorothy—and must conspire with Julian and Leanne to keep the reunited family on track as much as possible.

    Across its four seasons, Servant effectively delivers its central mystery through half-hour episodes that deftly balance traumatizing tension and delightful absurdity. Basgallop, Shyamalan, and a roster of horror creatives craftily pick at viewers’ nerves, drawing out skin-crawling moments in surprising ways without leaving the confines of the Turner family’s Philadelphia brownstone. The series simultaneously creates a vast, shadowy world just beyond the Turners’s walls, where the ghosts of Leanne’s past manifest in the Church of Lesser Saints. Its members are drawn to Leanne like moths to a flame, with its most obsessive patrons placing their faith on full display (most notably the demonically bug-eyed Boris McIver as “Uncle George.”). Still many hide in plain sight, disguised as new neighbors, party clowns, or rival nannies, making any new character immediately suspect.

    Meanwhile, Dorothy’s drive to live her life and raise Jericho continuously endangers Sean, Julian, and eventually Leanne’s facade from within. By turning any outsider into a potential threat, a paranoid tension is woven through every moment of Servant.

    In an unparalleled coup for the show, the directors who brought these moments to life rank among the best horror filmmakers. Among Servant’s ranks aren’t just Shyamalan and his daughter Ishana, but Raw and Titane’s Julia Ducournau; Goodnight Mommy and The Lodge’s Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala; Kitty Green of The Assistant; and Carlo Mirabella-Davis of Swallow, among many others. Each of these directors masterfully navigates the delicate tonal tightrope required of Servant’s four consistently claustrophobic seasons, eliciting gasps of humor and horror in equal measure. It’s a feat that few shows have been able to accomplish in even one season of hour-long episodes, let alone over 30 short minutes per episode across four years.

    What truly sets Servant apart is that despite being billed as a horror-mystery series, the revelations within the show itself come at an excruciatingly slow drip over 40 episodes, and usually without climactic scenes of expository dialogue. Rather, the show’s biggest clues come in the form of contradictory actions or inexplicable moments of the fantastic. Can Leanne’s actions be tied to Sean’s inexplicable loss of taste or feeling, the appearance of a sinkhole in the Turners’s basement, or the death of a family several towns away? By beginning with its biggest magic trick of infant resurrection, Servant invites viewers to find tentative metaphysical links between actions and contradictory reactions. By doing so, cryptic characters like Leanne and members of the cult pursuing her are able to commit whatever impossible feats we can imagine.

    However, Basgallop and Shyamalan are careful to ground whatever chaos they wreak within the realm of the real. Whether it’s the accidental lopping-off of a finger or the revolt of farm animals at a backyard birthday party, Servant’s strangest moments are infinitely more so because they may not be seen as strange at all. All the while, the characters who seem to know most in any given situation wholly trust the unseen machinations at work. With them as our metaphorical life raft amidst such unnatural goings-on, we have no choice but to surrender ourselves to their faith.

    Moment by moment, the creators plunge viewers into the depths of a family’s warped reality, one where their normal actions are forever tainted by the possibility of paranormal forces working both for and against them. While we remain hopeful that Leanne’s true nature will eventually come to light, Servant earns enough of our trust over time that such answers feel increasingly superfluous within the larger emotional stakes of the show. That said, Servant’s creators don’t pull punches when it comes the show’s scant yet effective revelatory moments, which force us to re-contextualize the show in disturbing new ways.

    In that same vein, though, Servant recognizes just how vital lighthearted absurdity can be when it comes to sustaining its narrative tension. I’m among the camp that loves the weird specificity of some of the character beats in Shyamalan films, including Rufus Sewell’s obsession with remembering the title of a Jack Nicholson/Marlon Brando collab in Old, the stilted yet sincere provincial dialect of The Village, and Knock at the Cabin’s usage of KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Boogie Shoes” as a bombastic yet subtle affirmation of faith. While those moments may polarize viewers, Basgallop and his collaborators turn those absurd anecdotes into one of Servant’s lifeblood elements. In a world full of paranoia-fueled performance, these dips into the uncanny land with even more sincere and unorthodox hilarity.

    As the show progressed, my wife and I were bowled over by the strange human interest stories Dorothy covered as an intrepid investigative reporter, each one coupled with a strange signature sign-off and grimace to the camera. Sean can always be counted on to drop everything and experiment with some strange cooking method or ingredient (those eels!). No matter how tense things may become in the Turner home, Julian will always view such boggling events from his ivory tower (“Those midwest dead eyes. It’s not my fault all cults look the same. Put on a pair of sunglasses or something. Spice it up.”) Bev and Bobbie (Denny Dillon and Barbara Kingsley) become rival nannies to Leanne, introduced at the fever pitch of Dorothy’s late battle of wills with her captor; both women’s grandmotherly doting feels both homely and alien, as if Ruth Gordon from Rosemary’s Baby went through a mitotic split while preserving her caked-on makeup.

    Servant’s best moments, however, are borne of Sean, Julian, and their co-conspirators’ efforts to maintain the illusion of a carefree, happy family while keeping grief and dread barely under the surface. It’s a rich and relatable paradox of human behavior mined for all its worth throughout Servant’s runtime, one that exposes the sincere pain and perseverance at the heart of the series.

    That push and pull between denial and acceptance—of the mysteries of faith, of the dark acts we’re capable of committing in the name of love and family, of belief and its corruption—is ultimately what makes Servant such a provocative and irresistible watch. The threat of the unknown, of what dark forces may underpin each character’s actions, is only compounded by their unpredictability in how they will fight back to retain their status quo. Servant is a show that, for all its horrors, recognizes that the embrace of the truth in all its forms is something both terrifying and necessary. Even scarier than confronting the truth is thinking about who we’ll become once we do—but there is still the hope that what lies ahead will be for the better.

    Servant aired its series finale on March 17. All four seasons remain available for streaming on Apple TV+.

  • SXSW 2023: EVIL DEAD RISE is a Worthy Entry in the Series

    SXSW 2023: EVIL DEAD RISE is a Worthy Entry in the Series

    For horror fans, the Evil Dead franchise is a cornerstone of the genre. The series has shifted tones wildly from the first in 1981 (experimental, brutal, low budget horror) to the second (slapstick comedy, gore) to the third (fantasy?!?) to the fourth (back to straightforward brutal horror with plenty of gore). There’s even been a TV series. All of them have been well-received, which is rare for horror franchises — but has helped cement the name as beloved and enduring.

    The fifth addition to the film franchise has premiered at SXSW and director Lee Cronin crafted a film that pays homage to the series while bringing a fresh perspective. He does this by combining the disparate tones of all the films, changing the setting, and shifting the types of characters that usually inhabit these movies.

    The original Evil Dead was one of the films that helped established the (now parodied, such as in Cabin in the Woods) trope of gathering a group of young folks in a cabin to party and have sex, and then slowly punish and kill them off until there’s only one left.

    In Evil Dead Rise, there is no longer a hapless male protagonist in Ash Williams nor a teen friend group, but a family unit led by two sisters. Ellie is a mother of three kids — and when I say kids, I mean actual children, not 22 year olds — who struggles to raise her family in an ancient, run down apartment building. She’s visited by her hipper younger sister Beth, and the kids adore their rock-band-touring aunt. An earthquake happens, opening the depths of the apartment building, and an old book is found…

    Evil Dead connoisseurs probably know the gist of what happens next. Carnage, mayhem, madness, etc. What’s new and fresh is where it’s happening, who it is happening to, and how Lee Cronin frames all of it and has fun with the numerous gags he sets up.

    The effects are a standout feature, with the makeup and gore hitting stomach-churning highs, but what sets this entry apart is the exceptional performances. The two leads, Alyssa Sutherland and Lily Sullivan, are put through the ringer (as is customary for an Evil Dead) and their physicality and strength is a highlight.

    The biggest issue with Rise is its ending. The film expertly builds and builds to a wonderful moment in a hallway and elevator but then overstays its welcome, and the inventiveness of the rest of the movie devolves into a more rote splatter fest.

    For modern Evil Dead sequels I still prefer Fede’s, where the brutal gags felt like they hit harder and the climax was an all-timer; however, Evil Dead Rise is a worthy entry in the series.

  • SXSW 2023: THE LONG GAME is a Texan-Mexican-American True Story

    SXSW 2023: THE LONG GAME is a Texan-Mexican-American True Story

    The sports drama has been done to death. There’s typically an underdog who faces various obstacles on their athletic journey, usually with a social message, ending in an emotional climax that teaches both the hero and the audience a lesson. It’s usually based on a true story (Remember the Titans, 2000) to really sell the emotional stakes, but not always (Rocky, 1976). The genre has produced critically acclaimed films and duds alike, but most are usually met with audience success: people just love a sports movie. You’re usually guaranteed to feel some kind of triumph, joy, and catharsis, and frequently be moved to tears.

    The Long Game, premiering at SXSW and directed by local Austinite Julio Quintana (a disciple of Terrence Malick), joins this cadre. It’s a Texan story, and a true one at that. It takes place in a border town in the 1950s, following a group of Mexican-American teens who love golf but face racism while breaking barriers in their pursuit of the game.

    …stop me if this sounds familiar. Familiarity isn’t always a negative though; the sports drama is successful for a reason, and while formulaic, The Long Game elicits the same emotions (even the tears).

    The film stars Jay Hernandez, who hasn’t fully broken out but is solid here. He’s joined by an always reliable Dennis Quaid, a scene stealing Cheech Marin, a group of young actors who all conduct themselves with aplomb (with Julian Works leading the emotional core), and a generally well rounded out cast.

    Julio Quintana shoots the otherwise traditional movie with a unique perspective, choosing a Malick-ian camera that frequently feels unmotivated and disjointed from the story. Other than that, everything works together to create a cohesive, moving look at some boundary pushing kids.

    I especially loved when the movie focuses in on themes not as often explored in Hollywood. The kids share a difficult part of what the immigrant experience can entail: having your feet in two worlds but feeling a part of neither. Quintana blessedly delves into these themes with action rather than monologues, resulting in engaging scenes like a cross-border adventure.

    The Long Game works as intended and will make many audience members cry even though you can see each story beat coming. But if the story is good, who cares? We rewatch movies that touch us even when we know exactly what happens. It’s a good story well told, and the film made this particular Texan-Mexican-American proud.

  • SXSW 2023: ART FOR EVERYBODY Explores Artist Beyond His Art

    SXSW 2023: ART FOR EVERYBODY Explores Artist Beyond His Art

    A complicated portrait of a controversial figure, this Thomas Kinkade documentary biography urges a reconsideration of the man’s work by reconsidering the man

    My mother was a fan of Thomas Kinkade. I don’t precisely remember why, but I do remember her adopting his self-assigned title, “Painter of Light,” as well as looking through high-end prints of his at an art store in a gallery at the Barton Springs Mall. Perhaps more embarrassingly, if you were to ask me to name a living painter growing up, I probably could come up with two names: Bob Ross and Thomas Kinkade, and the latter I would have assumed was a much more respected artist. After all, he had stores with his name on them.

    Of course, the larger cultural impression of Thomas Kinkade was much more complicated. His landscapes utilized a sort of hazy impressionism, soft with those trademark spots of lights shimmering through. They became a signature look for hotel art, pieces so forgettable and disposable that they could hang in spaces while being inoffensive to a calculated degree. His art wasn’t complicated, and as such, the critical art world found Kinkade’s popularity offensive to the role art played in the culture at large. All of this was, of course, somewhat by design. Kinkade’s brand was to democratize art, to allow individuals to buy and display art they bought, a privilege traditionally set for the wealthy. Kinkade’s appeal to evangelistic Christian language also didn’t hurt his appeal to homes that otherwise found the art world elitist and unattainable.

    All of this and so much more are explored in the biographical documentary, Art for Everybody, which debuted at SXSW this week. Directed by Miranda Yousef, the film collects a series of interviews, including Kinkade’s family, his greatest admirers, and his fiercest critics. The effect is a broad, complicated portrait of a man of seeming contradictions. Central to the narrative is a vault of unearthed art that represents a different side of the artist, presenting a vision of Kinkade’s ability that is a far cry from his signature look. Rather, it presents a much more thoughtful painter, more haunted and nervy.

    The documentary’s greatest strength lies in its subject matter, which is perhaps slightly surprising. Both as an individual as well as a cultural figure, Thomas Kinkade offers a specific lens to talk about American cultural divides. Kinkade came to prominence in the late 1980s, a time when conservative Americans increasingly felt like the art world had nothing to offer them but explicit contempt. Kinkade, being a savvy businessman, saw an avenue for his art to serve as a populist offering; simultaneously, Kinkade could snub his nose at those who would seek to discredit him or the people he appealed to.

    However, the cultural significance of Kinkade is only one part of the story. The other is the man himself, whose background and demeanor make for an odd hero for Conservative America. As a young man, Kinkade modeled himself as a true “bohemian,” going to UC Berkeley and eventually working for underground animator Ralph Bakshi as a background artist. His personal demeanor is described as a manic thrillseeker, one that delighted in his four children while displaying their own penchant for living dangerously. Later in life, Kinkade developed a drinking problem that caused a significant increase in erratic behavior, which led to the shattering of his family before Kinkade died of what was determined to be an accidental drug overdose.

    One of the great strengths of how Yousef designs Art for Everybody is how the film never settles into a singular, neat thesis on Kinkade’s identity. At one point, it argues that Kinkade’s relationship with the evangelical movement was a genuine connection to his own born-again faith; elsewhere, personal friends describe the Kinkade persona as one of many, and that Thomas himself was something of a performance artist. Populist artist or crafty huckster, victim or con man, culture warrior or pained narcissist striking out to those he felt snubbed him; just as Yousef seems to settle into one lane, Art for Everybody shifts its perspective. The story is told in loosely chronological order, yet does jump around as aspects of Kinkade’s life become more emotionally resonant and important to understanding the unraveling of the man behind the brand.

    It’s that separation that ends up being the core of what Art For Everybody explores: the idea of art becoming a brand and consumable product, and what that does to the individual behind it. One aspect of Kinkade’s popularity is the serenity his landscapes portray, an imagined past that seems far removed from any contemporary struggle. However, it is by repressing (or, more accurately, ignoring) those struggles that Kinkade provides his fans and collectors an opportunity to escape, ignore, and offset their own obligation to respond to their realized pain. As that brand of pure escapism expanded over the course of Kinkade’s career, it became clear that Kinkade’s art itself was more important than the man behind it. In an attempt to both project and maintain that image and brand, it becomes clear that Kinkade is more complicated than that simple escape. The beauty of documentary is to peel back the easy brand to see the complicated man beneath, giving Kinkade space to breathe, even if from beyond the grave. By exploring Kinkade’s messier facets, Art for Everybody creates a depth to his landscapes that allow them to be seen in a new light.