Is the BBC politically biased?

During both the Brexit debate and the recent General Election, you wouldn’t have to read much on the internet before you came to the accusation of ‘media bias’.

‘The BBC has a leftist agenda’

‘Question Time is full of Tory stooges’

This is nothing new – ‘the mainstream media’ has often been dirty words to those of more unusual ideological persuasions.

And yet, it never felt more prominent than during the last few months of 2019 – long ago as it now seems – and, for the first time, I found myself starting to sympathise with the people saying it.

 

Hold up!

I want to make two things very clear before I proceed any further.

Firstly, I ultimately really value the BBC. People complain about the licence fee, and of course it’s ridiculous someone could find themselves in prison for not paying it, but the BBC is really good value for money. Not only do you get news and entertainment on your TV, but you also get radio and educational output as well. People might point to the likes of Netflix and say the BBC is getting left behind, but such streaming services are still a relatively unproven business model – not to mention they have no news, radio or educational material.

Secondly, I hate conspiracy theories – in fact, I’ve written at length about how I think most conspiracy theories are bullshit. Conspiracy theories are usually examples of poor thinking, people trying to make sense out of chaos. For years I’ve rolled my eyes at people who damn ‘the mainstream media’ as some bogeyman.

And yet, there I was the end of last year, feeling like something about the BBC political reporting wasn’t quite right.

I’m a bleeding-heart lefty, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the BBC were giving the Conservatives a pretty easy ride, both over Brexit and during the General Election.

Had I been missing the obvious bias all along?

Or was I in such an echo chamber that I wasn’t recognising my own biases and assumptions?

 

Was it me?

When rushing to accuse an organisation like the BBC of bias, there are things you need to consider.

Not least, you need to consider your own confirmation bias. We’re all susceptible to only reading material that confirms what we already believe, and only listening to people who share our beliefs. This means we’re often taken aback when we see a consensus of people who don’t share our viewpoint, and human nature often means we question the legitimacy of that consensus rather than the accuracy of our own thoughts.

Equally, it’s often said the BBC gets complaints from both sides over bias. The right says it’s too left-leaning, the left say it’s too right-leaning, so surely this means it’s doing something right?

Am I simply one of the hysterical from either side, screaming because my opinion dare be challenged?

Well, I reflected on both these things, and I don’t think so.

Sure, I’m susceptible to confirmation bias and, sure, the BBC gets complaints from both sides – that doesn’t mean, however, none of the complaints are valid. The BBC has a vast output of material, and it’s entirely possible it accidentally falls afoul of giving too much weight to the left or the right on any given topic.

But over the last few months there were two big things which made me question the BBC’s political programming  (specifically the headline news) and, furthermore, I think I know what the problem is (spoiler – it’s not the BBC being conspiratorial!)

 

What made me question?

There are two clear examples, still in my mind, that made me think the BBC are doing something wrong.

The first was when Operation Yellowhammer was leaked. For those not in the know, it was a government document outlining the possible consequences of a no-deal Brexit (food shortages, traffic queues, riots…all that cheery stuff.) However, when the document was first released, I remember vividly the way it was reported on BBC News – ‘Government dismiss Operation Yellowhammer documents as Project Fear’.

As reported it simply sounded like more ‘remoaner’ fears being dismissed by the government. But that simply wasn’t the case. It was known to be a government document so, if you insist on running the government line as the headline, it should accurately be reported as ‘Government dismisses its own document as Project Fear’.

More to the point, however, why was the government view even the main story? Why not tell us what Yellowhammer said, and then tell us the government spin on it – lead with the leaked document, follow up with government defence down the line. They would later go on to report the government’s line that ‘this was an old document’ (it was not) and it was a ‘worst case scenario’ (it was also not.)

Effectively, the story was de-fanged before it ever reached the public.

The second incident I remember vividly was during the legal challenge to the possibility of No-Deal. Parliament created the so-called ‘Benn Act’ which legally prohibited Boris Johnson dragging us out of the EU on October 31^st without a deal. Expert lawyers were all clear this was watertight (and it was!) but the government line was to insist we’d be leaving on October 31^st no-matter what anyway. How was that possible?

Well, the likes of BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg and ITV’s Robert Peston were often quoting an anonymous ‘Westminster Source’ who would insist that the Act was not watertight, and that Boris Johnson had a way around it. Both came under criticism for using anonymous sources because it meant there was zero accountability for these quotes, yet the government was still able to spin the narrative because of these sources and sustain, what can now be clearly seen, absolute falsehoods.

 

Here’s the problem

When challenged over these sources, Kuenssberg said ‘don’t shoot the messenger’….and I think THAT is the source of the BBC’s problem (ITV as well).

As a public, we don’t need messengers, we need journalists. We need people who will dig around for the truth and put those in power under proper scrutiny. Channel 4 has been exemplary at this, particularly Krishnan Guru-Murthy, who has never cowered away from tough, probing questions.

As a tutor from Sheffield University said to their journalism class:

“If someone says it’s raining, and another person says it’s dry, it’s not your job to quote them both. Your job is to look out the fucking window and find out which is true.”

The BBC has got itself into this problem because it just wants to quote, it just wants to be a messenger. But, on issues of unprecedented complexity like Brexit, we needed journalists to really pursue the truth.

And I don’t doubt for one minute that Number 10 saw how the BBC was operating and took full advantage of it – leading to the BBC giving the official government position on issues before questioning whether that may or may not be true.

In essence, even if the BBC was acting in good faith, the government most certainly was not, perverting the way news is reported.

 

Is impartiality even possible?

I think there’s a deeper question still – is impartiality really possible or, indeed, even fully desirable?

For example, when the BBC reports the beliefs of ISIS as ‘barbaric’ and ‘savage’, no-one says that’s a biased viewpoint – I don’t think any of us would want ISIS to be presented with the same impartiality the BBC has for Labour or the Conservatives.

So, straight away, our media isn’t truly unbiased, it can’t be, it reflects our values as a society and so makes moral judgements.

Equally, it’s actually frustrating when you have an expert appearing, talking about the likes of vaccines or astrophysics, who is then followed up by an anti-vaxxer nut or a flat-earther in the name of ‘balance.’

Indeed, when you realise impartiality isn’t achievable, or actually always desirable, you begin to wonder where exactly the parameters fall and, in most cases, I think our sense of ‘impartial’ is really to take the ‘centre-ground’.

When there is little gulf between the left and the right, that isn’t a problem, but what happens when you have much more extreme politicians like Trump, or socialists like Corbyn?

It’s at this point I think the media falters. It’s hard to watch a British news report on Trump’s presidential activities that doesn’t have the undertones of ‘how did we get here?’ (perhaps I’m projecting a little, but it seems there in the subtext.)

Someone like Trump is outside the remit of our usual political discussion, and the media responds in weird ways. For example, I can’t help but feel articles sympathising with Trump supporters, because of ‘economic-anxiety’ and the like, are simply reacting to their own inability to truly comprehend something so far from the established centre-ground and so insist these people are just let-down centrists, forced into an extreme.

And, as we know, the centre-ground can change as the Overton Window (that which is acceptable to the mainstream) shifts. It’s little wonder that with a right-wing government, setting a right-wing agenda,  the centre-ground actually moves further to the right (which is why the news spend a lot of time talking about Brexit and immigration, for example, and less time talking about equality and class disparity.)

So, if impartiality and non-bias is never truly achievable, by what measurement should we judge successful journalism? What good should we pursue?

Well, I think it’s just… the truth!

Pursue the truth and, I think, impartiality will follow. Facts are constant, truths are consistent, they don’t change just because the political landscape does.

In fact, as much as impartiality is a virtue, it’s not a good in and of itself – but only in so much as it helps us get to the truth.

 

So what of the BBC?

Hopefully it’s clear that I don’t think the BBC is conspiring to be a right-wing outlet or pushing some political agenda.

Instead, I think they’ve just got too caught up in impartiality, too comfortable being the messenger, that they’ve risked, at times, becoming dangerously close to a government mouthpiece.

Boris Johnson is perfectly able to get his message and policies across himself – that’s why he does those live social media sessions, so he can speak directly to the public without scrutiny.

I want journalists who ask the tough questions, who seek the truth behind the lies.

I want journalists who value impartiality but aren’t blinded by it.

I want journalists who don’t just report what others say about the weather, but who look out the window and see for themselves.

I want the BBC to adapt – to survive and thrive. Because, for all the BBC’s flaws, we’d be a poorer nation without it!

 

Top five films of 2019

Another year has come and gone (they fly by, don’t they?!), which means it’s time for my annual top five list.

There have been some pretty awful releases in 2019 – Hellboy was a ghastly misfire and The Rise of Skywalker slightly broke my heart – but there have been plenty of wonderful movie experiences too, especially towards the end of the year.

Honourable mentions go to Rocketman, Can You Ever Forgive Me and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, all of which I toyed with giving the fifth spot to.

But there can only be five choices so, without further ado, here are the movies that made my list:

 

5) Us

In a way, I’m kind of surprised myself this made the list. I haven’t got a clue what Jordan Peele’s Us is trying to say, nor do I think that the explanation for the events presented really makes any kind of sense…but it’s almost precisely for these reasons that it’s here. In bypassing my rational understanding, it’s lingered in my mind like a nightmare all year – I can’t make sense of it, and yet it’s still terrifying.

For those who don’t know, Us is something of a home invasion movie where an average family find themselves under attack from what appears to be their doppelgangers. It’s a strange, less user-friendly movie than Peele’s Get Out, which at least had enough similarities with The Stepford Wives to give the story familiarity.

Us is just creepy and bizarre from the word go, and never really lets up. Even when it finally explains what’s happening, it doesn’t shed much light, yet the images presented feel etched into the mind – and if a horror movie can scar your subconscious, then it’s done the job.

The cast do well at portraying both the average family member and their murderous doppelganger, but particular praise has to go to Lupita Nyong’o, who really chills as the only one of the monstrous reflections who speaks.

Again, it’s all very strange, tinged with moments of dark humour and an outstandingly chilling soundtrack, but I still think about this movie months down the line. It continues to unsettle me, passing the test of time.

 

4) Ad Astra

Ad Astra was the best kind of cinema experience. I went in knowing very little about it and came out changed in some small way – the best movies find a tiny space in your soul forever.

Astronaut Roy McBride (Brad Pitt) is informed by U.S. Space Command that his father (Tommy Lee Jones), who they lost contact with on a space mission sixteen years ago, might be behind power surges threatening earth. Roy then tries to locate and reach-out to his father, enduring the terrifying realities of space travel in the process.

*Spoilers* It turns out Tommy Lee Jones went looking for extra-terrestrial life but never found anything– there was no response to any signals sent out. He is, however, unable to truly connect to his son, instead holding out hope that there must be something out there.

The movie works for me on three different levels, all of which I find very interesting –

First, and the most literal interpretation, is that there is no hope in the stars. We need not to look up but instead appreciate what we have on Earth. To constantly hope for something greater than ourselves is cowardly, and will only distract us from what’s truly important. Space travel, it posits, will simply spread us thinner – sure, we might have sandwich shops on the moon, but we’re further away from understanding ourselves than ever. This is a heck of a contentious theme, but I dig the way it’s presented here.

My second insight is this could equally be interpreted as a movie about atheism and, more to the point, coping with the realisation that there’s nothing more than what we have. We can hope there’s a God or some spiritual meaning, but we would do better to come to terms with what the evidence shows us – there is nothing – and allow ourselves to enjoy what we do have, most notably each-other. In this way one could argue the film is making a case for humanism against the backdrop of bleak oblivion (an ethical position I’m always a sucker for).

Finally, and a far less lofty reading, is to simply understand it as a father-son story, one where the father is too focused on his passions and, in being so, loses sight of the importance of family. In truth, I think it’s a mixture of all three, but it’s perhaps this final interpretation that makes the dynamics so relatable.

Deep and rich as the film may be, however, it never feels like a chore to sit through – it’s peppered with some genuinely outstanding action set-pieces that at times feel like they’re from a different movie entirely. But the juxtaposition between the more thoughtful moments and the cinematic spectacle works, creating the rare blockbuster that truly feels like it has something to say.

 

3) Knives out

This movie was an absolute blast. Knives Out, directed by Rian Johnson (of Looper and The Last Jedi fame), is a murder mystery that ultimately centres around kindness.

I must confess this genre isn’t really my favourite, the need for secrets and red-herrings keeping us at arms-length from the characters, but Johnson makes the genre-breaking, and quite ingenious, choice to reveal ‘who dunnit’ pretty early on.  This allows us both to absolutely invest in the characters, while also ensuring that the tropes of the ‘murder mystery’ are remixed in a way we haven’t quite seen before.

The lively and very funny script is brought to life by a fantastic cast including Chris Evans, Jamie Lee Curtis, Ana De Armas, Toni Collette, Michael Shannon and Christopher Plumber…just to name a few! The stand-out, though, is Daniel Craig as private detective Benoit Blanc, who reminds us just how good an actor he is when invested in the material – there’s something so joyous about seeing such a seemingly self-serious actor having fun!

The biggest compliment I can give Knives Out is it all seems so breezy and organic, like writing the script must have been easy, when really one can only imagine the skill needed to keep all the components spinning. It feels like curling up by a warm fire on a cold Sunday afternoon and getting lost in a detective novel.

Given its performance at the box office, I hope we see more of Benoit Blanc…I want a whole series. Oh, and if Disney doesn’t give Rian Johnson his Star Wars trilogy after this, they really are insane!

 

2) The Irishman

The Irishman sees Martin Scorsese return to the genre he is most synonymous with – the crime drama – and what a return it is. The word masterpiece gets thrown around a lot, but it’s hard to watch this three-and-a-half-hour long epic and describe it any other way.

Scorsese is a master of the craft, with every scene feeling so believable that you could walk right into frame. This is also thanks to a cast made up of a who’s who of the genre – Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and Jo Pesci. All give some of the best performances of their career, but Pesci is on particularly fine form – against type he portrays a calm, soft-spoken man, his every word and expression carrying immense power.

Getting to see these men grow and age through the decades allows for both tragedy and regret, alongside plenty of genuinely funny moments. The digital de-aging still isn’t quite there the whole time (some moments do fall prey to that uncanny valley), but this is certainly the most ambitious use of the technology I’ve seen.

The structure also deserves a mention because there are flashbacks within flashbacks, it’s not told in a strict chronological order, but I never once felt lost – the structure was always in service of telling the best possible version of this story, and the costume department do a great job in grounding each time-period.

“It is what it is” says a character in the movie, and The Irishman certainly is a masterpiece.

 

1) Marriage Story

Oh boy, this one hit me hard. Directed by Noah Baumbach, Marriage Story depicts the lives of a couple going through a divorce, one that gets messier as time goes on.

There are so many reasons to commend this film. It’s got a moving human script, unrelenting direction and incredible performances. Both Adam Driver (who I think is my favourite actor around) and Scarlett Johansson are terrific, portraying heartbreak, anger and resolve. There’s the intense intimacy of a play, giving each strong material to dig into.

Quite rightly the film doesn’t ask us to take a side, no-one is the villain, both are fallible, both are in some way the victim. Each face an unreasonable burden of responsibility because of their gender (Johansson’s character having to maintain a higher standard of parenthood, Driver’s character facing laws that assume the worst in fathers), but it never feels preachy or pandering.

Tension brews until it is finally unleashed in a fiery key scene – a fierce, escalating fight that, ironically, begins as a civil chat. Even in isolation, it’s a masterful example of direction and actors at the top of their game, but it’s the human honesty that makes it so unique – many of the biggest arguments in our life will begin with the sincerest attempts at amicability, in the context of divorce even more so.

It’s this uniquely accurate insight which makes Marriage Story so special. The duality of love and hate, almost in flux, spinning on a dime. There’s the underlying weirdness of a divorce – that you can share the most important parts of your life with someone and then decide to never have anything to do with them. It’s a painfully unnatural thing to go through, and yet children and shared commitments mean you’ll have to spend mundane moments together, both unable to express or even acknowledge the jumble of extreme and conflicting emotions. And, of course, with legal involvement you are forced from partners to combatants, torn between trying to win and trying to keep your virtue.

Marriage Story is so truthful, with such focused and cathartic understanding of emotional anguish, and that’s why it’s my film of 2019.

 

And there you have it! Agree? Disagree? Think I missed something important out? Well, let me know in the comments below.

I’m already looking forward to what movies 2020 will bring us but, as I compiled my list, I came to a realisation – I wasn’t really looking forward to (or even aware of) most the films on this list this time last year. Who knows what surprises 2020 has in store for us! I can’t wait to find out.

The Rise Of Skywalker – a crushingly disappointing final instalment

Oh J.J. My worst fears have been realised.

Back in 2017, when it was announced J.J. Abrams was going to return and bring the Disney sequel trilogy into land, I had my concerns.

Because, if we’re honest, Abrams doesn’t make great movies.

He’s exquisite at casting, he can composite a nice shot, and he can even shoot a nice sequence, but he doesn’t tell memorable, lasting stories.

At best he creates ‘good time’ movies, fine as long as you don’t think too hard (Star Trek 09 and The Force Awakens), but at worst he creates aimless, soulless husks of films (Into Darkness and, unfortunately, The Rise of Skywalker).

If I had a checklist of just about everything I was dreading Abrams might do after the insanely good The Last Jedi (directed by a truly incredible filmmaker, Rian Johnson), he ticks all those boxes and adds in some new problems on top.

And no-one is more crushed than me because I love these movies….

*Spoiler warning*

What went wrong?

In truth, I think we’ll be picking over the bones of this mess for a while, and frankly it would take too long to go into every single thing that doesn’t work.

At the most fundamental level, however, it quickly commits all the storytelling crimes of modern blockbusters that I hate so much:

• McGuffin chasing rather than character driven
• Stupid reveals that add nothing to the story but make the universe feel smaller
• Emotional fake-outs where characters *die*…but not actually
• Nostalgia baiting instead of earned investment
• Fan-appeasing (and it is appeasing, not pleasing) rather than a challenging narrative
• Action set-pieces that don’t forward the plot or reveal anything about the characters

Weirdly, the three movies this reminded me most of were Spectre (and I fucking hated Spectre), Spider-Man 3 and, to a lesser extent, The Dark Knight Rises. It has Spectre’s non-sensical revisionism, Spider-Man 3’s undercutting of existing emotional stakes, and (while I accept Nolan’s is a much better movie), The Dark Knight Rise’s feeling of ‘really…you had two great movies behind you and THIS is how you wanna go out?’

On top of that, it lacks even the usual Abrams’ flair (not flare)  – it’s a surprisingly ugly movie a lot of the time, choppily edited together, lacking the ‘spark’ he usually brings.

I mean, sure, if you’re only coming for space battles and lightsaber fights, you get them (lots of them), and if you want to find out if your fan-theory is right or wrong,  Abrams certainly gives answers. But if you want depth, theme or an emotionally-resonant story…well, you better look elsewhere.

How does it relate to The Last Jedi?

It’s almost impossible to think of The Rise Of Skywalker in isolation, and not in how it relates to its immediate predecessor.

The Last Jedi is the most thematically-rich and, I think, satisfying Star Wars film there has been (you can read my take here) but it was also very divisive – I mean, there’s no accounting for taste.

So, all eyes were on this film to see how much Abrams was going to retcon to appease the angrier sections of the fanbase.

In the end, he does undo a lot of the good work done by that movie, but I don’t think it’s malicious. In fact, there’s a bizarre amount of effort to ensure as much of Rian Johnson’s take is honoured…but only from a certain point of view, which is very Star Wars!

Abrams and Johnson are wildly different storytellers with, it seems, very different views of what Star Wars is. Unsurprisingly, Abrams concludes the trilogy by reverting back to his vision of the series so, yes, that means major parts of what made The Last Jedi work are undone.

You know how awesome it was when Rey realised that it wasn’t her parentage that defined her, and that she had to find her own place in the universe?

Well, don’t worry about that, she’s the granddaughter of Palpatine.

At least your fucking fan theory can be confirmed now!

Again, I don’t think this is malicious or that TROS is some kind of purposeful refutation of TLJ –to be a refutation it would have to make some kind of point, and TROS is far too sloppy to do that.

Instead, I think Abrams simply doesn’t care for, or perhaps even understand, the ramifications of what TLJ was saying – that the obsession with bloodlines is unhealthy, and anyone should be capable of becoming a Jedi – and instead did his mystery-box garbage because that’s how he sees storytelling – mysteries that need to be answered.

And don’t let people tell you TROS doesn’t work because there was no overall plan for this trilogy because, frankly, I think that’s bullshit.

Sure, if there was a plan it might have made things easier, and admittedly TLJ doesn’t offer a particularly organic bouncing-off point, but it was a blank slate – you could make any conclusion you wanted. Rian Johnson took the armbands of familiarity off and said to Episode 9, ‘go and swim where you want’.

Abrams, however, immediately clings back to the side, panicked and spluttering up water. His sole spark of creativity being ‘Palpatine is back’. Yet, even with such an uninspired idea, he could have told the story he was trying to tell here SO MUCH BETTER if he prioritised character rather than plot, narrative rather than spectacle.

This film is bad because it’s poorly-constructed and poorly-told, not because the other movies didn’t set it up well enough.

It gets worse

And beyond that, it doesn’t commit to anything. There’s no vision. No thematic resonance. Only echoes of nostalgia.

I mean, compare the ending of TLJ and TROS. In TLJ, Luke stands down the First Order by projecting himself across the galaxy, in the ultimate act of pacifism, allowing his friends time to escape, finally fulfilling exactly what the Jedi were meant to be.

In TROS, Rey uses her lightsabers to move toward Palpatine until he explodes from his own electricity, an onward march of violence, utterly vanquishing her enemy – a strange message for a series about spirituality, balance and defence. Oh well, at least it was a bit like when Mace Windu done it.

And what’s galling is TROS doesn’t even work as a fan-service movie. If that’s what it wanted to be then, fuck it, bring Anakin back, have Qui-Gon appear as a ghost, go the whole hog – don’t get coy when the moment arrives.

But, instead, it simply appeases fans, trying to address Reddit complaints, rather than provide satisfying moments (plus, it’s kind of clear that of the new Disney directors, Abrams is the most against bringing the prequels back into the fold – it’s kind of ridiculous how this bills itself as the end of a nine movie saga when it can barely bring itself to acknowledge three of them!)

Any highlights?

Yet I’d be lying if I said there was no fun to be had here. Thankfully the main cast are all still great, brilliant casting being perhaps Abrams’ most unblemished legacy to the franchise. Daisy Ridley really comes into her own as Rey, who for the first time feels like a fully-fleshed out interesting character. There’s conflict here, and Ridley sells the hell out of it.

Adam Driver is also amazing, but we all expected that, adding dramatic weight to scenes that often don’t deserve it. There’s a quieter moment where he confronts a face from his past and it’s properly powerful – a brief moment of humanity against a backdrop of incessant noise.

Despite Palpatine’s return not being a great idea, I did quite like how it was done. There are moments when it’s a little bit bonkers, with hooded crowds and bizarre mythology, that I enjoyed. The decision to frame these sequences as horror, and portray old Sheev as an almost demonic entity, was fresh and I dug it.

There are also some awesome alien designs throughout – I especially liked the festival that our main trio stumble across which felt both distinctly different but totally at home within the Star Wars universe.

And there’s a rousing ‘to your left’ moment at the end of the film that, while being completely unearned, did have me grinning.

And so the Skywalker saga comes to an end…

I’m bummed. This is the first Star Wars movie where I’ve left the cinema and really not liked it…and it sucks to feel like that.

But, I will say this. I’m sure a whole load of fans are going to enjoy this movie and good on them, I’m jealous in the best possible way.

And, look, while I criticise J.J. Abrams here, I’m aware how easy it is as an armchair critic to point flaws in someone else’s work – but he’s immensely talented in lots of ways, and taking over the project reasonably late in the day can’t have been easy. Few could have done a better job.

But when I look back at these sequels, I feel like they never reached their full potential. This was the moment when the characters should have shaken free from the bonds of service to the originals and instead plotted out their own journey. They never quite did.

Let this be the moment when Disney realise that, great as the originals are, we need to let them go and allow this amazing universe that George Lucas created be free to show us new things again – new worlds, new creatures, new ideas.

Let’s treat these movies as an artistic endeavour once more, because all the time they simply feel like products designed to sell us nostalgia, they’ll never truly feel like Star Wars.

Okay, let’s talk about Endgame’s ending

So here we are, 11 years after Iron Man hit cinema screens we’ve finally reached an ‘end’ point for the MCU.

That’s not to say there won’t be any more MCU movies (in fact the next Spider-Man is coming out in just a few months), but there’s a sense of finality to Endgame that kind of brings the story themes of the original Avengers to a close.

So, did they deliver?

Well…pretty much, but it’s a little less satisfying than I might have anticipated considering it does certain things I’ve always wanted these movies to do.

I can’t say any more without spoilers so if you haven’t seen the movie, go see it (you’ll have a blast) and we’ll talk later.

Still here, good, because I want to talk about what works and doesn’t work in this ‘ending’ to the MCU.

 

First things first…

To begin I want to say I dug the hell out of Endgame. It’s a real cinematic experience – you laugh, you cry and you just have a generally good time. For most people, that’s enough.

I thought the first act, in particular, was some of the best stuff the MCU has ever put out. Not only does it shock us by instantly killing Thanos, but by then letting the consequences of ‘the snap’ really be felt. To see the Avengers not only recoiling from defeat but also wracked by guilt, struggling to find purpose in this new world, is the kind of introspective character work I wish we saw more of in these movies.

The second act, with all the time-travel shenanigans, is also fab. Sure it’s self-celebratory fan service but it feels earned, and it’s the first time we really get to just have fun in an Avengers movie (without the sense of impending doom) since the party scene in Ultron. Plus it’s peppered with sentimental but moving moments for all the characters.

The third act is, I think, where the thematic sloppiness rears its ugly head.  I can only say that a few days after watching when the sheer buzz of all the spectacle no longer distorts my perspective. Everything feels a bit obligatory, from the CGI battle to the fate of each Avenger…much like Thanos, what happens is inevitable and that dampens some of the excitement (just some, though!)

 

Consequence at last…

I’ve been complaining for a long time that the single biggest weakness of the MCU is the lack of consequence (you can read why this bugged me so much in Infinity War here.) Endgame finally provides some sense of closure and seemingly irreversible consequences – namely, Tony Stark is now dead and Captain America got to have the life he always wanted/deserved.

Because this kind of thing is so rare in a franchise that is always teasing pay-off is coming, but keeps kicking the can down the road, you’re almost tempted to herald Endgame as one of the greats simply because it finally delivers. And yet, despite always wanting real consequence, there’s something about both the endings of Steve Rodgers and Tony Stark that doesn’t quite scratch where I’m itching…and I think I know why.

Let’s start with Tony Stark, who sacrifices himself for the greater good. Fine, that’s always going to be a decent ending for any hero – it’s an archetypal conclusion, a successful trope, so it works. But, what does it tell us about Tony Stark that we didn’t already know? In what way does it meaningfully bring an end to his story that’s been told over these 23 movies?

He begins Iron Man as a selfish playboy, sure, so you might say it brings his story full-circle by making a selfish man end with the most selfless act imaginable. Problem is, he already reached that point by the end of the first Avengers. He was ready to fly the nuke into space and die saving New York. Nothing that’s happened to Tony Stark since then – his PTSD, his hubris, or his eagerness to distance himself from responsibility – actually plays into this ending. If this had been his fate in the first Avengers it would have been just as powerful, if not more so (Stark always felt like he was going to bite the bullet at some point, so his death feels less a tragedy now and more ‘finally, there it is’.)

To an extent, this is also true of Steve Rodgers ending. The selfless man gets to go back and live the life he always wanted with Peggy Carter, but she was a love interest in the first movie. How has everything else played into this ending? What about that kiss he had in Civil War with Sharon Carter? What about that fierce defiance to always follow his morals that saw him clashing with Iron Man? What about Bucky? Truth is, none of that plays into it and, again, this ending would have worked just as well in the original Avengers.

As much as Marvel fans tend to write off Phase 1 as the weakest, the fact that both Iron Man and Captain America have pay-offs that directly tie into their experiences from their very first movies is a testament to just how important those original movies were…and, perhaps, just how much character wheel-spinning has occurred since then.

Because, sure, Stark and Rodgers have certainly swapped ideological perspectives when it comes to regulation, and that was really interesting to watch play out, but I think these characters started to just react to events in Phase 2 and 3 rather than change because of them. There’s a difference, and that very well may be why their endings feel like they’re completing their Phase 1 character arcs and not factoring in all the other movies…because there isn’t actually that much to factor in.

A good counter-example to this is Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. Could you imagine Luke’s ROTJ ending happening any earlier in the story? Of course not, because he has continued to grow and evolve, change and discover. Then, when you come to TLJ (which I ADORE!), could you imagine that ending, where he stands down the First Order in the ultimate act of Jedi pacifism, offering just enough to save the Resistance fighters, happening anywhere else in the franchise? Again, it’s impossible to imagine because both these endings serve as a conclusion to a consistent thematic build-up, as well as then offering one final bit of essential insight into the character (in ROTJ that he can’t be turned, and in TLJ that he can be a legend even after incredible failure.)

But Stark and Rodgers…their ending could have happened after Phase 1 and it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference to how we understand them. This is such a shame, because their characters are SO well defined…they just don’t really grow or change in any meaningful way.

That’s not to say their endings are bad, they work well, and I’m glad we got a sense of finality rather than Marvel recasting the roles, but they don’t hit quite as hard as they could if they had more thematic resonance.

I’m avoiding Thor altogether, both because his story is messy in a bunch of different ways that would require a whole other blog, and his ending doesn’t really have the finality of the others (if he hangs around for Guardians 3 though, I’m SO down for that.)

 

Let’s end on a positive

In breaking this down, I’m probably coming across more negative than I intend to because, as I say, I straight up loved this movie and I love the MCU at large.

No matter how many issues I’ve had with the franchise, I’ve enjoyed each and every single one of the instalments and I only moan because I love it so much (that last bit sounded dirtier than intended…)

And Endgame should give us time to reflect on an extraordinary period of cinema history where a whole cinematic universe has been built (with everything from a schoolboy superhero to a talking racoon in space) and has captured the heart of a generation.

And whilst I might have found both Steve Rodgers’ and Tony Starks’ endings a tad underwhelming, both Chris Evans and Robert Downey Jr. can’t be praised enough for the way they totally inhabited those roles. Sure, they won’t win Oscars because, well, superheroes, but they’ve won a place in the hearts of millions and made just about everyone a fan of superheroes. That truly is a marvel.

 

 

The immaturity of ‘faith’ in the 21st Century

I’m going to begin this blog pulling no punches.

If you define faith as ‘believing something without evidence or reason’, I think ‘faith’ is stupid.

It’s not wise, it’s not humble, it’s not a virtue. It’s just a lazy crutch to hold onto beliefs without any reason to do so.

But I don’t think that’s really what most people, deep down, consider faith to be, nor do I think that’s the primary focus of faith when used in The Hebrew Bible or the New Testament.

Consider this usage; ‘I have faith in my mother’. What do I mean by that?

I think it’s clear I’m articulating something much richer than ‘I believe in my mother without evidence or reason’, in fact I’m not saying that at all. I’m expressing hope and trust in my mother to deliver, to come through. My mother’s existence isn’t in question, nor is there any suggestion my faith must be baseless.

It’s a statement of trust.

See, I’ve been meaning to write this blog for a while because I really don’t like what ‘faith’ has come to mean or the way it’s employed to justify unsupported beliefs. Because faith is so much more than that.

But first, let’s start with some Logic 101…

 

Logic 101

Before we can discuss why the ‘belief without evidence’ definition of faith is so damaging, it seems necessary to go over some basic points of logic.

In theory, these shouldn’t be contentious, but it’s a strange world with many weird beliefs, so let’s go step-by-step.

1. You need reason/evidence to believe things

This one should really be indisputable.

It’s for this reason the statements ‘My wooden door used to be an alien made of wood’ and ‘We need oxygen to breathe’ aren’t equal. One is supported by evidence, one is not.

If you don’t need a reason to believe something, then you could literally believe whatever you want.

‘My dad used to be a T Rex.’

‘The sun is actually a hologram.’

‘The position of the stars can help us predict our futures’.

All equally ridiculous.

But, in reality, I don’t think most people who say this really mean it. I think, instead, they’re arguing that some beliefs don’t need to be held to the same standard of certainty as others. That, somehow, we’re impoverished if we insist on certainty in all aspects of our lives.

This is a little more palatable, and not without some merit. After all, many of us suppose the existence of an objective morality, even if there is little evidence of such objectivity existing, because it is pragmatic to do so.

Nevertheless, if you are to argue a set of beliefs ought to be exempt from needing support, you need to make the case why.

In the case of religions and superstitions, it’s not really clear.

Sure, there are attempts. Alvin Plantinga argues that religious claims are ‘properly basic’, and Wittgenstein would argue religion is exempt from fact-based criticism because believers are using a language unintelligible to those outside of it.

However, I think few of us would actually agree with this, and philosopher Stephen Law has written a solid critique of the Wittgenstein defence which you can read here.

When pressed, most of us would concede we do need to have a reason to believe something.

 

2. Not being able to disprove something doesn’t make it equally likely as not

Often in debates about the existence of God, a believer will say ‘you cannot disprove there’s a God.’

This is true, but it does not make the existence of God equally likely as his non-existence. There are lots of things that are obviously nonsense but can’t be disproved.

Philosopher Bertrand Russell used the example of a teapot, orbiting the sun, too small to be seen by a telescope. Even though we cannot disprove there’s a teapot orbiting the sun, we’d consider someone eccentric indeed for believing there was one.

 

3. Something being unexplained doesn’t make unlikely ideas more likely

This is a strange one, but sometimes people might point out something unexplained or unknowable, and then use that as justification for believing a whole load of nonsense as a result.

I’ve written at length on this fallacy here but, simply put, having gaps in our knowledge does not justify filling it with whatever bullshit we so choose. As argued before, a humble agnosticism seems the rational default approach.

And so to faith…

A definition of ‘faith’ which means believing without evidence or reason actively defies the first point, and will often use the second and third in its reasoning.

In other words, it is completely flawed.

But, as I said earlier, I don’t think this is a helpful definition of faith, in fact I don’t think it’s a concept that would be very familiar to the authors of the Christian sacred texts at all….

 

What did  ‘faith’ mean to the writers of scripture?

One thing it’s all too easy to overlook is how our modern framework and context can give entirely new meaning to our language.

When we break down the definition of religious ‘faith’ that I so hate – ‘belief in God without evidence or reason’, you begin to see it has a distinct post-Enlightenment vibe about it.

It:

1. Assumes the existence of God is in question, which has not been the case for many cultures throughout history

And

2. Places significance on the idea of ‘evidence’ and ‘reason’ as the usual standard by which we gather our knowledge

But that’s a modern reading.

It only makes sense to talk of ‘evidence’ in a post-scientific revolution world where empiricism is generally accepted.

In other words, to many cultures throughout history, that definition would simply be alien, not least to the biblical writers (I’m keeping my scope focused entirely on the Judeo-Christian tradition because I’ve already bitten off more than I can chew!)

In an interesting piece on the use of the Hebrew word Emunah (faith) in the Torah, Dr Menachem Kellner argues that faith means trust in God, not a belief in certain propositions.

Claiming his point is neither new nor controversial, he argues:

‘…the basic, root meaning of emunah is trust and reliance, not intellectual acquiescence in the truth of certain propositions.’

And when we enter the New Testament there is still little evidence that the writers were concerned with justifying the existence of God or urging their readers to have ‘faith’ despite what they see.

In fact, there are scripture that make it clear that, in the writer’s view, belief in God is entirely reasonable.

Romans 1:20 – For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.

No appeal to blind faith there!

Other verses even demand believers be ready to give justification for why they believe what they do.

1 Peter 3:15 – Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.

I’m not trying to argue that the biblical definition of faith is somehow definitive and the only one, but simply want to show that our usage of it now is, in many ways, a modern construct.

It’s not that belief in God wasn’t a necessary part of faith, but it wasn’t the focus, it was simply assumed, and trying to twist ‘faith’ into an excuse for not giving a reason for your belief in the 21^st Century is forcing the word to have an entirely different intention.

 

Faith throughout history

It’s hard to track exactly how the definition of faith changed throughout the centuries.

Certainly Greek philosophers struggled with the relationship between reason and faith, but in a very different way to how we see the struggle today.

The likes of Plato and Aristotle believed in rationalism, the view that reason and deduction are the chief sources of knowledge, as opposed to sensory experience, and so their discussions are dissimilar to the ones we have in the modern world.

But as we started to shift away from rationalism and metaphysical explanations to empiricism, the fixed natural laws of physics and astronomy in the 17^th and 18^th Century, and then further challenged still by the revelations of geology, biology, psychology etc. in the 19^th, the distinction between faith and reason/evidence becomes much more familiar.

We see the birth of science vs religion, and eventually the use of ‘faith’ as being distinct from needing reason or, particularly, evidence.

Brrr, I hate that definition SO much.

 

Conclusion

Throughout history, faith has been seen as a virtue by many, but what is meant by ‘faith’ has continued to evolve and change.

The modern definition that understands it as ‘to believe without reason or evidence’ is perhaps the least sophisticated we have come up with.

In much the same way our strict understanding of the distinctions between history and story paradoxically lead to unsophisticated literal readings of scripture, so to does the sharper focus on evidence and reason cause some to pervert the true meaning of faith.

Faith should be a hope and trust in some goodness beyond yourself, transcending certainty – not in spite of reason, but because of it!

It is not, however, a lazy licence to believe whatever rubbish you want and excusing yourself from having to justify it.

Lose the excuse.  Keep the faith.

My top five films of 2018

As 2018 draws to a close, it’s a good opportunity to look back on another year of film.

As always there have been some stinkers (Fantastic Beasts 2, why you suck so bad?) but there’s been some gems as well.

So, in annual tradition, I’m going to count down my five favourite films of the year (yes, I know I only started doing this last year, but it’s a tradition now!)

 

Honourable mentions

Before I get stared, these are the movies that deserve a mention even though I haven’t found a place for them in my top five.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri – Admittedly this one ended up being pretty contentious in how it handled racism, but the script is sharp and witty, and I rather liked that it didn’t try to wrap everything up too neatly.

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again – Just an absolute joy from start to finish. It never really got a fair shake, what with everyone still being inexplicably obsessed with that crappy circus musical instead.

First Man – The pacing isn’t for everyone, but it manages to capture both the incredible achievement and terrible cost of putting men on the moon.

Bumblebee – The first Transformers movie that isn’t completely awful. In fact, it’s great. Warm, charming and bursting with heart. Nice surprise!

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse – Beautifully animated, loads of fun and a perfectly crafted story. This one makes Lord and Miller’s firing from Solo even more painful.

Ghost Stories – When it comes to horror, I couldn’t quite get on-board the Hereditary hype train, and The Nun was awful, but Ghost Stories was pretty damn good. Creepy, thoughtful and a story that took me by surprise.

 

Top Five

5. Creed II

In 2015, Ryan Coogler did the unlikely and made what sounded like a terrible idea (a Rocky spin-off) into one of the best films of the year. Seriously, it was fresh, dynamic and powerful, adding a whole other dimension to the Rocky universe. While Creed II doesn’t quite feel like the lightening in a bottle the first film was, it’s still a worthy successor.

Creed II acts as a sequel not only to its predecessor but to Rocky IV, one of the more cartoonish instalments in the franchise, where Rocky fights a Russian because, you know, Cold War and shit. In that movie, Adonis Creed’s father was killed by Viktor Drago (the Russian.) This sequel sees Drago’s son pit against the young Creed.

Admittedly it sounds pulpy and a bit obvious, but it turns out to be a logical next step in a franchise so invested in legacy. Creed II also grounds the characters, making Viktor Drago’s cartoon villain much more three-dimensional.

But it’s outside the ring where things really shine (as is often the case in the best Rocky movies), as we get to witness the ups and downs of Adonis’ and Bianca’s relationship through pregnancy and early parenthood.

As I say, not as good as the first Creed, and it’s pretty predictable, but it’s moving and delivers exactly when it needs to.

 

4. Annihilation

Whilst it got a theatrical release in the US, Annihilation was released straight to Netflix in the UK, most likely because the studio thought it was a bit too strange to pitch at a mainstream audience.

Directed by Alex Garland (who also made the brilliant Ex Machina), Annihilation tells the story of a group of women entering an anomalous field known as ‘The Shimmer’. Inside they realise biology is quite different, with DNA being refracted in the same way light is through a prism.

This wasn’t a film I instantly fell in love with, but it’s one I’ve not stopped thinking about. It asks some big questions, both in plot-terms and about the nature of existence itself – it’s an exploration of grief and change.  Less a puzzle to be solved and more an experience to be felt, watching the movie is an opportunity to let its themes wash over you (whilst it’s tempting to Google ‘what does Annihilation mean’, it’s kind of missing the point.)

The haunting imagery imprints on your mind, as does the sense of growing uncertainly – both beautiful and terrifying. One scene, involving a distorted bear, is easily the scariest moment in anything I’ve seen this year and sticks with you long after the movie has ended. To say any more would spoil it, but it’s worth watching for that alone!

Thoughtful, mesmerising and horrifying – a sci-fi worth checking out if you missed it.

 

3. Black Panther

From the director of the first Creed came Black Panther, the latest instalment in the behemoth that is the Marvel Cinematic Universe. With a predominantly black cast and a focus on afrofuturism, the film felt pretty revolutionary when it was released back in March, and I discussed how important it was here, but it’s also a really well-made movie.

Unlike most superhero films, Black Panther is less the tale of one man and instead more of an ensemble piece – in fact, it could be said it’s a story about Wakanda itself. Who will rule it? And how should it deal with the outside world?

Unlike a fair chunk of the MCU, Black Panther has real substance, genuine character arcs and some meaty stuff on its mind. It doesn’t shy away from the injustices of colonialism or the inequality between races. It also explores the nation’s (admittedly quite justifiable) inclination towards isolationism. The movie ends with T Challa reaching out to the world, saying ‘in times of crisis the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers’ (a sentiment that’s pretty timely given the current geopolitical landscape.)

Black Panther felt like something new in the MCU (which is no mean feat) and turned out to be one of the best films of the year.

 

2. The Shape of Water

Guillermo del Toro’s latest movie is a twisted but sincere love story, a dark fairytale with teeth, and it’s utterly captivating.

The Shape of Water is the story of a mute woman falling in love with a creature who looks like its come straight out of a 50s monster movie. What should be strange comes across as real and heartfelt – in some weird way it’s understandable why these characters fall for each other. With del Toro’s gothic styling, the film looks gorgeous, backed by a fabulous score. A highlight is a dance number which, again, should feel completely goofy but totally works.

It’s also eager to explore some of the darker realities of its time period. There’s homophobia, women are patronised (the female lead really is voiceless) and the villain is a white man, rotting (literally, due to a severed finger) from toxic masculinity.

It doesn’t quite hit the heights of Pan’s Labyrinth, but The Shape of Water is an absolute treat all the same.

 

1. A Star Is Born

It might seem an obvious choice, but Bradley Cooper’s directorial debut is the only film this year to truly blow me away.

A tragic love story between a rock star past his prime and an amazingly talented woman he helped discover, every moment of this film reels you in. The direction is immersive, giving the audience the closest experience to actually being on a stage themselves, and the script crackles. Lady Gaga proves any naysayers wrong by giving an incredible performance, matching, if not bettering, her experienced directing co-star. It’s luscious, quality film-making at its best.

The songs are also brilliant, with ‘Shallows’ being a particular highlight. Great as the song is though, the build up to Ally getting on stage to perform it, and the adrenaline of the moment actually happening, elevate it from a great tune to an unforgettable cinematic moment.

Beyond just being a love story, there’s a depth to A Star Is Born I wasn’t quite expecting. Where other filmmakers might be tempted to go cliché with this kind of material, Bradley Cooper opts for thoughtful. This is best seen in the way the film handles the discussion of authenticity.

As Ally rises in fame, she becomes an increasingly versatile performer, beginning as a jazz singer, moving onto country and ending up a pop star. I was ready to roll my eyes as Cooper’s aging rocker quietly judged Ally’s ‘lack of authenticity’, until I realised the film wasn’t really on his side. There’s not actually a ‘selling her soul to the corporates’ take, just a nuanced exploration of the reality of making commercial music. There’s a fantastic piece on the crisis of authenticity here which I recommend reading, but this part stood out to me:

‘Ally’s authenticity is that she’s a shape-shifter; she’s like David Bowie that way, in that all of these versions of her are true facets of her. None of them are selling out, and it’s interesting to look at your own reaction to her different phases to see what those reactions say about you. Did you assume that her decked out in a Nudie Suit and crooning alt-country was her more ‘authentic’ moment, despite the fact that we met her singing a jazz standard? Did you feel that her pop moment was phony, despite us never getting a sense for what kind of music she personally likes?’

The fact the film offers these kind of readings elevate it beyond a pleasant watch to something much more substantial. It’s my film of the year because the craftsmanship is second to none, the acting is topnotch, the songs are great and there’s real nuance to be found in the themes.

 

What do you think? Agree with my list? Have a completely different top 5? Let me know in the comments below!

 

Infinity War and the Marvel ‘lack of consequence’ problem

So you’ve seen Infinity War, right?

First of… *clears throat* ‘Holy fucking shit, that ending! Geez, did you just see that…Jesus!’

Right, now I’ve got that out of my system, let’s move on. Oh, and if you haven’t already seen the movie, stop reading and come back later. Unlike the Marvel universe, you can’t use a Time Stone to undo the consequences (burn!) of reading and frankly the film deserves to be experienced first-hand.

Still with me? Well, good, because Infinity War was pretty fun, right? An admirable smashing together of a whole bunch of Marvel properties that by-and-large works very well, assuming you know your Peter Quill from your Peter Parker.

But given that ending, and the various deaths racked up along the way, I want to ask a question. Does Infinity War solve the Marvel ‘lack of consequences’ problem?

 

Accusation: In most Marvel movies, there are very little consequences

The Marvel Cinematic Universe movies are so much fun. They’re dependable slices of blockbuster entertainment and even if you don’t love one of the movies, you’ll still probably have a good time with it nonetheless.

This makes it all the more frustrating that the MCU tends to have very little actual consequences. By that I don’t mean exclusively characters dying, although that is certainly part of it (oh, and ‘dead but not really’ fake-outs are the worst – Loki, Nick Fury etc.) No, stories can have huge consequences without it necessarily involving the death of a character. In fact, I would go so far as to argue Game of Thrones has literally used up all its ‘story progression by death’ and has come up unstuck in delivering storytelling not dependent on shock-death.

But the clincher is, the MCU very rarely has any form of consequence. Certainly there are some good character journeys over the course of the films (Tony and Steve effectively switching ideologies being one of them) and some of the solo films are exceptions (Guardians 2, in particular, lands a fantastic character death) but, largely, stakes feel huge but mean nothing.

Let’s go through a few examples. In The Winter Soldier, it turns out that SHIELD has actually been infiltrated by Hydra, an extreme Nazi cult. Doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Ultron ends with a whole country being destroyed partially as a result of the Avenger’s actions, and it’s not really mentioned at the end of the movie. Civil War wants us to believe character relationships are damaged, but backtracks with Steve’s letter to Tony straight away.

None of it matters. Now, on occasion, stuff gets weight retroactively in a latter film – for example, the destruction of Sokovia has a huge impact on Civil War – but that’s not quite the same (more on this latter.) Most movies can’t rely on a sequel to give them meaning, and pretty much all good movies have immediate tangible consequences. That’s what gives them purpose.

So, the question is, in light of Infinity War, has this problem been solved?…

The answer is no, by the way, absolutely not. It actually makes things worse.

 

Is Infinity War the most inconsequential Marvel movie?

After a decade of being terrified to kill characters, Infinity War goes nuclear, killing Loki, Heimdall, Gamora, Vision and then a huge chunk of the other Avengers in one go.

Shit, boy! It’s like Marvel’s Red Wedding…apart from we know a whole load of it won’t stick. Spiderman, Guardians and Black Panther all have movies coming up so they aren’t gone for good. Straight away that undermines the ending. The funeral music credits, so powerful at the time, can’t help but feel like a gimmicky, weightless bit of audience manipulation rather than earned as a result of, you know, actually telling a good story.

The film has stones that can alter reality and reverse time. All the while those stones are around, nothing sticks, even if the film genuinely is committing. Are Loki and Gamora actually gone for good? If so, brave decision, I guess. But the film is crying wolf at the end, and so those deaths feel as temporary as every other.

There’s even a version of events whereby this could become the most inconsequential and pointless Marvel movie yet if it turns out they can rewrite time completely. If all the events of this film are undone then what on earth was the point?

Don’t get me wrong, I think the next movie will require sacrifice (Tony Stark basically has a target on his head the whole time now), but they can’t keep relying on subsequent movies to prop up the significance of the last. It’s bad storytelling.

And here’s the thing. Impossible, unbelievable stakes don’t need to be this empty and, to demonstrate my point, I want to compare Infinity War to an episode of the single greatest television show ever made – Doctor Who.

 

Infinity War and The Doctor

Although the most obvious episode to compare to Infinity War would be ‘The Stolen Earth’ (both stories involve aliens attacking, various different properties coming together and both have to juggle a huge amount of characters) I actually want to compare it to a slightly weirder episode, ‘The Pandorica Opens.’

If Infinity War thinks its stakes are high, ‘The Pandorica Opens’ is like ‘bitch, please. You killed half of all life in the universe? Well we’ve literally exploded every star and the universe itself has faded out of existence. Those are REAL stakes.’ Yes, seriously, the penultimate episode of Series 5 ends with the whole universe blowing up. Go big or go home, I guess!

So, presumably, this should exhibit all the same problems as Infinity War. The universe can’t stay blown up for obvious reasons, it’s going to have to be undone. But, far from feeling pointless, ‘The Pandorica Opens’ is a sublime bit of storytelling even before its excellent finale solves everything in a witty and cerebral way.

Why?

Because ‘The Pandorica Opens’ is about a lot more than the fate of the universe. There are important character moments between the Doctor and his companion, and between the companion and her husband that she forgot existed (who is also now a Roman Centurion, and also an evil plastic alien who doesn’t realise it…God damn, I love Doctor Who.)

It hinges on a fascinating question – ‘What monster is so feared in all the universe that it needs to be locked in the Pandorica?’ The answer turns out to be *spoilers* The Doctor. This isn’t just clever and shocking, it’s an insight into the theme of Matt Smith’s tenure – how The Doctor himself, with the best intentions in the world, can be seen by others as a monster and destructive force. Fear of him literally threatens the entire universe.

The episode ends with The Doctor imprisoned, the companion dead, the TARDIS blowing up and the universe ceasing to exist. Even though every single one of these is undone in the next episode, it’s actually about something greater than the obvious stakes – you can’t undo the character development or thematic exploration.

But if I asked you what is Infinity Wars about, I think you’d struggle to answer beyond ‘a purple alien wants to destroy half of everything’. There isn’t time for character development between the main heroes, so it’s a pretty surface level watch. The character explored the most is probably Thanos, and the biggest take away from him is maybe ‘crazy bad people sometimes think they’re justified’…but it’s all very flimsy. It’s relying on the shock factor of its deaths and stakes in a way the aforementioned Doctor Who episode just isn’t.

And the funny thing is, Doctor Who IS a TV series, ‘The Pandorica Opens’ IS a penultimate episode. This form of ‘all is lost’ storytelling is suited for television where you can find out the resolution next week. It sits uncomfortably in a movie that won’t get a follow-up for a year. (Although if Avengers 4 turns out to be a small, character driven piece exploring zany ideas on how to save the universe in the way ‘The Big Bang’ follows up ‘The Pandorica Opens’, all will be forgiven. Just saying.)

 

There are now less consequences

There’s still no evidence Marvel has learned its lesson when it comes to consequences and frankly, that’s becoming increasingly frustrating. God damn it guys, just commit already! If stones can literally alter reality, things feel less at stake than ever.

But if this piece has been overly grumpy, I want to emphasise I had a great time with Infinity War. It’s great, stupid, magnificent fun and a cinematic experiment that we just haven’t seen before. And oh boy has it got us talking and speculating. I’ll be there on opening night for Part 2, so I guess it kind of did its job.

It’s just the lack of consequences that I think the Marvel movies really need to overcome. Without consequence there can be no meaning, and the whole point of stories, even dumb fun ones, is to leave the audience with something beyond pure plot.

Why is The Dark Knight so damn good?

Ask me what the best superhero film is and I’d not hesitate to answer. The Dark Knight. A modern masterpiece of blockbuster filmmaking that, even ten years later, still feels shockingly unique and unparalleled in the genre.

Given that I’m hardly alone in this opinion, it got me thinking, what exactly makes The Dark Knight so damn good?

And, to answer this, I’m going to take for granted a lot of things that most of us agree on – Nolan is an incredible director, Pfister’s cinematography is beautiful, the acting is uniformly brilliant and the action sequences are spectacular – and answer the question with one word: ideas.

The Dark Knight is a movie about ideological conflict. It’s political. It’s philosophical. Whether we recognise it or not, that’s what makes it so compelling.

But to begin to break down these ideas, we need to address the elephant in the room when talking about what makes this movie work. We need to first look at the iconic character who drives the philosophical discussion of the film…

 

The Joker

The combination of a truly incredible performance by Heath Ledger supported by a great script made The Joker an all-time great screen villain. Did you know, though, The Joker is only in 33 minutes of The Dark Knight, a movie that is over two-and-a-half hours long? It’s a testament to both Heath Ledger and the character that his presence is felt in every scene and dominates our memories of the movie.

The Joker is a huge part of what makes The Dark Knight work, so we need to determine exactly why he is such an incredible villain to understand how he contributes to the film as a whole.

He’s not a typical Nolan character

Christopher Nolan is a genius, there can be no doubt of that, but his work often feels slightly detached from humanity. I don’t mean this in a Ridley Scott ‘Alien Covenant’ kind of way, where the characters are just things to inflict suffering on dispassionately, but in how Christopher Nolan characters tend to speak and behave.

There are not many of the traits we’d necessarily recognise as human – humour, flirting, warmth – and instead the characters tend to speak in the same cerebral way Nolan writes and directs. Often they’re sexless characters who regularly articulate complex philosophical worldviews as if in place of discussing the weather. It’s not problematic, it’s more a stylistic leaning, but it’s certainly not naturalistic.

This can make Nolan’s work feel a little sterile – emotionless is perhaps too strong a word (especially after Dunkirk, which hits pretty hard), but certainly restrained.

So when The Joker walks into this ordered Nolan movie with his crumbling clown make-up and his purple coat, he feels from another universe entirely. The Joker isn’t restrained – he tells jokes, he plays to the room, he performs violent magic tricks. In most movies, when The Joker walks into a party and acknowledges Rachel Dawes with ‘why hello, beautiful’ while adjusting his hair, the moment would be creepy. But in a sexless Nolan movie, The Joker’s sexual recognition feels like an act of anarchic defiance itself. The character’s theatrical demeanour and penchant for chaos feels like it’s tearing apart Nolan’s sterile world at the seams.

Which is not to say The Joker is entirely without Nolan quirks. He certainly philosophises, a lot in fact, and his very existence is more as pure ideological force than actual character. But the tussling of the theatrical clown monster with Nolan’s preference for restrained cerebral characters makes for a truly magnificent concoction.

The Joker is a terrorist

The Joker isn’t a typical supervillain. In him we see not a cartoon caricature of evil but a threat that’s very recognisable. He’s not an alien trying to blow the world up, he’s a terrorist trying to provoke fear. He doesn’t use magic MacGuffins to achieve his aims, he uses bombs, knives and hostage videos.

In this way The Dark Knight is very much a post-9/11 blockbuster. It taps into 21^st Century fears of the destructive force of an enemy who cannot be understood or reasoned with, an enemy that can strike at any moment and slaughters indifferently.

‘Some men just want to watch the world burn’ Alfred warns a Bruce Wayne who is taken aback by a villain with seemingly no motivation. The Joker himself actively mocks the idea that he can be explained away by telling two different tragic origin stories. When we come onto the politics of this movie, this might well be part of the reason some interpret it as ‘right-wing’ – to perceive terrorism as a threat that is created and sustained in a vacuum is a slightly problematic idea – but for now let’s just acknowledge how strikingly that chord chimes with audiences of the movie.

 The Joker is an existential threat

But let’s get onto the meat of what The Joker represents. Moral Nihilism. He calls society’s morality a ‘bad joke’ and tells Batman he’s not a monster, he’s just ahead of the curve.

The Joker describes himself as an ‘agent of chaos’, a dog chasing cars who wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he caught one. Alfred compares him to thieves who steal for the sake of stealing.

What’s interesting though is something much more insidious still lies at the heart of what motivates The Joker. He’s not merely interested in causing chaos, he’s determined in proving that deep down everyone is as ugly as he is. It’s best summed up when he tells Batman:

 ‘They’re only as good as the world allows them to be. I’ll show you. When the chips are down, these… these civilized people, they’ll eat each other.’

Every course of action he takes is aimed at proving just that. He manages to rile an angry mob into trying to take the life of an innocent man, he pits two ferries against each, hoping one would blow up the other. In Harvey Dent, the face of justice, he sees a target to corrupt. With Batman, a man who already has shaky moral foundations, he desperately wants him to break his one rule – not killing. To The Joker, any moral code is an illusion that needs to be broken.

In our darkest thoughts, it’s hard not to have a nagging doubt that maybe The Joker has a point. Maybe our morality is something of a lie, ready to be dropped the moment it’s no longer expedient. This is what makes him such a terrifying threat. He’s not trying to destroy Gotham as a physical place, he’s trying to destroy Gotham’s soul. He’s making a horrifyingly compelling case for Moral Nihilism, and is inviting the audience to agree with him.

To the extent The Joker actually acknowledges this aim, and to what extent he really does just see himself as an agent of chaos, inadvertently gives layers of psychological depth to the character. He very much is aware he’s playing the role of ‘villain’ in the narrative, but only because it’s a narrative he ultimately rejects.

 

The film’s politics – Is the movie a right-wing allegory?

So having established what makes The Joker so special, let’s glance at the politics of The Dark Knight.

Batman, when taken seriously, is actually a surprisingly problematic character. He’s a billionaire who spends his time acting as a vigilante, beating up the poorest in society. Unlike Superman or Captain America, he symbolises less something that is to inspire and more something that is to be feared. If you’re a criminal, he’ll get you, even if the law can’t.

It’s little wonder, then, that accusations of the mythology being a ‘right-wing power fantasy’ have been levelled. Further still, there are those who see The Dark Knight as a whole as ‘right-wing’.

If The Joker represents the terrorist threat, then does Batman represent the Bush administration going above and beyond to heroically put an end to terrorism, when the law, with its hands tied, cannot? Does Batman’s use of the phone system at the end (which spies on every Gotham citizen) represent the necessary temporary curtailing of civil liberties until the terrorist threat is neutralised?

Whilst I certainly appreciate this reading, I’m not entirely convinced by it. In fact, I’m not sure the film has a coherent political vision at all. Instead, quite wisely in my opinion, it opts more to ask questions rather than provide easy answers.

What’s certain is the whole trilogy sees the criminal justice system as flawed. There’s too much corruption and Batman is seen as kickstarting the cleaning up process. This is still a problematic stance but the film fully acknowledges that. Speaking in relation to Batman, Harvey Dent says:

‘When their enemies were at the gates, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city. It wasn’t considered an honor, it was considered a public service.’

This is then immediately corrected by Rachel, his girlfriend, who reminds him that the last person they appointed to protect was Caesar and he never gave up his power. Whether this is historically accurate is beside the point, the key is the film is wrestling with how it perceives Batman.

And, for the remainder of the movie, Bruce is hoping to let Harvey Dent, who represents the just rule of law, take over so he can retire Batman. Of course things don’t go to plan, and Harvey Dent ends up corrupted by The Joker’s actions.

Batman knows how important Harvey Dent and the rule of law is, however, and decides to take responsibility for Harvey’s actions so the people can still believe in him. This echoes ‘The Noble Lie’ found in the works of Plato’s ‘The Republic’ – a myth or untruth that is propagated for social harmony. Is that then the film’s message? That the criminal justice system is unfit for purpose but we need to believe in it anyway?

Well that would be odd, because if the sequel ‘The Dark Knight Rises’ has anything to say (and, frankly, it doesn’t say nearly enough for my liking), it’s too refute the idea of The Noble Lie. In that movie the untruths have rotted away at everything and the truth is eventually outed.

This ultimately reinforces my sense that Nolan doesn’t have a grand political vision, he’s just wrestling with these questions in the confines of a superhero movie. The fact it asks these questions at all, however, is remarkable.

 

The film’s philosophy – Is the movie nihilistic?

Much more interesting to me than the politics of the movie is the film’s philosophical conflict. I already highlighted above how I think The Joker is the physical manifestation of Moral Nihilism, which makes Batman’s position representative of Moral Objectivism – there really is such a thing as morality that exists independently of our social structure.

What’s shocking is The Dark Knight goes some way in showing that The Joker really does have a point (this movie has balls – what other superhero movie would blow up the love interest halfway through?!) People do call for Batman to reveal himself, they do attempt to kill the innocent man when a hospital is threatened, Dent is shown to be corruptible etc. So does this indicate the movie ultimately sides with The Joker?

I don’t think so, and that’s thanks to the ferry scene. One of the biggest criticisms of recent blockbusters, and especially Marvel superhero movies, is that no-matter what themes the films are exploring, they’re usually side-lined or forgotten entirely for a big punch-up in the third act. This is not the case with The Dark Knight. Until the very end the film stays focused on its themes with razor sharp precision.

In the ferry scene, The Joker offers two ferries (one carrying convicts, the other civilians) a choice – blow up the other ferry and live, or he’ll detonate both ferries. In The Joker’s mind it’s obvious that, out of fear, one of the ferries will blow up the other. What happens, however, offers us a glimmer of optimism. On the ship full of convicts, one of the prisoners tosses the detonator out of the window, taking the choice out of their hands. On the ship of civilians, they take a vote. Although they vote overwhelmingly to detonate the other ferry, none of them actually wants to be the one to do it. And so both ferries accept their fate. They’re going to be blown up because neither group is willing to murder.

On top of that, Batman never does break his rule. Not only does he not kill The Joker, he actively catches him when he falls out of the building. As The Joker dangles upside down, lost in his own madness, he says ‘You truly are incorruptible, aren’t you?’ It’s a brief and rare admission of partial defeat.

That’s not to say everything else in the film is undone. Out of fear and loss, a lot of Gotham has now done some incredibly shitty things. But by the actions of those on the ferries and Batman himself, we’re offered a reason not to entirely despair.

 

The legacy of The Dark Knight

Many movies have tried to capture what makes The Dark Knight so special but have failed. Some have tried to mimic the serious tone but forgotten to actually have anything to say (I’d go so far as to suggest this is even true of The Dark Knight Rises), whilst others have produced pretentious pseudo-philosophical movies that are a chore to sit through (Batman V Superman!)

The Dark Knight really does feel like lightening in a bottle, an example of everything coming together to produce a rare modern classic. It stands atop the superhero heap not because it’s serious or tries to treat comic books as ‘adult’ (in fact I would say most films should avoid that.) No, it stands proud because it’s about ideological conflict and what it means to be human, and that will always resonate no matter how it is packaged – even if the main character insists on dressing up like a bat!

Okay, let’s talk about Black Panther…

As insidious as it is that Disney seem to be buying pretty much everything at the moment, it’s hard to argue with the quality of their recent output. Thor Ragnarok was an offbeat comedy that tackled colonialism head-on, The Last Jedi was one of the deepest blockbusters in recent memory (easily the best Star Wars film since Empire), and now we have Black Panther.

Anyone who thought that Black Panther was going to be breezy and turn a blind eye to its cultural relevance just because it was part of the MCU were in for a shock – Black Panther is an incredibly political film. Wakanda is a kingdom unaffected by colonialism, T’Challa is a king who struggles with both his own and the kingdom’s conservative views on isolationism, and Killmonger, the movie’s antagonist, wants to use their advanced weaponry to liberate people against systemic oppression.

I’ve seen Black Panther twice now and it’s clear this is a movie begging to be dissected and discussed for years to come. And yes, I know what you’re all thinking, ‘Yay, the hot take we’ve been waiting for – what does the white guy think?’

Fear not, I don’t plan to spend long giving my ‘verdict’ on the film. In short, I really like it but I don’t quite love it. I love the characters (Shuri is now my favourite MCU character), I love the soundtrack and I love the sheer weight of its political themes, but there were one or two plot points which clunked for me.

But you know what, that really doesn’t matter because I’m not the film’s primary audience. By that I don’t mean I can’t enjoy it – as I say, I really did – I just mean that the most visceral reactions are going to be from the people seeing themselves represented in a way they haven’t before. As a white geek, the last decade or so of blockbuster cinema has been almost entirely aimed at me. That’s starting to change. Slowly. And I can’t wait.

With a different primary audience we get different stories, different beats and different issues to explore. From a purely selfish point of view, that’s surely more interesting than watching the same western white male experience play out in every single form it possibly can.

It’ll raise questions, and that’s great. It’ll challenge the fundamentally flawed idea that the default character is a white guy, and it’ll challenge the image that the default setting is Western (or else be deemed ‘tokenistic’.)

Black Panther gives those of us who are white the chance to engage with art in a deeper way than logical nit-picks, Cinema Sins-style bullshit, and arbitrary star ratings – for once we can just shut up and listen.

For many black viewers, it’s clear that Black Panther means something very special. Representation matters and everyone deserves to feel empowered by what they see on screen. Black Panther is crushing it at the box office because people have wanted this shit for so long, and to read the writing of both black critics and general black moviegoers permits us an insight into the responses of those who this film is truly for.

It’s also important to remember that the black response to this is not homogeneous, people have reacted in different ways. After all, no white film maker has ever had to carry the burden of capturing all differing white perspectives so we shouldn’t expect the same from Ryan Coogler.

For example, Christopher Lebron, Associate Professor at John Hopkins university, has described the film’s central arguments as racist.

He warned on Twitter that ‘black folks should always be a little suspicious when white #liberalmedia crowns a work of black art as revolutionary, because that usually means they think all the work has been accomplished by the art and their part is over, when it’s just supposed to be starting.’

Can a film with a predominantly black cast, made by a black director, be racist? I guess if you see it only as an extension of the Disney machine then yes, even if you’d have to cynically see Ryan Coogler as selling out or ungenerously presume he’s too stupid to see what he’s doing. Yet there’s undeniably something instinctively gross about a white CIA agent shooting down the tools of liberation for the oppressed as the film’s victory moment – especially if divorced from the larger context of the movie.

Whilst I certainly prefer Film Crit Hulk’s interpretation that the movie is much more of a dialogue than that, and actually about the duality of the black experience, it’s important to recognise the many reactions to this movie in the black community (whilst acknowledging, of course, that it is overwhelmingly positive).

I also found Stephen Bush’s article in the New Stateman to be a really interesting perspective. He’s much more interested in seeing a black hero who is incidentally black than a hero who is defined by it, but he goes on to concede ‘for a young child whose blackness is more important to them than mine was to me, Black Panther will be a seminal moment not because of what it might portend, but because of what it is.’

There are plenty of issues to be worked through, and it’s almost a relief that the white perspective on them is irrelevant. It’s the perfect antidote to today’s ‘everyone has to have an opinion on EVERYTHING’ mentality – not because we should be passive zombies, but because we need to recognise people have unique worldviews, experiences and backgrounds which make their opinions on certain topics better informed and more vital.

I think Black Panther as a movie is itself a dialogue and has gone on to create a healthy discussion. It’s on us to learn from what is being shared.

To be clear, it’s important to point out I do not mean to appropriate a cultural landmark and make it about what white people can learn from it. The representation provided and debates about said representation in the black community are absolutely the fundamental good from Black Panther. Only as a secondary good, from the periphery, do we talk about what we can learn from this.

So let’s hear differing perspectives with empathy so we can begin to understand experiences beyond our own. There are so many good pieces on this movie out there – go and read them! Yes, let’s talk about Black Panther, but let’s also listen.

That’s part of what makes Black Panther so awesome. That’s why it’s incredible a film like this has been released as a tentpole movie. Wakanda forever!

The Greatest Showman review – Very far from the greatest!

Ughh, I really wanted to like this movie.

When it comes to musicals, I’m a pretty easy lay. Give me half-decent showtunes and a bit of choreography and I’ll usually enjoy myself. Heck, if it’s a good musical I’ll probably declare it my film of the year.

So it’s quite damning that The Greatest Showman doesn’t even clear my low hurdles. Despite an insanely talented cast bringing their a-game, they can’t compensate for a film that is misjudged in nearly every way, and from beginning to end feels fake and emotionally hollow. I’m sure Michael Gracey had the best of intentions, but it all falls flat (this is his directorial debut, and it shows!)

Perhaps the biggest misjudgement, but the one that’s strangely easiest to overcome, is a film about PT Barnum being the saviour of the downtrodden is slightly distasteful. I’m sure there’s plenty of nuance to be discussed, but the real Barnum was a con-man who did exploit ‘freaks’ to make his fortune, and was also responsible for introducing animal performers to the circus (a cruel trade we’re still trying to bring to an end.) That being said, this isn’t a biopic and I’d be happy to have switched my mind off and just embrace this starry-eyed rags-to-riches version if the film was any good…but it isn’t.

Firstly, there’s the hideous CGI. Look, I’m not one of those guys who hates on all forms of CGI, it’s often a necessary part of modern filmmaking and vital to many blockbusters, but here it’s overused and utterly ugly. If you’re expecting the audience to feel a sense of awe when you first show the circus, you’re really undercutting yourself when it’s plainly visible most of what we’re seeing only exists on a hard-drive. Perhaps if the film had some strong stylistic choices it would make it more forgivable (Baz Luhrmann regularly uses CGI to make hyper-stylised settings and it often works to great effect), but The Greatest Showman lacks any such vision.

And then there’s the music…oh God, the music. I won’t deny that there are two or three catchy tunes in the pack, but it’s all been over-produced in a studio somewhere, and the use of autotune is all too obvious. The moment I can tell Hugh Jackson is merely miming to a backing-track, my suspension of disbelief is dispelled. And, again, there’s no real consistent style for the music choices, it all just feels like generic pop music you would hear in the charts. You could literally insert Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’ into the movie and it would fit perfectly (not that there’s anything wrong with that song, per se, it’s just hardly the stuff of high art!) Whereas Luhrmann used anachronistic music choices in Moulin Rouge and The Great Gatsby to shocking affect (like two creepy old men singing ‘Like a virgin’), the decision to use generic sounding modern fluff just feels uninspired here. In fact, the whole movie feels like a Baz Luhrmann picture if he had just had his balls cut off the day before.

Finally there’s the script, which is less a story and more a bunch of half-gestated clichés glued together. Loads of stuff happens (in fact the film piles on problem after problem for our characters), but none of it matters because we’re never remotely emotionally invested. The ‘freaks’ really are just freaks, with only Keala Settle as the Bearded Lady coming close to having anything to actually do (although she’s as bereft of character as everybody else.) When she starts her big speech about how Barnum gave her a family it just feels so unearned, a classic case of telling not showing.

In fact, the film doesn’t put the legwork into setting anything up at all. Characters fall in love, face social pressure and make up again in about five minutes of screen time – conflict really only works if we actually get time to feel it. A number of times characters break into acapella song reprises to remind us how bad everything is, but it feels mawkish and cheesy because it’s so fake. I’ll say it again, it’s dramatically unearned. It feels like watching Emma Stone’s audition song in La La Land, but if the character had only been introduced a few minutes ago and had just suffered her first failed audition. Say what you want about High School Musical, at least it had a solid grasp of investment, conflict and pay-off – The Greatest Showman is dramatically inept.

It really should be emphasised that everyone involved is fantastic though. As someone who couldn’t put one foot in front of the other on the dance floor, any criticism of this movie has to be couched in the acknowledgement that the talent is out of this world. Hugh Jackman is giving a great post-Wolverine performance which shows his incredible range, Zac Efron is always a good screen presence and Zendaya is a mega-star in the making. The choreography is also, at times, very impressive. In particular, there’s a sequence in a bar where, for a rare moment in the film, everything comes together, let down only by the lingering artificial feeling that can’t be shook-off.

In the end, The Greatest Showman is all climax and no foreplay. The movie knows what it wants you to feel, but has no idea how to make you feel it. There’s not even any levity, the film’s earnest to a fault. It’s like watching a two-hour long X-Factor singer intro, where they manipulatively play sad music over contrived editing. It’s way too sanitised and over-produced.

Before the movie started, a trailer for Mamma Mia 2 played. All the way through I kept wishing I was watching that – whatever you think of Mamma Mia, at least it bothers to make sure the audience is having fun.