Let me start by saying that I’m a sucker for all things horror, and this includes Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead’s The Endless (2017). Regrettably, I wasn’t able to watch the preceding film, Resolution (2012), but even still I was able to understand and appreciate this one for what it was. What makes this film differ from the rest of the horror films, however, is the fact that it can be categorized as cosmic horror, and this means that it focuses less on scary monsters, blood-crazed killers, and demonic supernatural entities and instead revolves around the mystery and fear of the unknown. This is established right off the get-go when the film’s opening sequence featured a quote which read:

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

H.P. Lovecraft

The Endless features a threat unlike any other in the form of an unnamed entity beyond human comprehension whose presence can be felt all over Camp Arcadia, and it communicates with the people who enter its domain by dropping photographs in front of them. It is never established how these photos are made – or why – but this is, without a doubt, intentional as it only builds up the unfathomable mystery of the entity. What makes this threat so dangerous is the fact that it seems to have imprisoned the people of Camp Arcadia, forcing them into time loops where they essentially become immortal; they can no longer age, and they can no longer leave the camp as once their timer resets, they end up back where they began. There was even one character who was a drug addict experiencing severe withdrawal and because of the time loop, he is forced to undergo the symptoms of withdrawal for all eternity. Another character could only last about five seconds before he’d die a gruesome death, and then he’d reset only to die seconds later; this loop continues forever, meaning he has likely died thousands – if not millions – of times already.

Again, unlike the other horror films, the entity is not something that can be beaten or destroyed. Instead, the protagonists opted to escape it and live their own lives free from the camp while the rest of the people who weren’t so lucky were forced to remain and live their lives on a loop. In a sense, the film and the entity could serve as a cautionary fable, ending with a moral. In this case, the film might be trying to tell people to make their own choices and do what they want to do lest they become slaves to something far bigger than them. At the beginning, the film’s protagonists – younger brother Aaron and older brother Justin – were at odds with one another because Justin made all the decisions and gave Aaron little-to-no say in matters concerning both of their lives. Eventually, they return to the camp and Aaron discovers that Justin was lying to him this entire time, even if it was to protect him. Eventually, the two are able to escape the camp because Justin finally decides to trust Aaron and let him make decisions for the both of them as well. Both Justin and the entity are similar in the sense that they are controlling, and equally responsible for the dull, drab and repetitive lives that the people they control live.

What I appreciated was how the directors chose not to reveal the entity’s appearance until the very end, and even then, we didn’t get to see all of it. It manifested in the form of a nigh-indescribable whirling mass of shards and shadows. Perhaps this was deliberate. Perhaps the human eye simply cannot comprehend the true form of such a monster, for even the people of the camp described it as being made of “impossible colors”. The film also used its relatively low budget to its advantage by having the unexplainable happen; the sheer mystery of the camp and the being that haunts it leads to some rather peculiar events such as the tug of war, the photographs materializing out of thin air, or the unseen creature in the lake. In terms of filmmaking, all of these can be accomplished within a relatively small budget as very little special effects are involved. Instead of relying on horrifying visuals, The Endless focuses more on what it doesn’t show the audience. It would be far more unnerving if a photograph fell from the sky, landing in front of our protagonists than if the entity were to just waltz up and hand it to them personally. Similarly what made the scene at the lake so intense was the fact that we were forced into Aaron’s perspective as opposed to Justin’s, meaning we didn’t get to see what he saw. Even then, Justin wasn’t able to see whatever grabbed him, but we do know for sure now that there is something strange happening in the camp.

Truth be told, I wasn’t particularly satisfied with the film’s ending. Most cosmic or Lovecraftian horror stories often revolve around the concept of monsters and powers beyond our comprehension, and more often than not, they cannot and should not be subdued as they represent something inevitable – like a force of nature. It’s difficult to explain how an all-powerful creature that’s been manipulating time and space all throughout the camp failed to reach a car that’s yet to reach top speed in time, but perhaps that might be more of me expecting too much. Perhaps the entity wasn’t as in-control as we were initially led to believe. Still, it was a happy ending. I would be lying if I said I didn’t at least breathe a sigh of relief for the brothers after their escape was a success, but I do feel bad for those who were left behind. It’s a bittersweet ending, but a hopeful one as well.

I didn’t expect to enjoy Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You (2018) as much as I did, and it was definitely one of the more modern films we watched in class. Now this film in particular was rather socially charged in the sense that it tackled prevalent societal issues such as racism and capitalism. Our protagonist, Cash, gets a job as a telemarketer at RegalView, and he only begins to excel once he starts using his “white voice” and this tells us right off the get-go that there is a preference to white telemarketers over black telemarketers. I rolled my eyes at first; how couldn’t I? The message seemed incredibly obvious. Of course, I was proven wrong as the film progressed. There was a lot more to Sorry to Bother You than meets the eye, and this is what made it one of the more intelligent, more socially relevant, and all-around more enjoyable films that we’ve seen up to now. After mastering his white voice, Cash eventually gets the attention of his supervisors, and although Cash and his friends supposedly hate them and try to organize a strike against them, they’re eventually able to win Cash over by offering him a promotion, much to the dismay of his old friends.

Torn between his friends and rising through the ranks as a “power caller”, Cash is forced to make a decision that will drastically affect his interpersonal relationships. Eventually he decides to accept the promotion, and his friends are clearly upset by his decision as he was supposed to go on strike with them. Cash’s choice to take the promotion meant that his friends were now fighting a cause that went against him, as he was now above them in the workplace hierarchy and that meant he was a part of the problem. The sheer difference in their salary despite doing similar jobs was enough for Cash to disassociate himself from his old friends entirely, and although his job allowed him to provide for his family members and his girlfriend, it was clear that it was also beginning to change him in a negative way. This was an excellent commentary on how capitalism dehumanizes employees and forces them to work under long hours for little pay with almost no way to rise through the ranks, as if they were forced to remain in their low-leveled positions and continue slaving away. This is exemplified in the company mantra, “stick to the script”, which gives employees little to no room for individuality, self-expression, or flexibility and are instead forced to follow a predetermined set of things to say. It makes each interaction with potential customers far more artificial while simultaneously taking away the humanity and free will that employees deserve to have.

The film’s aspect of dehumanization goes up several notches as soon as Cash becomes a power caller and grabs the attention of Steve Lift, RegalView’s CEO. At this point, Cash has almost become a completely different person, and he tries to win the affection of people who don’t even like him for who he is by rapping to the best of his ability – he deliberately plays into the black stereotype to fit in, pandering to their interests at his own expense. This plays in to how many people, employees included, must bend over backwards to be within the good graces of people that don’t like them in order to make ends meet, all while sucking up to their superiors in hopes of getting a promotion. In Cash’s case, it worked.

Even though he had to humiliate and disgrace himself, he was eventually asked to meet with Lift in private to talk about a new job offer with a payoff of one million US dollars. All it would require of him, as Cash would soon learn, was his humanity. It was revealed that Lift intended to bolster the workforce by transforming them into “equisapiens”, half-man half-horse hybrids who work harder, stronger, and faster than a normal person, all while being more subservient and easier to control. Lift wanted Cash to be the leader of these equisapiens to keep them under control. One could argue that Riley chose to use horses as a sort of reference to George Orwell’s book Animal Farm in the sense that one of the horses, Boxer, was worked to the bone and was ultimately discarded and turned into glue despite his years of hard work. Similarly, it could simply be a play on the term “workhorse”, adopting a more literal meaning of the word. Either way, horses are known for being laborious animals who work tirelessly to carry people, plow fields, and drag caravans without question. Equisapiens are meant to embody this, only this time they’ll be given more “human” tasks to replace the general workforce. The entire fiasco with the horse people might serve as a means of criticizing capitalist systems and how they utterly dehumanize people and instead see them as resources; as manpower.

Ultimately, the film ends with Cash transforming into an equisapien despite rejecting Lift’s offer and he decides to lead a revolution with all the other equisapiens by his side. Lift’s fate is ambiguous, but one can interpret that Cash and the other workers get their revenge. This provides a rather hopeful message, as even after the capitalist machine has taken everything from you, you can still fight back and prove your worth – your humanity. Cash might have lost his job, his money, and even his human appearance, but he clung to his dignity and pride as a human being and as a result, he was able to reconcile with his friends and lead a mob of equisapiens to overthrow RegalView.

Even if I didn’t know what was happening half the time, I still consider Alex Cox’s Repo Man (1984) to be a rather enjoyable movie primarily because of the outlandish dialogue and zany characters. It was definitely an experience, I can tell you that much. What impressed me the most about the film was how it used its low budget to its advantage, and this was done in a multitude of ways. For starters, the UFO the characters kept referencing throughout the film was revealed to be the Chevy Malibu all along, and they gave the vehicle its iconic green color by coating the entire thing in paint. It turns out no special effects were used on the car in its initial appearance, and the faint glow it gave off was the result of the reflective paint they used. This gave it a sort of otherworldly feel, highlighting just how out of place this strange green vehicle was in comparison to the rest of what we’ve seen throughout the film. It was only appropriate that the seemingly insane mechanic Miller was able to operate it without any difficulty, and with that said, is it’s also possible that Miller might’ve been the only sane person in the film all along. Given how wacky the world is in-universe, it would only be fitting that someone equally as strange would understand how it works.

Repo Man was also able to accomplish something that many films aren’t able to do. They were able to make something as mundane as people in cars conversing with one another while simultaneously driving around the city compelling. Ultimately, what makes these scenes work are the fact that the characters talk and engage in such strange manners that they make the most ordinary of tasks entertaining to watch. However, at the same time, the film also possesses scenes and sequences that are anything but mundane; scenes involving extraterrestrial automobiles, people getting disintegrated by said extraterrestrial automobiles, and punks running around committing minor and major crimes before getting killed in a convenience store by their former best friend. The sheer absurdity of these scenes tell the audience that this film is unlike any other, and its style and flair have become iconic to the point that Repo Man has become a beloved cult classic. This was only reinforced by the film’s snappy dialogue and willingness to go against the grain in terms of cinema standards through its liberal use of curse words and its less-than agreeable punk protagonist.

There aren’t any genuinely good or kindhearted characters in the story either, and that’s partially what made the film work so well; this isn’t a story about heroes, but rather a story about scumbags screwing other scumbags over until the car they coveted suddenly turned green. The film opens with a peculiar sequence involving a police officer getting vaporized by the trunk of a Chevy Malibu – the UFO – before shifting to our protagonist Otto, who gets fired from his job at the supermarket. Later, he unwittingly helps Bud repossess a car and is promptly invited to join the repo men, where he learns the ropes from more senior members and eventually he becomes proficient at stealing cars. Eventually, Otto and the rest of the repo men get tangled with other organizations who all pursue a specific Chevy Malibu, and this car is eventually revealed to be a UFO. All-in-all, there are no redemption stories and there are no deep, heartfelt moments between the characters; it’s just straight up action-comedy from start to finish, and the characters aren’t necessarily complex either. It’s a fun ride. Out of the ordinary, but don’t expect anything too deep.

Todd Haynes’ Velvet Goldmine (1998) got me into David Bowie’s music and for that, I’ll always be grateful. As soon as I got home, I downloaded some of his greatest hits and now I’ve got Ashes to Ashes, Ziggy Stardust, and Space Oddity on loop. Now don’t get me wrong – Velvet Goldmine’s soundtrack was nothing short of stellar as well, but what captivated me the most about this film wasn’t the music, nor was it the setting. What I loved about Velvet Goldmine was the characters, and that’s why I wanted to write about them for the presentation and the video essay. Velvet Goldmine’s characters aren’t necessarily deep or complex, but they are based on real life musicians and their mannerisms and quirks all make them very unique and diverse. Ewan McGregor’s performance as the bold and brash punk rock star Curt Wild stole the show in every scene he was present, with my personal favorite being the one where he first performs on stage. Right off the get-go, we see exactly what sort of person Wild was based on the music he played, the stories people spread about him, as well as his decision to unzip his pants and hop about to taunt the booing crowd.

There’s also the enigmatic Jack Fairy. Although we never get to hear him perform, it’s evident that he played a huge role in the glam rock scene at the time. In a sense, he can be described as one of the founding fathers of glam rock in-universe, and he is respected and revered by several characters throughout the film – Brian Slade included. When Fairy first appeared on-screen, I thought he was the coolest person ever, wearing his highly distinguishable black attire while simultaneously receiving admiration and attention from random onlookers as he walked. That’s another thing worth mentioning: the character design. The outfits that every musician wore on this film were phenomenal, and they fitted each character perfectly. No two designs were similar, nor were they shared between characters; each costume highlighted how everyone had their own distinct and irreplicable style. Even if I wasn’t around to experience it personally, I’d like to believe the film succeeded in capturing the overall feel and aesthetic of the 1970s glam rock movement.

Truth be told, however, Velvet Goldmine has little to offer in the way of story, structure, and dialogue; its strong suit truly lies in its costumes, music, and setting. The film follows a structure reminiscent of Citizen Kane in the sense that it revolves around a journalist investigating the story of a particularly enigmatic figure. In order to learn more about said figure, the journalist much interview their friends and associates to paint a picture of their lives and discover the truth. In Velvet Goldmine’s case, journalist Arthur Stuart investigates the mysterious disappearance of Brian Slade, one of the most famous – and infamous – glam rock stars of the 1970s, after his failed publicity stunt where he faked his own death. Throughout the film, we would jump from the past to the present, with Stuart interviewing Slade’s associates before revealing life from Slade’s point of view as soon as Stuart reached that part of the story. Every now and then, we’re also given glimpses into Stuart’s past and how he was once an avid and active fan of all things glam rock, and it was revealed that he was also present at the concert on the day Slade faked his death, telling the audience that the investigation was a little more personal and significant to Stuart than we initially suspected.

It was through Stuart that we learn of Slade’s ultimate fate. He’d effectively killed the Slade persona after suffering a huge backlash from his failed publicity stunt and went into hiding. He didn’t hide forever, because eventually he re-emerged as Tommy Stone and became famous once more. Slade’s yearning for fame and fortune likely came from his innate desire to become special – something that was evident when he first encountered Curt Wild. When the crowd reacted to Wild’s outlandish antics, Slade mentioned that he wished that it had been him; that he wished he’d thought of it first. This tells us that Slade aspired to be the center of the attention, whether it was positive or negative. However, Slade received too much negative attention from his fans after he faked his own death and this led to his eventual fall from grace. His desire to become the center of attention had become too great, and eventually it came to the point where he was willing to compromise himself as well as his ties with other people to become just that. The fame Slade accumulated during his years as a glam rock star eventually got to his head, leading to a series of questionable choices born of desperation. Ultimately, it ends with Slade killing his former self in order to become Tommy Stone – a far more mainstream musical figure. By becoming a slave to the public’s wishes, he’d effectively sold out. Slade is clearly not the man he used to be, and it’s no wonder that neither he nor his former associates want anything to do with each other anymore.  

Truth be told, this isn’t my sort of film. I can appreciate the thought and effort put into it, however, but that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t truly enjoy it as much as I did the others. Gus Van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho (1991) shines with its peculiar dialogue and stylistic editing. There’s no film quite like it, and I doubt there will be any time soon. The film’s creative use of narcolepsy allows us to dive into the tragedy of Mike’s character while simultaneously avoiding the plot. From what we’re able to see, Mike phases in and out of reality, randomly entering a catatonic state at highly inopportune times. This element allows the audience to realize that Mike’s life might not even be in his own hands, and this is further enforced by the fact that he works as a street hustler. Fortunately, Mike’s best friend Scott looks out for him by making sure nothing bad happens while he’s unconscious. Without Scott, Mike would truly be defenseless, and this vulnerability becomes painstakingly clear at the ending where he first gets robbed, and then he gets kidnapped. It is ambiguous whether or not he makes it out, for the film ends after he’s already been abducted; it is unclear if the people who picked him up were friends or strangers. What’s interesting about Mike’s story is that even though he desperately searched for love, whether it’s with his mother who left him, or with Scott who merely didn’t feel the same way, he didn’t stop looking even when it clearly wasn’t there. It’s a tragedy, really. He’d been protected his entire life, and as soon as his best friend left him after having found a love of his own, he was kidnapped and his ultimate fate was left ambiguous.

As for Scott, his story and his dynamic with Mike was rather interesting. Although it is clear that Mike is in love with Scott, it is equally clear that Scott does not feel the same way. Despite being a street hustler who has sex with men for money, Scott isn’t actually a homosexual. He mentions that he does it as a way to get back at his father, sullying himself as a prostitute while simultaneously damaging his father’s reputation as the mayor. Despite not loving Mike back, Scott remains a true friend up until the very end, where he chooses to say goodbye to Mike and the rest of the hustlers in order to stay with his girlfriend and adopt the upper class life he desperately tried to get away from all his life. He had no reason to detest aristocracy now that his father was dead, and the fact that he had a girlfriend now meant that he could spend more time with her instead of Mike and the hustlers. When the two returned to the US together, they left Mike behind. It’s never outright stated how or why Scott suddenly turned from Mike’s best friend to someone who wanted nothing to do with him, but it happened in a very quick time. This remains one of my biggest gripes with the film – this characterization is not clearly explained.

My Own Private Idaho also featured some very peculiar dialogue reminiscent of Shakespeare’s verbose writing. The character of Bob Pigeon, portrayed by William Richert, spoke in a way unlike the rest of the characters, and this was likely because he was a sort of elder or patriarchal figure among the hustlers – because of his age and status, he was the one that people respected and listened to. One standout scene involving Pigeon was the part where he attempts to explain how he and his group were robbed to Mike and Scott, completely oblivious that Mike and Scott were the ones who held them up in the first place. He embellishes the story and claims that there were several men, and that they put up a good fight against them. In truth, there were only two, and Pigeon and his men surrendered very quickly. The Shakespearean dialogue contrasted greatly with the setting of lowlife hovels and slummy hideaways. Grand and flowery prose ill-suits street hustlers and ruffians, but perhaps the sheer difference and incompatibility between the two brought out the best of both. It was unexpected, certainly, but highly memorable.

Despite this, there was one scene in particular that stood out to me, and this was my favorite scene for a multitude of reasons. This was the scene where the film abruptly shifts to the stories of different hustlers who all spoke quite realistically, much like how a person would if they were being interviewed. Personally, this was a standout scene for me primarily because of how jarring the shift in dialogue and tone was – it becomes evident that the lives street hustlers live are dangerous and degrading, and they’re forced to engage in dehumanizing sexual acts with strangers in order to make ends meet. Sometimes they’re threatened with their lives, and other times they’re betrayed by their friends who are equally as desperate to make money. The saddest part was the fact that they’d become accustomed to it, talking about such traumatic and horrifying experiences so casually – as if it was just another day for them. The sheer realism of the scene and the way they talked was quite haunting as it brought their terrible living and working conditions to light in a tasteful manner.

Kim Kyung-Mook’s Futureless Things (2014) was a rather peculiar movie that seemed to teeter on being a comedy, a drama, and a thriller. It’s unclear if director Kim Kyung-Mook had no idea what to do with the film, or if he knew exactly what he was doing and reveled in the sheer chaos of what he’d created. What we do know, however, is that the film possessed a rather colorful cast of characters who each had their own respective subplots, and each of these subplots revealed much about their lives as well as the convenience store they all worked at. Some of these subplots were lighthearted and humorous. For instance, there was one about an employee who was asked to watch over a box that was handed to her by a mysterious, albeit strange woman. Thinking back on it now, the scene where the two first meet is highly reminiscent of one particular part in David Lynch’s Lost Highway (1997) where Fred speaks to the mysterious pale man for the first time. Futureless Things possibly wanted to reference that scene to highlight how otherworldly this woman was, but it wouldn’t be wise to rule out the possibility that the scene was simply played for humor.

Despite this, there were other subplots that weren’t quite as jovial and upbeat. There was one character in particular – the boss, Jeon Doo-hwan – who was revealed to have been in dire need of money, prompting him to engage in shadier deals in a desperate bid to make ends meet. If memory serves, one of these deals included insider trading, but I’m not entirely certain. Regardless, it was clear that Doo-hwan was engaged in something risky – possibly even illegal. There were also numerous mentions of him underpaying of all his employees just so he could afford to supply his family – especially his mother – and even then it was difficult as he had to send the money to the main branch. Eventually, the convenience store gets robbed and Doo-hwan commits suicide. Doo-hwan’s desperation arguably served as a sort of commentary on how convenience store branches dehumanize and underpay their employees, forcing them to work in appalling conditions while giving them little to no means of earning more or rising up the ranks. Perhaps this sort of thing happens a lot in Korea: good men who work hard for their families getting the short end of the stick – usually at the hands of their employers and the companies they work for.

All in all, it makes perfect sense why the film is called what it is. It can be interpreted that “Futureless Things” refers to the convenience store employees because they don’t aspire for greater things, and when they do, they are promptly shot down because of their work as convenience store employees. There was one employee in particular who was an aspiring actor, however his job at the store caused him to miss his audition. There was another employee who was fired for talking back to rude customers and was ultimately left jobless, though she seems rather optimistic about her future as she can now look for a newer, better job. What’s made clear is that each of these employees worked hard at the convenience store but were brought down by it as well; betrayed by it, almost. Perhaps the film might be telling the audience a message, one that screams “this is the reality that convenience store employees face every day! They’re treated like expendable objects and they’re forced to slave away on the daily to make ends meet!” The film’s choice to disguise itself as a comedy might have benefited the overall message, as the impact becomes far stronger if it comes out of left field.

This is a movie that truly frightens me. Drugs have always been a bit of a sensitive matter for me, and seeing this film a second time certainly didn’t do me any favors. Don’t get me wrong, it’s quality stuff and it handles its sensitive subject matter with tastefully and with extreme consideration. It’s just that I’m a little uncomfortable with seeing drugs and needles, moreso people overdosing. I’ll get over it eventually. That aside, there’s no doubting it’s excellence. Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting (1996) is as good as they come, and it’s definitely one of the best films when it comes to portraying the harrowing realities of heroin use, addiction, and withdrawal. From the opening monologue alone, “Choose life”, one could tell that this film was going to be one hell of a ride from start to finish – that it would have you on the edge of your seat throughout its entire hour-and-a-half run – and of course, it delivered.

Despite – or rather because of its raw grit, Trainspotting possesses an undeniable charm. The movie is, simply put, incredibly Scottish, and that’s due to the fact that the film is actually an adaptation of a book of the same name by Irvine Welsh, a Scottish author who often writes about the struggles of drug addiction, mental illness, and criminal activity in Edinburgh. The language used by the main cast is colorful, to say the least, and that sort of brashness is what gives Trainspotting so much character. It’s refreshing to hear words like “cunt” or “fuck” used so liberally and naturally, and one mustn’t forget that this film came out in 1996. According to a credible source, who most certainly isn’t my mum, most films back in the day were too afraid of censorship to include profanity, sex, drugs and the works into their films so naturally, the directors that were bold enough to do so almost always went the extra mile to include as much of it as possible. Such directors include Quentin Tarantino with Pulp Fiction (1994) or Guy Ritchie with Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998). Of course, Trainspotting is a perfect example of this as well.

The certainly doesn’t hold back when it comes to tackling such highly controversial topics. Renton flat-out has sex with the underage Diane in one scene and the director has no qualms with showing it happen, and in another, the process of cooking and injecting heroin is shown in all its glory – complete with a close up of a man’s arm as he shot up and the consequent overdose that followed. The scene where Renton overdoses is one of the biggest highlights of the film for me primarily because it makes way for his attempt to wean off the drug and the withdrawal symptoms he suffered as a result. The overdose starts with a shot inside the syringe. The entirety of the heroin is being injected, and we see it get pressed and drained through the middle. However, it becomes clear that something is amiss once we see bits of dirt and gunk – things that don’t belong – from the syringe getting pumped in as well, flowing with the heroin out of the needle and into Renton’s body.

After Renton takes his shot, he sinks into the carpet and the camera shifts to his point of view. It becomes clear that Renton is hallucinating as we start to see things from his perspective – how we see the ground up above, as if we were lowered into his very grave. It’s apparent that he didn’t actually sink into the ground, but he was hallucinating. We see only what he sees. The left and right sides of the camera are blocked off by the elevated ground. It was almost as if the width of the camera lens had narrowed. This could suggest that taking heroin numbs and weakens the senses, preventing people from seeing the whole picture much like tunnel vision. It also suggests that the substance distances a person from reality, hence Renton’s hallucination which caused him to sink further into the ground, placing literal distance between himself and the outside world.

Once Renton was dropped off at the hospital, he was injected with some sort of medicine that causes him to snap back to reality. After he finished recovering, he was brought home where he starts to suffer from withdrawal symptoms and this causes him to hallucinate even more. Although I’m not the right person to ask whether or not this depiction of withdrawal is realistic, I would like to say that this scene allows the audience to experience the thoughts racing through his mind such as his fears and his regrets as he goes through what the film refers to as “Junkie Limbo”. This scene was also masterfully done, though I may be biased as I’m a sucker for quick and chaotic sequences that rely on showing rather than telling. We learn a lot about Renton and his mental state without him even having to speak. This becomes evident when we see him imagining all his friends appearing in his room, and each one of them would repeat a line of dialogue they’d said earlier in the film.

Ultimately, Trainspotting was an unforgettable film that not only succeeded in capturing the essence of Scottish junkie life, but also dared to go against the grain by tackling darker subject matters such as drug addiction and withdrawal, statutory rape, and betrayal. Renton was a rather complex and morally ambiguous protagonist that committed innumerable acts of good and bad alike, though it only makes sense given that his addiction to heroin made him do several questionable things just so he could get his fix.

I’ve been meaning to watch Hideaki Anno’s Shin Godzilla (2016) for the longest time, but I never really got around to it. At least, not until now. Truth be told, it wasn’t at all what I was expecting. As a child, I was obsessed with the Goji films and subsequently all the Toho kaiju, but in all my years, I’ve never seen an incarnation of Godzilla so hell-bent on leveling cities and killing people. Needless to say, it was awesome. Even if Shin might not be my favorite Godzilla, it’s still one of my favorites given the fact that it sports a sort of theme: evolution. Throughout the course of the film, Shin grows and adapts as it crawls out of the ocean and clampers onto land, gaining new powers with each stage before finally growing into the gargantuan kaiju that we all know and love – only more twisted and strangely hostile towards humanity. In a sense, one could compare it to Destoroyah, another Toho kaiju with a similar gimmick. This version of Godzilla is menacing, to say the least, and it shows in its appearance in the sense that it looks far more monstrous, bleeding as it walked and splitting its lower jaw in two whenever it readied the trademark Goji Atomic Breath. To date, Shin remains the only Godzilla capable of firing atomic energy from its tail – which doubles as a second mouth – and its dorsal fins. None of this might seem particularly interesting to whoever might be reading this, but I just thought it’d be something worth mentioning. It goes without saying that Shin is one of the most antagonistic incarnations of Godzilla to date.

My only regret is that I wasn’t able to stick around long enough to see the film in its entirety. Apparently, Shin was defeated by a joint operation between the Americans, the Germans, the French, the Chinese, and the Japanese by freezing the monster. However, at the very end, humanoid creatures emerged from its body. This could perhaps be the next and final stage in Shin’s life cycle – splitting into several little organisms as opposed to one giant one, tying to Shin’s penchant for adaptability. This might have been the only way for the creature to survive – and because Shin was able to survive, it isn’t totally out of the question for it to return in a sequel. Curiously enough, there were no other kaiju in the film, though this was possibly intentional so that the film could highlight how Shin Godzilla might be nature’s revenge against mankind for polluting the ocean, much like the original Godzilla film from 1954.

The Kaiju aside, Shin Godzilla – like all other Godzilla films – featured a cast of human characters who worked together to try and maintain damage control and stop the Kaiju from destroying the city. This time, however, the humans are working together to destroy Godzilla as opposed to working alongside it to defeat a bigger, badder monster. However, like the other Godzilla films, I found myself completely unattached to the human characters primarily because the more they showed up, the less screen time the kaiju would have. I watch these films because I want to see giant monsters toppling buildings and firing lasers, and I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels the same way. Still, the characters did bring another layer of depth to the film, promoting a  

Shin Godzilla also seemed to jab at the Americans a lot, painting them in a rather negative light. Of course, this is completely understandable given the history between the two countries. America was responsible for bombing two Japanese cities, after all, and the radiation from these bombs often serve as the source of Godzilla’s energy. Shin Godzilla is of no exception given the fact that it was accidentally born from American nuclear refuse. With that said, Shin was the result of excessive weapon testing and now it has resurfaced to wreak havoc on humanity, whether it means to or not. This anti-Americanism is arguably intentional given how excessive and blunt it is, ranging from snide remarks about Americans all the way to how the Americans decided to try and drop a nuclear bomb on Shin, mirroring how they dropped bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Despite this, Shin Godzilla also seemed to criticize Japan just as much as it did America. The incompetence of the Japanese government was a crucial point for the human characters as it led to the deaths of numerous civilians before Shin itself eventually killed the Prime Minister and his cabinet. Throughout the film, the government kept reassuring people that the problem would go away eventually, but as Shin rampaged throughout Tokyo, the government kept having their meetings. In a sense, the film highlighted the inefficacy of bureaucracy and how standing idly by, worrying about politics and formalities can actually be harmful to the country, especially in times of crisis such as a Kaiju attack. Shin serves as an allegory for natural disasters much like earthquakes and tsunamis, and this is rather timely as the film came out only three to four years after Japan was hit with a devastating tsunami. Perhaps Anno was attempting to call out the government for failing to properly assist the public in a timely and appropriate manner.

In the end, Shin Godzilla was certainly one of the darker Goji films, but that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable. Even if I wasn’t able to catch the entirety of the film, I was able to appreciate the parts of the film I did see and I look forward to seeing if Shin Godzilla ever returns to the big screen.

From its non-linear plot all the way to its puzzling yet crisp dialogue, Steven Soderbergh’s Schizopolis (1996) is nothing short of strange. There’s no doubt that it’s one of a kind. Truth be told, attempting to make heads or tails of this film has been an absolute nightmare. Even though I left the classroom after watching the film with a huge dumb grin on my face, it was clear that I just didn’t get Schizopolis even if I found it thoroughly entertaining. The writing was original and captivating, if not a little odd. I appreciated how the film was split into three interconnected acts, each from the perspective of a certain character. The first act was about Fletcher, a man tasked with writing the speech for his boss who must simultaneously deal with his failing marriage. After this is the second act, which features Fletcher’s doppelganger, Dr. Korchek, who is revealed to be having an affair with Fletcher’s wife. The third and final act was a mish-mash of scenes from the first and second act, though calling it a mish-mash doesn’t do it any justice. This act focuses on Fletcher’s wife and how she perceived the events that transpired over the course of the film.

It’s arguable that each of the acts represent problems related to communication. The first act featuring Fletcher revolves around dialogue, specifically how one person can say one thing that actually means something else; it focuses on what is meant as opposed to what is said and this is reflected in the conversations between Fletcher and his neighbor.

Fletcher: “Is your wife coming over tonight? Because her big ass always leaves me satisfied.” Neighbor: “Nice of you to mention her. She enjoys sex with you much more than she does with me.” Fletcher: “I’m sure she says that to all the men in the neighborhood.” Neighbor: “You may be right about that one.” Fletcher: “I’ll see you later.”

Let me put this into context. If one were to ignore the dialogue and instead focus on the body language, the tone of voice, and the general flow of the conversation, one could see that the two are simply conversing as neighbors generally would: by exchanging friendly greetings and making idle small talk. Despite this, the lines of dialogue showcase what each character means because what they’re saying is actually irrelevant. They could engage in small talk as much as they want, but that’s not what’s important. What’s important is the underlying message behind the small talk. Or at least, that’s how I perceived it. There’s certainly more to this film than meets the eye and I wouldn’t doubt it if Soderbergh had an entirely different message in mind, or possibly none at all, during the film’s conceptualization.

Another interesting dialogue quirk worth mentioning is that during the third act, Dr. Korchek spoke solely in Italian and Fletcher spoke in Japanese and French while the rest of the cast spoke English. Dr. Korchek’s ability to speak Italian is also briefly brought up in act 2 by one of his clients. Although it’s debatable if this little throwaway line could be considered foreshadowing, it’s still something that should be considered. Just how deliberate and meticulously crafted is this seemingly nonsensical dialogue? On the topic of dialogue, it’s worth stating that despite the fact that the cast spoke different languages, everyone understood each other just fine. The same could not be said for the viewers, however. Regrettably, not all of us can understand Japanese, French, or Italian, so whatever Dr. Korchek and Fletcher said in the third act remains a mystery. Again, this is most likely a deliberate choice and our inability to understand them has some sort of deeper meaning. Perhaps it could it be commentary on how everyone speaks but nobody makes an effort to understand.

Although Schizopolis was pleasantly unique, I don’t think it’s for me. Not right now, at least. Perhaps I would appreciate it more if I viewed it a second time. Still, it’s just as Soderbergh himself said at the very beginning of the film: “In the event that you find certain sequences or ideas confusing, please bear in mind that this is your fault, not ours.” Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll give the film another go and write a follow-up to try and expand on what’s already been said.

Confused and mind-boggled were the predominant emotions I felt while watching the film Lost Highway. It was the kind of movie that made question whether I even understood what I just watched and yet, I thoroughly liked the movie, especially the cinematography. There was a suspenseful effect to the whole film in terms of how the camera angles were shot as well as how the events transpired. All the scenes set in the house of Fred and Renee showed how their house not only looked cold and threatening but also very empty literally because of their minimalist furniture and figuratively, because of their disposition towards each other. I sensed that something bad was about to happen to Fred or Renee since both of their characters seemed very distant and secretive to each other. To add to this feeling of foreboding, the videotapes that both of them received showed that someone was clearly watching them. The presence of the “Mystery Man” also contributed to the overall mood of the film — with his vampire-like characteristics and his way of getting into Fred’s mind. 

The film was effective in the sense that it made me wonder how two people could be at two places at once. Given that Fred was imprisoned due to the charge against him for murdering his wife, it seemed strange how he was somehow replaced by a teenager, Pete — who I later learned was his fantasy self. To be able to learn about Fred’s innermost desires was interesting to me seeing as his current reality was not in any way exciting. It was evident that Pete is living the life that Fred wishes he had. Compared to Fred’s mundane life, Pete is young, has a job he enjoys, a group of friends, a girlfriend and to top it all off, is having an affair with the mob boss’ girlfriend, Alice. Pete is also a romantic which is someone Fred is not. 

As the story progresses, we can see how the two different plots “converge” and how the transition between the two plots is convoluted. While typically films follow a linear pattern to mirror reality and for viewers to immerse themselves into the reality of the film, Lost Highway does the complete opposite. It does not follow the regular structure of films of the thriller/horror genre but despite this, it was so visually captivating. The film plays with the human psyche clearly showing us that it is so easy to get lost in our own fantasies and that memory has the power to manipulate our realities. I stopped forming theories on how to explain everything that happened in the film as I began to realize that maybe the whole point of the film was to play games with the viewers minds and I went along for the ride. Just as Pete’s parents denied him the opportunity to know what really happened to him, we the audience too, need to accept the fact that we too were not given a literal explanation of the events of the film.