Director: Guillermo del Toro
Writers: Guillermo del Toro, Vanessa Taylor
Stars: Sally Hawkins, Octavia Spencer, Michael Shannon, Richard Jenkins, Michael Stuhlbarg, Doug Jones

Synopsis: An other-worldly fairy tale, set against the backdrop of Cold War era America circa 1962. In the hidden high-security government laboratory where she works, Elisa’s life is changed forever when she and co-worker Zelda (Octavia Spencer) discover a secret classified experiment.

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Guillermo del Toro is one of the most compelling directors working to date, and his latest film The Shape of Water is another great example of why he’s so revered among film fans. In fact, The Shape of Water could be del Toro’s best work since Pan’s Labyrinth back in 2006. There’s an aura of compassion and empathy poured into every scene that gives this film a striking pathos.

If you know del Toro’s sensibilities as a filmmaker, it will come as no surprise that The Shape of Water is another adult fairy-tale that fully embraces its fantasy from the opening frame. The opening sequence is very dream-like in its visual representation, with voiceover narration from Richard Jenkins that lays out the foundation for this fairy-tale – “the princess without voice” and “the monster who tried to end it all” he even says at one point. From the onset, del Toro is playing in a cinematic playground that he thrives in and it’s beautifully alluring on every level.

The film is centered on a mute woman named Elisa (Sally Hawkins), who works as a cleaning hand at a secret government facility. Her work is mundane, but she has her best friend Zelda (Octavia Spencer), who talks constantly, to keep her company. One day she finds out that this facility is housing a creature of some sort, with human-like qualities, and she immediately has empathy for him. She starts bringing him food, she plays music for him and even teaches him some sign language. Scientist Dr. Robert Hoffstetler catches wind of this and is intrigued by the humanity of it, but there are Cold War implications to having this creature around, and this puts science and Elisa’s newly formed relationship on the back-burner.

The central plot plays out like a 50’s noir, also giving The Shape of Water a captivating dramatic urgency. There’s an escape attempt, Russians may or may not be involved and there’s an investigation that threatens Elisa and everyone around her. Michael Shannon gives an invigorating performance that re-energizes the film whenever he’s on screen. He chews on del Toro’s dialogue in ways that make you love to hate him.

While The Shape of Water has del Toro’s signature fingerprint all over it, there’s something about its dream-like quality, the film’s use of magical realism, Alexandre Desplat’s mesmerizing score and the lingering pathos revolving around its central romance that makes this experience singular and unique among del Toro’s other works. Del Toro wonderfully establishes his usual aesthetic and darker undertones, while fully embracing the film’s sexuality and passion. That is to say, The Shape of Water is endearing and surreal in its romance, similar to something like La La Land, but it also has fun playing with its bizarre premise – à la Crimson Peak.

As a result, yeah, the film is a bit weird in places, but that’s what makes it so charming and enjoyable. That, and Sally Hawkins. Her performance, along with del Toro’s vigorous direction, overcome any potential pitfalls that could come with this territory. Without saying a word, Hawkins conveys visceral loneliness and empathy. Her chemistry with Doug Jones – who plays the amphibious man creature – is also great in making the romance come alive.

Dan Lausten’s cinematography, coupled with del Toro’s vision for this film, is astounding and renders some breathtaking imagery at times. The use of green hues are visually appropriate given this story, but thematically it also adds nuance to these characters and how they deal with loneliness throughout the film.

The Shape of Water is no doubt one of del Toro’s best films yet. It’s a film that isn’t afraid to be transparent in its romance – there is vivid nudity at times which will be awkward for some audiences – and it takes full advantage of what this world has to offer. The characters are endlessly enjoyable thanks to a great ensemble cast that doesn’t feature any weak link. It has one of the best scores of the year, and the music overall is a major driving force. The Shape of Water is a rich and satisfying experience that I cannot recommend enough.

Overall Grade: A

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Hear our podcast review on Episode 250:

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Director: James Franco
Writers: Scott Neustadter (screenplay by), Michael H. Weber (screenplay by)
Stars: James Franco, Dave Franco, Seth Rogen, Zac Efron

Synopsis: When Greg Sestero, an aspiring film actor, meets the weird and mysterious Tommy Wiseau in an acting class, they form a unique friendship and travel to Hollywood to make their dreams come true.

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Don’t judge a person by their vampiric and three-quarters stoned cover, indeed, for they know how to make life advantageous. With the ability to turn a disheveled look into additional personal mystique and proof of incompetence – a 2003 “gem” of acting-directing-writing called The Room – into an enduring achievement, it’s befuddling that we have yet to pronounce Tommy Wiseau’s last name as “wise-au.” Sure, “weez-au” is what the diction teachers go by, but it fails to acknowledge the man’s niche form of genius.

Not quite like its shell, too, is A24’s movie-about-Wiseau’s movie, which despite the title isn’t much of a dive into the subject. That’s no reason to tear yourself apart, either, as what The Disaster Artist is – the formation of said subject’s finest creation – is just as compelling, not to mention loaded with veritable laughs and startlingly heartfelt. It’s the Christmas for, and of, comedy.

The story begins in a San Francisco acting class where Greg Sestero (Dave Franco) sees his acting dreams receive a beatdown from the coach. Judging from the stifled frustration and slouching as he returns to his seat, it isn’t the first time this happened. It might be the last, though, after he witnessed (and presumably heard Dave Porter’s operatic score) a long-locked cast-mate named Tommy Wiseau (James Franco) went all-out – groaning, climbing, chair-tossing and air-thrusting – in a rendition of A “NOLA” Werewolf in SF, minding not the snickers and perplexed eyes. The sheer confidence, tight-lippedness about his background and determination in pursuing a spot among celluloid stars – Greg continually finds a reason to befriend Tommy, and soon enough the duo decide to road-trip it to Hollywood to find success. It’s no spoiler that both guys, like their real counterparts, found it, even if their method is being involved in the “Citizen Kane of Bad Movies” rather than a critical darling or an award-winner.

“Nobody respect my vision,” Tommy wailed at one point. Well, the awards circuit ought to once The Disaster Artist lands in theaters. Utterly committed is the elder Franco’s work here, as actor and director, though more so being the former where unpredictability gets to thrive. The performance, defined by a brand of sense interpretable as near-delirium, is a masterfully tuned one; it lives up to the built-in weirdness that the marketing emphasizes yet ultimately gives more voice to the narrative’s more embraceable elements – a relationship’s phases and expectations-versus-reality – that writers Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber are adept explorers of. As a result, those foreign to the “Oh, hai” can still enjoy the film as a genre entry well-aware that the ha-ha fruits grew up high are worth a pick. And for those who have known the cult classic by heart? There is room here to see it as a dream made true, however unrefined, more than exclusively a subpar production that avoided oblivion.

At times, The Disaster Artist does chip immersion when it hosts an array of faces known for their fame, comedic oeuvre or appearances in fares co-starring James Franco. “Chip” is the keyword as the effect of “film one moment, SNL-esque playground” the next can be overlooked; the “Hey, that’s Judd Apatow” (or Alison Brie, Paul Scheer, Hannibal Burress, Seth Rogen, Zac Efron and so on) moment hoards the spotlight only milliseconds before it is rightfully evicted by James’ acting, a most enthusiastic turn from his younger brother Dave, d.o.p. Brandon Trost’s amiable faux-documentary style, or all of the above. The film’s finest reels emerge when the latter happens in which the Francos’ actually brotherly chemistry sparks, equally palpable are the elation when their characters find common ground and the sears in times not so. Consequently, nothing is gimmicky or shortcut-taking when one Franco casts another, just a nifty tribute to the real Greg and Tommy’s nearly blood-brothers dynamic and the heart of the 2013 memoir that the film adapted from.

After The Big Sick and Lady Bird, here is another remarkable tutorial for life delivered through the most outstanding of personalities and the most compact of films. And if they can court the big splashes which cinema desires on a more regular basis than tentpoles, let’s see more of youse. They hero.

Overall Grade: A-

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Hear our podcast review on Episode 251.

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Director: Luca Guadagnino
Writers: James Ivory, André Aciman (novel)
Stars: Timothée Chalamet, Armie Hammer, Michael Stuhlbarg

Synopsis: In 1983, the son of an American professor is enamored by the graduate student who comes to study and live with his family in their northern Italian home. Together, they share an unforgettable summer full of music, food, and romance that will forever change them.

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Luca Guadagnino’s timeless evocation of a sun-drenched 80s summer filled to the brim with temptational escapades, and a burning desire of longevity through love and romance, is stunningly, Call Me by Your Name. Guadagnino takes viewers back to the past, in a time much simpler only with the tangibility of lust being more attainable than ever. This making for an equally palpable air and atmosphere that our main characters breath in. Not only is this a major step towards LGBTQ filmmaking, but mutually for modern cinema in the coming years.

As of recent memory, Guadagnino’s established a delicate trademark style with his two previous films, I Am Love and A Bigger Splash. Both of which detail the jealousy and envious ridden environment of forbidden love, and are virtually identical narratively and structurally. Evidently, this is his magnum opus of the trio. Breaking free from his restrained genre choices, he manifests a transcendent sensation of first love in a spiritual, never-ending summer effortlessly. Allowing us to take part in psychedelic disco parties and passionate days spent with the ones you love. He purposefully builds the off-screen chemistry of Chalamet and Hammer—which is in fact so charismatic, that when come time for on-screen scenes to be acted out, the fierce energy stemming from their existential bond becomes genuine. Guadagnino has to be in consideration for director of year honors, as his artistry bleeds through every shot.

This has a strong chance at being crowned one of the most superior ensemble casts of 2017. Albeit their overlooked, this cast incorporates actors in the youth of their career and experienced veterans, making for a solution of everything here. Timothée Chalamet is this year’s truly *big* breakout star. One can’t demonstrate how exceptional he is at such a young age. Demonstrating how vital he is to the development of his character Elio, and indeed for the film too. Simply electrifying but that finale fully displays the range he’s willing to reach out to. Armie Hammer and the extraordinary Michael Stuhlbarg round out the premier bill, hopefully allotting all three of them with Oscar noms (or wins) from The Academy would be the cherry on top of this journey.

Within the first opening seconds John Adams’ contemporary piano piece, “Hallelujah Junction” rings through the auditorium as we pan across a plethora of ancient European statues, so “nonchalant” as Elio’s father (played by Michael Stuhlbarg) refers to them as in the latter part of the movie. This soundtrack, oddly enough doesn’t feel like a soundtrack. Being more of a compilation of songs and symphonies, it flawlessly exudes the free-willed attitude that occupied the 1980s era in which the film takes place. Sufjan Stevens contributes his own sentimentally sound songs in such ways that feel emotionally connected to him. Further proving his uncanny ability as a lyricist by helming the two earth-shattering melodies, “Mystery of Love” and “Visions of Gideon”, both of which echo throughout every lasting frame from the tear-inducing cinematography, taking immediate effect from the opening montage and eventual resolution.

Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, the director of photography, commits on not making any shot too dense. We’ve seen films rely on mid-shots and close ups in an attempt to expose the emotion in a character’s face for the given sense of realism that the character isn’t completely capable of giving. Here, he throws all of that out of the window. Every second consists of a loose shot. There’s hardly any tightly-knit close-ups but whenever there is, it’s composed and serene. Due to the marvelous blocking from Guadagnino and the gorgeous camerawork from Mukdeeprom, their material is the most ingenious when utilizing wide-shots, as they show how people tend to be the most coy when exhibiting their feelings. This is true throughout the entirety of the film and it’s never used as some blatant trope. Especially whenever the ending approaches because that’s when we see it fully grow to its potential. I won’t say much of anything, but the finale is absolute perfection. Immaculately mixing the warming and grieving vibes of the situation.

Call Me by Your Name is as uplifting as it is heartbreaking. It questions our aspirations of endearment but maintains the sensual romance between the two young men at its core. It’s not of effort to classify it as a conventional coming-of-age film, nor a depiction of post-pubescent discovery. It’s at the near end of childhood and the peak of adulthood, settling on that uncertainty of being unsure about what you’re feeling and what’s going on internally and externally. It’s one for now, one for the decade, and one for the long-term future. Hopefully people identify with the exquisite themes of exploration and see a part of themselves in Elio because as this movie showed us, nobody forgets the first time they fell in love.

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Hear our podcast review on an upcoming episode.

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Director: Lee Unkrich, Adrian Molina (co-director)
Writers: Lee Unkrich, Jason Katz, Matthew Aldrich, Adrian Molina
Stars: Anthony Gonzalez, Gael García Bernal, Benjamin Bratt

Synopsis: Aspiring musician Miguel, confronted with his family’s ancestral ban on music, enters the Land of the Dead to work out the mystery.

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Spectre said “The dead are alive,” and that’s certainly true when the audacious (and imagined) Dia de los Muertos parade is on screen. Afterward it’s only steady givings for a living viewer to spirit away since those who were supposed to have  – and have gone  – from James Bond’s past, while referencing the provocative phrase, spook the spy with a wheezing boo. There should be a petition for a cut where everyone is in their calavera costumes? That would have been worth the while.

With Coco, this little dream can be considered as realized although Pixar-ized. Here, the dead are more than just alive; they are festive, hyperkinetic, masters of crooning, sensitive, educative and – as it happened at this writer’s screening in Houston – able to get the whole house roaring.

In the film, joyful 12-year-old Miguel (Anthony Gonzalez) is framed as a musician-in-bloom in a clan who considers music a curse, whose every rebellious act denotes an admiration for, and later on a need to prove his kinship to, Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt), a singing phenomenon who was not saved by the bell. Expectedly, the struggle reaches a tipping point, and afterward Miguel is vaulted into the Land of the Dead. Departed relatives are there to greet him, so that’s nice, but staying with them any longer and Miguel will become a skellington. As told by Miguel’s roguish friend and regular Frida Kahlo impersonator Héctor (Gael García Bernal), if his living relatives are to forget him, he will move on to a realm unknown as marigold-colored dust. No need to declare anything. No need to cross any Flower Bridge.

“This looks like 2014’s The Book of Life,” said the elephant in the room. True, again the Mexican holiday is the setting, the protagonist has suppressed dreams, and the footage has a propensity to be melodic, but Coco doesn’t rip off what Fox did here. Don’t let the irrational outrage diminishes the facts that Pixar’s work is again proving that Dia de los Muertos is more than production value, and the kind of love being explored here is more transcendent, more introspective, and more familial. As a result, the script from Adrian Molina and Matthew Aldrich (from a story by them and Jason Katz and Lee Unkrich, who also directs) does a wondrous thing: letting the ebullience of a single culture to tell, and coexist, with the universal ideas of mortality and memory. Oceans, superheroes, ants, toys, a Parisian kitchen, a brain and now all the way to the Mexican afterlife, it seems like no universe is too daunting for the Luxo Jr.-branded animators to perform a thorough and superlative exploration.

Well, maybe not mythical Scotland. Or that second visit to autopia.

But even Pixar’s rainiest of days still offer frames of sunlight with notable evolution in animation, lighting and attempts to replicate the behaviors of an actual camera. Coco is the studio’s most cinematic film to date – at least prior to Brad Bird’s The Incredibles 2, maybe – with tangible textures (those bones!), soft-focusing, and goosebumps-inducing angles that rival a tentpole production (from a competent director). And even more incredible still is having this attribute match up with the film’s mainly samba-like pace, rapid in the doling-outs of story beats, gags from Dante (Miguel’s loose-lingua canine), and new delightful sights. It’s as if every aspect is catered to the heart-thrumming and swoon-worthy scoring from Michael Giacchino.

Don’t worry – beneath the maracas and trills Coco doesn’t forget its characters. Placing Gonzalez, Bernal, Bratt, Renée Victor (as Miguel’s stringent, flip-flop twirling Abuelita) and Alanna Ubach (as the fiery, fiercely independent Mamá Imelda) in more of those entrancing, well-staged moments would have been nice, but for those snappier times everyone remains on beat. Earned tears will be drawn, both of joy and of the more common variant.

Due to its release date, Coco is a Thanksgiving film in the U.S., but that isn’t as awkward as it sounds. If reunion, connection and appreciation isn’t happening over turkey, perhaps go see this. While the youngsters can enjoy the great animation, adults should take home the idea that emotion is the only graspable and usable item in the subsequent plane.  And so, there should be something to remember here – if not what you have just seen then it is a look at those whose living form is now a mind-bound specter.

Overall Grade: A

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Hear our podcast review on Episode 249, coming soon.

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Director: Greta Gerwig
Writers: Greta Gerwig
Stars: Saoirse Ronan, Laurie Metcalf, Tracy Letts, Lucas Hedges

Synopsis: The adventures of a young woman living in Northern California for a year.

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Life’s funny, authoring this “take it easy” doctrine while implying that to “sprout wings” is the only method to earn all the goodness. It’s a struggle that coming-of-age films tend to capture best, seeing that its protagonists can, no matter how illogical, always uncover a reason to reject jadedness and its grownup-approved virtues. Being in this category, Lady Bird tells a familiar narrative, but its lead has, rather brilliantly, managed to package it with freshness that entertains and prompts reflection.

Lady Bird follows Christine (Saoirse Ronan), who is often seen grilling her mother, Marion (Laurie Metcalf), for not letting her – someone with an avian nickname – to realize East Coast-uni dreams and fantasies of settling in culture-rich places. Anywhere but Sacramento, to sum things up. California’s capital city isn’t a backwater place though it is amusingly depicted as so here, a move that effectively captures the character’s mindset. And so, to further avoid being engulfed by the ordinary, Christine decides to adopt “Lady Bird” – in quotes in writing – as her actual name. What is weirdness to others is a life philosophy for her, asserting that circumstances can cage Lady Bird’s body but never her dreams.

“Greta Gerwig isn’t in Lady Bird, and yet is,” is a thought that makes itself known often while watching the film. It isn’t distracting as it sounds (promise) and isn’t that much of a brain-twister, really, considering the actress’ name is after “directed by” credit (this is her first time in the seat solo) and the title character shares Frances Ha’s angst and sharpness (the screenplay is also Greta’s). Gathered are the usual suspects of this genre – school plays, proms, age-influenced clashes, popularity contest, the crowd cooler than your best friend, and love’s varying brushes – but sharp scripting and punchy performances across the board still make their presence welcoming. Dynamics between Lady Bird and the surrounding souls of her age are a trove of glee, with highlights among them are those with her two classmates Julie (Beanie Feldstein, effortlessly handing out the laughs) and Danny (a lively Lucas Hedges).

Equally golden are Lady Bird “matches” with the adults, especially the ones with her foil Marion, which are – naturally – designed to earn the most spotlight. Lady Bird, for the most part, can’t be more different than Marion, but Ronan can always match the level of intensity or gravitas that Metcalf has brought along. The result is every mother-and-daughter spar is a joyous verbal even when the contents – money, college, and future – are hard-hitting material, not to mention besieged by a discrepancy in how the different generations perceive the times differently. Lady Bird is set in a post-9/11 world – not too long after the tragedy as the background TV and radio broadcasts prove – and so the stressful atmosphere is always half-a-breath away. It’s a meaningfully woven detail that adds layers to the characters who, like the country then (and regrettably still is), unclear about the future and unstable regarding well-being.

But whether the stage is set for another familial conflict or a burst of organic laugh (best use of Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me a River yet), Ronan is a gale-force. The footage, which is already radiating, receives even more lumens when she is around reversing her modest, shy, and God-aware persona in last seen in Brooklyn or grudgingly letting go of a possible future. In every swing between the emotional polars, Ronan subtly shows that her character is evolving, adding more (proverbial) magenta-colored feathers to better understand, see, and roll with the world’s unfathomable workings. A winning performance, undoubtedly so, as it alone enables the film to be a universal portrait despite focusing on just one person, a message that life’s experienced can relate even though doing the imparting is a still-learning lass.

Now that’s funny.

Overall Grade: A

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Hear our podcast review on Episode 249, coming soon.

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Director: Joe Wright
Writers: Anthony McCarten
Stars: Gary Oldman, Lily James, Ben Mendelsohn

Synopsis: During the early days of World War II, the fate of Western Europe hangs on the newly-appointed British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who must decide whether to negotiate with Hitler, or fight on against incredible odds.

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Joe Wright is certainly no stranger to The Academy, as two of previous films from the mid 2000s received immense acclaim from critics and audiences around. So does it really come as a massive jolt that a Winston Churchill biopic, starring Gary Oldman, directed by said director has Oscar contentions written all over it. Most notably however, Darkest Hour isn’t afraid to break free from traditional biopic mastery. Reinforcing a more light-hearted sense of sheathing mature subject matter all the while achieving the evident, threat-filled feeling that was present in the midst of World War II. Alas, it fails in seeking an escape from the grips of its tainted Oscar-baitish ways.

Quite easily the talk of the town regarding Darkest Hour was the hype surrounding Gary Oldman’s portrayal as the iconic political figure of past England’s Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. Not to sound over dramatic, but Gary Oldman IS Winston Churchill. It’s as if we’re witnessing a second incarnation of Churchill throughout the entirety of the 125 minute runtime, credited to Oldman’s mesmerizing encapsulation of him. He nails all of Churchill’s mannerisms, down to something as simple as his trademark peace sign. Definitely the clear-cut frontrunner to take home the Oscar for Best Actor this year, as deserved. Despite his overwhelming presence, Lily James and Ben Mendelsohn, although nothing substantial, manage to squeeze in their share of acting chops when Oldman isn’t completely stealing a scene.

Joe Wright brings something so unorthodox to this genre of biopics. He maintains the insurmountable ultimatum brewing between Churchill and the nation of England but it’s with the traverse levels of comedy that gives it an upbeat edge over most true story films that are being thrown out into mainstream media. Immediately taking effect within one of the first scenes of the film, we get a glimpse of Churchill’s comical ways as he heckles his personal secretary Ms. Layton (played by Lily James). It makes for an entertaining hook for the viewer inside of us but keeps our eyes glued to the screen asking for more of him. The tone remains like that throughout the entire film. Establishing it fairly early how Wright did is somewhat unprecedented, but truly remarkable. Certainly no issues here with the screenplay and direction.

Darkest Hour doesn’t carry a whole lot of baggage with it. But the types it does, are relatively crucial. Even with its magnificent writing and direction, there’s a couple of useless scenes and transitions that are just makeshift for the films development. It doesn’t necessarily cause the film to stop progressing nor tampering the story, but it slows it down to the point where it begins to become an issue. Additionally, that Oscar-bait feeling that it’s so desperately being attached with kills everything it’s attempting to include. It stains everything that Darkest Hour is thriving off of which is a huge disappointment to myself and audiences alike.

Despite the unsavory feeling that the film’s sole purpose was to position itself in a category more appealing to The Academy, there’s no denying the invigorating depiction of not backing down when hope is lost, and how someone is willing to step forth as a leader. Gary Oldman is a surefire to win, and Joe Wright has never been better. The real question is, what film will voters adore more? Darkest Hour or Dunkirk? Well, we’ll just have to wait and see.

Overall Grade: B

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Our podcast review is coming soon.

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Director: Zack Snyder
Writers: Zack Snyder, Joss Whedon, Chris Terrio,
Stars: Ben Affleck, Gal Gadot, Jason Momoa, Ezra Miller, Ray Fisher

Synopsis: Fueled by his restored faith in humanity and inspired by Superman’s selfless act, Bruce Wayne enlists the help of his newfound ally, Diana Prince, to face an even greater enemy.

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So grey has been DCEU’s run that a particular fictional billionaire could go into crisis. The sentiment thickens when Justice League is considered, a film that has encountered hurdle after hurdle from 2007 toward the brink of release. With one heartbreaking shutdown at the 90-percent mark (when Mad Max’s George Miller was on board), 10th-ish-hour director switch, costly tone-lightening/color-adjusting/mustache-removing reshoots, fans and anti-fans needlessly baring fangs (aiming for jugulars over the runtime, sigh), allegedly sexualized costumes, a rotten rat of a producer, and that Rotten Tomatoes’ score fracas, mustering just 0.5 more layer of anticipation for the film is a legitimate struggle.

But “Holy Optics, Batman!” as the final cut is an entertaining romp even with apparent blemishes.

As indicated through director Zack Snyder’s trademark emphatic slo-mo and Sigrid’s dreamy take on Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows, the world of Justice League is a devolved one: aimless, at times rainy, hostile to thy foreign neighbor, no Superman (Henry Cavill) and some bug-esque monsters. These are Parademons, minions of one axe-wielding Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds) who wants to use three “mother boxes” to burn and turn our world into theirs. And so, “find support” replaces “arrest goons” as the first item on Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) and Batman (Ben Affleck)’s to-dos.

Although the faces to search for are known – identified in Batman v Superman as Aquaman (Jason Momoa), The Flash (Ezra Miller) and Cyborg (Ray Fisher) – there’s still excitement when meeting them up close. Momoa, with a head-swimmingly delightful show of cocksurety, is easily the best of the three and a fan-favorite, not to mention the finest host for visual treats that are readily supplied by d.o.p. Fabian Wagner (whose 1.85:1 ratio choice breaks with previous films, a move similar to what Seamus McGarvey did with The Avengers). Aquaman also marks the debut of a potential new leaf that DCEU should assume from here on: when appropriate, let’s have laughs, and if possible do so at the world’s end.

There are clear traces though in which writers Chris Terrio and Joss Whedon find crafting the downright gleeful banter, which unlocks characters’ previously missing abilities (Cavill and his Superman do court laughs! Amy Adams’ Lois Lane now has chemistry! Miller shouldn’t be typecasted as a psycho, folks!), a too-enjoyable activity that they forget to address pacing issues. Here we go again, the second coming of BvS’ central issue where the main plot is halted to unfurl the reasons one should care for the new trio and care more for the old guards. Thanks to affecting performances, especially between Miller and Billy Crudup (as Flash’s wrongly incarcerated dad), the drag in these character beats is more tolerable, save for a late-game farmhouse reunion with a soapiness that test limits.

Conventional wisdom advises against mentioning Marvel in a DC venture, but something has to be said about the paltry villainy on display here. Universes thought to be uncrossable become precisely so through this department, considering Steppenwolf has copied Thor: Ragnarok’s Hela (or all of MCU’s villains, really)’s “Menacing, In Fashion Only” page. Not even all the honey inherent in Hinds’ voice can save the character, who has been brought to life with underwhelming digital wizardry. Well, at least he blends well into the yet-again pixel-packed third act now dunked in red instead of blue. That’s a shame, as an all-out spectacular “protect the mother box” sequence on Themyscira sees Steppenwolf appropriately oozing apocalypse, a trait akin to Days of Future Past‘s murderous Sentinels that would have let the fear of those who oppose him breaches the fourth wall.

“You can’t save the world alone,” the poster suggests, and luckily a consistent thread of unity behind the camera and sparkling camaraderie in front prevent Justice League from embracing a darker fate. It’s not all spotless due to the CGI and clear occasions where the Whedon touch trounces Snyder’s, but in the end the gears do come together.

Overall Grade: B

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Hear our podcast review on Episode 248, coming soon.

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