Blood wasn't the only thing that sucked

The original Nosferatu has a story that's possibly even more interesting than that of the film itself. Not only is it one of the finest examples of the German expressionist era in film and a further example of the fragility of the early art form, after most copies were ordered to be destroyed until a few were later (ahem) unearthed and has since been preserved in various other forms, but it's also a shining example of copyright infringement and an attempt to not pay creators what they're owed. Prana Film, a short-lived production company, didn't want to pay for the rights to Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula, and thus ordered their screenwriter, Henrik Galeen, to change minor details (like Count Dracula becoming Count Orlok and half the story taking place in Germany, rather than England) in an attempt to claim that it was an original story. Stoker's widow, Florence Balcombe, promptly sued after its 1922 release and all copies of the film were ordered to be destroyed by the court. Thankfully, not all of them were, so we can still see the film today and appreciate F. W. Murnau's storytelling technique and innovations in the medium and with the vampire concept, in general (like suggesting that they're destroyed by sunlight, rather than just typically trying to avoid it.) So, there's a space for the film in the history of the medium, even if it was an attempted ripoff. Indeed, the story of its production is fascinating enough that Elias Merhige and Steven Katz collaborated on Shadow of the Vampire about 25 years ago, which is a fictionalized retelling of the filming of Nosferatu which involves some suspicion among the crew as to whether Max Schreck, who plays Count Orlok in the original film and is played in this reexamination by Willem Dafoe, is exactly what he says he is...

So, it was kind of exciting to learn that Robert Eggers was going to attempt a genuine remake of the F. W. Murnau film. I wasn't blown away by The Lighthouse, but I was willing to give it a chance because the latter wasn't terrible and because of my attachment to the original film, which I've seen three times, including at our Michigan Theater, accompanied by the organ to add to the eeriness of its overall tone. Well, in Eggers' new version, tone is definitely an issue because the one he was apparently aiming for was loud, overwrought, and lacking any of the subtlety of the original. You would think that, at the very least, the one upside would be the ability to take advantage of modern production techniques and technology for the visuals, but even those come across as a lesser version of the 1922 film because they're not really used to convey anything interesting. The fascination with Murnau's version was the use of the vampire's shadow to convey threat and accomplish things from a distance and Eggers duplicates that here but it lacks the jittery charm of the original, such that I found myself pining for Coppala's homage to it in his Bram Stoker's Dracula from 33 years ago, if only because it was clearly an effect and didn't look so perfectly clean and manufactured as the version employed by Eggers.

But that's kind of a minor detail because the main problem was simply how loud and abrasive everything was, from the acting to the score. It seems like the instruction given to the cast was that, since they were in a film set at the beginning of the Victorian era (1838), everyone had to act as if they needed a fainting couch at the ready because their next line might drain them of the will to live (kinda like a vampire...) The gushing and exhalation was constant. It was akin to watching an endless series of Loveswept novel covers, one after the other. I thought that it was a cute twist to have Dafoe included in the cast for this film as a seeming nod to Shadow, but I also kind of hoped that his gravitas and capacity for eeriness with just a glance or two might ground it in something akin to Murnau's version. Not so much. He was chewing as much scenery as anyone else and, in a film where the main villain is constantly biting people, that becomes more of a meta description than I care to make. And everything about this production was at that level of OTT. One of the worst parts was the score. This film can easily be summarized by the phrase "orchestral crash" because there were so many of them that the constant din became a genuine annoyance. You really don't need that many strings to announce that someone has once again rushed to a window in anguish/horror/plaintive longing/whathaveyou yet again. We've been there. You use music for atmosphere but here it might have been used as a way to keep people awake. Those of us who had no issue with that just found it irritating.

But that inability to keep people interested is a major issue, as well. I was distinctly bored about 2/3 of the way through the film and was restraining myself from checking the phone to see how much longer this might take. Part of the problem for me is certainly that I've seen this same story (and read the book) so many times I honestly can't count them. I know I've seen Murnau's version three times. I've seen Tod Browning and Bela Lugosi's version multiple times, as well. And then there's Coppola's and the Universal derivations of the Lugosi picture (often with Lugosi reprising the role) and on and on. I don't want to say that once you've seen one version, you've seen them all, but the novel has kind of been woven into the cultural fabric, such that seeing it reworked for the dozenth (and more) time isn't going to be mindblowing. With that in mind, it's fair to say that trying to do something slightly innovative with the story might not be a bad idea. But this was bog-standard vampire flick from the very outset, but made worse because it genuinely lacked any of the sense of style that the Prana film or any of the Universal films brought to the screen. There are no moments here that you would point at in the manner of Max Shreck's hand along the wall or Lugosi's penetrating stare and say that it's something that will become iconic or an instant identifier for this film. Instead, the identifier is going to be Lily-Rose Depp falling onto a bed again while we hear the orchestra telling us what's happening right in front of us. For the fifth time in the last ten minutes. So, I cannot recommend this one at all. Find the original streaming somewhere and play something like Danse Macabre in the background if you want an experience with some genuine atmosphere.

Batman: TAS, episode #41: If You're So Smart, Why Aren't You Rich?

There were a number of basic differences in this episode from many of what's come before. Not only was the visual style somewhat different, as we open in a suburban office park that has sunlight and pastel colors, as opposed to the grim shadows of Gotham City, but the title also didn't give a clue to the villain/problem of the story. The casual phrase that has been used to suggest that only money matters in modern society (as well as to implicitly justify the rapaciously wealthy ("He's obviously a genius because he's rich-!")) doesn't really clue us into what might follow, until we see a worker in the pastel maroon building of Competitron see his nameplate come off the door with the letters "E. Nygma" imprinted on it. This is the first appearance of the last of The Batman's "big" opponents to appear: The Riddler. The latter has never been one of the more interesting of the rogues' gallery, largely because he lacks either mystery or tragedy in his origin. He's mostly just a guy out for revenge, unlike stalwarts like The Joker, Two-Face, or Mr. Freeze. But he also provides room for a lot of gimmicks, which is often seen as one of the downfalls of the comic series in the 40s and 50s, before Neal Adams and Denny O'Neill took over in an attempt to return the lead character to his roots (and compete with Marvel.) In fact, the best presentation of The Riddler was probably in the TV series, Gotham, where he was shown as Edward, withdrawn forensics expert, long before he was walking around under a green bowler.

But there are some interesting references in this episode that could easily have been calling out typical corporate culture of the US at the time (and now) but also could have been sly references to Warner Bros' own past. Daniel Mockridge boasts that not only is the company the real source of the profits generated by Nygma's game design, Riddle of the Minotaur, but that he also convinced the latter to sign a work-for-hire contract, giving the company total control of the game and all its revenue, which is why they can fire Nygma in the opening scene. This is ripped right from comic book reality, in which work-for-hire was the standard, such that the brilliant characters and stories that were created for publishers and which earned them millions, not just from the comics but from merchandising, granted none of that largesse to the people who had actually created them until the 80s began to change that pattern. The most notorious case was with the other big name of DC Comics, Superman, who was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. In the late 70s, when Richard Donner's Superman was finally bringing the character back to the big screen, the assembled media kept asking DC: "Who created Superman?". The response was always: "DC Comics created Superman.", just like Mockridge insisted. Later, of course, both Siegel and Shuster were found living in poverty while their creation had earned DC and its parent companies uncounted millions over the decades. They had signed a work-exclusive contract and, after they got out of the army in the 40s, were let go. In the end, DC was shamed into paying them $35k/year until they died. Bob Kane, creator of The Batman, OTOH, had signed no such thing and, in fact, had made it part of his contract that any publication of the character always had to have the label "Created by Bob Kane", which it still does to this day.

After we see Bruce Wayne attempting to buy into Competitron, supposedly to bring jobs to Gotham, we also see him expending great effort to rescue the wealthy Mockridge from the clutches of The Riddler, which is a contrast to his usual endeavors defending those who can't defend themselves. So, along with the visual style, it's a bit of an interesting thematic departure for our hero. That visual style change extends to the major fight scenes, as well, since The Batman and Robin mix it up with hired thugs under the lights of a nightclub that create quite the visual spectacle in our usually more staid presentation and later are jousting with golden griffons and their artillery explosions. As with a few other episodes, we're left to wonder at a couple scripting shortcuts, in that when The Riddler takes over Gotham Light & Power, it also knocks out the Batmobile's systems. Also, our introduction to The Riddler just took place and yet he insists that both of our heroes abandon their "utility belts" before entering the maze of the minotaur. This was definitely a script aimed at the more experienced Batman fan, since the assumption of knowledge about the main villain and his knowledge about our heroes is seemingly expected. That's also why I think the references to the contract situation were also very much "insider jokes", in that the older members of the audience would understand the references, while the younger members might at least be tempted to ask about the injustice being cited on their screen. In that respect, it's a tip of the hat once again to the writers and producers, not least for being able to get this past the heavy hand of the parent company.

Contrast in binging results

While we were off during the holidays, we decided to binge a couple series because the time and opportunity were both there. The first one was Clarkson's Farm. Now, full disclosure: I largely detest "reality" TV because most of them are simply setups to create drama out of nothing. Presenting people in real situations will almost never be interesting enough to retain an audience unless you're an actual documentarian with an actual story. For this stuff, something always has to be manufactured. This was never more evident than when I had the misfortune to be sick a few years back and, even worse, decided to watch a couple of the Storage Wars-type shows (which may have included the actual Storage Wars. They were all so pedestrian that I don't remember.) Somehow, no matter where the nominal leads of the show went, there was always a "villain/huge rival" person that would be the primary opposition in bidding on abandoned storage units. It was obviously a setup to create situations that would have normally been Man from Mundania from the very outset. Your "reality" TV was clearly scripted. Even when there's not an obvious writer, it's usually quite evident that the producers are selecting "random" contestants by their personalities that will doubtlessly conflict, thus generating the aforementioned "drama." Perhaps it's because of Jeremy Clarkson's showmanship and experience (I have never seen Grand Tour or Who Wants To Be a Millionaire?), but Clarkson's Farm never seemed to require that. The people involved range from perfectly mundane (most of them) to rather unusual (Gerry, the wall-repairer and nominal "head of security") but Clarkson does such a good job of playing off of them that you don't feel like you're being spoon-fed anything. So, not only was it often hilarious, usually involving Jeremy's acerbic relationship with his primary contractor and assistant, Kaleb, but it was also incredibly educational. We learned more about modern farming in a few hours of watching this show than we probably could have in a week's worth of straight documentaries. It also did a great job of making rather pointed statements about climate change and Tory government incompetence without hitting you over the head with them. You lived the experience just like Jeremy does. Now, clearly, Clarkson is in a much more advantageous position than your typical farmer and his poor business decisions would probably be a death knell for the average farm if he weren't already a millionaire and wasn't being paid handsomely by Amazon to show his wild ideas either taking fruit or not (mostly not), so it's not like this is precisely "reality" TV, either. But he does spend a lot of time muttering with his land agent, Charlie, about the cost of things and how the farm- and farming, in general -just isn't sustainable in England. He also acknowledges his situation regularly (i.e. he probably couldn't do this if there weren't a film crew following him around.) We burned through the 24 available episodes with 8 more incoming in May.

After we finished that, we poked around for something else on Amazon and came across Goliath, a legal drama helmed by Billy Bob Thornton. Billy plays Billy McBride (convenient), a genius lawyer who apparently founded a legal firm that became high-powered enough in the span of ~20 years to be deeply in bed with major defense contractors. But Billy lost his taste for the big show and drank himself to near-oblivion, such that he now lives in a motel somewhere near the beach in California. He gets recruited to be the front man by another lawyer wanting to do a quick settle-and-cashout on a wrongful death case against one of the former firm's major clients. This, of course, morphs into a vast conspiracy that provides the apparent reasoning for making this into a TV series, rather than a one-off film. In addition to BBT, the cast is relatively star-studded (William Hurt, Maria Bello, Molly Parker) but the writing is... not, primarily because the entire basis of the series is kind of half-assed to begin with. We made it through 3.5 episodes, with the last .5 being under duress because I was already pointing out that a) no one in the series other than Billy is actually an interesting character and he is mostly because he's BBT; b) nothing in the plot or the action even graces the concept of what legal work is like; and c) that plot is completely paint-by-numbers. In all three episodes, there was a setup for a crisis, the crisis, the furthering of that crisis, and then its immaculate resolution. Said resolution was always ascribed to Billy's panache, encyclopedic knowledge of the law, and the use of every shortcut by which to execute the exercise of that knowledge. This is compounded by the fact that every character in this story already knows this about Billy and predicts that he'll do exactly as he does, at which point he does exactly that. He never makes a mistake because the plot doesn't allow room for mistakes. That might require another 10 minutes of screen time and that would disrupt the pattern that's been established. It's like how you could watch episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation and know exactly where they'd hit the plot points (problem, heightened problem, crisis, resolution) at each commercial break. Just as an example of the detachment of this series, despite having apparently drunk himself to seeming ruin, Billy lives in the most nicely-appointed "cheap motel" rooms (two of them) that you'll ever see because I guess we can't have a genuinely burdensome living situation because that might require actual writing about a human character and would detract from the "cool" legal maneuvers that Billy is required to do in each episode that also largely take place off-camera...? It's like watching Deus Ex Machina, the Series. Do not bother.

Batman: TAS: episode #40: Heart of Steel, part 2

At this point, it's worth questioning what ended up making the cut for two episodes on a story. The other two that we've seen were about the origins of Robin, Catwoman, and, of course, Two-Face; all of them massive figures in the mythos. (And how could you not do a two-parter about Two-Face?) But this one, about a relatively forgettable enemy in the form of the computer HARDAC, also got that treatment. Director Kevin Altieri mentioned that the original script for this story was even longer than a two-parter and they ended up cutting significant segments of it, both entire scenes and the detail in the included scenes, because of the budget and time that the animation studio had in order to do the work. That would come into play in a different sense, as well, when Altieri mentioned in the commentary that the original script had called for the final fight sequence to take place outside and he wanted a more "intimate" scene that would be more contained and what he felt suited the nature of the story (hi-tech, impersonation, etc.) The Batman's ability to escape the cliffhanger trap of part 1 (the claws that hold his glider) makes sense because, again, the device was just intended to hold a glider, not a 200+ pound man. The very presence of the claws was also just a nod back to the basic theme of the story in the first place (robots vs humans.) In that respect, it made sense for it not to be a relatively useless deathtrap like we see in the joke scene of Galaxy Quest or something equally unreasonable and that, too, is smart storytelling. Alfred also delivers the line of the episode: "I do wish your toys wouldn't play so roughly with you, sir!"

But this episode, just like the first one, still carries a lot of elements of famous science fiction productions. The staring, red eye of HARDAC is wholly reminiscent of that of HAL-9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey, even if HARDAC's blinks when he speaks, unlike the ominous steady glow of HAL. He also mentions the "human frailties" that "threaten the plan", which is the whole focus of HAL's presence in that film. Likewise, Altieri and Bruce Timm mentioned that Karl Rossum was named after Guido van Rossum, the creator of PYTHON, so there are all kinds of little references throughout. Another one is Randa Duane resembling Marilyn Monroe, as they tried to stay in theme with the times as technology of the more mundane story (cars, etc.) are presented as a 1930s-era depiction throughout the series, so even the hi-tech stuff tends to stay that way, too (HARDAC taking up much of a warehouse, as the original ENIAC did, as well.) Interestingly, Altieri mentions that the spider-like activity of the "duplicants" when they begin battling The Batman was inspired by a character from Legend of the Overfiend, which is a fairly niche (and pornographic) corner of the animation world. That follows in form with another apparent SF reference, which is the glowing, red eyes of the robots; not with a lens sheen like HARDAC's, but more diode-appearing as was the case with the antagonist of The Terminator.

But one of the best moments of the episode is something that Altieri and Timm said they tried to avoid: the appearance of the Batsignal. All we see is the symbol on the clouds, no sound, no music. Just the light. It felt iconic to me but they had said they wanted to avoid it, perhaps because they thought it made him too familiar and less of the mysterious Dark Knight that they wanted to portray. (The menace from the shadows doesn't respond to a searchlight-!) The continuation of the scene is the appearance of Harvey Bullock's "duplicant" who then begins to literally toss The Batman around the rooftop. But it still looks and sounds like Bullock, so when Barbara Gordon assists our hero in tossing Bullock into the Batsignal, where he's electrocuted and "dies", it's a moment of surprise for the viewer, because the characters have to know that what they're doing is likely lethal if this somehow is Bullock. Barbara even tears up before the skin covering falls away and the robot falls apart. It's quite a (ahem) shocking moment that they somehow got past Standards & Practices (Altieri said that once the review board knew they were robots, they could be as violent as they wanted. And they were.) There's also a great moment at the end where our hero delivers the line: "Please let go of my cape." as Barbara attempts to extract a promise from him about finding her father. This, of course, only makes me think of The Watchmen and, of course, The Incredibles.

Speaking of Barbara, she has an interesting role in this one, since all of us older fans know that she's Batgirl from the comics, but in this instance they take the time to show her own initiative and intelligence and round her out as her own person, minus the costume (and the cape!) There's also an interesting choice of perspective switch when she's being followed by the robot trashcan in Rossum/HARDAC's lair and is captured by "duplicants." At that moment, instead of switching to the narrator's overhead view of events, we instead see them from the perspective of the robot, which has switched back to its trashcan role. In most other episodes, we would've stuck with the "reader of the comic page" view, rather than dropping to that of a nameless extra character. In the end, the massive fight scene ends in one of the more explosive conclusions, with everything being destroyed and/or burning to the ground (S&P said we could-!) and Rossum suggesting that it was all the AIs fault and the mayor, having been kidnapped and held in a hibernation tank, happily agreeing with him because he apparently did it "for the children" (his deceased daughter.) That's the departure from much of standard SF, where the inventor is held responsible for his creations.

Batman: TAS: episode #39: Heart of Steel, part I

One of the hallmarks of the series was, as noted, the animation style that not only preserved the image of roughly 1920s Gotham, but was also elaborate enough to fully demonstrate modern storytelling. It's that "modern storytelling" angle that is key in Heart of Steel, part I, as the plot is centered around the concepts of artificial intelligence and robotic minions; scions of science fiction for decades, but enjoying a new lease on life in the early 90s as computers became ever faster and more powerful. In fact, this story borrowed heavily from the film that explored a new angle on the robots concept, which was Blade Runner. Initially rejected for what many saw as its complex story when first released in 1982, by the time this episode aired, a decade later, it had gained a significant following precisely because of its complexity and the questions it dared to ask; much like Batman: The Animated Series in its approach to its central figure. This borrowing from the film was further emphasized by one of this episode's lead characters, Karl Rossum, being not only based on J. F,. Sebastian, the introverted designer from Blade Runner, but voiced by the same William Sanderson, who played the role in the film.

Indeed, there's all kinds of technology, new and old, present in the first few minutes of this episode, with the briefcase robot conducting a planned heist, only to be pursued by our hero with the conveniently stashed Bat-glider on the top of Wayne Enterprises. We haven't come across many of the Bat-devices in the episodes we've covered so far. Many of them are associated with the goofier, adventurer version of the character from the 50s, but this one was a decent addition to the story. Speaking of early 80s films, the briefcase itself, with its tentacled feet, was an easy reminder of one of the more famous scenes from John Carpenter's The Thing. Bruce also refers to the project that is being stolen as not just AI, but also "wetware", which was normally only applied to biological entities with enhancements and not the silicon chips mentioned here, which makes me wonder if the writer (Brynne Stephens) either got her buzzwords mixed up or was encouraged to use them, regardless of plot, by the producers. It was around this same time that one of the more famous comic companies of the era, Image, emerged with two announced titles that slotted right into the SF of the era and this story in Wetworks and Cyber Force (akin to Rossum's company, Cybertron Industries) so, it was going around.

In terms of pure storytelling, it was amusing to see the cyber-briefcase react in the same way regular human criminals did to the appearance of The Batman, by immediately fleeing. It may have been artificial, but it was genuinely intelligent. Also, some more of the human elements to the cast and background of The Batman were present, with an appearance by Barbara Gordon, home from college, and her dad, Jim Gordon, and his attachment to Wubbie, her teddy bear. That's the most emotion that Jim Gordon has shown in the series that wasn't either anger or fear. Similarly, Alfred became more than just background humor, as he was directly involved in the action against the intruder in Wayne Manor. At this stage, the character was still the genteel and rather prim and proper person that most people associate with the comics and a far cry from the more exciting version that would appear in later years in productions like Gotham. That said, it was still encouraging to see him directly participate in the crises that follow his employer around.

But despite the human angle, the episode also stuck pretty closely to the artificial, as it were. The mastermind AI ends up fashioning "duplicants", just like Blade Runner's "replicants." Again, this was an obvious homage, given the presence of Sanderson, but it's a pretty fine line between referencing and following themes to just outright swiping and copying material. Sincerest form of flattery and all that, but there's a limit. That follows with the extremely elaborate and automated clawed rack for the Bat-glider which is foreshadowed to be the threat the episode's cliffhanger ends on when the AI takes over the Batcave's computer. There's enough meat here to comprise the two-episode storyline, but not without some rather glaring missteps, such as the laser security barrier that the briefcase simply slides under and which any human could have simply stepped over to get to the lab where the chips are held. Similarly, on a technical level, it was kind of jarring to see that the first few seconds of animation weren't the standard for the series which the episode reverts to after that point. The opening moments in the lobby are choppy and grainy and everyone in said lobby is moving in sync, as if there were simply fewer frames in it when originally produced. Studio accident or perhaps a hurried reshoot? Hard to tell. Regardless, part II will be next.

Batman TAS: episode #38: Cat Scratch Fever

We've finally returned to the intended "Next issue-!" point from three-and-a-half years ago and it's almost extra appropriate, since the Catwoman episodes are always ones that seem like they're intentionally part of the larger picture, unlike things like See No Evil or even The Laughing Fish. Those latter two are or could be one-offs, without character development that is the essence of the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle and, in turn, The Batman and Catwoman. That personal connection is what makes episodes like Cat Scratch Fever stand out in the long view. Not only do we begin with Selina being charged for the crimes she committed in The Cat and the Claw, but we have references to their changing circumstances made by Maven, Alfred, and Bruce. Indeed, Alfred even suggests that Bruce should start dating a known criminal, even if she is one, as the judge states in the opening scene, who committed crimes for a just cause. Of course, that also highlights the real world problem with America's two-tiered justice system, in that a wealthy, White woman had 25 years in prison changed to 5 years of probation. That's something that wouldn't have happened to anyone a) poorer and b) darker. Of course, that's a theme that's very much outside the realm of what Timm and Co. were aiming for, but it's a context that can easily be laid over this episode, in a similar vein to the radio broadcast talking about "record lows" in temperature, which is no longer the case in our world.

We also see the return of Daggett Industries, which we first saw in Feat of Clay and is now even more of a menace to the general public. This was the replacement for the goofy Shreck Corporation of Batman Returns, in which a huge department store was a threat to the public, whereas Daggett is at least an experimental lab and chemical company that makes destructive substances for profit. In that way, the series was trying to draw a line between the visual style that they had borrowed from Tim Burton's films and its often absurdist approach to the mythos and setting. Similarly, Selina clearly drew a line between her two identities when it came the aforementioned relationship. Bruce was firmly placed in the "friend zone", while Catwoman feels free to make a pass at The Batman whenever the opportunity presents. It's a similar approach to the line that Bruce clearly draws when Alfred's suggestion about a date is rebuffed. In his eyes, Bruce Wayne is one thing and The Batman is something else entirely; an opinion that Selina clearly shares. The statement is made that "You won't see Selina Kyle anywhere near Daggett Labs" before Catwoman makes an appearance at the Labs in the very next scene. It's a compartmentalization that is similar, but rooted in very different origins, as Bruce's comes from trauma and Selina's from a desire to help things that can't help themselves. At the same time, they're quite similar, as both are pursuing justice outside the law, but one is willing to overtly commit crimes in order to do it, while the other is more adept at toeing the line where necessary.

Speaking of visual style, they stuck with the imagery of Batman Returns and the Michelle Pfeiffer appearance, which is also reminiscent of Julie Newmar from the 60s TV series. Of course, the most famous version in the comics is the 1970s brunette, drawn by artists like Irv Novick and Ross Andru, usually with Dick Giordano's inks. And, interestingly, despite Frank Miller's Return of the Dark Knight having been the inspiration for Burton's films and, subsequently, the Animated Series, they avoided the short-haired street criminal approach that Miller presented in Batman: Year One and which later became the dominant motif (regardless of hair color or style) in presentations like Gotham. It's a nod to just how many interpretations of the main character and his surrounding cast can be made and still carry the essential identity of what the story. That's a character and a concept with depth, which is why he's been the most enduring and popular of DC's creations (and, of course, not being a demigod, even if he is a billionaire, super martial artist, and genius detective.) In the one questionable editing moment, he's such a genius that he somehow retrieves his cape from where he left it miles away at the Labs when he finally delivers the virus antidote to Selina. Speaking of the virus, which is a central element of the plot, I had a brief thought that this was essentially the plot of 28 Days Later, although the latter was interested in long-term profits via weapon sales, whereas Daggett is interested in short-term extortion. Some criminals are smarter than others, which is a good ending note for a piece about Catwoman. Next time, Heart of Steel.

Comforting in its relatability

I don't really seek out Jesse Eisenberg films. Despite his legions of fans, most notably for his starring turn in The Social Network (a film which, despite my affection for David Fincher's work, I found fairly boring), I've always that he was a bit too typecast for my taste. Most of his roles play up the nerdy, insecure guy and, as soon as you see him, you know that's what you're going to get, which tends to make a lot of what goes on around him equally predictable. Of course, that sense of reliability also creates a sense of relatability, since his most frequent character is a reflection of any number of introverts that we all know in our lives in various fashions. But A Real Pain, which he wrote, directed, and starred in as that same, nerdy, insecure guy and despite being obvious in some respects, actually turned out to be a step above the comfort food level of many of his other films. He was doing his same, old thing, but combining that with the absolute explosion that is Kieran Culkin made for a story that had multiple levels of insight on their characters and relationships, in general, which is always a positive outcome in my book.

The story is not particularly original, since it's something that many people have done and still seek to do throughout the ages: come face to face with their or their family's place of origin. Eisenberg and Culkin play two cousins who visit Poland to see their ancestral homeland and the home of their grandmother who survived the camps of World War II. On a guided tour with a few other people (among them Jennifer Grey), they subject all of them to Benji's (Culkin) emotionally overwrought behavior combined with brutal honesty and David's (Eisenberg) attempts to make up for his cousin's confrontational attitude to them, their tour guide (Will Sharpe, most recently seen in the second season of The White Lotus), and the surrounding locals. The title, at this point, becomes pointed, not only because it's the obvious joke, but also because Culkin, just as he so often did in the brilliant Succession, tends to overwhelm the atmosphere of any scene that he's in. If the story was intended to have deeper meaning, his antics completely wipe out that possibility for a decent chunk of the film. The highlight is the scene of the two cousins jumping a train back to Lublin to return to their tour after David fell asleep and Benji, despite being aware that they missed their stop, deciding that he was sleeping too peacefully to disturb him. Priorities are in question throughout the film but usually to highlight the willingness to engage life that is Benji's character. And that's where things begin to turn.

Despite Benji being on a rampage for much of the first half of the film, the deft turns taken by Eisenberg as actor, writer, and director steer us back to the central message which is the emotional awareness of not just the amount of tragic history that still cloaks the area, but the very personal struggles that arise from confronting that history and which both Benji and David are carrying with them; not just about their recently-deceased grandmother, but about their roles in this life and what meaning they may have to both of them. In some ways, it's still a comfortable and, thus, predictable message, but it's delivered with enough humor (the absolute mundanity of finding their grandmother's home, only to be accosted by the neighbors on a very pragmatic level) and insight to see the grander picture that those underlying themes touch upon. And this is to say nothing of the timeliness, given that the incoming government of the US seems intent on returning us to the era of mass internment camps and all of the potential horrors that go with them. The most poignant moment of the emotional parade that is this story may be the final scene, watching Benji sitting in the airport by himself, still considering just what everything means and where he fits into it all. Been there.

So, yes, despite Eisenberg doing the thing again and despite the overall plot not being anything mindblowing, I think there's enough texture here to recommend this film; not least for Culkin's performance, but also for the writing that led him there and Eisenberg's capable direction to keep us aware of all of the levels on which his story works. Not a masterpiece, but a really solid step forward.