“We’re invisible to people like that. It’s our superpower.” Blue Beetle

I still haven’t seen Oppenheimer. But I did just see Blue Beetle. And it’s a delight. I’m not one bit ashamed!

Representation matters. It is especially impactful when done with such love and with detailed cultural inclusion. It’s a shame the film isn’t doing better than it is at the box office – whether due to the impact of actors’ strikes, weather weirdness, and just late summer doldrums. We can simply hope it finds an expanded audience on streaming and cable and gathers good-hearted steam the way the equally charming Encanto did. 

In fact, both films, albeit showcasing different cultures (Blue Beetle the Mexican-American experience, Encanto set in Colombia), center themselves on the ties that bind: mi familia. This theme gives both films their superpowers, highlighting the magic, both tangible and ephemeral, in a close-knit clan.

Director Angel Manuel Soto slows the pace, not often a luxury in superhero spectacles, to shape our understanding of the Reyes family, who are hitting hard times in the fictional Palmera City but never losing their love for each other, their hopefulness, nor their senses of humor. Much of the rest of the film is a paint-by-numbers superhero origin tale, but it works because of the moments we spend early in the film, investing in this beautiful family dynamic.

Karate Kid’s Xolo Maridueña is well-cast as the Peter Parker-esque Jaime, recently graduated from college and quickly realizing that the “American Dream” is not all its cracked up to be. Maridueña acquits himself nicely in the film with an easy charm as he finds himself in possession of a mystical alien scarab that affixes itself to his back (and soul) and imbues him with seemingly limitless superpowers (much to the chagrin of the furnishings and structure of his family’s home). Maridueña deftly makes the leap from small to large screen and carries the film without breaking a sweat.

But his family, oh, his family. I deeply wish DC Studios’ head James Gunn posthaste would turn this film into a streaming series, following the Reyes’ misadventures. Soulful Damián Alcázar as gentle patriarch Alberto, compelling Elpidia Carrillo as deep-feeling mama Rocio, sparkling Belissa Escobedo as quick-witted sister Milagro, zany George López as conspiracy-theorist/tech-aficionado uncle Rudy, and, most notably, beguiling Adriana Barraza as flinty/sassy Nana are a collective, well, marvel. Their ensemble scenes crackle with a world-weary merriment and a canny resilience that give the film its corazón.

There are so many intentional, thoughtful touches throughout, highlighting the socioeconomic and cultural challenges endemic in this country, without ever devolving into moralizing. The film doesn’t pull its punches, though – particularly where fictional global conglomerate Kord Enterprises is concerned. Kord is the chief source of all disparity in Palmera City, a creeping corporate fungus reshaping anything down-to-earth (like the Reyes’ neighborhood) into a Blade Runner-esque high rise megalopolis. At one point, Milagro observes (with a healthy hint of justifiable anger), “We’re invisible to people like that. It’s our superpower.”

Kord is run by Victoria Kord, portrayed in an understated way by Susan Sarandon, who, quite honestly looks a bit lost amidst the summer blockbuster bombast, but holds her own. Blessedly, Sarandon, as the film’s primary villain, plays the role like the misanthropic captain of industry Victoria is, not like Cruella de Vil. A trap lesser actors would fall into, chewing every bit of scenery in their path. It’s just that Sarandon’s believability – refreshing as it is – can’t quite keep pace with a kid who gets glowing blue superpowers from alien tech. Ah well.

Victoria is after the scarab – natch – to develop an army of tech-infused killing machine warriors … and, more importantly to her, to make a lot of moolah by selling to the highest bidding nation state. Eventually the film does devolve into the wham/bam/CGI-fest that one would expect. There are refreshing differences, however.

The film is not afraid to offer overt critique of the evils the military industrial complex wreaks upon the world, nor to question the corrosive impact rampant capitalism can have on authentic community. In a final act twist, Victoria’s henchman Carapax (an occasionally haunting Raoul Max Trujillo) is revealed to have been tragically shaped by the very real-world human collateral damage such warmongering causes. It’s a bit of a stunning reveal for a popcorn kids’ movie, unfortunately a bit rushed, but nonetheless impactful. Kudos to the production team for including.

Structurally, the film feels like a modern-spin on 80s blockbusters that championed the underdog, cracked more than a few ill-timed (but funny) jokes, used moments of tragedy to impel their heroes onward (sometimes defying logic TBH), and gifted us a joyous ending (with one spectacularly prurient one-liner). Ah, memories. Hell, Blue Beetle’s evocative, synth-soaked score by Bobby Krlic sounds like something Tangerine Dream would have knocked out in an afternoon.

Blue Beetle is a charmer. Great cinema? Nah. But a lovely and loving exploration of the Mexican-American experience (the warm, the heartbreaking, the inspiring) in the guise of a superhero yarn. I can only hope that the sociocultural critique subtly woven throughout will impact positively the young people who find this gem on streaming – much like I used to discover cult classics like Buckaroo Banzai and Flash Gordon and Time Bandits and The NeverEnding Story on HBO in the 80s, eating sugary cereal and staying in my pajamas all day but nonetheless … thinking.

“Do you still need the cape?” Spider-Man: Far From Home

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Spider-Man: Far From Home is a worthy follow-up to Spider-Man: Homecoming. The first act is cutesy, cloying, and underwritten, but the sparkling, believable kids in the cast (who actually seem like, you know, KIDS) keep things zipping along.

Tom Holland as Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Zendaya as his friend/crush/equal MJ are lighter than air, and Jake Gyllenhaal is great, popeyed, hunky fun as too-good-to-be-true Mysterio. Once the narrative takes a crafty u-turn at the midway mark, the film becomes a frisky, unpredictable, cinematic tilt-a-whirl.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

The film follows directly onto the events of Avengers: Endgame (making it really hard to review without spoiling anything of the previous film still in theatres). Let’s just say, Peter is haunted by a great loss, tries futilely to fill his former mentor’s very large (iron) boots (and groovalicious aviator shades), and somehow still ends up saving the day, amidst a heaping helping of adorkable teen angst. Holland is arguably the most darling Spider-Man to ever grace the screen, and Zendaya more than holds her own. (Between these films and The Greatest Showman, I can’t wait to see where her career ends up. The sky’s the limit.)

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

The movie does explain how the kids in Peter’s high school were impacted when five whole years were lost (not to mention half of all life on the planet Earth) after that purple, hulking malevolence named Thanos jazz-snapped his Infinity Gauntlet’d fingers. Blessedly, the sturm und drang of the previous Avengers films is shed for sitcom-lite cheekiness about the absurdity of it all in Far From Home.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Just as the entire enterprise seems in peril of spinning off into a Saved By the Bell-esque goof as Peter and his buddies enjoy a pratfall-filled European senior trip, in saunters Gyllenhaal as the prototypical alpha hero, a gleaming surface that belies the cracked-pot interior of a toxic male raging against an invisible machine. Gyllenhaal is pretty underrated across the board, and it is due to performances like this: he makes it look easy to play a Ken doll gone very astray. It isn’t.

In some respects, Far From Home is both a by-the-numbers, assembly line Marvel blockbuster and a sly send-up of all the very movies that preceded it. Issues of identity and fame and pride and the very illusory nature of heroism in this modern Trumpian age of hyperbolic pettiness are rife throughout the film, including the two end credits scenes, both of which (for once) are actually worth sticking around to see.

One of Mysterio’s associates, his browbeaten dresser, harangues him repeatedly,”Do you still need the cape?” to which he responds every time with an exasperated “Yesssss!” The Incredibles, another Disney-corporate product, was the first to opine in a postmodern way about the idiocy of capes and the inherent strangulation danger of flying around with a piece of billowing cloth around one’s neck. The Incredibles‘ Edith Head-inspired superhero fashion designer Edna Mode declared, “NO. MORE. CAPES!” Yet, as Marvel Studios’ copious cinematic output over the past decade has proved as salve and welcome distraction during our stormy IRL times, sadly, yes, we all do still need the cape(s).

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[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Reel Roy Reviews is now TWO books! You can purchase your copies by clicking here (print and digital). In addition to online ordering at Amazon or from the publisher Open Books, the first book is currently is being carried by BookboundCommon Language Bookstore, and Crazy Wisdom Bookstore and Tea Room in Ann Arbor, Michigan and by Green Brain Comics in Dearborn, Michigan. My mom Susie Duncan Sexton’s Secrets of an Old Typewriter series is also available on Amazon and at Bookbound and Common Language.

“Because genius is not enough. It takes courage to change people’s hearts.” The Green Book and Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

[Image Source: Wikipedia]


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Family is what you make it. Two holiday film offerings – seemingly disparate as can be – explore that notion with nuance, surprising gravitas, and humor to spare.

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The Green Book is pretty darn magnificent. Just when you think you’re getting another magical Hollywood-cures-racism retro-tear-jerking fantasy, the film subtly indicts the prejudices that plague us all, without avoiding the fact that we have some grade-A hateful jackholes in our country who need to be taken down a notch … or eight. Viggo Mortensen runs just shy of coming off like a Hanna-Barbera character, but he is nonetheless lovably/adorably brilliant in one of his broadest roles to date. Moonlight‘s Mahershala Ali is brittle, haunted, wry, and superb, and they make a heckuva duo. Oh, and the film still manages some retro-tear-jerking holiday magic too.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]


[Image Source: Wikipedia]

There is a strange sub-genre in well-meaning, liberal Hollywood: the crowd-pleasingly simple-minded, amber-hued “let’s overcome racism together in two hours” flick (The Help, Hidden Figures, The Blind Side, Driving Miss Daisy, on and on). There can be a tone-deaf, self-satisfied entitlement to the “white savior” trope in these films, and that is just as off-putting as the nasty institutional racism these movies overtly critique. I’m not sure Green Book, directed by Dumb and Dumber‘s Peter Farrelly of all people, entirely avoids this trap, but the performances of Mortensen and Mahershala (not to mention perpetually underrated Linda Cardellini as Mortensen’s stoic-but-free-thinking wife) raise the film’s profile significantly from Hallmark Hall of Fame pap to something more vibrant and compelling.

Depicting real-life jazz and classical pianist Don Shirley and his chauffeur/hired muscle Frank Vallelonga as they tour the Deep South in 1962 and encounter one well-heeled bigot after another, The Green Book draws its name from a guide that helped African-American motorists of the era tour the country with as little aggravation as the era would allow. Reportedly, Shirley and Vallelonga would eventually become lifelong friends, but that is the kind of factoid that becomes increasingly debated as a biographical film like this grows in popularity and collects more end-of-year trophies. So, who knows?

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As for the film’s central thesis, it is summarized in this comment by a member of The Don Shirley Trio when asked why Shirley would take them all below the Mason-Dixon Line in the first place: “Because genius is not enough. It takes courage to change people’s hearts.” It’s the kind of line that sounds like it was penned expressly for the daily horoscopes, but in the context of Mortensen and Mahershala’s exceptional dynamic (not to mention today’s strange days), it takes on a heart-wrenching profundity.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is unlike any superhero film nor any animated film I’ve seen: inventive, whimsical, poignant, heartfelt, transporting, kinetic, inclusive, unashamedly odd, surreal, and funny as hell … a true comic book brought to life in the best possible ways. And, perhaps surprisingly, it is the superior film to the awards-baiting Green Book where issues of race, gender, identity, and inclusion are concerned.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

Rife with the delightfully irreverent influence of producers/screenwriters Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (The LEGO Movie, 21 Jump Street), Spider-Verse introduces its audience to a new Spider-Man in the form of African-American/Latino Miles Morales whose ethnicity isn’t a gimmick or a plot point but just part and parcel to his character, that is, in addition to him being a teenager, a science prodigy, an artist, and a music lover. How about that?

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

After a multiversal quantum physics experiment gone awry, Miles finds himself surrounded by a Benetton ad’s worth of fellow Spider-people: proto-feminist Gwen Stacy/Spider-Woman (notably not “girl”), silver-haired ass-kicking Aunt May (cheekily voiced by Lily Tomlin), Untouchables-throwback Spider-Noir (another fun voice cameo, this time by Nicholas Cage), paunchy and midlife-crisis’d Peter B. Parker/Spider-Man, Japanese robotics expert Peni Parker and her sidekick SP//dr, and (for us animal nuts) an anthropomorphic pig Peter Porker / Spider-Ham. Miles’ mission – in addition to navigating his newfound super powers and his loving-but-demanding parents who want him to focus on nothing but his science academy studies – is to help these Spider Buddies save the world and return to their respective parallel Earths. A bit like The Wizard of Oz, in reverse, but with super villains and web shooters.

The movie has a visual language unlike anything seen in computer animation before, photo realistic yet simultaneously comic book flat: a bit Andy Warhol, a touch Roy Lichtenstein, a smidge Warren Beatty’s Dick Tracy, yet wholly original, breathtaking, and dreamlike. The film’s comic timing borrows liberally from Looney Tunes, Tom & Jerry, Pink Panther, and Tex Avery, while the narrative grounds itself in the polyglot humanity of modern day NYC. It’s an exceptional piece of pop art, and effortlessly leverages the best of superhero egalitarian metaphor to give the middle finger to MAGA nationalism. I can’t wait to see it again.

[Image Source: Wikipedia]

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Reel Roy Reviews is now TWO books! You can purchase your copies by clicking here (print and digital). In addition to online ordering at Amazon or from the publisher Open Books, the first book is currently is being carried by BookboundCommon Language Bookstore, and Crazy Wisdom Bookstore and Tea Room in Ann Arbor, Michigan and by Green Brain Comics in Dearborn, Michigan. My mom Susie Duncan Sexton’s Secrets of an Old Typewriter series is also available on Amazon and at Bookbound and Common Language.