Haunted Mansion (2023)

I’ve been on something of a cinematic high lately, recapturing the magic of the movies with a few hits right in a row. I have wondered over the last several months whether I’ve outgrown movies, lapped my favorite franchises and genres, yet movies like Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning, Oppenheimer, and Barbie have reminded this moviegoer that it’s not “a me problem.” Movies can still be fun, they can even be great, but lately they just haven’t been.
 
With Disney’s Haunted Mansion, dear readers, we’re back – back to disappointments at the box office, creaky scripts and undercooked performances designed to cash in on nostalgia, a distinctive brand, or both. This Haunted Mansion is a sight better than the Eddie Murphy foray that preceded it two decades ago, but as bars go that’s a fairly low one to hurdle. 
 
Gabbie (Rosario Dawson) and her son Travis (Chase W. Dillon) have just moved to Louisiana and taken up residence in, well, a haunted mansion. An attempt to exorcise the home unites a grieving astrophysicist (LaKeith Stanfield), an off-kilter priest (Owen Wilson), a history professor (Danny DeVito), and a low-rent medium (Tiffany Haddish) against nearly 1,000 ghouls led by the leering Hatbox Ghost (Jared Leto).
 
I was on the fence about seeing Haunted Mansion for a number of reasons. Back in 2003, the Eddie Murphy film of the same name had failed to impress; today, the trailers were similarly undistinguished, and its Rotten Tomatoes rating was less than stellar. Plus, I reminded myself, the whole affair would likely be landing on Disney+ within six weeks. But too much time on one’s hands is a dangerous proposition, and so I plunked down for two dismal hours (not counting a slate of less inspiring trailers) that I cannot in good faith recommend to any but the most thoroughly indoctrinated devotees of the theme park attraction which lends its name and likeness to Haunted Mansion.
 
The Eddie Murphy take on The Haunted Mansion debuted in 2003, grafting the theme park set decoration onto a fairly boilerplate ghost story about doomed love and spooky manors. But another film was released that year – Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl – and Disney has been chasing that high ever since, hoping against hope that any of its myriad attractions would prove to be the next bankable franchise. (I loved Tomorrowland, though not everyone did, and the less said about Jungle Cruise, the better.) In my head, Pirates and Haunted Mansion are two halves of the same coin: dense and intricate attractions hung together by a mere suggestion of a story amid a collection of memorable mise-en-scènes. They’re handily my two favorite rides at Walt Disney World, over and against even the thrilliest roller coasters.
 
They cracked Pirates well enough, wringing the franchise dry to the point that only Johnny Depp’s mountainous legal woes could end the film series. Yet this is the second Haunted Mansion in as many decades, with no less than Guillermo Del Toro trying to make it work circa 2012. (One has to imagine his Crimson Peak shares some DNA with The Haunted Mansion.) This particular Haunted Mansion has only one credited writer (Katie Dippold, late of the beleaguered Ghostbusters reboot), but a litany of voices have contributed to the script at varying stages, to the point where no character feels like they’re in the same film. Owen Wilson and Danny DeVito clown their way through the film, almost a Disney-fied Waiting for Ghost-dot, while Tiffany Haddish’s character is either a buffoon or the world’s greatest psychic, depending on what the plot requires. And then there’s LaKeith Stanfield, who is frankly better than the film deserves, handily carrying an emotional arc that actually manages to move the audience, even if nothing else in the film is clicking.
 
The film’s greatest mystery is why mega-stars like Jamie Lee Curtis and Jared Leto are anywhere near this thing. Not because they’re too good for the movie, but because their parts could well and truly have been played by anyone, and at least someone slightly less expensive. Curtis is stately and imperious as Madame Leota, but after receiving what amounts to a Lifetime Achievement Award for her role in Everything Everywhere All At Once, she doesn’t need to stoop to a third-rate Eleanor Audley imitation, and her blue crystal ball does more acting than most others in the film. Leto especially makes almost no impression, aside from a brief flashback where we see a Hatbox Ghost pre-decapitation; his ghost face is purely computer-generated, while his voice is run through so many filters that it might as well be Mae West under there. (He gets the “And” credit too, which suggests he made a boatload of money on this movie, which... good for him, I suppose.)
 
There are a few chuckles in the film, and at least one decent jump-scare, but on the whole the film feels like a collection of bits that don’t exactly work together. It feels assembled by committee, and just about the only thing to justify its existence is the presence of a cacophony of cameos from recognizable props like chairs, stanchions, and wallpaper. While stretching rooms and hatchets in the attic may not mean much to the general moviegoing public – and indeed they mean not much more in context – they’re sure to light up any foolish mortal who knows the Haunted Mansion(s) well. And if I’d been streaming the film at home, perhaps I’d have been more forgiving of this Haunted Mansion. But as it stands, those little cameos and winking nods only made me wish I were on vacation.

And why this wasn't released in October, I'm sure I can't say.
 

Haunted Mansion is rated PG-13 for “some thematic elements and scary action.” Directed by Justin Simien. Written by Katie Dippold. Starring LaKeith Stanfield, Tiffany Haddish, Owen Wilson, Danny DeVito, Rosario Dawson, Jamie Lee Curtis, and Jared Leto.

Morbius (2022)

Comic book fans are completists, gluttons for punishment. As terrible as a comic book storyline might be, better to stick it out and suffer; the alternative is a gaping hole in your collection, an otherwise complete run that showcases your religious dedication to the totality. Even when the entire world warns you, even when its veritable terribleness is memed into existence so earnestly that it’s the only thing on which the entire internet agrees, completists like me still find themselves watching Morbius. 

And it’s appallingly bad. Worse, though, it’s not as bad as I’d been led to believe. In its short existence, Morbius has already become shorthand for the very worst that the comic book movie has to offer. Yet I find myself wishing Morbius were as bad as all that; a true cinematic catastrophe might have been a little bit fun to watch, yet Morbius is almost aggressively mediocre and unspeakably dull. It’s too boring to be as bad as I’d hoped.

 

After inventing artificial blood, Dr. Michael Morbius (Jared Leto) uncovers a secret to the moribund malady that plagues him, concocted through experimentation on vampire bats. His human trials on himself, however, prove less than inspiring, transforming him into a living vampire of sorts, to the consternation of his lady friend Martine Bancroft (Adria Arjona), while piquing the interest of his childhood friend Lucien (Matt Smith), who suffers from the same illness as Morbius.

 

I watched Morbius as a completist, yes, dragging myself unwillingly through every piece of media tangentially related to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Morbius is set in the same universe as the middling Venom duology, which has its own tenuous ties to Spider-Man, and the film closes with an infuriating post-credits scene tying Michael Keaton’s Vulture into the events of Spider-Man: No Way Home through the magic of corporate synergy. To see the whole, then, I had to agonize through the sum of its parts. But I also bit the bullet (no pun intended) and watched Morbius so that I’d have a bad review to write. I wanted to tear this thing apart, vivisect its exquisite corpse for a page and a half, and inveigle against a universe that conjured up a monstrosity as macabre as Morbius. 

 

And yet Morbius is the second Marvel movie in a year to make me want to fall asleep. Like Black Widow before it, Morbius is entirely basic, carrying no thrills or surprises as it proceeds from plot point to editorially-mandated plot point. It makes only as much sense as it needs, its characters are thin and stereotypical, and it is exactly the movie you expect to see based on the first frames of the film, let alone the trailer. Morbius lacks only Florence Pugh to lend it a semblance of watchability; without her delightful enthusiasm, Morbius ends up being an altogether joyless affair. 

 

At times the king of overacting, Leto is virtually sleepwalking through this franchise non-starter. His dialogue is drowsy, and the only interesting thing about his performance is the occasional CGI transition from his human face to a vampiric one. It’s got nothing to do with Leto, though, and everything to do with the fact that I would rather have been reading a comic book (or, as I reflected during some of the snoozier bits, rewatching the “Neogenic Nightmare” episodes of the mid-90s Spider-Man: The Animated Series). When he’s fighting as Morbius, Leto is passably more watchable, yet I’m certain that’s more to do with dangling a computer-generated shiny object in front of the primitive centers of my brain.

 

The rest of the cast are crowning achievements in forgettability. Adria Arjona is a snore as Morbius’s colleague-turned-love interest, an about-face that’s so uninspired that the abrupt kiss between them made me realize that I was supposed to mistake this lazy writing for character development. The only memorable moment in Arjona’s performance comes when she mispronounces the name of the “Nobel Prize,” calling it the “Noble Prize” twice in a row. Matt Smith’s antagonist is thinly written, not quite saved but placed on life support by Smith’s hammy fervor for the part; why he’s gone evil, or whether he’s been bad all along, is something about which the script doesn’t quite seem to care. Meanwhile, Tyrese Gibson is cast as a policeman tracking Morbius, who has no character development beyond being gruff and surly, and his periodic appearances serve to give the illusion of tension, as though any of us quite cares whether he’ll arrest Morbius or not.

 

Then there’s Jared Harris, who’s in the film for reasons I can’t quite fathom. He’s a doctor who runs an orphanage, who then pivots his career into becoming an overpaid home health aide, and he’s only around to deliver a bit of pointed exposition when the movie remembers that he’s on the payroll. I’d spoil where his character ends up if I had any sense that readers or screenwriters alike had a fraction of a care for his good doctor. He’s perhaps included to lend a bit of class to this dour proceeding, but he’s given nary an opportunity to do it. He is good talent squandered; imagine if he’d been given the room to work this role into something approximating an Alfred-level confidant.

 

Morbius is dismal, but it’s not unwatchable in any kind of a dynamic way. It’s unwatchable in the way that a static feed actively resists being viewed, tedious and monotonous for far too long, even at 100 minutes. I’m all the more offended by the fact that the film threatens us with a sequel – and pressgangs poor Michael Keaton into trying to trick us to tag along. His appearance here makes no sense, his ties to the plot of No Way Home defy any sort of logic, and his invitation to “team up” is nakedly corporate. Worst of all, I’m fairly certain I’ll end up seeing Morbius II (More-bius?) purely because I don’t have the willpower to say “no.” These stories have me hook, line, and super-sinker, and so perhaps, lacking the ability to listen to my own instincts, I deserve Morbius.

 

Morbius is rated PG-13 for “intense sequences of violence, some frightening images, and brief strong language.” Directed by Daniel Espinosa. Written by Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless. Based on the Marvel Comics. Starring Jared Leto, Matt Smith, Adria Arjona, Jared Harris, Al Madrigal, and Tyrese Gibson.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

I’ve had a roller coaster of prerelease emotions when it comes to Blade Runner 2049, from skeptical that we needed to revisit the 1982 classic to nervous that Ridley Scott might direct (after he’d done the Alien franchise a disservice with Prometheus); from cautiously optimistic that Harrison Ford was involved to exuberant upon hearing that Denis Villeneuve would ultimately helm the film. Now that I’ve actually seen it, I can attest that Blade Runner 2049 is the success it needed to be, another strong science fiction outing from the man who brought us Arrival and a potent reengagement with the central questions that the original Blade Runner continues to pose.

Ryan Gosling stars as K, a blade runner thirty years after the events of the original film. On a routine “retirement” of one of a new breed of replicants, K discovers a mystery that sets him on a new case, one that will lead him to seek out Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford).

That’s about all I’d like to say about the plot of Blade Runner 2049 – indeed, I almost wish that the marketing hadn’t revealed that Harrison Ford was returning, because the film unfolds at such a deliberate and methodical pace that each of its reveals feels carefully measured and deployed at just the right moment. At two hours, forty minutes, and then some, 2049 is long – not slow but disciplined, walking through the world of Blade Runner without failing to stop and take notice of the sprawling landscapes, the colossal neon billboards, and the depth of the imagined future world. There’s so much content in the film that I would have appreciated being surprised by Ford’s inclusion, but then again, I recognize that Deckard is something of an elephant in the Blade Runner room, and so his presence does feel like a legitimizing agent to plant 2049 solidly in place.

I had the opportunity to rewatch the original Blade Runner the night before seeing 2049, and it’s an arrangement I’d highly recommend for an optimal viewing experience. (Back to back might numb the bum, to say nothing of the back!) Blade Runner 2049 does rely on parts of its predecessor, picking up plot elements and referencing iconic visuals, but by the same token I do think the film works well enough as a standalone that develops in a new but consistent direction, in that sense reminding me a great deal of Tron Legacy. Indeed, there’s been a trend lately of dusting off these classics from decades past – Harrison Ford himself had already done it in The Force Awakens – and seeing what they have to say these years later. By and large, these efforts have to my eyes been roundly successful, resisting the impulse to reboot (and the creative liberties that might come therein) but rather working within the confines of the established universe and layering in new roads, not unlike the way The Godfather Part II filled in the world of the first Godfather and extended its lifespan in gripping ways.

You have, of course, the continuing saga of Rick Deckard, who’s as striking when he’s absent as when he’s present; where has he gone, but more importantly why’s he gone away? (Here Ford is both the returning Han Solo and the vanished Luke Skywalker.) But aside from extending the narrative of Blade Runner (melding nicely with whichever of the umpteen cuts you prize), 2049 looks for new opportunities; Jared Leto plays the erstwhile heir to the Tyrell replicant empire, while Dave Bautista plays a surprisingly graceful farmer, a far cry from either Drax or Mr. Hinx. Gosling is solid as always, a well-deserved heir to Harrison Ford’s remarkably deft career, but I was surprised that it’s Ana de Armas who steals more than her fair share of the film, playing K’s holographic companion Joi (think a slinky, autonomous Alexa). Joi allows the film to continue to probe the question of the lines between simulation and reality in ways related to, but also quite distinct from, the mystery posed by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) in the original.

Simply put, Blade Runner 2049 is one of the better sequels in recent memory. Early in production, Christopher Nolan had been bounced around as a possible director, but – while I’ll never say no to more Nolan (particularly since his frequent collaborator, Hans Zimmer, appears to have discovered the vuvuzela with his follow-up to Vangelis) – I do think Villenueve is the ideal candidate here. As we saw with Arrival, Villeneuve has mastered the balance between wonder and revelation, in portraying immense scope with the weight of narrative to match. (Has anyone called him yet for a Star Wars film?) Villeneuve’s direction is capable and confident, taking its time but earning that extended runtime by doling out information and momentum to keep the audience right where he needs them to be.

I almost don’t want there to be a third Blade Runner, but then I didn’t know I wanted the second one, either. It’ll be exceedingly difficult to capture replicant lightning in a bottle once more, and though there’s a thread here and there left unknotted the film does seem to end in a place that feels whole and proper. If Villeneuve is in the driver’s seat once more, though, I’m confident we’ll be in a good place.

Blade Runner 2049 is rated R for “violence, some sexuality, nudity and language.” Directed by Denis Villenueve. Written by Hampton Fancher and Michael Green. Starring Ryan Gosling, Harrison Ford, Ana de Armas, Sylvia Hoeks, Robin Wright, and Jared Leto.

Suicide Squad [Extended Cut] (2016)

2016 was a curious year for superhero films and their afterlives. Marvel and DC released two each, but only DC took its home video releases as opportunities for longer versions of its film slate. Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice got an Ultimate Edition, half an hour longer and a little clearer in its execution. Suicide Squad, meanwhile, found itself the heir of an “Extended Cut,” gaining only ten minutes in the offing.

In a way, the nomenclature says it all. Suicide Squad isn’t a movie that was intended to be seen in a longer version like BvS, cut down by studio heads balking at three hours of Bat-sturm und Super-drang. Instead, director David Ayer presents an “extended cut,” more of the same that doesn’t shed much new light on the film, doesn’t clarify it in any meaningful way, but does provide more opportunity for the film to showcase its greatest strength – quirky personalities, well-casted, bouncing off of other strange rangers of whom I do hope we see much, much more.

Comparing an extended version naturally requires me to throw up a SPOILER WARNING, although it’s not exclusively the sort of spoiler that gives away the ending. (I do, however, discuss the film’s final scene at the end of this paragraph.) This is just an “extended” take on the story we’ve already seen, and it’s not substantially different from the film we got back in August. But discussing the differences naturally involves spoiling what they are, and the first (and perhaps most recognizable) difference is probably the film’s most appealing. We have a whole new flashback in which Dr. Harleen Quinzel (Margot Robbie, still the film’s shining star) chases down The Joker (Jared Leto) and demands that he make her his clown queen. It’s a smart move that adds agency to Dr. Quinzel’s fall into the identity of Harley Quinn, and it helps distance the film from the abusive relationship from the source material. Subsequently, it sheds more light on Harley’s dive into the vat of acids at Axis Chemicals; we have more context, and we know she’s chosen to go down this path. (Remember, in the theatrical cut, we move from Joker’s electroshock treatment right to Axis.) Harley’s less of a victim here, even if she’s still a dangerous psychopath, and it makes the film’s final frames – in which The Joker rescues Harley from prison – a little more palatable, a little more – dare I say it? – darkly romantic.

In the wake of Suicide Squad, a lot of buzz was devoted to Jared Leto’s Joker, and in this version he’s changed not at all. Even his modified involvement in Harley’s origin remains of a piece with his characterization in this film; he’s exasperated by her desire to join his criminal empire, but he goes along with it, because... well, why not? But while news emerged that much of Leto’s performance had been cut from the film (reported both by Leto and by eagle-eyed trailer viewers who detected something missing), rumors swirled that we’d see it all back in the Extended Cut. Not so, true believers, and so Joker exists unchanged in the Extended Cut. I’m still of the philosophical opinion that this is #NotMyJoker though he serves this film as well as he’s expected to be.

Margot Robbie continues to benefit most from the Extended Cut in two fun extended group scenes, which deepen the character dynamics while giving the performers a chance to get more comfortable in their clown paint, yakuza mysticism, and reptilian skin. It’s apparent why these scenes we’re cut – they’re far from cinematic, with long takes of characters walking and talking on their way to the next big special effects bonanza – but it’s a real loss for those who wanted Suicide Squad to be more of a character piece than it was. In one scene, Harley puts her psychotherapist skills (emphasis on the “psycho”) to work in diagnosing Killer Croc and Katana. The off-beat dynamic among these Gotham-centric characters in particular makes me hope that we’ll see them all together again in Ayer’s follow-up Gotham City Sirens (which nominally ought to include Catwoman and Poison Ivy alongside Harley Quinn).

In another scene, which ends up comprising an entire deleted subplot, we see that the Squad is plotting against Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), a plan later abandoned when they realize how dangerous Midway City has become. It’s this kind of fun scheming that restores a sense of danger to these characters, a kind of inevitable unpredictability that reminds us that “Task Force X” is actually kind of a bad idea, and it’s something only a royal badass like Amanda Waller (Viola Davis, in pure “hell hath no fury” mode) could pull off.

I don’t know that I’ve heard anyone compare Suicide Squad to Watchmen, the seminal mid-1980s comic that redefined (and/or reminded) what the medium could accomplish using its own bag of tricks. So allow me to be the first in saying that Suicide Squad’s extended cut reminds me a great deal of Watchmen – but Zack Snyder’s Watchmen and the way its visual tricks aped the comic’s scene transitions. It’s not a major change at all, and it might even be that I’m misremembering the theatrical version, but it did jump out at me in this cut. For example, Harley Quinn looks down a flight of stairs, reminding her of the long fall at Axis Chemicals, or she sees a motorcycle that takes her mind back to chasing The Joker. It’s a small touch, but it aligns the film a little closer with the Snyder aesthetic by way of a non-DCEU comic book film, a little insider information much appreciated for those of us in the know, and it makes the film just a little bit more of a comic-book.

There’s a very funny Photoshop going around in which the only difference between two Suicide Squad posters is that a wound on Harley Quinn’s forehead is only slightly longer – hence, an extended cut. And it’s quite an apt metaphor in this case: the Extended Cut features Harley Quinn front and center, but the differences are more or less otherwise cosmetic. A little deeper and a little bit more fun, the Suicide Squad Extended Cut is more of the same for fans but less substantial than the much-improved Batman v Superman Ultimate Edition.

Suicide Squad is still rated PG-13 for “sequences of violence and action throughout, disturbing behavior, suggestive content and language.” Written and directed by David Ayer. Starring Will Smith, Jared Leto, Margot Robbie, Joel Kinnaman, Viola Davis, and Cara Delavingne.

Lord of War (2005)

I went into Lord of War expecting not to like it. Even as the FBI warning flashed across my screen, I settled into the couch and thought, "This is gonna be bad." I was expecting a cheesy accent, over-the-top emoting, and a film that generally deserved a better star.

Fortunately, I was mostly wrong. Lord of War is, in spite of my preconceived notions, enjoyable, and even Cage himself is pretty good here.

Narrated by its protagonist, Lord of War is a demi-biopic of arms dealer Yuri Orlov (Cage), who finds himself adapting to a new geopolitical climate after the fall of the Soviet Union. With his brother Vitaly (Jared "Paul Allen" Leto) as his partner, Orlov grapples with competing arms dealer Simeon Weisz (a smarmy Ian Holm), allies himself with Liberian dictator Andre Baptiste (Eammon Walker), and woos the girl of his dreams, model Ava Fontaine (Bridget Moynahan) - all while doding Interpol and its persistent agent Jack Valentine (Ethan Hawke). The film is a standard rise-and-fall story, with a moralistic twist at the end that turns it into a little something more.

I have a love-hate relationship with Nicolas Cage's films. Early Nic Cage - Raising Arizona, for example, and Honeymoon in Vegas - demonstrated a flair for comedic timing while playing offbeat characters with quirky and well-played mannerisms. A funny thing happened on the way to the modern day, and somewhere Nic's career fell to splinters, culminating in what I affectionately call the "Trilogy of Terrible" - Ghost Rider, Next, and The Wicker Man (my personal favorite "bad movie"). Recently, though, he seems to be on a bit of an upswing; the National Treasure franchise won't win any Oscars, but they're at least watchable, and I thought Cage was fantastic as Big Daddy in Kick-Ass. Lord of War brings Cage another step closer on the path to redemption, though he has a long way to go if I'm to forget the (in)famous line "How'd it get burned?!"

The rest of the cast is, for the most part, interchangeable. No actor or actress leaves a truly indelible mark on the film such that the roles couldn't be played by anyone else; as pursuing Interpol agent Jack Valentine, Hawke is fine, but any other actor could have done one step better (I'm thinking of Denzel Washington, but I don't know why). As Ava, Moynahan often bemoans her status as just another pretty face in this film, but I'm wondering if there's a bit of metafictional irony behind that, since any other "pretty" actress could have been just as good here. The only exception, as always, is Ian Holm, who does a fantastic job embodying arms dealer Simeon, once the top in his field and now struggling to retain his position - but I would have liked to see more of him in here, since his appearances are delightful but few and far between.

Though I'm labeling this as a "good" film and "to my liking," I should go on record as saying that the movie falls apart once it runs into the stereotypical "arms dealing is bad" moralism that ends the film. What began as an entertaining flick with a conscience turns into a conscience with moving pictures; suddenly the audience is preached at, with heavyhanded talk of "necessary evils" and closing title cards that indict members of the U.S. government and the UN Security Council for being worse arms dealers than Yuri Orlov. Huh? I don't know what it is about me, but I'm running into problems with films that start as one thing and end as another without successfully transitioning between the two.

Consequently, the film - and Cage - seems to run out of steam by the end. Cage seems tired, the plot careens into a highly politicized direction, and the film ends with none of the joy that it bore in the first 90 minutes. Perhaps that's the point; gunrunning is a joyless occupation. All right, but the film changes its focus to attempt to highlight the international gunrunning scene when we've previously focused only on Yuri; this switch is sudden and virtually ineffective, leaving only a jarring sense and the feeling that we're watching a different movie than the one we started with.

Lord of War bears an R rating "for strong violence, drug use, language, and sexuality." The violence is particularly graphic here, and the language is pretty strong. Drug use is limited to a few scenes surrounding cocaine, and sexuality includes fleeting moments of nudity as well as a pronounced presence of adultery and prostitution.