Fire in the Sky


Fire in the Sky (1993)
★★★ / ★★★★

Right at the end of the opening credits, “Based on a True Story” appears on the screen. But what’s brilliant about Robert Lieberman’s “Fire in the Sky,” based upon the novel by Travis Walton, about an alleged alien abduction that took place in the White Mountains of Arizona in 1975, is that it doesn’t matter whether the viewer thinks that the events portrayed on screen actually happened. What counts is the picture’s terrific ability to make us not want to look away from its images, with or without an extraterrestrial being front and center.

A forestry crew of six are hired by the government to clear trees next to an Apache reservation. Six go up the mountain in the morning, but only five make it back down by sunset. Mike (Robert Patrick), David (Peter Berg), Dallis (Craig Sheffer), Greg (Henry Thomas), and Bobby (Bradley Gregg), clearly in shock, enter a restaurant and decide to call the police about what they witnessed: That their friend Travis (D.B. Sweeney) has been abducted by aliens. This is a strong way to start the film. Although there is a sense of urgency in the action, it is played quiet. Voices increase in decibel, especially when a person is taken for a fool, but the score never penetrates the conflict. Thus, the portentous atmosphere is amplified.

The initial report is so bizarre that the local sheriff (Noble Willingham) feels compelled to request the help of Lieutenant Frank Watters (James Garner), an investigator with a record of having solved all of the cases he’s been assigned. Little do these men know that this missing person case is about to capture the country’s wildest imagination. The story goes for the expected trappings of family members, friends, and other community members’ suspicion and disbelief, but the central performance by Patrick, who plays the leader of the crew, elevates the otherwise tired and predictable dramatic parabola. He plays Mike as a man who wishes to do the right thing even though he is flawed and conflicted. Mike, after all, was the driver when the group decided to leave Travis in the clearing as light from the spacecraft rendered him unconscious.

When focus turns back on the five being pressured to change their story for the “actual” one, the film is gripping. Surprisingly compelling is the lie detector scene. We hang onto every word of each question, fearing that it might be misleading. We stare at the polygraph and the marks made by the examiner. What does a single line mean? A double line? A cross? “M”? Should the examiner be trusted? We have reasons to doubt because it seems as though the investigators, who picked the examiner, have already made up their minds about the case and the men involved. Is confirmation bias at play here?

“Fire in the Sky” offers a most memorable sequence of a man waking up inside a spaceship and enduring all sorts of horrors. We see the aliens eventually, but notice how they’re not front and center for very long. Instead, attention is on how a person processes what’s happening to him: what he sees when he wakes up in a claustrophobic cocoon, how it must feel like to have jelly-like substances on his back and hands, how he struggles to move in a zero-gravity environment. Clearly, the work is concerned with providing details, which do not always have to be gruesome, and commands great control of timing.

The Forty-Year-Old Version


The Forty-Year-Old Version (2020)
★★★★ / ★★★★

The movie begins with a series of funny situations as we follow Radha (Radha Blank), an NYC-based black playwright who is struggling artistically and financially, from the moment those expressive eyes open till her cracking bones hit the hay. The next day begins and the cycle repeats. But just when we think we are accustomed to the formula, the picture disarms us by revealing nuanced layers about the artist, particularly how sad feels and how lost she has become due to the recent passing of her mother. Here is a story of a woman, three months shy of turning of forty, who is driven—desperate—to fill a void. Writing doesn’t work. Teaching has staled. Perhaps this time it can be filled by becoming a hip-hop artist. Her persona is RadhaMUSPrime.

Blank also writes and directs “The Forty-Year-Old Version,” autobiographical in nature and reeking of Spike Lee ‘80s joie de vivre. It is shot in black and white. Very talky. Humanist to a tee. Its humor is pointed and its love for the working class shines through. Neighbors are interviewed and they look directly at the camera. Then they electrify us with attitude and authenticity.

When these vivacious personalities move out of the frame, like the sassy old lady or the homeless man across the street, we feel there is more to their stories and so we wish to follow them. The same can be said about the multi-ethnic women engaging in rap battle in the Bronx. Or Radha’s students. Or the actors in Radha’s play. It is such a joy that although some characters are provided fewer than ten lines, they pop and we remember them. Here is a film that leaves a strong impression.

We are provided a clear vision of what’s important to Radha. Surface viewers will claim her play belongs on this list while thoughtful viewers might say otherwise. The play, originally about how gentrification has affected black lives in Harlem but has morphed into something else for the sake of appealing (read: being more palatable) to the masses, is but a product of Radha’s artistic expression. Blank commands the camera in such a way as to focus on the character’s detailed facial expressions thereby emphasizing that Radha finds pleasure—no, exhilaration—in the process. The joy of work and working. The value of creating. The reward of living up to one’s potential or promise… outside of receiving a “30 Under 30” award.

The work goes on like this. Those who sign up to be entertained will be entertained; those who wish to peer into a life of a person will recognize the great wealth she has. For instance, observe how Radha’s students regard her. Although it is no secret that their teacher has not produced anything “substantial” in almost ten years, in that classroom she is the apple of their eye. They look up to her because even though she carries a deep sadness, and I think a few of them have picked up on it, she works hard to to evince a positive, welcoming energy. Many amusing exchanges (and confrontations) occur in that classroom, but it is a haven for those students.

Is RadhaMUSPrime any good? You have to see for yourself. To make a mixtape, Radha collaborates with a twenty-six-year-old music producer named D (Oswin Benjamin). The connection is amusing, refreshing, surprising, and revealing. The material could have easily gone down a romantic comedy route but refrains; it is far more sophisticated and understated than that. Confident, smart, and human every step of the way, I very much look forward to what Radha Blank will come up with next. I hope it’s just as beguiling.

Words on Bathroom Walls


Words on Bathroom Walls (2020)
★★★ / ★★★★

There is a moment in “Words on Bathroom Walls” when I knew it is a superior film about mental illness. Yet this exact point in time is only tangentially related to our protagonist, Adam (Charlie Plummer), having been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Instead, the focus is on Maya (Taylor Russell), a classmate and private tutor whom Adam has developed romantic feelings for, entering her home and realizing that her secret—that she comes from a poor family and that she lives in a small house in a bad neighborhood—is out. The camera remains still as we capture her wrestle with utter humiliation but at the same time she must retain her composure because a boy she really likes is standing a few feet away. This moment is special because it is a rare instance in which we are taken out of Adam’s head… yet Maya’s situation is strongly connected to Adam’s own struggle as a young person who is deeply ashamed of something that he cannot control.

Based on the novel of the same name by Julia Walton, the screenplay by Nick Naveda is peppered with disarming honesty, from the way Adam sees himself, how people who love and care about Adam sees him, to how Adam perceives how others might see him. It is a complicated romantic drama, certainly mature especially given its target audience (late teens), and I admired its willingness to challenge our notions about the sub-genre: syrupy, unrealistic, pregnant with easy answers. Notice that the point is never about delivering a sad or tear-jerker moment; it is required that we have an appreciation of the tricky why’s and how’s, that people are in conflict—sometimes with themselves—because they are human. And being human comes with certain rules or expectations, especially in regard to the concept of normality or social belongingness.

Plummer proves once again he is one of the best performers of his generation. Those familiar with his work already know he excels in dramatic pictures, but I say this role is different for him. In his prior films (“King Jack,” “Lean on Pete,” “The Clovehitch Killer”—intimate dramas one way or another), his characters are thoughtful in a quiet way. Pauses between words, subtle changes in the eyes, and body language communicate plenty. In this picture, his character is thoughtful in a verbal way. Through the way he outwardly expresses Adam’s thoughts and longings, Plummer makes us care for Adam as if he’s a friend we’ve known since childhood. And so when the inevitable psychotic episodes occur, we can discern between the hopeful young man who dreams of becoming a chef and the mental illness of which there is no cure.

CGI is employed at times to create a portrait of Adam’s visual hallucinations, the kind that you might encounter in superhero flicks where glass come flying at the audience and the like. Yet ostentatious visual effects do not get in the way of telling this tale because of Thor Freudenthal’s assured direction; he never forgets that this is a story of a person who has schizophrenia and so every decision, however wild or—yes—humorous (AnnaSophia Robb, Devon Bostick, Lobo Sebastian play visual hallucinations with distinct personalities), must circle back to to the subject’s painful personal experiences. What results is a confident and heartfelt work that inspires viewers to consider, “Is this how it might be like to have schizophrenia?” In addition, the material is not afraid of staring into dark corners, of acknowledging the reality that, according to “Schizophrenia Research,” suicide rate among people with schizophrenia spectrum disorders is one hundred seventy times higher than the general population.

I admired “Words on Bathroom Walls” because you can feel its intention to provide a complete picture of schizophrenia: its positive and negative symptoms; the stigma that comes with it as a concept and when someone is diagnosed; the effects of standard medication and experimental drugs. Do not expect a clear-cut story of love swooping in to save the day. Love is but one aspect. And because this is so, sometimes this alone may not be enough. Illness, wellness, hope. This film shows, quite astutely, there is no linear trajectory; they’re intertwined.

Uncle Frank


Uncle Frank (2020)
★★★ / ★★★★

Writer-director Alan Ball makes a curious decision to tell this story through the eyes of an eighteen-year-old girl even though the heart of the picture is a gay man who yearns acceptance from his southern, religious, and deeply conservative family. But it is the correct choice because early on in the picture, the man, Uncle Frank (Paul Bettany), is able to give the then fourteen-year-old, Beth (Sophia Lillis), something that his own immediate family couldn’t or wouldn’t give: wings—the encouragement necessary to become whatever it is she wants to become or be. Beth is who Frank might have become had his father (Stephen Root) loved him without condition.

Although “Uncle Frank” does not push the LGBTQIA+ sub-genre in new directions, it is able to hit enough fresh notes to be amusing, dramatic, and heartfelt. In particular, I enjoyed Lillis’ clear-eyed performance as a young woman who is intelligent, strong, enthusiastic, always open to new experiences and lifestyles. But it doesn’t mean she isn’t naive; she is—Beth, after all, hails from a sheltered bubble in South Carolina. It is 1973: the majority of the town is white, right-leaning, and the word of God is considered law. Homosexuals can be arrested for being. People of color are met with certain glances and whispers. Beth, an avid reader just like Uncle Frank the associate professor, belongs in New York City. She is a freshman in NYU.

When the picture is focused on showing how Beth perceives the world around her, its puissance is undeniable. She is a fast-learner. Those eyes are alert, hungry. A strange detail or a secret is an opportunity to widen her world view. Especially amusing is when she comes for a surprise visit to Uncle Frank’s while he and his live-in partner named Wally (Peter Macdissi), who is an Arab, host a party. We can almost feel Beth’s mind exploding due to the diversity of the guests (their skin color, creed, and sexuality), the alcohol, the drugs, the joy of being unshackled from the usual rules of niceties of middle-of-nowhere, SC.

But the story must focus on Uncle Frank eventually. Although still interesting, it is less strong by comparison. I felt for Frank constantly chasing for his father’s approval. He may be a man in his 40s who has found his stride in The Big Apple but when he is back to his childhood home, he feels as small and powerless as he did when he was a boy. Not only does Daddy Mac treat Frank as the black sheep of the family, Frank is the black sheep carrying the plague. The father’s hatred for his son’s homosexuality inspires rage and deep sadness.

However, in the latter half, we also get flashbacks of Frank’s first love as a teenager and the tragedy that occurred. In the middle of it, I wondered if it might have been the wiser choice to allow the characters, namely Frank and his niece, to talk to each other about what exactly happened—allow us as listeners to paint images in our minds just as one would when reading a novel. The dialogue and chemistry among the performers, after all, are strong. Jumping from the present to the past then back again distracts more than illuminates on occasion. The approach is too busy in a movie like this, one that thrives in relaxed pacing and overall presentation.

A case can be made that the past is so traumatic for Frank that to excavate the past by means of flashbacks might have been inappropriate. These flashbacks, however, are innocent and beautiful, particularly sequences shot in and around the lake. It is like an old painting: the yellow-dominant color scheme is so warm, it inspires a smile on the viewer’s face. I thought about my childhood when I used to hunt for bugs amongst the tall grass, underneath logs and rocks.

The Frozen Ground


The Frozen Ground (2013)
★★ / ★★★★

For a movie that tells the capture of the most notorious serial murderer in Alaska, “The Frozen Ground” is bland, uninspired, a bad compilation of detective movies set in snowy small towns. There is a disconnect between its cold but unimaginative approach and its subject matter that inspires outrage. After all, since it is based on a true story, we know that to this very day corpses of young women remain buried across the state. A case can be made that although the killer, Robert Hansen (John Cusack), died in prison due to natural causes, he went to his grave victorious. And so why isn’t the film more layered, more haunting?

In the middle of it, I couldn’t help but wonder how the film might have turned out differently had a director like David Fincher been at the helm. While Scott Walker, in his debut picture, proves capable of presenting relevant facts and moving important figures across an event board, there is a lack of flavor in his approach. Particularly noticeable is a lack of rhythm between suspense and thrills. Observe how something must always be moving—the camera, the characters—for the movie to command a semblance of tension and excitement.

This is a problem considering that following subtle clues and paperwork is critical. A standout scene, for instance, involves a prolonged search for hard evidence in Hansen’s house, but it contains a wrong approach: For the most part, it places viewers out of the action. A director of high caliber, like Fincher, would likely have chosen to place us in the middle of that search, with emphasis on desperate hands of those performing the search.

Switching perspectives between state trooper Jack Halcombe (Nicolas Cage), two weeks from retirement due to his occupation taking a toll on his family, and Cindy Paulson (Vanessa Hudgens), a seventeen-year-old prostitute who passes as twenty-three, is often rushed and off-putting. Although the screenplay briefly touches upon the relationship through the lens of a substitute parent and a child who lost her way (but wants to be found), there is a lack of realism in their interactions. When all else fails, it is ensured that we catch the teardrop rolling down one’s cheeks. I snickered at its blatant approach.

Cage and Hudgens are committed, but the dialogue is like pulling teeth at times. It feels like every small but deeply personal moment they share functions as setup for the next chase or big plot development. As a result, we regard the cop and the prostitute as mere chess pieces to picked up and dropped off rather than real people who are desperate for closure. Cindy should have been especially compelling considering the fact that she is the only woman to have escaped from Hansen’s clutches. What makes her special?

Even the movie fails to reach a boiling point when Cage and Cusack are finally in the same room. Here are two performers who can read the same lines in a hundred different ways. But line readings that made it onto film are generic, occasionally boring, colorless. At least the actors retain genuine emotions in their eyes. When all else fails, I found myself looking into their eyes and I felt as though I knew precisely what they characters wish to express despite a limited script. At the same time I felt the leads wanting scream and break out of the shackles that hinder them.

I think the writer-director wished so badly to make a movie that passes off as respectable to the point where nearly all of its life marrow is sucked right out of it. Debut features that fail to take risks are almost always dead on arrival. There is some interest here—why Hansen is drawn to prostitutes, placing us into the mindset of a victim who knows she’s about to die, the many frustrations (and dangers) of gathering physical evidence—but these moments are pushed to the side just when things are getting interesting.

Why is this the case when specificity is the life blood of procedurals?

Sound of Metal


Sound of Metal (2019)
★★★ / ★★★★

Imagine waking up one day and you must grapple with the reality that you can no longer take part in something that you love. How might you react? For Ruben (Riz Ahmed), he is advised by a medical doctor to minimize his exposure to loud noises because his hearing is deteriorating at a rapid rate. At the time of the auditory examination, results reveal that Ruben’s ears are functioning at 23-25% and the hearing that he’d lost is never coming back. This is a problem because he, along with his girlfriend Lou (Olivia Cooke), is a musician, the drummer that goes with her vocals. Their metal band, Blackgammon, is currently on tour and they have an album on the way. Once given the news, not only is Ruben’s sense of self threatened but so is his way—their way—of making a living. Sacrifices will have to be made.

“Sound of Metal” is a story about acceptance. It presents a life-changing situation with a handful choices but no easy solutions. The screenplay by Darius Marder (who directs) and Abraham Marder is perceptive enough to avoid offering right or wrong answers thereby circumventing tired generalizations about being deaf and the deaf community. There is not a single instance in which we are made to feel sorry for those who are hard of hearing or those without the ability to hear.

They are shown to be people—men, women, children—simply living their lives; they just so happen to have their own language. Like people of hearing, they, too, have their own stories. I was particularly curious about Joe (Paul Raci), a Vietnam War veteran and the leader of a deaf community in which residents are recovering addicts. Joe is tough but fair, very selective and protective of those he chooses to become a part of their growing family. I wished Diane (Lauren Ridloff), an American Sign Language teacher, were fleshed out a bit more. I felt warmth from her radiant smile and welcoming eyes.

Focus is consistently on our protagonist, how he receives and processes information then moving on from there. Ruben is a man who believes that being deaf is a handicap and therefore something that can be fixed. It must. We don’t blame him for thinking this way because our society ingrains this belief in us. How can this be undone? Is there even a way? What I find intriguing is that the picture doesn’t provide clear-cut answers. How could it when in reality a person can be born deaf, that a person can lose hearing as a child, as a teenager, or as an adult; by biological means like an autoimmune disease or environmentally related such as drug abuse, warfare, or a high-impact accident? One size surely does not fit all. This story correct to be specific to Ruben and we observe him unblinkingly.

Ahmed is terrific as a drummer who is absolutely terrified of facing the cards he’s dealt with. He is fascinating to watch because on the one hand, we realize early on how music is so important to him, that being a musician is not just a profession or a way of making money but a state of being. We get a real sense that Ruben’s relationship with music is directly tethered to his sobriety (four years sober from drugs) alongside his love for Lou.

Once given the knowledge that Ruben is going deaf—permanently—Ahmed’s eyes is a deep well of fear, doubt, and desperation. I appreciated that there is one or two moments in which observant viewers can pinpoint the exact moment in which Ruben considers the possibility of other people perceiving him to be defective. Once upon a time, he found joy in drugs. Now, he finds joy in music. But since that is being taken away, where to next for this character? Joe suggests silence and stillness; Ruben recoils. We grow anxious for him. We examine his decisions very carefully even when he himself jumps into choices rather haphazardly. He prefers quick solutions. Just like he was addicted to achieving quick highs.

It is without question that “Sound of Metal” is a character study, a way for us hearing persons to gain an appreciation of how it might possibly be like to be deaf or go deaf. It is not perfect in regards to accuracy of the steps that must be taken should one choose to have cochlear implant, for example, nor is there such a clash between those who choose to embrace being deaf versus those who wish to regain some hearing via surgery. Despite this, the film is worth seeing because it tells a specific story and it places deep humanity above all.

Pieces of a Woman


Pieces of a Woman (2020)
★★★★ / ★★★★

Sometimes a baby just… dies and there is no medical explanation for it. “Pieces of a Woman,” based on the stage play by director Kornél Mundruczó and screenwriter Kata Wéber, is an examination of what happens when a couple is unable to face this reality and move on from their loss as a unit. They cannot comprehend it. Or don’t want to comprehend it yet because the experience is too raw, too painful, out of their control, insurmountable, and perhaps there is a bit of shame there. Here is a film that asks, “What’s wrong with that?” and moves forward.

Although a story of loss, it does not dictate how a person should grieve; it is uninterested in showing what is right or what is wrong; and it does not bother when to separate order from the chaos for the sake of the next plot development. In a way, everything bleeds together. I felt a freedom in this work that I wished were more prevalent in American films.

Everybody wants to talk about the twenty-three minute, single-take birth scene, how impressive it is technically. What’s funny is that I didn’t even notice until the scene is nearly over because I was so engrossed with what was happening: Martha (Vanessa Kirby) going into labor at home while her partner, Sean (Shia LaBeouf), telephones Barbara, their midwife. It turns out that Barbara is helping with another labor and thus unable to make it. And so a back-up midwife named Eva (Molly Parker) is sent in her place. Blame will be placed on Eva for the death of the infant.

Because Eva is not the couple’s first choice, the scene becomes an examination. I found myself watching like a hawk, noting every single thing—right and wrong—that may possibly lead to the death of Martha and Sean’s daughter. Tension-filled right from the moment Martha announces she is feeling intense contractions, the work does not bother to mask its final destination. The intrigue, you see, is in the details presented within the single-take, not the fact that the technique is employed or the technical maneuverings themselves. The point is the experience—the terror and beauty of it—and Mundruczó places us right in the middle of the action. We observe, helpless.

What happens after is equally curious, days later and then weeks at a time. Because we are provided mere snapshots of the physical and mental states of Martha and Sean, I found it almost impossible to take sides. Discerning viewers will likely remind themselves that they are not being provided a complete picture. At times it is up to us to fill in the gaps and so we put a bit of ourselves, our experiences, into the work so we could have something more to work with while considering the big picture. As a result, your interpretation of a character will be different from my interpretation of the same character.

Consider: it is clear that the couple is so different from one another, almost polar opposites. On the one hand, Martha comes from a wealthy family (Ellen Burstyn), clearly well-educated and well-connected. On the other, Sean is poor, ill-tempered, a former drug addict, and, in his own words, boorish. We never meet his side of the family. We watch how they cope not only in regard to their child’s death but also when it comes to their withering partnership. Just about every snapshot is an opportunity to observe their defense mechanisms in action.

What I found fresh about this couple is that it comes across as though the director did not bother to capture the performers having or sharing chemistry. I appreciated this laid back approach because if you take a real close look all around you are bound to find more than a few couples who choose to be together even though we, as outsiders, feel they do not have or share chemistry. Or much in common of anything. But the more we observe Martha and Sean, together and apart, we come to appreciate small details that may illuminate why they forged a relationship. But this isn’t to suggest that the screenplay goes easy on either character. I loved that it is more interested in their shortcomings than their triumphs.

Some tools of manipulation are overt: the camera panning over dead or dying plants in the household, a melancholy score that never lets up, a mangy dog making its way through the snow and the character it makes eye contact with is meant to be informative. But because I was able to get into the picture’s unusual rhythm early on, I didn’t mind so much. There is a genuine sadness to this story I was able to connect with on a gut level, and I was always curious as to how Martha might make it out of her silent rage, her crippling depression, her private shame.

The Comfort of Strangers


The Comfort of Strangers (1990)
★★★ / ★★★★

Naive viewers who walk into the picture thinking it is yet another story of a beautiful couple on a European holiday are in for a vicious surprise in Paul Schrader’s “The Comfort of Strangers,” based on the novel of the same name by Ian McEwan and adapted to the screen by Harold Pinter, a thriller so carefully calibrated that the experience of watching it is like figuring out how to solve a Rubik’s cube. You think you know where it is heading but, just like the labyrinthine city of Venice, there are paths that may or may not lead anywhere. And because of this, the work is not for most audiences. It is, however, for those who crave intriguing character studies.

We look at the couple in front of us, and we are inspired to make numerous assumptions. It isn’t that the screenplay is opaque. On the contrary, it is so detailed and confident in regards to what it is really about that we entertain any and all possibilities. It is obvious that Mary (Natasha Richardson) and Colin (Rupert Everett) are well-to-do, educated, and worldly. We get a feeling they’ve known each other for a long time. We feel they care for one another… but we question how deeply when the two don’t even share the same bed. Is this the only type of room or arrangement that’s available in the hotel?

Mary calls home, talking about missing her children. We look at Colin. We study his face. He looks disinterested, perhaps even exasperated with the fact that he and his lover are on vacation yet she keeps bringing up the fact that she misses her kids. So then we ask ourselves what exactly is the nature of Mary and Colin’s relationship. We see them in gorgeous Venice, but might the more interesting details be found in the home, back in England? I admired that the material is so rich, it inspires the viewer to consider alternatives, what we don’t see on screen, how the characters really are when not visiting a foreign country.

There are questions in regards to the central couple which is made more complex when they meet a man named Robert (Christopher Walken). Unbeknownst to Mary and Colin but known to us, Robert has been following them around the city and taking their pictures. Eventually, Robert slithers his way into their lives, regaling with them stories about his childhood, particularly how his father, whom he admires, ruled his family with an iron first. Walken is terrific as an enigma who employs his talent for storytelling in order to lower his listeners’ defenses. There is a darkness in Robert that I found to be alluring, which perfectly complements the light from his wife Caroline (Helen Mirren).

Caroline, too, is a mystery. A case can be made she is the more poisonous of the two considering her skill for detailing her vulnerabilities. I was excited by Mirren ability to talk and act a certain way, Caroline’s eyes always possess a curious hunger. What does she and her husband want from the British couple? Their beauty, their way of life, their passion? It’s really puzzling because I think what Robert and Caroline share is already an exaggeration of what Mary and Colin have—or seem to have. So they must want something else… Right?

Surface-level viewers will summon the word “perversity” to describe either the picture or the contents within. But I think “The Comfort of Strangers” is a portrait of an all-consuming passion, how it spills and causes a flood. And sometimes how it has the power to touch other people’s lives and infect them—which has its advantages and disadvantages. It is a not a reductive predator and prey story; I think it is a more nuanced work in that it is willing to show that monsters can possess humanity, too, and there is something about the insane—the extreme—that is enticing. Not only do I consider that message to be honest, I think it is brave.

Bad Day for the Cut


Bad Day for the Cut (2017)
★★★ / ★★★★

An appropriate double bill with Jeremy Saulnier’s “Blue Ruin,” the gritty revenge-thriller “Bad Day for the Cut,” written by Chris Baugh and Brendan Mullin, directed by the former, makes a familiar statement regarding the cycle of violence, what it does to the person inflicting it and how it impacts those around him, but the work is able to find fresh notes in order to remain compelling. These notes often take the form of very dark humor—like a person falling to his death a funny way, being pummeled with every day appliances, a person failing to heed one’s own advice which leads to severe repercussions, and the like—and these are executed with verve, irony, and purpose. But that is not all. There is a mystery worth uncovering in the middle of this story.

Donal wakes from a strange dream of his mother (Stella McCusker) vacuuming in the forest. He thinks he heard her scream for help and so he steps out of his newly painted van to investigate. He sees a fancy-looking man (Stuart Graham) stepping inside a vehicle but unable to chase it down. So, Donal runs inside the house and discovers that his mother has been murdered. He thinks, at first, it is a simple case of wrong place, wrong time robbery. That is, until a few days later when two men are sent to murder Donal but making it appear as a suicide.

Nigel O’Neill plays Donal, an aging single farmer who is very close to his mother. The screenplay makes it clear that Florence means everything to Donal and so when he decides to avenge her, it feels like the natural conclusion for this particular character. O’Neill ensures to portray Donal not as a rabid dog in thirst of blood but as a complex person who must face being abandoned. It just so happens that the abandonment angle of the story involves honor and an eye for an eye. Although a story of revenge, Donal is never portrayed as an action hero—which is the correct decision because his vulnerability and lack of physical prowess allow tension to accumulate. One false move and it would be his turn to be buried in an unmarked grave.

There is a curious relationship in the film: Donal and Bartosz (Józef Pawlowski), one of the men sent to kill him in cold blood. Although there is no excuse for Bartosz’ actions no matter how difficult his circumstance, at least in my eyes, the screenplay finds a way for us—and Donal—to empathize with him. This character, too, is a source of black humor. Like Donal, the young man is also an inexperienced murderer. Throughout their time together, we observe the two men forge a partnership, perhaps even a sort of friendship. Bartosz is a symbol of hope for the lonely Donal who is grieving and does not have friends. He wants to connect but unable to. Perhaps there is something to other people’s claims that Donal is too close to his mother. It can be inferred that maybe he has a tendency to shut out everyone else.

“Bad Day for the Cut” is a twisty revenge picture but also a character study. It is an unusual combination, but it does wonders when done right. As is the case here. The central mystery—why the frail old woman is killed—is teased with appropriate length and later given clear, satisfying answers. Performances are all committed coupled with a rhythmic dance between shocking (read: delicious) violence and black humor. In other words, the picture is entertaining in an unconventional way—which makes it fresh, exciting, and a joy to sit through.

Antebellum


Antebellum (2020)
★★ / ★★★★

Gerard Bush and Christopher Renz’ “Antebellum” makes a statement that although African-American slavery is bound in history books, racism and racial inequality persist to this day, that systematic oppression of non-whites, especially the black community, is embedded in our nation’s marrow. While the intention speaks many painful and angering truths about where we are as a modern American society when it comes to race, it cannot be denied that the film is plagued by missed opportunities. For one, it relies too often on plot twists to shake the viewer out of ennui—ironic because it commands puissance when it simply focuses on how slaves are treated in a plantation run by Confederate soldiers (Eric Lange, Jack Huston, Robert Aramayo).

It is near impossible to describe the plot without giving anything away, but I will tread carefully. The thesis of the picture involves ghosts of the past having the power to linger and haunt the present. We follow Veronica (Janelle Monáe) in the plantation as she witnesses her neighbors being shot after having been captured for trying to escape, black bodies being cremated in a brick outhouse that’s smaller than a shack, whites exercising their power in every look, breath, and implication. Notice that during these moments the camera possesses a certain level of alertness, so much so that it brings attention unto its itself. But why?

This is because although the surface is a drama, there is something far more sinister at play here. It is a horror film because it holds up a mirror on who we are as a twenty-first century society. Black people may no longer be picking cottons in the field till their backs are raw, black people may be able to participate in elections and hold positions of power, and black people are no longer whipped unconscious for simply giving a white man a certain look. But it doesn’t mean racism has been uprooted. It’s just that oppression has evolved, took on a different form. And so the movie changes form, too. When it does (without giving anything away), intrigue is thrown out the window.

I found it has nothing compelling to say about race or race relations. People of color live and breathe images that are portrayed on screen and so there is nothing surprising or revealing about them. In other words, the screenwriters have failed to relate or connect the movie’s second form to its original state in a way that serves as a shock to the system. In fact, it does the opposite. The pacing gets mired in languor and the tone’s urgency is spirited away. It becomes a struggle to care. It shouldn’t be this way considering that fact that when you turn on the television these days, there is constant reminder that black lives are worth less than white lives.

“Antebellum” is a movie of the moment, but it lacks special insight that allows it to stand strong alongside, for example, Jordan Peele’s “Get Out” and Remi Weekes’ “His House.” Showing brutality is not enough nor is providing a clever plot twist or two. Although it showcases beautiful cinematography, particularly outdoor shots of the plantation, this alone isn’t enough either. The positive elements must be put together in a way that is rewarding and satisfying as a movie and as a statement piece, especially when its goal is to incite conversation.

The Pale Door


The Pale Door (2020)
★ / ★★★★

It looks and feels like everyone on screen simply puts on costumes of cowboys and witches, and somehow the fashion show is supposed to be enough to get us to care about its characters, to be curious of the mythos involving the American West and witchcraft, and to be entertained just because there is a body count. “The Pale Door” is an insult to the horror-western sub-genre; not only does it lack the fangs to compel the viewers into paying attention, it lacks the bite in order to allow the work to stand out from its contemporaries and leave a positive, long-lasting impression.

The screenplay by Cameron Burns, Aaron B. Koontz, and Keith Lansdale offers plot but no drama, dialogue but no conviction, conflict but no reason. It creates a depressing film, the kind that pushes you deeper and deeper into the couch until you nod off and dream about something else far more interesting. This is a positive alternative considering that being awake and trying to pay attention breeds confusion, frustration, anger, and—eventually—total surrender. As I turned off the television, I felt a pang of regret. “Why didn’t I turn it off halfway through?”

Still unconvinced? Then let’s go on. A gang of thieves, led by Duncan (Zachary Knighton), are hoping for a massive payday. According to their intel, in which Wylie (Pat Healy) is in charge of, a train is transporting a safe that houses great riches. But once the thieves manage to get aboard, there is no safe. Instead, there is a chest… and something appears to move inside.

This so-called train heist is executed so poorly, for a minute I had to convince myself it wasn’t a spoof. There is no energy, no excitement, no semblance of tension. We hear gunshots going off (with the occasional blood spatter on the window), but the film offers no discernible choreography. We have no idea from which angle the thieves are shooting from, for instance. Targets simply drop dead as if they had brain aneurisms. It’s so laughable and silly… until you realize there is more than an hour left of the picture.

It doesn’t get any better. Soon one of the thieves is gravely injured. They are informed there is a town a nearby. Perhaps there is a doctor there who can help. This is where the witches come in. Although I admired the look of their true form—diseased and rotting, as if they’ve been burnt, dumped in a well, and marinated there for weeks—there is nothing about them that’s unique or interesting. To make them modern-scary, these animalistic witches are capable of climbing walls and ceilings. But why? It isn’t enough that they do not die when shot in the head and the like. They are required to behave like zombies and Japanese ghosts. What is the inspiration for this drivel? It comes across as though the approach is simply to throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. But it is not done in a fun or joyful way; it reeks of lacking concrete ideas.

The heart of the picture is supposed to be the relationship between two brothers, Duncan and Jake (Devin Druid), orphaned at a young age due to intruders having broken into their home in the middle of the night to kill their parents. However, neither of these characters are written in such a way that we feel their humanity during quiet moments. They speak of their dreams, their goals, and their love for one another, but not once do we get a chance to feel their resolution since the work does not possess the ability to show how drama unfolds. Just because there is something being shown on screen does not mean there is actually something occurring.

Tenet


Tenet (2020)
★★ / ★★★★

.msimanyd ytpme dna ,noitucexe cireneg ,saedi dekcoc-flah fo tcejorp a ”,teneT“ ni dah eb ot yoj on tsomla si ereht ,trohs nI .eseirF ejtnaJ dna radO ob naroB yb detaerc-oc ”kraD“ dellac seires lanigiro xilfteN a ni—htiw deyalp dna—denimaxe retteb era ereh saedi dna semeht fo lufdnah a ,tcaf nI .levart emit gnidrager elgna wen a ecneirepxe ot hsiw ohw sreweiv rof ton si ti dnA .ton ro detalumis ,regnad ro ksir laminim gnireffo ,naelc ,dehpargoerohc oot era stnuts eht fo tsom ,gnidliub a otni gnihsarc enalp a morf edisA .rehtie seivom noitca larecsiv evol ohw sreweiv rof ton si tI .drallud a gnieb morf devomer nisuoc eno ,etil-larberec si tI .yteicos nredom a sa ro seiceps a sa su tuoba yas ot eulav fo gnihton sah tI .noitcepsni esolc fo yhtrow eb ot hguone deliated ton si ereh detneserp esrevinu ehT .noitcif-ecneics ro ecneics evol ohw sreweiv rof ton si tI .rof si eivom eht ohw erus ton m’I

.level txen eht ot tfarc sih ekat ot hsiw ohw rekammlif a sa etanoissap tsom sih ta eh si roN .relletyrots a sa tseb sih ta naloN ton si siht raelc si tI .ekaf ,decrof ,suounegnisid ssorca emoc setunim gnisolc s’eivom eht gnirud stnemom gniggut-traeh eb-dluow ,tseb ta suounet era snoitcennoc eseht esuaceb dnA .slaog lanoisseforp dna lanosrep rieht hsilpmocca ot tca driht eht gnirud maet a sa krow yeht taht deriuqer si ti esuaceb egnarts—evitcelloc a sa ro yllaudividni ,snoitavitom dna spihsnoitaler rieht fo )noitaicerppa dna( gnidnatsrednu hguoroht a dedivorp era ew taht os peed gid dna nwod wols ot srehtob reven lairetam eht ,ylevitcepser ,)hganarB htenneK( hcragilo naissuR a fo efiw eht dna reldnah s’tsinogatorP gniyartrop ,ikcibeD htebazilE dna nosnittaP treboR ,srats-oc sih htiw yrtsimehc serahs notgnihsaW hguohtlA

).otni detsurht si eh yenruoj dam eht fo skniht eh tahw fo espmilg a nevig ew era ecno ton taht ,ecnatsni rof ,evresbO( .oreh a fo erutacirac eton-eno a gniyalp kcuts si ohw tnelat elbaredisnoc fo remrofrep a ,notgnihsaW divaD nhoJ yb deyalp si eh dna )llor-eye na sevresed noisiced yhtrow-egnirc siht ,sey( tsinogatorP sa ylno nwonk si retcarahc dael ruO .erutuf eht morf emoc smeti eseht taht deveileb si tI .yad eht yb tnelaverp erom gnimoceb era hcihw yportne detrevni denoitnemerofa ssessop taht smeti fo ecruos eht revocnu ot detiurcer si tnega AIC a ,siht eveihca oT .ytinamuh lla fo dne eht tneverp :emoc yeht sa derit sa si emagdne ehT

.snoitaroced hcus yb deloof eb ton lliw sreweiv gninrecsiD .neercs no gniripsnart si latnemunom gnihtemos taht noisulli na etaerc ot )2 dna moderob eht tuo nword ot )1 dengised erocs lortnoc fo tuo na yb dekcab seugolaid yrotisopxe fo seires a ot decuder si ti ,elcatceps s’erutcip siht yawa pirts uoy fi taht ecitoN .yenom yb thguob eb nac taht tnemele rehto yreve—srewoprevo ,on—senihstuo ti taht ,lla dna swalf ,thgirb os ytinamuh eil tsum snwonknu elbanigaminu dna ,sdlrow neila suoiretsym ,saedi xelpmoc tsom eht htaenrednu tahT :noitcif-ecneics fo stenet cisab eht fo eno nettogrof dah naloN fi sa erew tI .amard namuh gnivlovni ,gnicnivnoc a ton tub tolp enihtnirybal ylriaf a ,snoitpecxe ton tub selur dedivorp era eW .nonemonehp gnitanicsaf siht erolpxe ot enod si hcum ton esuaceb si nosaer ehT

.enaw ot dnet tnemeticxe dna ytisoiruc ruo ,desicrexe si ti erom eht ,revewoH .elims em edam ti ;kcirt cigam taen a hguorht gnittis ekil si ecneuqes siht gnihctaW .)drawkcab( nug eht yb thguac gnieb tellub a yllautca si )drawrof( tohs si taht nug a ,suhT .drawrof fo daetsni emit ni drawkcab gnilevart eb ot deviecrep si ,noitca ni nehw ,citsiretcarahc a hcus sessessop taht tcejbo na woh—elpmaxe na hguorht yportne detrevni fo tpecnoc eht gninialpxe tsitneics a sevlovni tuodnats ylrae nA .evisnepxe ,lufituaeb ,suoiruxul ,gnippop-eye gnihtemos reffo tsum enecs rehto yreve ylraeN .deined eb tonnac taht tcaf a si sihT .stceffe lausiv dna laiceps fo esacwohs a si ”teneT“

.gnihtemos tuoba yllautca er’yeht hguoht sa ssorca emoc stcejorp eseht tsael tA ”.ainmosnI“ cifirret tub elbmuh eht dna ”otnemeM“ tnellecxe eht demleh ohw naloN eht rof nraey em edam ti ,ti fo dne eht yB .tegdub noillim derdnuh owt sti fo tnecrep net ylno nevig neeb rotcerid-retirw eht dah yltnereffid pu dedne evah thgim erutcip eht woh rednow tub pleh t’ndluoc I ,hguorht yawflaH .rettal eht sesoohc syawla tsomla yalpneercs eht ,elcatceps dna )gniwollof pu dne ew sretcarahc suoiruc eht ro sehcaorb ti stpecnoc lacixodarap eht ot drager ni rehtehw( sisylana tneitap neewteb eciohc eht nevig esuaceB .ti fo tuo denaelg eb nac eulav fo hcum ton—ynitsed ro etaf susrev tceffe dna esuac ,emit fo wolf eht eviecrep ew woh ,ygolonorhc esrever ,yportne detrevni dellac-os—saedi gib yb delleporp si tcejorp tsetal s’naloN rehpotsirhC hguohtla taht cinori si tI

It is ironic that although Christopher Nolan’s latest project is propelled by big ideas—so-called inverted entropy, reverse chronology, how we perceive the flow of time, cause and effect versus fate or destiny—not much of value can be gleaned out of it. Because given the choice between patient analysis (whether in regard to the paradoxical concepts it broaches or the curious characters we end up following) and spectacle, the screenplay almost always chooses the latter. Halfway through, I couldn’t help but wonder how the picture might have ended up differently had the writer-director been given only ten percent of its two hundred million budget. By the end of it, it made me yearn for the Nolan who helmed the excellent “Memento” and the humble but terrific “Insomnia.” At least these projects come across as though they’re actually about something.

“Tenet” is a showcase of special and visual effects. This is a fact that cannot be denied. Nearly every other scene must offer something eye-popping, luxurious, beautiful, expensive. An early standout involves a scientist explaining the concept of inverted entropy through an example—how an object that possesses such a characteristic, when in action, is perceived to be traveling backward in time instead of forward. Thus, a gun that is shot (forward) is actually a bullet being caught by the gun (backward). Watching this sequence is like sitting through a neat magic trick; it made me smile. However, the more it is exercised, our curiosity and excitement tend to wane.

The reason is because not much is done to explore this fascinating phenomenon. We are provided rules but not exceptions, a fairly labyrinthine plot but not a convincing, involving human drama. It were as if Nolan had forgotten one of the basic tenets of science-fiction: That underneath the most complex ideas, mysterious alien worlds, and unimaginable unknowns must lie humanity so bright, flaws and all, that it outshines—no, overpowers—every other element that can be bought by money. Notice that if you strip away this picture’s spectacle, it is reduced to a series of expository dialogues backed by an out of control score designed 1) to drown out the boredom and 2) to create an illusion that something monumental is transpiring on screen. Discerning viewers will not be fooled by such decorations.

The endgame is as tired as they come: prevent the end of all humanity. To achieve this, a CIA agent is recruited to uncover the source of items that possess aforementioned inverted entropy which are becoming more prevalent by the day. It is believed that these items come from the future. Our lead character is known only as Protagonist (yes, this cringe-worthy decision deserves an eye-roll) and he is played by John David Washington, a performer of considerable talent who is stuck playing a one-note caricature of a hero. (Observe, for instance, that not once are we given a glimpse of what he thinks of the mad journey he is thrusted into.)

Although Washington shares chemistry with his co-stars, Robert Pattinson and Elizabeth Debicki, portraying Protagonist’s handler and the wife of a Russian oligarch (Kenneth Branagh), respectively, the material never bothers to slow down and dig deep so that we are provided a thorough understanding (and appreciation) of their relationships and motivations, individually or as a collective—strange because it is required that they work as a team during the third act to accomplish their personal and professional goals. And because these connections are tenuous at best, would-be heart-tugging moments during the movie’s closing minutes come across disingenuous, forced, fake. It is clear this is not Nolan at his best as a storyteller. Nor is he at his most passionate as a filmmaker who wish to take his craft to the next level.

I’m not sure who the movie is for. It is not for viewers who love science or science-fiction. The universe presented here is not detailed enough to be worthy of close inspection. It has nothing of value to say about us as a species or as a modern society. It is cerebral-lite, one cousin removed from being a dullard. It is not for viewers who love visceral action movies either. Aside from a plane crashing into a building, most of the stunts are too choreographed, clean, offering minimal risk or danger, simulated or not. And it is not for viewers who wish to experience a new angle regarding time travel. In fact, a handful of themes and ideas here are better examined—and played with—in a Netflix original series called “Dark” co-created by Boran bo Odar and Jantje Friese. In short, there is almost no joy to be had in “Tenet,” a project of half-cocked ideas, generic execution, and empty dynamism.

Die Hard 2


Die Hard 2 (1990)
★★★ / ★★★★

It cannot be denied that “Die Hard 2,” directed by Renny Harlin, is bigger and more elaborate than the original in terms of special effects, stunts, chase sequences, and villainous takeover. But it isn’t necessarily better. For one, believability is thrown out the window—so much so that even our hero, John McClane (Bruce Willis), now an L.A.-based cop visiting his in-laws in the East Coast for the Christmas holidays, acknowledges the near impossible odds of he coming upon yet another terrorist plot. You’d think that its self-awareness would be charming—and it is once or twice—but after such one-liners are uttered, the picture reverts to by-the-numbers and occasionally thrilling action.

What elevates the predecessor is style. There is a foreboding feeling about it even before terrorists set foot inside the Nakatomi Tower. The group leader was played by Alan Rickman, commanding a genuinely ominous presence, so controlled and calculating. We are reminded of the antagonist’s cold-bloodedness every fifteen minutes. Here, the man who takes over the airport is played by William Sadler, the character being a former colonel in U.S. Special Forces working for a deposed dictator (Franco Nero) currently on his way to the United States. Sadler is physically fit and his expression is stern, but his presence is not imposing. He fails to put a stamp of originality to his character. I felt the actor delivering a performance instead of being. As a result, when McClane and Sadler are finally face-to-face, there is only minimal tension. Because we know that the villain is one-dimensional, there is no surprise in store that may blindsight McClane.

I enjoyed the realistic look of the airport. People look as though they intend to get somewhere; holiday cheer can be felt in the air. It is so crowded, you believe the story really is taking place amidst the holiday rush. When a chase gets busy, for instance, McClane and his target can readily disappear into the sea of sardines. They trip, fall, and get funny looks when they bump into someone. I enjoyed it most when the picture forces us to pay attention to the action, not necessarily in terms of who lives or dies, or even the level of creativity of the sequence. By simply making the eyes dance, we feel we are a part of whatever is going on.

However, minimal time is spent on terminals. Instead, much of the action unfolds in and around the communication tower where air traffic flight director Trudeau (Fred Dalton Thompson) and airport police captain Lorenzo (Dennis Franz) struggle with how to regain control of the hacked systems. Humor, I guess, is supposed to be had between McClane and Lorenzo butting heads but I found it to be more of hindrance, a nuisance, in a film attempting to establish a sense of tone and urgency. I yearned for the predecessor’s quiet moments in which McClane is forced to observe the things he has no control over. Death contributes to his guilt, but it also strengthens his resolve.

There is something personal at stake for McClane, but the execution is lacking. His wife, Holly (Bonnie Bedelia), is on her way from Los Angeles. Because the communication tower is compromised and the guiding lights on the landing strip are turned off, planes are unable to land safely. It is only a matter of time until fuel runs out. Bedelia’s talent is wasted here. She is stuck on the plane with an opportunistic TV reporter (William Atherton) who has placed a restraining order against her for having punched him in the face in the previous picture. But nothing of interest is done with either character. For the most part, it feels like a waste of film. The whole thing is a tired setup for the hero and the belle to hug and kiss once the day has been saved.

“Die Hard 2” stands in the shadow of its predecessor, and it shows. Perhaps the better choice would have been to overhaul the formula and establish new rules and expectations. What’s at offer is tolerable and occasionally terrific—like McClane attempting to stop a plane from taking off late in the picture and the tight-lipped colonel’s idea of “punishing” those in command of the communications tower for insubordination—but it fails to take the franchise to the next level.

Die Hard


Die Hard (1988)
★★★★ / ★★★★

If a movie is only as good as its villain then “Die Hard” is exciting, amusing, always one step ahead, patient when necessary but more than capable of delivering maximum damage at a moment’s notice. Alan Rickman plays Hans Gruber, leader of a German terrorist group that seizes a Japanese corporation in downtown Los Angeles during Christmas Eve. When this well-dressed and enigmatic figure is introduced, he doesn’t say a word yet manages to communicate plenty. Those eyes are sharp, studious, polished, always in control. He commands the posture of a tactician, clearly an antagonist who is equal to our hero, John McClane, played by Bruce Willis, an NYPD cop with plans of spending the holidays with his wife (Bonnie Bedelia) and two children. Unlike Gruber, McClane is rough around the edges, physically fit, charming and warm. Their single commonality is a high level of focus on getting the job done. Which one will prevail?

We know the answer and so that question is not compelling. Worthy of considerable attention, however, is how action sequences are setup and heat up to boiling point. Notice the surreptitious takeover by the villains, for example. We see their faces although their expressions are blank. When they kill, it is matter-of-fact, business as usual. Their experience lies in their confidence. Thirteen people manage to lock down a forty-story building in a matter of minutes. We do not hear terrified screaming until there is no hope for escape. This sequence, and others like it, would have been reduced to a typical shoot ‘em up in the hands of lesser filmmakers. But director John McTiernan understands the value of mystery and suspense in an action film.

The goal of the villains is not revealed until deep into the picture. No ransom is made; in fact, they do not wish for the police to be alerted of their presence. This paves the way for well-timed comic moments involving McClane’s desperation of getting the LAPD into the action. He knows he is no action hero who can bring down over a dozen men packing serious fire power. McClane bleeds, he is bruised, he gets tired. And he is not above being paralyzed by fear on occasion. (He doesn’t even have shoes on.) What makes the character relatable and worth rooting for is that he knows he is one person facing impossible odds. Still, he endures because he has a job to do. Key is Willis’ portrayal of McClane as an everyman, not an action figure.

But the tug-of-war between Gruber and McClane is not the only angle of entertainment. An LAPD cop named Powell (Reginald VelJohnson) forges a connection with McClane over radio, almost poetic in that these are two men of the law based on opposite coasts. They josh, reveal aspects of their personal lives, encourage each other when things turn grim, and do their bests to prevent the situation from spinning further out of control. Although McClane is married, unhappily for the time being, the relationship between Powell and McClane is the closest the picture gets to romance (“bromance”). Another source of amusement: bureaucracy from the LAPD deputy chief (Paul Gleason), FBI agents’ hubris (Robert Davi, Grand L. Bush), and scoop-hungry members of the media. Whether we are inside or outside of the seized tower, the film remains crackling.

What of the action scenes themselves? They are not repetitive. We are provided three or four shootouts but they do not last very long. Hand-to-hand combat between our hero and a brutish antagonist, check. But most engaging and fun are moments in which our protagonist must slither his way in and out of vents and atop elevators. We learn about his level of resourcefulness, that he himself thinks that what he is doing is preposterous. “Die Hard” is a prime example of an action film teeming with personality. And that is why it is memorable.