Showing posts with label Corey Stoll. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Corey Stoll. Show all posts

Sunday, August 10, 2025

Rebel Moon - Parts 1 & 2, A Child of Fire and The Scargiver (2023-2024) Review

the story: A farming village on a remote moon finds itself the target of the nightmarish Imperium military.

the rating; ****

the review: Usually a review, even here, covers one movie at a time, and I could certainly split my thoughts between A Child of Fire and The Scargiver individually, but Rebel Moon hit that sweet spot the internet loves so much, something it was supposed to like but ended up hating, so I'm going to simplify things and write about both films under a single umbrella.  Longish review short: Rebel Moon is better than you heard.

Actually, so the story goes, it began life as a project Zack Snyder pitched in the Disney Star Wars era, and anyone who watches or knows anything about Rebel Moon will find this very easy to believe.  Much of the general framework of the two films is Star Wars iconography, down to the stand-in lightsabers a few of the characters use.  

The very funny thing about all this, the reaction to Rebel Moon is that it addresses basically all the criticisms the internet has posed about Star Wars over the years.  It also handily combines the original, prequel, and sequel trilogies, nine films into two.

Star Wars fans worry that the original trilogy will lose its appeal to later audiences, who are growing up with films that look far more advanced than even the pioneering work done in 1977, 1980 and 1983, with or without the visual updates George Lucas has toiled away at for some thirty years.  The prequels are generally derided for trying to appeal to younger audiences a bit too much, with elements that are hard to take seriously and thus difficult to separate from the rest of the material.  The sequels generally find their criticism in either being too slavish to the original films or not coherent enough in what they were trying to do.

Rebel Moon was constructed in much the fashion of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy, in that the two films Snyder produced were part and parcel of the same production schedule, and there was never any doubt that they were both going to be released, especially since, unlike the later Horizon saga, they had a guaranteed, streaming, agreement.  The results are much more like Jackson's work than Lucas and his successors, in that they deal with the material in a sober fashion first and foremost, plunging into a fictional landscape and taking it at face value, and assuming audiences don't need to be guided along in accepting it.  

This is to say, the story was in place, it didn't have silly elements (unless you choose to view them as such, as many internet responses have), and it looks completely modern, with a budget that subsequently needed good reviews and wide audience acceptance in order for there to be more entries, neither of which Rebel Moon enjoyed, and so the future is doubtful.

It's been described, other than the obvious Star Wars parallels, as another version of Seven Samurai, and that seems to have been enough.  But gathering a group of warriors is one of the oldest tropes in fictional.  Even in 1954, when Akira Kurosawa's film was released, Tolkien was in fact releasing his Lord of the Rings, which itself is a sequel to his own Hobbit, where another band of warriors gather, and that is to say nothing of Robin Hood's Merry Men, or King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table, the Greeks united in The Iliad, or Jason's Argonauts, which still includes the most famous member of any such band, Heracles, otherwise known as Hercules, spoken of even within The Iliad itself as the greatest generation of warriors...

So the pedigree is certainly there.  Even if you leave Rebel Moon at Seven Samurai itself, is that really such a bad thing?  Star Wars owes a debt, after all, to The Hidden Fortress, another samurai epic (Rian Johnson, director of The Last Jedi, acknowledges the debt he owed to the same genre in his entry).  By the second film, Scargiver, each of the warriors assembled is given an origin, after their spectacular calling cards in Child of Fire as they join the quest, which occasions one of the best, understated moments of the films as at least one character allows another origin to go unremarked, which makes up the bulk of the backstory most important to Rebel Moon...

Because it's Zack Snyder it's lush visuals all around.  No one does it as well as Snyder.  It's not even close.  He's been doing it since 300 and there's no one who even tries, and for years the excuse was, he stole his ideas from the comics he adapted, but Sucker Punch is full of the same verve (and is itself far better than suggested, and an obvious predecessor to Rebel Moon).

To cobble the story, Snyder in fact combines elements from all of the Star Wars trilogies.  He splits Han Solo into a number of different characters, including the one played by Charlie Hunnam in Child of Fire.  The lead character, Kora (Sofia Boutella) is as much the Rey of the sequels as she is Luke in the originals, or Anakin, or perhaps more accurately Padme (or both) in the prequels.  That's what's so fascinating.  The Imperium is the First Order from the opening of The Force Awakens, the bloody conqueror without mercy barging wherever it wants with guns blazing, much as audiences adored the vision of Darth Vader in Rogue One.  The farmers of Veldt are a version of the Lars moisture farm that can be understood, and faced with a problem that is far more urgent than foot soldiers looking for lost droids.  I'm not criticizing Star Wars.  Rebel Moon has more in common, in the final analysis, with Braveheart than Luke Skywalker.  

It's got Djimon Hounsou, carefully drawing on his appearance in Gladiator, as one of the warriors Kora assembles.  There's Anthony Hopkins voicing the robot that explains in simple terms why in this story they're treated like scum (we're left to assume, in Star Wars, that there are latent fears of the droid armies that once ran roughshod over countless worlds).  His is the role of narrator.  In most of his appearances he's silent. It's artful in ways that are usually reserved to Pixar.  Ray Fisher, one of Snyder's Justice League actors, is unrecognizable and yet charismatic in an otherwise thankless role, meant to motivate more than fill the screen.  Ed Skrein is the villain who looks like a Nazi but wears a suit, the real suggestion, perhaps, that in our current times the villains wear ties while the rest of us just try to get on with our lives.  Corey Stoll appears in Child of Fire as village leader, and if you didn't know it was him you probably wouldn't guess, but as with every time I see him it's easy to appreciate his presence.

Boutella has been a genre queen, somewhat quietly, for much of the past decade, although never appearing in something that has been an unqualified success, or a success at all, really, from Star Trek Beyond to The Mummy to Atomic Blonde.  I caught her in a small production called Settlers, a few years back, and I adored that film, and anyone who enjoys Rebel Moon, or even if you can't, would still be recommended to check it out.  Rebel Moon is filled with accents, which is something I personally enjoy.  She's understated and expected to sell her action role in much the fashion that has failed to connect with just about every other available example (she resembles very much Alicia Vikander's Lara Croft in Tomb Raider, or the lead in Terminator: Dark Fate, the latest cinematic attempt to revitalize that franchise).  That alone was always going to be enough to sink Rebel Moon's popular prospects.  

All the hate is from people who were going to hate the results anyway.  Snyder's Man of Steel and then Batman v Superman were incredibly unpopular online, and then the long campaign for Justice League: The Snyder Cut, which ended up producing actual results, left his reputation in tatters, which he unwisely attempted to capitalize on with director's cuts of both Rebel Moon entries.  I haven't seen those.  In this era such cuts have begun to take on the reputation of being inherently better than the original, studio, theatrical versions since they "fill out the story," although I've seen every version of Alexander, and that's my favorite movie, and there's no cut that's significantly better.  They're just different cuts.  There's a very old school of this sort of thing at this point, from the different versions of Brazil to Blade Runner, and I also have ones for Orson Welles' Mr. Arkadin, and a great many of his fans still lament the loss of the original Magnificent Ambersons to the cutting room floor...

The filmwork, the storytelling, the acting, it's all there.  Later audiences will surely have a version of Star Wars, at the very least, where if they don't want to watch nine movies can settle for two.  It's also its own thing.  All of these stories are.  By the time you realize how much Kora's life was manipulated, you can't help but be swept up in the tragedy of it, and the prospect of redemption, which is left dangling at the end of Scargiver.  Do we need to see that?  Will we ever?

I don't think that matters.  I think these movies sell themselves.  Ignore what you've heard.  These are well worth watching.

Monday, July 31, 2017

Midnight in Paris (2011)

rating: ****

the story: A Hollywood screenwriter working on his first book imagines life was idyllic in 1920s Paris, and then somehow ends up there.

what it's all about: Admittedly, my experience with Woody Allen is still shamelessly incomplete, loaded to a generous portion of his recent work while leaving his earlier films mostly unexperienced except for a so-long-ago viewing of Annie Hall that I have no clear memories of it now, but I would have to say Midnight in Paris is one of my favorites, and I think it will stand as one of his signature artistic statements.

Owen Wilson grafts his natural charm to the classic Woody persona of the anxious would-be lover seeking answers to life's questions.  I never really get why critics complain about the Woody persona.  I loved Kenneth Branagh's take in Celebrity.  Technically, Will Ferrell plays it in Melinda and Melinda, although it might be difficult to see as he takes a backseat to Radha Mitchell.  You might even say Colin Farrell plays it, in tortured fashion, for Cassandra's Dream.  Wilson is such an amiable talent it's sometimes easy to take him for granted (apparently about a decade past he struggled with real despair for perhaps that very reason), but Midnight in Paris owes a huge debt to him.  It wouldn't work nearly as well without him accepting the lunatic premise that never really attempts to explain itself, and is all the better for it.  Who else could sell it with such casual acceptance?

The show is stolen, however, by a pair of supporting performances, of diverging length.  Adrien Brody, who ended up being taken for granted after his Pianist breakthrough, is a hugely amusing Salvador Dali (!), who seems to have stepped out of a Wes Anderson movie, maybe.  You can watch the movie for the pleasure of Brody's Dali alone.  You can do that, but you'd be missing Corey Stoll's breakthrough performance as Ernest Hemingway, who is basically the exact opposite of Woody Allen.  The sheer bravado of it is breathtaking.  Stoll, who has continued supporting and television roles since giving us his Hemingway, commands the screen and translates all over again the charm of a writer almost better known for his personality than his prose.  But he'll make you want to read the prose, too.

Together, Brodi and Stoll make mincemeat of Michael Sheen's blowhard intellectual, who's so busy trying to impress everyone, including Wilson's would-be bride Rachel McAdams, cast in the classic Allen archetype of the lover who just doesn't understand and doesn't even care to try, that it's kind of tragic for Sheen, and McAdams, because they continually disappoint through no fault of their own, because they can't possibly hope to contend with them.  Isn't that kind of the point?  Wilson thinks life can't get any better than his romantic notions of the past, and so to have the two most important figures of the present be so utterly charmless in comparison, that's storytelling.

So ironically, Marion Cotillard leads the rest of the cast as the would-be replacement lover Wilson discovers suffers from the same pains he does, only she's from the 1920s and wishes she were some thirty years earlier still...Cotillard is a master of fading into her mysterious beauty (there's a great bit about that and Pablo Picasso in the movie), ethereal, the elusive connective tissue that holds the whole thing together.  Toss in Kathy Bates and a pre-Loki Tom Hiddleston, and you have a cast that's rewarding on every level, that knows exactly what it needs to accomplish, and rewards repeated viewings.  I mean, Hiddleston in 2011 had Midnight and Thor released within weeks of each other.  He plays F. Scott Fitzgerald in Midnight, the first famous face Wilson meets, handily introducing him to Stoll's Hemingway.  Hiddleston's scenes are also stolen by a crackerjack portrayal of Zelda Fitzgerald, but watching them again, knowing what was about to bloom for Hiddleston, is to love the quirks of fate. 

It's a movie that's ridiculously easy to like, and the more you watch it the more you like it.  And it's got a big statement to make, too, about living in the past, and how it's both not as good for you as you might imagine, and that it is as good for you as you might imagine.  Wilson undeniably benefits from his experiences, even as his personal life crumbles, and he learns there's a limit to the experience.  But then, he also meets a local Parisian, a contemporary who shares the more grounded outlook he cobbles together, or perhaps was always there.  I mean, he remains enchanted by Paris itself throughout the movie.  Ironically it's Steen and McAdams who keep presenting a warped view of Wilson's fixation on the past.  That's another reason Wilson is perfect for this movie, because he's able to let their negativity slide off of him without unneeded drama to further complicate things.

And that's really the spirit of Midnight in Paris, the ability to  enjoy itself, say something profound, and move on.