Pacing and rhythm

I don't like musicals. Despite my distaste for them, I did sit down and try to watch 2016s "greatest movie evah", La La Land a few months after it had been declared the best movie of the year by a bunch of people in the business only too eager to tell us about how great it was to be in the business. I lasted about 15 minutes before walking out of the room. I was mildly reassured by a friend whose wife LOVES musicals who also couldn't stand it that I wasn't completely biased. I know my bias isn't omnipresent because I actually enjoy classical opera and have seen a few. Certainly, I'm drawn to the productions of composers I already like, such as Mozart, but the aspects that tend to annoy me about musicals don't have the same effect when it comes to the original art form, as it were. And that's what makes my reaction to Annette a little more unusual, since it's essentially a modern opera. Moreso than things like La La Land or West Side Story, there are no dialogue segues between the singing. It's all singing, all the time, just as in opera. Unfortunately, like most musical performances of whatever stripe, part of the entertainment is watching said performers actually singing, which means the storytelling is at a somewhat slower pace than most films. That means that you really need to be interested in the story and the emotional underpinnings that it rides upon... and I simply wasn't.

In the same way that I wasn't impressed by the trauma of life as an actor in La La Land, I wasn't particularly intrigued by the contrast between Henry McHenry (Adam Driver), abrasive stand-up comedian, and Ann Defrasnoux (Marion Cotillard), soprano. It seemed obvious that Henry's cynicism and general distaste for society wasn't going to mix well with Ann's prominent joie de vivre. Creating a child between the two was the Frankenstein's monster in the mix and she was smartly displayed as an automaton in that respect for most of the film, who exhibits the voice and innocence of her mother which only further contributes to Henry's discomfort and inability to understand others' desire to embrace life, rather than scorn it. In that way, the titular Annette becomes both the motivating factor and the quandary of the film, which is all very operatic.

But that basic, primal story isn't powerful enough to escape the turgid pace that the performances require. Instead of the reaction that I normally have to something like The Magic Flute, where the orchestral intro to another aria builds up excitement, I found myself frequently sighing in frustration at the fact that Henry was, once again, singing about his worldly disdain for everything that was happening around him. Driver is a capable singer, but not a compelling one, which doesn't help when he's the central figure in the film who has to constantly do that. Similarly, Cotillard, whom I almost always enjoy on screen, isn't generating thrills when she's carrying a tune and, because of the more dynamic role that Driver inhabits, she ends up being kind of a sideshow in the larger picture. The "pure" characters are Ann and Annette. But they're almost never the interesting ones, since the tragedy (and the crimes associated with that) center around Henry, who's played by the largely-less-interesting-to-watch-onscreen Driver.

Perhaps I was setting myself up to fail when it comes to appreciating the picture, because I did almost no research on it before we saw it. The trailer involves the most amusing bits and doesn't really indicate that this is a musical of any sort, other than Ann being a singer of some kind and their daughter following in her footsteps. So when the film opened and the cast did a Greek chorus thing, by immediately breaking into song and giving a meta look at the story as a whole, I was intrigued. That quickly changed to frustration when the next scene made clear that it was going to be this way throughout and I began to lose patience with the film's pace. I think the visuals were smart in that every scene was lit and staged in such a way that it was clear that they were all studio sets; presenting the "all of life's a stage" idea by demonstrating how this might be possible in the theater that was home to both main characters. In the end, I don't think there was any particular failing that stood out to me. It's just really not my song to sing.

The verdigris of choices

There's a genre of late Medieval literature known as the "chivalric romance." It was a way to tell what in modern times we would refer to as "fantasy"; colored with the transition from the legends of ancient times that once carried the weight of the word of god(s) while still emphasizing the mystery of the wilderness and the unknown, even as Western society lurched toward a greater understanding of the world around us with the advent of the Enlightenment and so forth. Sir Gawain and The Green Knight is one of those chivalric romances, as it incorporates a member of King Arthur's coterie of knights (understood to be myths even then) and plays on the idea that if you ride far enough into the hinterlands, there's no telling whom you'll meet and what might happen to you, even if it means meeting the person (headless or not) that you were intending to find in the first place. It's a pretty simple plot about honor, chivalry, and especially chastity, since even in medieval poetry, there's an acknowledgment that sex sells and always has.

The Green Knight is a modern retelling of the poem that veers away from that simple tale and expands it into an even broader examination of what it means to be honorable and to keep one's obligations and to know thyself, to paraphrase a certain writer. It's clear that writer/director David Lowery wanted to keep that air of the unknown, as most of the lighting (moody, shadowed), visual effects (mists, close-ups that leave the rest of the screen in a haze), and the pacing of the film lean heavily in that direction. If you've ever seen the last third of the film, Excalibur, where the land is in dire straits and the knights struggle against the darkness and the evil sorcery and fog of Morgan le Fay are extant in every corner, you'll know what I mean.

But there's a lot more going on here on a personal level than there was in Excalibur, which attempted to condense the Arthurian legends as a whole into a two hour film. We meet Gawain (Dev Patel) early on and are given the impression that he's kind of a wastrel who spends a lot of his time in a brothel, but one who knows that he should be aiming higher in life. His mother (Sarita Choudhury; credited only as Mother) is of the same mind and starts casting spells to guide her son, King Arthur's nephew, to that greater destiny. In this respect, I think they were making reference to Margause, Gawain's mother from the legends, who was Arthur's sister, but whom is often mixed up with Morgan (as in Excalibur) as a more menacing figure in the story. There are a couple tales that say that Gawain was the product of accidental incest between king and sister, so more son than nephew, but the film stops at basically identifying him as Arthur's favorite. Said favorite is the first to stand up and accept the challenge of the titular Green Knight, who takes his own beheading by Gawain with aplomb and saunters out, reminding him that the same blow will be returned in a year and a day.

From there we see that Gawain largely returns to wastrel mode before finally deciding that he better stand up and take his beheading like an honorable knight if he wants anyone to look him in the eye again. From there, we roughly follow the path of the poem, albeit with several side jaunts along the way, involving restoring a dead woman's body to her bed at the behest of her ghost, a talking fox, and a parade of female giants. We do eventually get to the strange castle with the test of honesty between Gawain, the hunting lord, and the horny wife, but it ends up having little to do with the Green Knight or the future that Gawain sees for himself if he fails his test of bravery.

In one respect, it's true that Lowery's story is more elaborate and, to some degree, more interesting than the original romance, which is a pretty simple lesson about the qualities that knights are supposed to value most. But the downside of that increased elaboration is that it kind of loses the thread of Gawain's famous green sash along the way. The story feels like it's being mysterious for the sake of being so. Certainly, the lesson carried by keeping one's word to the ghost of a woman whose house and bed you take advantage of is obvious. But also obvious is the suggestion to not trust anyone on the road when Gawain is ambushed by common thieves and loses the Green Knight's axe and the sash until they're mysteriously returned to him later. If Lowery's intent was to play up the "Lord works in mysterious ways" theme that inhabits the original poem and similar examples of the time, OK. But it might've been better served by excluding things like the giant parade and the animal Gawain has selflessly protected to that point suddenly reminding us of a very different film altogether. I don't mind ambiguity in the stories that I'm told. Having people develop their own perspectives on the story can be a really appealing thing, rather than having it spoon fed to you. But the best examples of that approach are those stories that draw into question what our hero should be doing at any given moment, rather than either presenting the obvious choice and simply making it strange or leaving the audience in the dark as to what the choice is in the first place.

In the end, the primary choice facing Gawain remains with him to the end: he is himself, whether he's trying to be a knight or imagining himself as king. There's a certain level of required honesty in that which gives the film its central appeal and makes Patel's character worthy of following the whole way through. (In other words, it's worth watching.) I just thought that some of the fantastical elements actually clouded that central lesson and a leaner, less-mystical story might have been the better way to approach it.

A lot of moves, but most of them brilliant

I'm a huge Steven Soderbergh fan and I know I'm far from alone. In fact, I get the feeling that many of his recent pictures have been made up of actors whom are also Soderbergh fans, not only because of the quirky, seemingly-insouciant way that he produces and directs his films, but also because he tends to focus on screenplays that give them a lot to work with. No Sudden Move is no different in this respect, as it boasts a star-studded cast in larger roles (Don Cheadle, Benicio Del Toro, Brendan Fraser, Jon Hamm) and smaller ones (Amy Seimetz, Ray Liotta, Bill Duke, Frankie Shaw), and has the twisting story that gives all of them their moment(s) in the spotlight. In brief, the film is about a bunch of gangsters trying to make some money while eagerly double-crossing each other at every turn and sweeping a bunch of "normal" people into their cloud, while the real gangsters that run everything from above simply wait for the dust to settle. That really doesn't do the story justice, but it's difficult to go into detail without revealing what should be experienced firsthand by anyone reading this.

Given my childhood origins, the setting of mid-50s Detroit is appealing to me from the outset. The fact that the story centers around people trying to press every lever they can to get ahead in a society described by one character as "You think you have power. You think you have influence. But you don't." As it turns out, that character is basically right because history tells us that he's right. But those characters don't know that and they play every scene like they have the world by the short hairs or are ready with a backup plan (or two or three) if their grip happens to slip. The script also weaves in the sordid history of Detroit's "urban renewal" (Black Bottom, etc.) and the rampant corporate corruption that still rules the nation (and soils the air.) This is a regular feature of Soderbergh's films, as he's never far away from dropping a statement or two into the otherwise fictional stories that he delivers. This one also carries little allusions to America's racial politics and their constant presence in the automotive industry (Big Corp's attraction to fascism springs to mind these days), as well as subtle hints to the sexuality that so many kept hidden at that time.

Another aspect that's been a regular feature of his career is the use of unusual equipment. Having shot films with only a Super 8 camera or with only an Iphone, this time he doesn't go quite that far, but does use a recurring format for most of the scenes around and inside the homes of the few "regular" Detroit inhabitants, which I can only call a "peephole cam", as it shades the corners of the screen and enlarges the center, just like it would if you were looking through a peephole in a door. I'm not sure if the intent was to represent the audience peeping into the lives of regular folk, while we were part of the vast conspiracy that the otherwise criminal element (both street and corporate) pursues throughout the story, but that's the closest I can come to figuring out what the purpose of that particular mechanic was. I have to say that it was kind of a distraction to the film overall, but it didn't quite reach the level of an annoyance. Maybe it's just because I wasn't in on the joke. But a lot of the characters could say that, too.

Don Cheadle does well as a man just trying to catch a break after a life gone wrong. Likewise, Del Toro handles his role as the unreliable gangster with aplomb, although I feel like he's become a bit typecast, as his role resembled something of a fusion of his parts in Traffic (another Soderbergh production) and Snatch. It's always good to be thought of whenever the right casting is needed for a specific role, but it becomes less so when those roles start looking and sounding the same. Similarly, Jon Hamm seems locked into "straight man" roles, whether they're genuinely straight/heroic/law-abiding or not. In contrast, David Harbour (of Stranger Things fame) is a semi-surprising joy as an imposed-upon accountant who's living the typical American, middle class home life, while carrying on an affair at the office and, when pressed to confront his boss for a document that will keep his family alive, announces every punch that he's about to throw with: "This is a punch." It's as effective a declaration as one might expect from a man who's never thrown one and who later reveals just how much of a lack of control he has over what's going on around him, especially in an excellent motel room scene with the partner of his affair, played by Frankie Shaw, who simply shines in her few minutes of screen time. Bill Duke also has several excellent moments with his usual penetrating-stare-above-lowered-glasses move.

I thought the production was really well done on a visual level. Those homes looked like they came right out of a lot of Detroit neighborhoods that are still standing today. Also, many of the city's landmark buildings looked appropriately spiffy as they were at that time. I wondered a bit about a couple details, such as the regular references to the "Big Four" of the auto industry. I've never heard anyone refer to anything but the "Big Three" (aka GM, Ford, Chrysler) and I'm pretty sure Packard-Studebaker was never large enough to be in that grouping. (Similarly, 1954 was the year that AMC was created and they were still never considered to be in the top tier.) I appreciated the mentions of the unjust removal of the Black Bottom and Paradise Valley neighborhoods, but wondered that they didn't cite the highway construction that was the official reason (removal of Black residents and businesses being the primary one.) But a tip of the hat to writer, Ed Solomon, for also being cognizant of Detroit's mob history, with the mention of The Purple Gang, although 1954 was long after they had any presence in the city.

But all of that detail can add to a perception that there's simply too much going on at any one moment. While I'm always interested in a complex story or one with multiple angles, there is a limit to all things. While it's a measure of respect for the intelligence of many of the characters that they can see multiple angles and seem prepared for most of what befalls them and have already mapped the routes around the bad spots (Soderbergh takes care to show Curt Goynes (Cheadle) setting up his backup plans, rather than using them as deus ex machina-style surprises), one occasionally has to wonder at the ability of any one person to cover that many angles and not be completely paranoid. I think Soderbergh does a good job in representing Goynes and Russo (Del Toro) as essentially friendless because of the lives they've chosen to lead, but I think it's fair to wonder just how much off-the-cuff scheming can go so right. Until it doesn't. So, I can't say this was Soderbergh's best crime/heist film (Out of Sight still probably takes that title) but it's definitely a solid example of his craft and well worth seeing.

Internal echoes

I went through something of a transformation about a decade ago. I got divorced, moved out of the house I'd never wanted, and spent a large part of a year mostly isolated. I still went to my dojo fairly often, but unless someone contacted me or showed up at the door, there were times when I could go for days without seeing or hearing another human. It was me and the cats. As you might expect, that led to a fair amount of introspection in the depths of a very, very low period. What came out the other end was largely positive (I think.) It allowed me to grow up in some respects. (You'd like to think a 40-year-old wouldn't have that much growing up to do, but we all know that's rarely the case.) Watching The Sound of Metal this evening brought some vivid memories of that period back to me and now I wonder, a decade later, if I might have forgotten some of the lessons that slowly dawned on me in the darkness.

The film is about a nomadic heavy metal drummer in a two-person band with his girlfriend. They live in an RV and simply move from gig to gig. The music is, almost literally, their life as Ruben (Riz Ahmed) uses it to give his life purpose away from drugs and Lou (Olivia Cooke) seemingly does the same to escape her inner demons. But then Ruben begins to lose his hearing. What is it like when you have the whole focus of your life removed, whether by your own hand or something you can't control? I've been there. What is it like when you feel like you're failing simply by existing without that focus? I've been there. What is it like when you desperately want to fight back against something which can't be fought, because it's an essential part of you? I've been there, too. This is Ruben's entire existence being disrupted, not by a mistake that he's made, but a bodily function that can only possibly be repaired. In the making of himself into the whole person that keeps him from addiction, he suddenly finds himself feeling like less of a person in a way that's more mundane, but every bit as crucial.

Director and co-writer, Darius Marder, does a sterling job of keeping us immersed in Ruben's experience and allowing all of the emotions to progress naturally. It's almost documentary-like, but delivered with a deep grasp of the story being told, without deviation. Ahmed handles the textured and difficult role without becoming maudlin, which is a feat in itself. It would've been easy to overemote into the tragedy of the situation, but he keeps himself tied to what Ruben's reality should be even through the scenes where the character pulses with rancor. The actor has had a fairly regular career on large and small screen (plus an intriguing moment as The Corinthian in an audiobook presentation of Sandman), but mostly on the other side of the pond. But his performance here was so good that I'm kind of eager to seek out his larger roles and see what he could do with screenplays perhaps not quite as grounded. Paul Raci, as Joe, the director of the deaf addicts shelter that Ruben is convinced to stay with, is another standout. It's during their most emotional conversation in the film that Joe points out that the stillness of their condition is where he finds the most peace; not simply that he's been able to accept what has happened to him, but has embraced it as something that makes him a whole person and which he was using alcohol to avoid.

When I was staring into the darkness alone, my outlet at the dojo was something that allowed me to find that same kind of stillness. The motion, the interaction with others without speaking, the absorption of form and ritual, the actual stillness of zazen; all of these things contributed to that introspection that led to a similar kind of change that Ruben experiences. He had created a life that was driven forward to keep him from slipping backward into a lesser state. He had to constantly be doing something. When deafness initially robbed him of that, he felt lost. I'm still often in that frame of mind. If I'm not doing something, learning something, conveying something, I still feel as if I'm wasting time; as if I'm failing. In that respect, this film was a small reminder that learning to be comfortable with one's own existence, no matter the physical requirements or hurdles, can occasionally be all the accomplishment that any one person needs. I'm still not certain of that and, thankfully, the film avoids a pat ending, as well. We're simply left with an understanding that this, too, is part of the journey to whatever end.

Highly, highly recommended.

Batman: TAS, episode #32: Beware the Gray Ghost

This episode hearkens back to the past of our main character in a couple different ways. First off, the premise is that one of Bruce's childhood heroes, the Gray Ghost, is being used as a template by a modern version of one of the TV hero's enemies, The Mad Bomber. The idea that the Ghost was an inspiration for young Bruce Wayne's later alter ego is similar to that of the character itself. The Batman was inspired by The Shadow, menace to criminals everywhere via his radio show that had been running for several years prior to Bob Kane's creation of the Dark Knight. Indeed, The Batman emulated his inspiration in more ways than one, as in his first couple appearances in Detective Comics, he wielded twin .45s just like The Shadow and, uh, killed the criminals that he hunted down. The Gray Ghost in this episode isn't quite that visceral in his approach and in both technique and appearance is much closer to heroes like The Sandman and The Phantom; willing to duke it out with the ne'er-do-wells but not go past at least that level of taking the law into his own hands.

But the other side of the trip to the past is that the character Simon Trent/Gray Ghost is voiced by Adam West, the man behind the bat ears for the 1960s TV show, Batman. Much as I decry said show and its perpetuation of what I see as a distorted view of the character, there's no way to deny both the show's and West's impact on pop culture. Until his death in 2017, West was widely beloved for the three seasons (120 episodes!) he spent in cape and cowl and it was a good thing that affection went as far as it did, because the role basically typecast him as "The Batman." What had been a growing career to that point was subsequently relegated to B (at best) movies, small guest spots on other TV shows, and voice work, despite becoming a household name. He couldn't just be Adam West, actor. He could only be Bruce Wayne and the flying rodent. One of the best writing touches of this episode was setting up Simon Trent with the same problem; still wanting to act, but unable to escape the shadow(!) of his most famous role. And, again, despite lacking interest in ever going back to watch Burt Ward exclaim "Holy Etruscan vases, Batman!", there was still a broad grin on my face when hearing that breathy delivery of excitement when Simon Trent, actor, first spoke a line in this episode. It was, as with Bruce Wayne's experience, just like when I was a kid.

The downside to the writing of this episode had to do with both of the characters that were set up to be Stereotypical Nerd. Both the clerk at the video archive and the villain of the piece were portrayed as different versions of antisocial closet cases. The clerk was unhelpful and treated Bruce with the disdain of those who have knowledge that the target of their contempt doesn't possess and the Mad Bomber himself (voiced by producer, Bruce Timm) was blowing up buildings in the name of being able to... buy more toys. This was the early 90s, when it was still considered socially acceptable to shame comic book/TV/SF nerds and laugh at them (i.e. pre-Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, and especially Marvel Studios and the broad based acceptance of those interests that they encouraged.) So, it was kind of disappointing to look back on that version of the past, but this series, like Adam West as The Batman, is an artifact of its time. The division in the eras within the episode was made plain with the gray tone of the animation, not only for the old TV show, but for Bruce's memories, in general, before we were certain that we'd actually arrived in Oz with the color of The Batman's witnessing of the Mad Bomber's first action. But I could've done with a little less of the thinly-veiled denigration of a large chunk of the audience that was probably watching BTAS at the time.

That said, the overall pacing of the episode was excellent and we returned to our noir approach with both the patient examination of the crime scenes and the tragedy and angst of Trent's situation; not only in his inability to pay the rent except by parting with treasured physical memories, but also in trying to escape the confining role that those possessions embodied. This is a man whose only link to success is in something he detests and wants to avoid, as he points out in his exchange with our hero: "I used to admire what the Gray Ghost stood for!" "I'm not the Gray Ghost!" "I can see that now." On the other hand, I think it was fair to wonder if writers Garin Wolf and Tom Ruegger were swiping an idea from The Dead Pool, the last of the Dirty Harry films released in 1988, with their remote-controlled cars to deliver explosives. It's certainly the first thing I thought of when seeing the Mad Bomber's method. I'd also have to say that defending a library with a flamethrower against explosives would probably not be my first choice. But the episode does veer back around to acknowledging the value of superhero stuff and having heroes, in general, when we witness The Batman geeking out with the Gray Ghost over the former's shrine to his hero in the Batcave, so the sole memory of nerd culture in this story isn't the villain shrieking: "My toys! My beautiful toys!" In the end, there was far more positive to be said about this episode than negative and I think the cultural ties winding through all of the self-referential material make it one of the highlights of the series so far. At least for us nerds.

We've reached the halfway point in the series, so I'm thinking about doing a couple more "extras" posts, like the Robin discussion; one about the main character and one about the series itself. We'll see. Meanwhile, next time is Catscratch Fever (No, not Ted Nugent. Someone much more socially acceptable in the form of Catwoman.)

Batman: TAS, episode #31: Dreams in Darkness

We finally return to one of The Batman's classic opponents with the Scarecrow. We also open this episode in Arkham Asylum, which speaks to a greater immersion in the mythos by this point in the series. We don't need the setup on the streets of Gotham before we travel to one of its key locations. We start there with, of course, The Batman as the latest patient. Something else that's new is Bruce/Batman doing a voiceover for the first half of the episode, as he recounts the events that brought him to our cold opening. It's a pretty standard technique for beginning a "shocking" scenario and then discovering how it came about, rather than building into it linearly. But I have to say that I found the narration felt a little clumsy. We're so accustomed to simply following our lead character wherever he goes and experiencing what he does alongside him (It's like... we're Robin!) that putting him in the narrator role seems off.

However, a number of the basic elements of the rest of the story were really well done. The plot is that of a large part of Batman Begins, with the Scarecrow attempting to dump his fear serum into the city's water supply and reduce things to chaos. The episode was, in fact, an inspiration for that film and also a loose adaptation of the first four issues of Shadow of the Bat, written by Alan Grant, but replacing Victor Zsasz with Scarecrow. But getting to the point where The Batman is able to foil that plot involves him dealing with any number of hallucinations caused by the chemical. While that's a bog standard plot for a superhero story, the visuals created to execute it here were excellent. We see the standard "parents in Crime Alley" moment, but it's set up in such an abstract style with the massive gun and Bruce unable to prevent them from venturing into the tunnel and to their deaths that it doesn't seem as tiresome a retelling as it often can be. Later, when fighting with his visions of the other inhabitants of Arkham and beyond (Joker, Penguin, Two-Face, Poison Ivy), the transition between all of them (and in that precise order) gives one some indication of where they rank in the rogues' gallery and the transformations are bizarre enough to provide some element of actual threat to the visions that our hero is seeing. This is a distinct step above the 1960s illusions of Princess Projectra or Mastermind and it's good to see that the producers didn't skimp on the time and attention to detail needed to make this look good. This is also Jagged Teeth Scarecrow, which I think continues to be the more threatening visage of the character.

Still, there are some "comic book" moments that one can wonder about. Why does The Batman think pulling steel pipes out of a wall instead of flexible tubing out of the Scarecrow's prototype is the better approach? Do asylums normally use tranquilizer darts to subdue the patients? Especially darts that can embed themselves in concrete? One also has to wonder if The Batman is one of those people who can do the dislocated shoulder thing to free himself from a straitjacket. At one point in the final showdown, The Batman whistles into a PA to "stun" the collection of thugs, but not himself or the Scarecrow? And why does The Batman, of all people, have to ask where the city's water supply comes from? However, as with the other visuals, it has to be said that the Scarecrow's pocket watch is brilliant, with a slashing Grim Reaper and scythe as the second timer. Also, the final sequence with the shadow of the bat(!) covering the sleeping Bruce Wayne was another nice visual touch (although one wonders why he'd be sleeping in the Batcave.) I'll also admit to being a bit mystified by the skin tone transition of the Scarecrow's initial thug (the driller killer), since he seems to shift from non-White to regular White guy over the course of the encounter and his final destination in the hospital. Also, it's kind of funny for those of who know the mythos well to hear The Batman dismiss The Joker as not being capable of this kind of madness because "there's only one criminal twisted enough" to be so... the Scarecrow. That may be the only time you'll ever hear someone assert that The Joker is not capable of being twisted.

However, another quote signaled the fact that writers Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens were on firm ground with the character and his demesne, when narrator Bruce mentions that "Some thought I'd gone mad. Others thought I always had been." That's someone(s) who "gets it", as it were. Next time, we veer away from the standard villains again, but bring back a voice from the past with Beware the Gray Ghost.

Basic tenets

Supposedly, the origin of the idea for Christopher Nolan's latest film, Tenet, is the Sator Square; a Roman word symbol of joint palindromes that's been attached to a variety of Christian and mystical beliefs over the past two millennia. Just like with the square, one can derive a number of deeper meanings from the film just by framing its approach in different ways or rearranging its story to fit whatever perspective you'd like to have. One can do that with the square because it was probably never intended to carry different meanings, but simply to present something universal. Like a tarot deck, one can attach what seems familiar and ignore the rest. The film works in the same way because it's an exercise in basic storytelling and structure with most of the action just being window dressing for those essential (ahem) tenets. The question becomes whether that's actually a good film.

The film's lead is only identified as The Protagonist. (One hearkens back to Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash, with a lead similarly labeled (Hiro Protagonist.)) That's because the film's story isn't really important. What's important to Nolan is how the story is told. The Protagonist is a stand-in for Nolan himself; demonstrating to the audience that the characters are just ciphers for the writer and/or director. The latter are the storytellers, with the actors serving as tools to deliver that story. This is in contrast to what films often labeled "an X vehicle" become, in which they're simply window dressing around the performance of a leading person (a Clint Eastwood vehicle, an Al Pacino vehicle, et al.) With Tenet, Nolan decided to bring us all back to film school and give us an elaborately decorated example of how basic story structure works: Here is your protagonist. Here is the conflict and the antagonists. Here is the protagonist working their way through said conflict. Resolution. Of course, the resolution in Tenet is a little murkier than many other basic stories, but the end result is essentially the same. The question for the viewer is: Was it all worth it?

That's the basic question for anyone who watches a movie, right? Was this worth my time/money/attention? The question of story is the central one to me for any film. I don't need to be wowed by special effects or blown away by a performance. Those things are good and can, in and of themselves, often make watching worthwhile. But, first and foremost, tell me a story. Even better, tell me a good story. If you can't do that, then I'm usually wasting my time, no matter how many cool explosions you put on the screen. Is the story in Tenet worthwhile? Well... yeah, if you like things broken down to their most basic elements without any particular attachment to the who and why they're being told, I guess. The reason for that very qualified answer is that the film is basically an exercise in the technique more than it is an actual story. It's an interesting exercise in a lot of ways, but it's not something that's going to produce an emotional release or any real level of excitement that one would normally associate with watching a good story.

I didn't particularly care about any of the characters in the film because they were really just ciphers. Watching them solve the elaborate puzzle constructed around the very basic plot with no motivation to do so other than the fact that the puzzle existed is kind of like watching someone else work a crossword without suggesting any answers to them. While John David Washington does well in injecting some life into the overall sterility and generates some interest in the proceedings (Is it a 'John David Washington vehicle'?), he can't possibly succeed in making anyone care about what's happening because that's not the point of the exercise. Kenneth Branagh, as stock "modern Russian villain", also doesn't help, although he's conveniently named after the aforementioned square (Andrei Sator.) Elizabeth Debicki unfortunately doesn't raise the basic exercise above cliché as the damsel in distress (Wants to protect her child, the one who gets shot and needs to be saved by the hero, yadda yadda yadda.) either. You can see all of the regular notes being played and you come back to the original question: Is it worth it? Robert Pattinson, unfortunately, is handed that irritating role where he obviously knows more than either the viewer or the protagonist but won't tell either of them what he knows in order to keep the story going. This is a phenomenon from poorly-executed roleplaying games where the gamemaster finds himself more important than the ones who really should be the stars of the show: the players.

But, again, that's largely because Tenet is a basic exercise in storytelling. There's nothing wrong with that and it's done well. I think Christopher Nolan is one of the best directors currently in the business and you can draw comparisons with previous masters like Stanley Kubrick, who were also fond of taking basic elements of the craft and creating larger spectacles around them that remained rooted in those basic elements. There's nothing wrong with that. Does it make for an "instant classic" that I would recommend to everyone? Not really. I'll probably go back and watch Tenet again because I'm a Nolan fan and I like the way he works and I'm interested in particular technical moments. But am I compelled to go back and watch it again because there are great characters and gripping, emotional moments and because it's a great story in the same manner as something like Blade Runner? No. There really aren't any of those. And I cite the latter not only because the director's cut is one of my favorite films, but also because it's a science fiction film that initially faced an uneven response from both critics and fans, despite similar appreciation for its overall quality and construction. Blade Runner grew into a cult classic and then an acknowledged classic because of its strong underlying message and the emotional underpinnings of that message. Tenet doesn't really have the former and utterly lacks the latter. It's an exercise with possibilities, just like the square.