Tales from the Loop: an Enjoyable, if Erratic, Ride

on May 1, 2020

This is one of the most inconsistent series I have seen, and it would be easier to rate individual episodes than the season as a whole. I have higher-than-average standards and I was completely taken with this from episode one and just as delighted by two and three. I loved the cinematography, the thoughtful, introspective pace, and the understated mystery of it. They did a phenomenal job of capturing the moody, atmospheric, classic-meets-modern enigma of the paintings by Simon Stålenhag that inspired it. The fact that past and future timelines seemed unapologetically conflated was intriguing and, refreshingly, the details of the story weren’t unveiled in a heavy-handed manner or impatiently spoon-fed to the audience. The episodes were largely stand-alone, but with subtle insertions to suggest an underlying continuity. It felt like a spiritual successor to The Twilight Zone far more than any actual remake has achieved.

Episodes 1, 2 and 3 all receive top stars from me. Episode 4 was equally solid and very well acted, but it was a portrait of grief well-tailored to leave you absolutely gutted. Back in episode one we glimpsed an argument between two main characters, but we knew nothing beyond the fact that one was seeking permission from the other. Without betraying any spoilers, my assumption was that episode 4 removed a barrier for the character needing permission and thus served as a catalyst for further story developments.

It seems I was mistaken. Episode 5 is another stand-alone episode that doesn’t offer much in the progression of the overarching plot. The acting in this episode is unsurpassed as Dan Bakkedahl manages to deliver a likeable and sympathetic character despite serious anger issues and a penchant for making head-shakingly short-sighted decisions. Had we not spent much of the episode frustrated with his woefully frayed rationale, it would have rated as highly as the rest.

Things took a downturn at episode 6. I loved the craft of the opening shot – how it tipped off alert viewers who the episode was about before he came into frame. The painful awkwardness of the pool table scene was perfectly executed and deeply relatable to anyone who’s ever had an anticipated encounter go down in flames. But once the story really gets going, the characters begin to behave in ways that make Bakkedahl’s character look like a genius. At least, it makes it very very hard to continue to root for them. The main character behaves like an idiot teenager, and maybe it would have worked had he been one. As it stands, it’s hard to forgive. I give it credit for the ultimate takeaway, but Gaddis was an unfortunate conduit. Lack of experience does not excuse that level of immaturity. We’re down to 3 stars.

Episode 7 would have been perfect for Halloween, and as a nut for All Hallow’s Eve I was completely on board with it for the entire first half carried by Emjay Anthony. But in the second half our lead character made the sort of mind-numbingly stupid decision often exemplified by the ill-fated stars of the horror genre which is so impossible to justify that it shatters the suspension of disbelief. Furthermore, the ending felt rushed and goofy, falling short of pathos. Demotion to 2.5 stars, all earned by Anthony.

Despite the disappointment of the previous two episodes, I still maintained every expectation that episode 8 would somehow bring us full circle and tie up some loose ends. We would find out what the argument in episode 1 was about, what the changes in episode 4 gave rise to. Maybe little Cole would get to carry the baton of what his grandfather started and use it to sort out some of the chaos he had inadvertently created. Surely we’d learn more about Eclipse and its relation to the warping of Time-Space within the community, and how that might be utilized to sort some of the more egregious calamities and leave us with a modicum of closure.

But that didn’t happen. Duncan Joiner delivers an impressive performance, but the plot was as thin as gauze and really lets everyone down. What did it accomplish? I don’t ask for neatly packaged happy endings, but this really feels to have gone off the rails somewhere. 2 stars – for performance and atmosphere – and a heavy helping of disappointment.

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The Shape of Water: Infantile Logic with Adult Action

on December 1, 2019

If we can attribute any depth to the title of the film, “The Shape of Water”, it’s that the structure of the narrative is entirely transparent. It’s clear they operated under the assumption that if they threw in enough random scenes of nudity, masturbation, sex and gratuitous violence, no one would dare accuse them of producing a film which assumes the audience is endowed with the rational capacity of infants.

Here’s how logic runs in the movie:

We’ve captured the rarest creature on earth and gone to great lengths to bring it to our top-secret high-security facility – so we can kill it.

Meanwhile, audience exertion extends as far as this:

Exhibit A: I carry a bloody baton and make women watch while I pee. I’m the bad guy. But in case you didn’t catch that, I’ll also beat our extraordinary creature pointlessly, and repeatedly make bigoted remarks to the protagonists’ face. If that doesn’t suffice, I’ll also tell my wife to shut up while fucking her and covering her mouth with my bloody hand. Yes, I’m the one you need to free the monster from. I’m the monster. Glad you grasp the concept.

Exhibit B: I’m a poor orphan girl rendered mute by a mysterious accident in my past. Oh, and water really gets me off – I may be part fishman, myself. My best friends are a lonely gay man and a black woman in a bad marriage because Hollywood feels morally superior when it shines a light on minorities – so we’re stuffing the ballot! (For the record, I represent a number of minority identities, myself, but don’t relish being Hollywood’s hamfisted charity case.)

Orphan girl, probably a refugee from the sea herself, conveniently intersects with and is immediately enraptured with fishman – who, incidentally, she bears no resemblance to. Fishman also instantly senses their connection, minus one brief, forgivable outburst because, you know: keeping it real.

Even though our protagonist’s two best friends have taken it upon themselves to learn sign language so that she is able to communicate both at home and at work, she feels that no one but a fishman she just met truly understands and accepts her as she is. And just in case you still weren’t convinced that the bad guy was really all that bad, we’ll have him make a move on our protagonist because he’s really hornballed by her inability to speak or scream.

While the magically-enlightened or just plain superstitious natives of the past worshiped fishman as a god, both the stereotypically mindless murder-machines of the U.S. military and, for some reason, also Russia, are eager to kill our extraordinary monster. So it falls to our protagonist and her ragtag team of misfits to break him out of this high-security military base! Although she could enlist the help of the sympathetic Russian scientist, it’s better to leave that success-riding plot device to pure chance, and trust that he alone will witness our protagonist’s tampering and fortuitously deliver the literal key which had not apparently factored into the escape plan.

All of the necessary machinations will happen in just under five minutes exactly, even with the protagonist’s accomplice being stopped at the gate, the scientist totally ignorant of the schedule, and both he and the other best friend obstructing momentum. Not to mention the monster taking the opportunity to languidly rise from his escape-cart to make a dramatic first impression on gay friend, who also idles to drop a mindfuckingly banal punchline while stealing a scaled sea-unicorn from a military base. Did I do that? Fortunately only one man seems interested in pursuit, and he’s rendered incapable because they cleverly clipped the headlight from his car. Even more fortunate, Mister Military is an extremely bad shot.

Somehow they smuggle fishman into their upstairs apartment without notice and stuff him into the bathtub, but now he’s been out of water too long, so he suffocates and that’s the end. Just kidding, we just wanted to scare you. Don’t cry kiddies, he’s perfectly okay again. In fact, he can even roam out of water as much as he likes now without suffering any debilitating effects. Thus, after sitting serenely in a tub for half a day and night he suddenly bolts from the cramped ceramic basin, maiming our protagonist’s best friend and immediately eating the man’s cat (I guess eggs didn’t cut it anymore). But it’s okay, he’s a wild animal after all and it can’t be helped! Which, wow, is super sexy so let’s get our bestiality on. You might even call it a metaphor for interracial sex because it is totally the same thing. Better still, let’s stuff a towel under the door and turn on the taps so we can have mad underwater intercourse in our magical bathroom-turned-aquarium. C’mon, it looks cool.

Anyway, now that our monster-man has gotten that out of his system he’s a total doll with the surviving kitties, who will totally trust him 100% after watching him savagely devour their roommate. Adorable. Oh, and this seems like the perfect time for fishman to have a sudden burst of guilt for giving in to his natural predatory instincts and express this by demonstrating his magical healing powers. At least, you’ll think that’s what we’re doing, but no! We’ll save that reveal for the next day! So yes. Yes, that’s what we’re doing. He’s magic. It’s flawless foreshadowing.

Because all is not according to protocol in our military man’s life, so let’s have him hijack the needless plotline of the interfering Russians (we’re mad at Russia right now, so no movie is complete without evil Russians) to violently kill our humble scientist and remind everyone that we’re not actually a Disney movie because we have sex and violence. That’s what makes us cool, kids. Edgy.

Of course, our clever scientist proves not so clever in his final moments so that we can bring on the chase scene and further emphasize the unambiguously vile nature of our villain and moral high ground of our heroes. Just as they arrive at the scene of escape, the military remembers how to shoot. But don’t worry, we have magic. We showed you earlier, so it’s totally not deus ex machina. Oh, and it wasn’t bestiality either because orphan girl is really a sea monster too. Or something. I hope she likes catfish.

So the moral is, don’t be a dick and yay diversity. The weak are strong and the strong are stupid. Animals are people too and people are animals so we can still be friends when we’re not irresistibly compelled to eat each other. Also, stop wearing a toupee and just be yourself… even though you look much better in the toupee; it’s quite a good one.

The film is a visual feast, but even that is largely derivative of better films that have gone before. If there’s any explanation for the general reception, either the audience is old enough that the rampant nostalgia porn checks all their boxes, or young enough not to know better. It has less emotional and intellectual scope than Greg Weissman’s “Gargoyles” (which actually had a lot). The only thing extraordinary about this movie is that it was given a serious treatment rather than being vanquished to the late night slot on Cartoon Network. Better cartoon writers everywhere are wondering where their oscars are. And so am I.

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The Gods are Laughing

on December 17, 2018

Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.

I‘ve seen this quote attributed to everyone from Edmund Burke to Albert Einstein, but have yet to uncover a reputable source. According to Good Reads, Edmund was supposed to have said this in his “Preface to Brissot’s Address to His Constituentsas” as far back as 1794, but unfortunately the transcript available on Project Gutenberg does not include it. I can find no mention, as yet, of where precisely Einstein is believed to have either coined or quoted the words, and considering the culture of misquotation on the internet, I’m inclined to lean toward Edmund.

In any case, I love the sentiment and take those words in the same vein as another of my favorite quotes:

“Believe those who are seeking the truth;
doubt those who find it.” – André Gide

(Fortunately, Quote Investigator backs me up on the source for this one.)

Far be it for me to espouse a belief that the pursuit of Truth is pointless or impractical. I am firmly committed to the endeavor of grappling toward the Truth, however strenuous or unpalatable the journey. I’ve never (or rarely) worn eye makeup, but consider me an honorary “Goth” in that regard; I’m the gloomy kid who sits in the corner and considers the context and consequences of things that others are desperately rushing to escape from remembering. I’m the one asking how we got here, whether we should be here, and what we can do to change it. I’m not going to tell you that the effort is erroneous, even when I’m bleeding from the eyes. I am, at least in theory, a red pill kinda guy.

But here’s the “but”. Human beings instinctively abhor uncertainty and the unknown. Not all of us or all of the time, but there is a natural and justifiable repulsion to untested ground. What you don’t know can hurt you, so it is better from the standpoint of survival to cleave to the familiar and demonstrably safe. In a wide variety of cases, this serves us well. It keeps us at home, among friends. But of course, eschewing the woods for fear of what lurks therein does not help us prepare for the contingency that the woods may leak into the village, or necessity may force us into the woods. This is why we study and research and try to comprehend the foreign and incomprehensible. The more that we can understand, the better we are equipped to navigate the proverbial chaos.

What troubles me is the trend toward certainty, even among seekers. How many times have we read a new scientific study that upends the standing assumption among experts? How many people have related their belief system in unequivocal terms; this is the one true path to enlightenment…?

Let me be clear: it is not that we should resist adopting a position based on the best information that is available to us. It is merely the rhetoric which implies that we have arrived at The Final Answer which unsettles me. It is every article that has ever declared, “the one thing which separates us from the other species”, when we know far too little about ourselves and all the other species to draw any such definitive conclusion. It is every author who declares, “there are only x possibilities”, when the possibilities are multitudinous and most lie too far outside our frame of reference to even be fully or partially conceived. It is any histrionic headline which screams that science has solved the problem once and for all, and any individual who insists that they’ve found the one true key to salvation, or that a phenomenal experience has only one explanation.

As a species, we have achieved remarkable things. But let’s try to remember our minisculity in the face of the universe. Every thought, action and expression of human kind is translated through the narrow lens of human experience, like a telescope we cannot set aside. We interpret the world through our senses, and as such our bodies generate a perception of the world which is entirely shaped by the design of our particular senses – which are shaped, in turn, by the environment which gave rise to them. We are an instrument which is finely adapted to precise wavelengths of information, while utterly insensible to anything which lies outside these perimeters. We are helpless even in parts of our own world without adapting our instrument, and we can only adapt it to that which our senses inform us of, and by emulating those which are better adapted to those environments. We are a three-dimensional entity, able to infer from our observation of lower dimensions that there may be higher ones, but limited to speculation about how deep the rabbit hole goes with any assurance.

Sticking to the familiar isn’t the only thing that has enabled the continuance of our species. Curiosity is another virtue which has conserved at least as many cats as it has killed. We should foster curiosity and continue penetrating deeper into our universe, but do so with humility, and an awareness of our limitations. We must, inevitably, draw our conclusions from the best quality of data that we have access to, but we should take care not to presume that the key opens only one door, or the door opens for only that key.

How do we know without knowing? Merely by reserving certitude. It is an oft-repeated criticism of science, at least among certain American conservatives, that science is only theory. This, however, is by design. It is an acknowledgement that we may never have all the data; that we can only extrapolate the most likely answer based on the data we have, and that the answer may change as more or better data become available. Many religious adherents prefer to find certainty in holy tomes, despite the enigmatic admission that these beliefs are founded on faith. It is difficult to reconcile both the admission of ignorance with the superiority of conviction that some laud over others as a matter of pride. But no one is immune from the sin of pride in any arena, particularly one they have sacrificed much to understanding.

Nonetheless, the moment we presume we have reached the pinnacle of knowledge is the moment we become blind to other and better alternatives, and paralyze the course of progress. It’s the moment that we swallow the blue pill and wrap ourselves up in the warm blanket of mindless confidence and persistent illusion. And somewhere outside the unbroken womb of known reality something small shifts, a new wrinkle emerges in the tapestry of fate, and the gods are laughing.

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Relationships are like Shoes

on July 21, 2018

stylesalvage.blogspotRelationships are like shoes. The chances that you are going to walk into the nearest shoe store and discover perfection in the first pair you approach are highly improbable.  Even supposing you did, how would you know?  Suppose they are the first pair of shoes you have ever had the luxury to experience.  If you are inclined to enjoy the sensation of foot armor, then a life of barren feet will predispose you to exalt in even the shoddiest pair conceived.

To find the essential pair, you are going to have to try on a lot of shoes, and you will be visiting more than one shop.  But here’s the difference: this is an analogy about relationships.  So, provided you’re not polyamorous, you can only have one set of shoes, not a harem in the closet.  This choice has to count.

Some of the shoes will have the perfect aesthetic.  The moment you lay eyes on them, there will be an instant connection.  You’ll know that these shoes were made for you.  Until you try them on, and then it’s another story.  You may look fantastic in them, but there’s torture in every step.

Some will be hard pressed to capture your attention at all.  You’ll be thanking whatever karma fairies thrust them in front of you because they’re not what you were looking for – with your eyes.

You put them on, though, and it’s all kinds of paradise.  But then maybe you walk to the mirror and realize they have neon pink flamingo heads popping out of the toes.  They repel you.  Your relationship is half a lie.  You can never love all of them.  And you can only have one pair of shoes.

You’ll try shoes that are too short, too large, too narrow in the toe, too pinched in the heel, too unsupported in the arch, too gaudy, too grisly, too high class, too unrefined, too casual, too high maintenance, and too many things to anticipate.

And then, through patience and diligence, one day you are going to find a pair that fits you in all the crucial aspects.  A pair that compliments you so well it may almost have been tailor made, yet possesses sufficient novelty to hold your interest.

5minuteswithmolly.wordpressAnd now and then even this beloved pair will allow a rock to breach its barriers and, inadvertent or no, render you a wound.  And eventually this pair will bear testament to your shared history together with a mounting collection of scuffs and wear.  But the true test of their worth will be in how much (or little) these things matter to you against the measure of their merits.

Merits you will be sufficiently versed, by now, to appreciate.

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