Rave Cinemas Ann Arbor 20 + IMAX).
PREVIEW: Into the Spider-Verse
Rave Cinemas Ann Arbor 20 + IMAX).
If I were to summarize my reaction to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them in two words, they would be: disappointing and utterly unmagical (oops, I cheated about the two-word rule… kind of like J.K. Rowling did in writing the movie).
I had pretty high expectations for this movie after the first Fantastic Beasts movie, which was filled with beautiful animations of magical creatures within Newt’s briefcase, exciting romances and unexpected friendships, and an engaging, clear narrative. The first movie was an introduction into the series with fun explorations of the relationship between the magical and non-magical communities when Newt’s magical creatures accidentally get released in New York. None of the magic or excitement holds true for the second movie. It has a horribly meandering plot with an excess of characters who are poorly introduced and developed; the focus of the main characters and their relationships doesn’t continue well from the first movie; and, honestly, the whole movie was confusing, badly plotted, and, above all, kind of boring.
Fantastic Beasts: Crimes of Grindelwald starts off with the escape of Grindelwald. Albus Dumbledore, once a close friend of the rising villain, requests that Newt be the one to find Grindelwald, whose main mission is to bring back power to the magical community and have them overtake non-magical peoples. Newt hesitantly agrees, though many different people have dispatched on a mission to track down Grindelwald: Tina, the aurar and Newt’s love interest from the first movie; Credence, the emotionally troubled and morally ambiguous young boy; and, strangely, a completely random new character, the head of a prominent African magical family. All these people have their own convoluted motivations. Either way, by the end of the movie, Grindelwald does present himself to the patched-up and disorientingly written cast of characters; choices must be made and battle lines drawn.
Though the plot sounds promising in theory, its execution was the worst I’ve ever seen of Rowling’s writing. There were too many characters in this movie– Albus Dumbledore, the African auror I’d mentioned, Credence, his new girlfriend Nagini (where did she come from anyway?– there was absolutely no substantial context given for this), Newt’s brother, Newt’s brother’s fiance (both characters who were abruptly and poorly introduced into the mix), and at some point, even Nicholas Flamel (I can’t even comment on how disorienting his appearance was)– all this, I must add, in addition to our four main characters, Jacob, Tina, Queenie, and Newt. None of the characters were developed in the movie, and their relationships even less so.
The biggest problem to the plot was the sudden introduction of new and seemingly tangential information by the third quarter of the movie. It was inorganic and confusing to the audience. More shocking was how important this sudden information was to the end of the movie. Perhaps Rawling was attempting to set the stage for the next few movies, but the attempt was too ambitious– it was a grossly oversized cast of characters, a confusingly patched-up plot, and an unsatisfactory ending. Rowling, I think, works best in prose and novels, where there is ample space to develop all the narrative aspects to their fullest.
Despite having a distaste for this movie, I can still say that I’m too enchanted by the wizarding world to quit consuming Rowling’s media anytime soon. I hope, at least, that the next movie is much, much better than this one.
I can hardly contain my excitement for the second installment of JK Rowling’s latest addition to the Harry Potter universe and the Fantastic Beasts movie series, “Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald.” The first movie, starring Eddie Redmayne, explored the wizarding world in the 1920s in a time of the rise of an evil wizard and Dumbledore’s old friend, Grindelwald. We meet the the kind magizoologist Newt Scamander with his briefcase full of a world of magical creatures. Scamander returns in this movie, after being mysteriously set up to the task by Dumbledore, to fight Grindelwald. The stakes are supposed to be higher and more thrilling in the second movie of the series. I can’t wait to see what story Rowling weaves us this time. The movie is playing in most films in the area, most closely in Rave Cinemas Ann Arbor 20 to campus.
The Hate U Give is a stunning film. I felt like I was at the edge of my seat throughout almost the entire movie, my heart ready to lurch forward and join the characters in their fight against injustice, tears welling in my eyes despite myself. In the aftermath of her friend Khalil’s being shot by a police officer, protagonist Starr Carter finds herself in a crucial position to help his case as a direct eye witness; the movie is her navigating her choices to speak up, to fight, and to help her friend and community after his death. The movie seamlessly juggles multiple plot points and themes simultaneously– from large-scale institutional racism, to microaggressions from her close white friends who sympathize with the police officer who shot Khalil; from Starr going to a private school and having a white boyfriend, to loving the black neighborhood in which she grew up; from Starr’s obsession with Jordans, to calling her parents her OTP. The movie shows us so many parts of the black experience in America– political, social, personal, cultural– it seems to maturely accomplish the exposition of so many issues while staying true to underlying the institutional injustice against black people in America. The Hate U Give is a beautiful, mature, and important movie, and I urge everyone to go see it.
The scene that still won’t leave my mind is the one in which Starr’s friend, Khalil, is killed. Starr and him are childhood friends and spent most of their days as kids together, playing Harry Potter, goofing around in the streets of their neighborhood, but they drifted apart as they got older. In the beginning of the movie, Starr and Khalil meet again at a party. They recount their childhood together. Khalil tells her what Tupac meant by THUG LIFE: “The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody”– meaning that the unjust systems propagated through our institutions, politics, and social norms eventually repeats itself when it is manifested as hatred and anger in the youth. In the car, Khalil and Starr share a kiss, and for one blissful moment, everything feels good.
Then the police officer pulls Khalil over for what seems like no reason. The film does an incredible job of capturing the small, minute details that culminate to his shooting: the way Khalil refuses to turn down his music, the way the officer ungracefully attempts to regain control of the conversation, Starr silently pleading Khalil to do as the officer says, the officer’s nervousness around both Starr and Khalil, Khalil’s reaching into the car after being patted down to grab his hairbrush… The scene is so carefully constructed and all the moments lead up to another. I’m still running it over in my head, trying to find something that could have prevented it from happening. But that’s the thing– this is a tragedy that has not only happened once, it is not an isolated event– it is the tangible and repeated reality of African Americans in America today. This movie makes you realize that what conspired with Starr and Khalil is the culmination of years of institutional racism, and begs for action from its audience members.
The beautiful thing about this movie is that it engages with these sprawling problems of racism and police brutality while not losing sight of the humanity and individuality of its characters. It freely explores the nuances of Starr’s code-switching between her using slang in the “hood” that she lives in, but speaking “proper” when she’s at her private school. It shows a hilarious scene of Starr introducing her white boyfriend to her dad (he said, “Chris? What kind of plain-ass name is that?” I nearly spit out my drink). It shows a joyful party of young black people having a good time together. It shows how much Starr’s parents love each other. This movie is so full of joy and sorrow and, ultimately, hope that it resonates and hits a deep chord of exigency with its audience members.
The movie was based on the book of the same name by Angie Thomas, which I read in the summer before watching the movie. There were a few characters and events left out of the movie adaption for the sake of brevity, and some events added or slightly altered in the end to thematically tie the film together, but overall, it stayed true to the heart and humanity of the book. I urge everyone to go watch this film as a powerful and engaging social commentary.
SMTD’s Sweet Charity is an ambitious attempt to restore a musical of its time. It features a lighthearted, happy-go-lucky dancer and the ups and downs of her romantic life– ultimately culminating in a promising but mildly problematic love interest. The show was entertaining and certainly worth the watch, and SMTD’s performers once again outdid themselves with their beautiful and engaging performances in singing, dancing, and acting; however, I think the musical itself was an overall unsatisfying with its meandering plot and sub-par music. It seemed too sympathetic of past conventions of gender roles and expectations to really land on meaningful social commentary, and missed the mark of nostalgic storytelling.
The show opens up with a song about Charity (later dubbed “Sweet Charity” by her problematic future lover) and her first lover, who turns out to be a sleazy “gentleman.” She dumps him while talking with her friends at the dance club, where she works as a dancer. Most of the first act is the wandering, slightly whimsical adventures of Charity’s fruitless romances and sex life, until– at last– she lands on a good, reliable, suit-wearing, morally trustworthy man: Oscar Lindquist. He seems to suffer extreme anxiety, but this doesn’t bother Charity. The main problem, however, is that Charity works as a taxi dancer in a dance hall– a job she knows Oscar wouldn’t approve of. She lies to him, letting him believe that she’s a banker.
Perhaps I’ve become too familiar with feminist ideas and have reflexive knee-jerk reactions when anything even slightly sketchy appears, but Oscar is the re-incarnated version of every single problematic nice guy. When Charity and him are on a date, he holds her hands on a ferris wheel, the stage ceiling glittering with stars, and says (paraphrasing), “Charity, Sweet Charity, you have what no other woman has these days– and that is pure virginity.” I had to stifle a gasp of outrage. The guy next to me cursed loudly under his breath.
Eventually, Charity confesses that she’s a dancer at the Fandango ballroom, through tears, refusing to look at Oscar’s eyes, and he proposes to her anyway, promising her that her profession and her past mean nothing to their future. Yet, a day before their wedding, Oscar leaves her last minute, admitting that every time he thinks about her, he can’t help but imagine all the men she’s slept with, all the men that have paid her to dance with them. By the end of the musical, however, he returns to her, declares his everlasting love, and they are, yet again, engaged.
The plot is certainly intriguing, and gives a glimpse into the degradation of sexually expressive women and the limited options of lower-class women in general. However, the first act of the musical, though entertaining, was largely insubstantial to the main ideas of the musical and its later characters. The musical also ends on a note that seemed totally inconclusive– I wanted to see if Charity’s marriage with Oscar actually ended up working, or if she suffered the consequences of living with man who had very specific and conservative qualifications for a “good” woman and wife– but we never end up seeing that.
There there many themes that would have been interesting to explore more that never saw out their full arc in the musical– we see threads of working women’s entrapment in the dance hall, Charity and her friends fighting for respect in the field they work in, and the line between romance, love, and desperation– but all these are just faint thematic shadows of an unactualized musical. Perhaps if the songs had been more robust and engaging, these themes could have been more actualized, but many of them were disengaging and meaningless. Though the performances were perhaps the strongest part of the musical, I can’t say it made the characters, plot, or songs any more likeable.
Despite my opinion of the musical, I will say that it was certainly worth the watch and entertaining enough to keep me invested in the story, and understanding it as a musical of its time makes a great deal more tolerable. The performers were riveting– I will never stop being wholly amazed at the sheer talent of SMTD students at Michigan. I can’t wait to see the next musical SMTD puts on next– but I sincerely hope it isn’t one about the romantic ups and downs of one particular dancer in the 60’s.
An adaption of the stunning and New York Times bestselling young adult novel of the same name, this dramatic movie unflinchingly takes on themes of police brutality and racism. The movie looks like a promising representation of the book, which displayed a powerful and honest representation of the lives, relationships, and struggles of Starr Carter, a young woman growing up in a predominantly black neighborhood and attending a private school. The division between her two worlds– a mostly white school and the “hood”– are shattered when her friend is shot by the police. She is the sole witness. The movie explores themes of power, privilege, and taking a stand for what’s right, while building a world of goodness and love through struggle. The Hate U Give is in theatres now.