Avatar: The Way of Water (2022)

Yes, it’s been thirteen years since Avatar, and I can say that not a day has gone by when I’ve wanted more from the franchise. I’ve strolled around the theme park in Orlando, and I’ve listened to the soundtrack off and on, and I even attended the IMAX rerelease three months ago once it seemed that James Cameron was finally going to deliver on his decade-plus of promises to revisit the world of Pandora. I did all these things out of no particular affection for the movie, its creators, or even its specific world; any attachment I have to Avatar is purely on the level of an appreciation for spectacle. Avatar: The Way of Water is no better than its predecessor, but it is certainly more, and your take on the movie will probably tell us more about you than it will about the film itself. It is, in a sense, a pure cinematic Rorschach test.

It’s been several years since Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) “went native” and abandoned his human body for a Na’vi avatar; he’s started a family with Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña) and made a home in the forests of Pandora. But when the “sky people” return to the alien world, in search of profit and revenge, they’re accompanied by the impossibly-resurrected Colonel Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang), who wants Sully’s blood for himself. To protect their Omatikaya tribe, Sully and his family flee their home and take refuge with the water-dwelling Metkayina Clan.

 

Let’s begin right off the bat with an admission that The Way of Water is loaded with some Grade-A nonsense, bordering on sheer balderdash. Even setting aside the bonkers reinclusion of Stephen Lang’s snarly villain, this is a three-hour movie where Sigourney Weaver also returns, but in the body of a blue teenager; where holding your breath is a pivotal plot point; and where crucial exposition is delivered by an immense telepathic whale. If you made it through that sentence without rolling your eyes, this might be the movie for you, but if not, your patience for sci-fi claptrap may wear thin long before the film’s three hours elapse. 

 

And it is long, make no mistake about it. It’s three hours long, and it does feel it; though I’m not sure exactly what I would cut (because James Cameron seems never to have met a Chekhov’s gun he didn’t fire), the last twenty minutes feel like extended set-up for a third film. While things are always happening on screen, there’s a point about two hours in, just before the third act and all its 3D action begin, when one’s hindquarters may be falling asleep. I was never entirely bored, but I was growing restless. Put another way, The Way of Water never quite earns its runtime the way Avengers: Endgame did – which may say more about me than about either movie. 

 

Part of the challenge is that The Way of Water is paper-thin. Its plotting is entirely unsubtle, its characterization never transcends the immediate needs of the plot, and the dialogue is in places ear-scrapingly direct. (“Who’s got the harpoon now?” one character sarcastically asks another after a third quite literally takes possession of a harpoon.) As far as the story goes, Cameron has never really scored points for originality. Indeed, after Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, he’s not even the first movie this winter about a lost civilization of underwater blue people at war with a technologically-advanced military. Like the first one, this Avatar is equal parts Pocahontas and Dances With Wolves, Ferngully and Smurfs in space, though The Way of Water is generously leavened with Free Willy and even a helping of Moby-Dick. We’ve seen all of this before, and most of it in the last Avatar film.

 

Yet I will give Cameron points for the film paying out like a slot machine in its third act. Nearly everything that’s been set up in the first two acts comes to bear in the grand finale, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I too got swept along with the rest of my theater when the aforementioned giant whale returned to the plot and did its Tulkun thing all over the bad guys. Other plot threads resurface in surprising ways, including one especially gratifying amputation, and you do end up with a very satisfying conclusion – if you have the patience and the tolerance to get there.

 

I can grumble about the fact that the acting is a little wooden (especially and egregiously, Edie Falco, who seems to be reading her lines cold off a cue card) or that the storytelling is nothing new, but I don’t think anyone comes to a James Cameron film because he’s some sort of poet laureate. Rather, he’s an expert ringmaster in the circus of spectacle; we come to his movies to be entertained, to be dazzled by special effects and ultra-widescreen action. Things blow up in three pristine dimensions, and water has never looked this crystalline. You have to wade through storytelling that is less than inspired to get there, but the Cameron vibe has always been, “Trust me, this will be worth it.” No one came to Titanic for the greatest love story ever; we came to watch a big ship sink. Likewise, no one comes to The Way of Water because we can’t get enough of those Na’vi; we come to see motion-capture evolve, to see a world unlike ours, and if it feels a little like a nature documentary, so be it – The Way of Water has a mellow hang-out aura that verges on overstaying its welcome before hitting a rousing third act. 

 

In terms of its narrative, The Way of Water is only as effective as it needs to be to serve that third act, and on an emotional level I’m not sure that we grow attached enough to the characters to feel the climax. But on the level of visual spectacle, there’s really nothing quite like an Avatar movie, and your ability to derive maximum enjoyment from the film really depends on how much you’re willing and able to silence your critic’s brain and just ride the waves. That’s, after all, the true way of water – go with the flow.

 

Avatar: The Way of Water is rated PG-13 for “sequences of strong violence and intense action, partial nudity, and some strong language.” Directed by James Cameron. Written by James Cameron, Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, Josh Friedman, and Shane Salerno. Starring Sam Worthington, Zoe Saldaña, Sigourney Weaver, Stephen Lang, and Kate Winslet. 

The Defenders (2017)

We have always already known it was all building to this. Back in 2015 (only two years ago!), Daredevil debuted with the promise that its protagonist would eventually join Netflix’s Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and Iron Fist in The Defenders, echoing the successful franchise building that culminated in 2012’s The Avengers. And so it is all but a little impossible not to compare The Defenders to The Avengers; on an instinctual level, Defenders is not as successful as Avengers, but then again it’s more successful than it could have been, and it has the unbelievable ability to make me care about The Hand.

How do these lovable nutjobs end up together? While Danny Rand, the Immortal Iron Fist (Finn Jones), pursues The Hand in fulfillment of his mission from the mystical K’un-Lun, Luke Cage (Mike Colter) rejoins Harlem and finds its youth in danger. Likewise, Jessica Jones (Krysten Ritter) becomes embroiled in corporate terrorism when her client tries to bomb his own office, and through a friend of a friend (Rosario Dawson) she finds herself represented by Matt Murdock, alias Daredevil (Charlie Cox). All the while, The Hand’s leader Alexandra (Sigourney Weaver) has sinister plans for her latest protégé Elektra (Élodie Yung), the new Black Sky warrior.

The Avengers did this remarkable thing where it built on what came before and moved it into new territory without ever losing sight of the audience members who might not have done all the homework from Iron Man on. The Defenders aces those first two categories, finding clever ways to bring these characters together while setting up some intriguing new stories for them, but it isn’t the best introduction to some of these characters, particularly Daredevil and Luke Cage (whose standalone seasons left them in places that Defenders contorts to resolve in time for them to unite). Then again, I’m not sure that there are too many folks out there who haven’t followed the Netflix universe as closely, and so maybe it’s folly to expect Defenders to be entirely its own thing.

Then again, The Defenders is such viscerally engaging viewing material that I almost wish they’d discontinue the bulk of the Netflix project and just do a few more seasons of The Defenders instead. The Defenders ably collects all of what works about each show, scraps what doesn’t, and blends it all together in a show that doesn’t have any dead spots – likely a casualty of its eight episodes (compared to Marvel/Netflix’s standard thirteen). For all that Daredevil can be a mopey sort, The Defenders pairs him with three others who will call him out on that. The show even seems hyper-aware of the creative problems of Iron Fist, hanging a lantern on Danny’s idiocy and protracted self-introductions, in the process matching him with characters who can finesse him into a more capable character. Jess and Luke change the least, for my money because they’re characters who are already in stellar shape, and it’s a real delight to see them sharing the screen again after Luke’s turn on Jessica Jones.

Without fail, The Hand has been the least inspiring aspect of the Marvel Netflix Universe; I didn’t care on Daredevil (and I really didn’t care on Daredevil: Season 2), and The Hand was just one more element that didn’t add up for Iron Fist. However, The Defenders takes The Hand bigger, showcasing their ancient influence, sweeping plans, and fascinatingly distinctive leaders, including Weaver’s Alexandra (who brings a genre pedigree to the role with charisma and grace) and my personal favorite, Madame Gao. While the Defenders learn to work together, The Hand struggles not to kill each other in a gripping give-and-take that feels a little like Game of Thrones mixed with the more interesting kung-fu bits of The Matrix. Elektra too, somewhat dull in the overstuffed second season of Daredevil, emerges on top as her character struggles to find her place within The Hand and at Alexandra’s side.

Where Marvel/Netflix has done well, The Defenders continues to thrive. What the universe hasn’t cracked, The Defenders patches up. I would have liked to have seen more from the non-super supporting characters, as The Defenders largely relegates Foggy, Trish, and Colleen to a police holding room; additionally, it’s a little surprising that there’s nary a nod to Frank Castle in here. Instead, The Defenders lasers its focus on its four protagonists, who crackle in every scene they’ve got; even separated, when the show feels more like an anthology than a team-up, there are fine moments of characterization and plotting that make The Defenders feel like a win.

Make mine Marvel, and roll on The Punisher (because I hear Inhumans isn’t very good).

The Defenders is rated TV-MA. Created by Douglas Petrie and Marco Ramirez. Based on the Marvel Comics. Starring Charlie Cox, Krysten Ritter, Mike Colter, Finn Jones, Élodie Yung, Rosario Dawson, and Sigourney Weaver.

Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014)

During the Christmas season, we tend to see an uptick in New Testament movies, largely focused around the birth of Christ.  Early this year, we saw the Old Testament get a little representation with Noah, and now we’re turning to the second book with Ridley Scott’s Exodus: Gods and Kings. But where I appreciated Noah’s steps away from the source material (odd though the rock monsters may have been), Exodus turns out to be too devoted to the text without taking advantage of the technical and narrative innovations the film teases.

Christian Bale stars as Moses on the eve of his step-brother Ramses’s (Joel Edgerton) ascension to the throne of Egypt.  After the revelation that Moses was born a Hebrew slave leads to his exile, a visitation from God (“I Am,” in the persona of a small boy) compels Moses to return to free his people, with ten plague-shaped assists from the heavens.

The first thing about Exodus is that it’s very competent. Scott’s direction of the action scenes recalls his good work on Gladiator, and the plague scenes are terrifying for their computer-generated precision.  And of course Bale is doing his usual top-quality work in a performance as Moses that sees him undergo at least two distinct physical changes, two major philosophical paradigm shifts, and frequent conversations with thin air that lack no conviction.

Edgerton is a great Ramses, as well, and the scenes leading up to the plague of the first-born are highly effective.  It’s a shame, though, that some of the editing in the film turns his public executions into punchlines, compromising a more nuanced performance by equating it with mustache-twirling villainy.  Exodus recovers with a strong supporting cast, including Ben Kingsley, Aaron Paul, Sigourney Weaver, and John Turturro as Seti I.

These are all great performers, but they’re not given terribly much to do.  Kingsley is basically shorthand for gravitas, meant to lend weight quickly to the Hebrew elders, and he manages to check off another ethnicity on his career’s bingo card without having much to do outside of two or three scenes.  Ditto for Paul, whose role as Joshua should have been the Robin to Bale’s Batman, so to speak, but he’s mostly set dressing with an unconvincing accent.  Weaver and Turturro are out of the movie in about twenty minutes; a subplot in which Weaver wants Moses dead peters out rather quickly.

The idea that Ramses’s mother is plotting behind his back to assassinate her stepson is a fascinating one, but the film doesn’t know what to do with it.  This is actually a major problem with Exodus because it has so many opportunities to make an original stamp on the Moses story, but it never commits to any of those.  The apparent emphasis on the brother relationship between Moses and Ramses seems like the centerpiece of the film, but it too fades away, never really delivering on even the basic comparison of the two men as leaders of opposing armies (teased by an opening shot of a priestesses reading offal).  Even the idea of God appearing as a small boy is a neat riff, but it’s never more than set dressing when it could have been the defining element of the film (similar to how Noah replaced God for a more sci-fi being called The Creator).

The most interesting subtext in the film is a broader allusion to the history of the Jewish people.  In one scene, assassinated Hebrew slaves are burned en masse, while elsewhere slaves are forced to hide under their homes to evade Egyptian search parties. In these moments, it seems Scott is building an analogy to the Holocaust, and the film’s conclusion, gesturing toward nation-building, seems to weigh heavily on the side of the Israelis in the contemporary conflict over the Holy Land.  A film more dedicated to this analogy would have been an amazing inflection of the story we all know so well, but three scenes in 150 minutes isn’t enough on which to hang a comprehensive interpretation.

Exodus: Gods and Kings isn’t a bad film (a tremendous improvement from the last Scott film I saw, the dismal Prometheus), but it is disappointing for how little it pushes the story beyond what we already know. For anyone who knows the story, even in its broadest strokes, the film won’t hold much suspense or even any emotion beyond a feeling of obligation as events proceed unremarkably.  For all the technical skill at work in rendering lifelike plague sequences, what’s missing is a sense of spectacle, something we saw quite successfully in DeMille’s The Ten Commandments.  Despite the dated Technicolor and the mild doses of camp, DeMille’s original epic had a scope and a pervading attitude of wonder that Exodus is sadly lacking. Exodus isn’t a big-budget remake of The Ten Commandments, just a more precise, condensed, and slightly better-acted version of the same story without the grandeur the narrative demands.

Exodus: Gods and Kings is rated PG-13 for “violence including battle sequences and intense images.”  The standard bevy of plagues is seen here, with boils and insects being particularly grotesque; some combat scenes feature violence without any blood.

Monday at the Movies - September 17, 2012

Welcome to Week Thirty-Five of “Monday at the Movies.”  Having wrapped our look at the “Alien Quadrilogy,” we unintentionally continue profiling the work of Sigourney Weaver this week with a franchise in which I’d honestly forgotten she appeared.  You all know the song; now try to get it out of your head.

Ghostbusters (1984) – First, Ivan Reitman’s comedy classic is not remembered for being a particularly great or innovative movie.  The film frequently compromises its own internal logic, there is a dearth of character development in nearly every face on the screen, and at times the film feels like a huckster trying to sell you a bridge.  What saves the film, though, redeems all those faults and makes Ghostbusters a hit – the infectious camaraderie and earnest enthusiasm of its protagonists.  It must have been a thrill seeing Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis, and Ernie Hudson standing side-by-side on the silver screen; added bonuses include Rick Moranis and Sigourney Weaver as unwitting pawns in a supernatural scheme.  The undisputed star is, of course, Murray, whose semi-improvisational style points out the film’s oddities with droll self-confidence (“We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!”), contrasting nicely with Aykroyd and Ramis’s gee-whiz enthusiasm for the premise.  Unfortunately, the script isn’t as tight as Ramis’s would be in the brilliant Groundhog Day a decade later; we don’t quite get a handle on the villain’s big scheme, and the characters are relatively flat.  But Ramis, co-writing with Aykroyd, does know the art of the non sequitur, as in the famous Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man sequence, and it gives the actors and actresses plenty of room to have fun.  This, I think, is the film’s greatest strength; it’s incredibly fun, which prevents the viewer from nitpicking too closely.  If cinema is escapism, Ghostbusters is a top-notch example of that tradition, warts and all.

Ghostbusters II (1989) – In the sequel, the flaws are more apparent, in part because the film opens itself too much to the negative effects on time.  Operating after a real-time gap, Ghostbusters II finds the paranormal exterminators out of a job and out of public favor; if it’s a commentary on box-office demand, it’s a depressing way to begin the film.  In fact, for a comedy, this is a pretty depressing film.  Murray, whose sardonic wit carried most of the first film, seems genuinely bored here, and Aykroyd’s sincerity seems like he’s trying too hard; Ramis doesn’t do much other than serve as a punchline for other characters to imply how creepy he is.  Weaver gets more to do here, presumably as a consequence of her coronation as resident sci-fi queen; her battle to save her son from a reincarnated Carpathian portrait is genuine and compelling, even if the foe isn’t.  The film also gives Moranis a larger role, which is a credit to any movie; his desire to be a “real” Ghostbuster is touching and clever all at once.  The soundtrack, though, is distractingly outdated, even more so than the original film’s ultra-80s theme tune.  I’m feeling surprisingly down on this movie, which catches me off-guard because I loved it so much as a child (I even had the coloring book, of all things).  And it’s not to say that this is a bad movie; it’s probably as intrinsically good as the original.  But what happens in Ghostbusters II is that the cracks show more clearly so that a “just good” movie never quite transcends beyond that level.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week for an exciting new feature in the realm of The Cinema King – stay tuned!

Monday at the Movies - September 10, 2012

Welcome to Week Thirty-Four of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week we continue our long-promised look at the “Alien Quadrilogy,” concluding the series proper.

Alien Resurrection (1997) – As the final installment of the “Alien Quadrilogy,” Alien Resurrection is an entirely bizarre film that never quite knows its own identity and consequently very nearly resists being enjoyable.  Sigourney Weaver is back, this time as the clone Ripley-8 who’s been induced to give birth to yet another Alien Queen.  Wonky biology ensues, and Ripley-8 ends up helping Winona Ryder and Ron Perlman escape from yet another ship filled with Xenomorphs.  There’s a definite tension between the script by Joss Whedon and the direction by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, a written tongue-in-cheekness that never comes across in the hypersexualized horror of the visual.  Instead, we have a film with a tonally uncertain first act (in which Dan Hedaya’s broad caricature of a military man is never played as anything less than genuine), a too-pat second act that doesn’t do anything new, and a third act that’s so far beyond the pale that it’s more grotesquely uncomfortable than thrilling or entertaining.  As not-quite-Ripley, Weaver’s work is difficult to assess, in part because the film never knows quite how much of her core is still Ripley and how much isn’t; the other cast members aren’t well-developed and often devolve into clichés (Ryder’s character seems to exist only to drop F-bombs for unintentional comic relief and to retread issues of otherness from Alien and Aliens).  There are a few moments worth mentioning – the aquatic Xenomorphs end up being scarier than you’d expect, and Brad Dourif’s obsessive scientist doesn’t get enough screentime – but overall this is a disappointing end to a series that I’ve enjoyed more than I expected.

That wraps up our look at the “Alien Quadrilogy,” but you can read the review that started it all with Prometheus (2012), Ridley Scott’s demi-prequel to the series.  There are, of course, more Xenomorph movies yet to be reviewed – two entries in the Alien vs. Predator series.  Is there interest in seeing reviews of those?  Let me know!

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monday at the Movies - September 3, 2012

It may be Labor Day today, but The Cinema King isn’t taking a vacation.  Welcome to Week Thirty-Three of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week we continue our long-promised look at the “Alien Quadrilogy,” and with our 33rd week it’s appropriate that we cover a threequel.

Alien³ (1992) – David Fincher’s first film, the third in the Alien franchise, hasn’t been treated well by critics or fans alike.  I don’t know the extent of the director/studio conflict that surrounded this film – although I am extremely curious to see the “Assembly Cut” of Alien³, more so than with the other director’s cuts in the series – but I can say that the film is more competent than its detractors give it credit.  (Is a competent “bad film” actually good?  I’m not sure.)  What fans of Aliens won’t like is the sequel element here, in which Newt and Hicks die off-screen and Bishop is reduced to a nearly-lifeless husk.  Alien³ is more a sequel to Alien, restoring the terror of the single monster and removing the cannon fodder element I didn’t like in Aliens.  In concept, then, the Alien is scarier than before, but its execution doesn’t quite work; the dog/Xenomorph hybrid is rendered with some bad special effects that look jerky and extremely unreal.  What is real, though, is the strong performance Sigourney Weaver turns in; watching her character evolve from the frightened underwear-clad kitten rescuer into a tough-as-nails full-on nemesis for the Xenomorphs has been a real delight, one that deservingly solidified her iconic status in the annals of science fiction film.  Unfortunately, the rest of the cast doesn’t quite line up, in part because the film doesn’t do a good job of distinguishing them; except for Charles S. Dutton, they’re all pudgy bald British men with very few distinctive traits (something perhaps rectified in the Assembly Cut?)  All told, Alien³ is a competent movie that does some things very well while flopping on others, striving for but never quite attaining the excellence of its grandfather.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monday at the Movies - August 27, 2012

Welcome to Week Thirty-Two of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week we continue our long-promised look at the “Alien Quadrilogy.”

Aliens (1986) – Aliens changes up a lot of what worked in Alien, swapping director Ridley Scott for James Cameron and moving from claustrophobic horror to expanded action.  It’s a film that tries almost too hard to distance itself from the original, but although it’s so different from its predecessor Aliens succeeds on a number of levels.  Returning as Ellen Ripley, Sigourney Weaver steps up her performance as Ripley suffers from PTSD after her encounter aboard the Nostromo; Weaver successfully evolves her character from fearful victim into proactive hero as she leads a military platoon against the Xenomorphs.  The rest of the cast is passable:  Lance Henriksen plays android Bishop, but he doesn’t do as much as Ian Holm in Alien, and Paul Reiser is surprisingly scummy as a company man whose only investment is in weaponizing the creature, while Bill Paxton plays an entertainingly campy soldier whose every line is a catchphrase (“Game over, man!  Game over!”).  And the action scenes are first-rate; much as it pains me to laud James Cameron, he does strong work filming the chaos of a full Xenomorph squadron’s assault.  But in this element perhaps rests the film’s greatest detriment; we see entirely too much of the Xenomorphs (indeed, we even have a name for them now).  There was something to be said about the original film’s refusal to let us see the creature fully, so an element of horror is lost when the creatures are seen in full lighting; worse, they’re not indestructible, which makes them mere cannon fodder at times.  But what Cameron sacrifices with the visible Xenomorphs, he reclaims with the Alien Queen, whose final sequence with Ripley and the iconic cargo loader is as exciting as anything the film offers.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week, but stay tuned later this week for our no-spoilers-barred review of The Dark Knight Rises!

Monday at the Movies - August 20, 2012

Welcome to Week Thirty-One of “Monday at the Movies.”  With the summer blockbuster season officially closed (I, The Cinema King, decree it – so let it be written, so let it be done), and in the wake of Prometheus, it’s time for that long-promised look at the “Alien Quadrilogy.”

Alien (1979) – Ridley Scott has been mostly canonized for Alien, and not without reason; more than thirty years later the film remains frighteningly effective and gruesomely imaginative, even with the lights on (how wonderful this film must have been in a full darkened theater!).  The story, a hybrid of science fiction and horror tropes, mutates frequently, much like its eponymous creature, so that the audience never gets a comfortable handle on things; instead, we’re put on edge at every twist and turn.  The cast doesn’t do Oscar-caliber work, but they too are pivotal in subverting expectation, particularly Sigourney Weaver, in a star-making performance as the heroine Ripley, and Ian Holm, in brilliant creepy form as the shady scientist Ash.  As with Prometheus, this is a film that functions as much on a visceral level as an intellectual/aesthetic one, with a pervasive feeling of suspenseful dread over the whole affair.  Scott wisely knows how much to show and how much to conceal, such that the creature might even be behind your sofa (you’d best make sure it’s not).  But unlike its prequel successor, Alien never aspires beyond its ability; we don’t need to know why the crew of the Nostromo is in space, nor do they have any goals but survival – nor, in this case, do they need them.  This is an insular and claustrophobic film which feels as taut as its scope.  Kudos especially to H.R. Giger, whose sexualized designs pervade the film and give it an offbeat sensibility that quickly and efficiently distances Alien from those other spaceship movies while setting an aesthetic tone for the future of the filmed future.  Effective and intelligent, Alien deserves its status as a cultural icon.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!