Cloud Atlas: Actual Review

Now that I've got the elephants in the room out of the way, I think I'm ready to talk about the film "Cloud Atlas".

There are few films that leave me absolutely speechless. Even movies that I love I typically have a number of tangible feelings that I tend to express while I leave the theater. This sometimes annoys my friends who generally like to "bask" rather than ruin the afterglow with critical thought. However, it does occasionally happen where I, too, prefer to bask rather than jump right into picking a work apart. Still, even in these cases, I do HAVE critical thoughts a-brewin', I'm just suppressing them in order to fully enjoy the moment. This was the case for "Looper".

"Cloud Atlas" was that rare film that truly left me speechless. Not a critical thought came to mind at any point for a very long time. It was just this overwhelming feeling of peace and joy and wonder. My mind was flying off into countless different directions, but none of them could be adequately described as amounting to anything other than, "Wow."

I really want to tell you how I feel about the film.

But, much like the film, I'm going to have to ask you all to be a bit patient with me, because in order to really help you understand why this film means so much to me, I have to explain the unique and challenging things about it without delving too deeply into the specifics. I do not intend to spoil much, mostly because I really don't have to. This isn't *that* sort of movie. Understanding what happens isn't the same as understanding the movie itself, but I do want you to understand the movie, at least in the broadest sense of it, before I get into my personal feelings on it.

The Structure

This film has 6 stories, but it's not like "Pulp Fiction" where the stories each have their own little arcs where they are more or less self-contained and compartmentalized with beginnings, middles, and ends. These stories tag out between one another at regular intervals from beginning to end, connected as a sort of stream of consciousness, with the fluidity of a game of "Marvel Vs. Capcom". It juggles.

The best way I could describe the structure is "ADHD", and not in a pejorative sense. As someone with ADHD, I can tell you that this movie's structure is pretty much exactly how my mind works. Like, I might be talking to someone about my cat, Niko, which then makes me think about the character he's named after from the "Circle of Magic" series, which will then make me thing about fantasy stories in general which will then make me think about etc. etc. etc. My mind is a jumble of tangentially connected threads and it is often a struggle to keep them tied together. I will put something on hold but then forget I did it and so it will sit there, possibly indefinitely. This film, thankfully, does not forget about the threads that it leaves hanging, though the viewer certainly might. Still, when people complain that the structure of this film is confusing or incoherent, I have little sympathy for them. Maybe their minds can only work linearly, and in a way I both envy and pity them. It must be nice to never lose track of your thoughts, but it must also be sad to feel so limited. In any case, if you ever wondered what it's like to have ADHD, this film is probably best way I could explain it to you.

Additionally, each story is literally a story within the universe of the film. The first story is a journal that is talked about or physically present in a number of the other stories of the film (possibly all of them, but I would have to see it again to be certain of that). The second story is told as a collection of letters that are found and examined by the character in the third story, whose adventures are turned into a mystery novel by a young friend of hers, who then submits the story to a publisher who is the primary character of the fourth story, whose actions are turned into a film which partially inspires the actions of the characters in the fifth story, whose life and words are recorded, deified, and chronicled as religious texts by the primitive peoples of the sixth story, which is told as a more traditional "story around a campfire" by one of the characters at the film's beginning and end. It is interesting to note that each story represents a different story structure in itself. First person, second person, third person, non-fiction, historical fiction, fiction with a factual basis, written, verbal, visual... And on top of that, each story contains its own specific genre.

As if that weren't already enough, another noteworthy piece is that while each story is in some way present in each of the other stories, including the ones that precede it, the stories are not narratively connected in any substantial way. The actions in one story do not directly influence the actions within another story, at least not in any obvious way. Each story is more or less self-contained and doesn't require the other stories in order to make sense or be fulfilling.

The film is also based on a book, and one might expect that the book is structured similarly, but it is not. It is actually structured in a more traditional way, with each story told one at a time.

So the question that might be on your minds is "Why?" Why would they decide to tell these stories all at once as a series of mini-tangents?

Well, because film in general does not lend itself well to several self-contained stories. Yes, it works in "Pulp Fiction", but that's because there's an underlying meta-narrative that unfolds. It feels like one big story rather than a bunch of smaller stories. "Cloud Atlas" is certainly not that. Each story has its own arc and each arc is completed within each story. If they had constructed the movie in the same way the book is structured, it would have been incredibly trying.

As an example, some of you might have seen the film "Grindhouse". If you haven't it was originally presented as a double-feature. While the two films were tied together by a similar aesthetic and the same universe, they each were their own self-contained films. While I absolutely loved "Grindhouse", my biggest problem was that while it felt like a singular "experience", it did not feel like a singular "film", and I admit, it does try my patience to have to sit through two different films back-to-back.

Books, on the other hand, have the luxury of relatively infinite patience on the part of the reader. The reader can take breaks in between stories, flip back and forth between them to find thematic connections, and develop their own sense of rhythm.

If they had structured "Cloud Atlas" in this way, it would have been absolutely terrible. The fact is, when we go to a film, we expect a certain kind of experience. Establish the story, present the conflict, action develops, climax is reached, story is completed. If you force an audience to go through this entire arc more than once, it is asking a lot. If you do it to them SIX times, you might as well give up.

So they layered all of the stories on top of each other. This accomplishes two things. First, it allows the audience to have a singular emotional connection for all of the stories together. Second, it allows the film to visually draw the parallels and points of intersection between the stories in a very literal sense by cutting between them.

By structuring it in this manner, it allows the audience to feel the movie as "one" experience. None of the stories launch into their conflicts before all of the other stories have been fully established, and because the stories are connected thematically and emotionally, it never feels like the movie is grinding to a halt so it can get all of its pieces in order. It is masterfully edited and written. Truly, this was the only way this film was even possible.

The Themes

Another question that might arise might be, "Why do all of these stories need to be told together?" This is indeed a valid question.

After all, this sort of structure has been used before. The first major one that comes to mind is "Love Actually", which had several interweaving but largely disconnected love stories all playing out in the same emotional arc. However, one of the main reasons it worked there was because they all had the same genre and temporal setting to anchor the meta-narrative to.

"Cloud Atlas" is not anchored. At all. Unlike "Love Actually", there is no common time frame, there is no specific genre, there is no specific tone or style. So why tell these seemingly mismatched stories all together?

Well, because all of the stories are essentially the same story.

When people talk about this film, they say that the central theme is "freedom", and I might be inclined to agree, but I think it's talking about a very specific kind of freedom. A sort of spiritual freedom. The ability to define oneself. The paradox that while our physical forms matter very little, they are also sacred because they are defined by us.

That theme is reflected, not only within the content of the stories, but by the stories themselves. This film is in some ways a fractal or a synecdoche where the whole can be seen as referencing a part and a part can be seen in reference to the whole. There are very small aspects of this film with very big underlying messages and very broad interpretations of this film that also speak to the same messages.

OK, that was really obtuse, so let me try and get a little more specific.

Each of the six stories in "Cloud Atlas" are essentially the same story. An individual is a part of a system that benefits from the strong provoking the weak. Sometimes they themselves are benefiting from that system, but it does not always matter. One character betrays another usually in relation to the system of exploitation inherent in that particular setting, but always specifically for their own personal gain. This betrayal spurs the individual character to stand up for the weak (which may or may not be themselves) and learn the value of doing so.

If this sounds familiar, it's because it is a story we've all heard a million times before, and the writers are aware of that. It is why they are able to weave these stories together as one continuous arc, in spite of their great variation.

So now you might be wondering, "If all of the stories are essentially the same, why tell more than one?"

Indeed. Why tell more than one? The same could be said for stories in general. Over the cosmically brief time humanity has existed, we have produced billions of stories, most of which are essentially the same story when you dig deep enough. So why do we keep making them over and over again? Why have more than one movie? Why not just pick the best one and watch it over and over again?

And, even more interestingly, the same could be said of people. We all have things that make us unique, but if you dig deep enough we are all the same. We can be categorized and defined by labels for sex, race, gender, diseases, conditions, measurements, and generations, and yet we can still all be called the same singular species. Why not just pick the best human and clone it, disregarding all others?

Obviously, it's because those differences are what make each life worth living, even if they are also what can drive us apart. Racism, ageism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia... these are all beliefs that stem from an obsession with the differences between us. "Cloud Atlas" confronts the audience with those differences and at once tells us that they are all meaningless and yet are the most important things about us. We shouldn't let our differences as people drive us apart because it's what's inside that counts, but our differences should still be celebrated and embraced and above all else, defended.

In regards to the stories themselves, this message carries over. Yes, all of the stories are essentially the same, but they are all also very much individual and obviously different. The futuristic sci-fi epic is the same story as the silly comedy of errors that takes place in the present day and involves elderly people attempting to escape an old folks home. The film wants us to understand that these stories are the same, but wants us to enjoy their individual characteristics as well.

It's about seeing our differences not as barriers but as points of connection.

This is the theme that carries through all of the characters, it is the theme of each of the stories, it is the theme for the film itself, it is the theme that presumably drives the creators of the film and, according to them, ought to drive us all.

While the main reason I compartmentalized the "yellowface" issue in its own post was because I felt it needed addressing on its own merits, I must mention it one more time while I am discussing the theme.

As deeply problematic as the use of yellowface is, the film seems aware of how problematic that is and uses our inherent baggage with it to influence the message presented within the film. There's a reason why the most deeply offensive decision to make Jim Sturgess appear "Korean" was used in probably the most tonally serious story of the film while the most socially acceptable decision to make Hugo Weaving appear as an old nurse is in the most lighthearted story of the film. The story that takes place in Neo Seoul is by far the most horrifying, and I feel that the use of yellowface is meant to repulse and jar us just as Hugo Weaving's cross-dressing is meant to make us laugh. We get the impression that the distinctly Western-looking oppressors of Neo Seoul are walking contradictions who reject their heritage, referring to the once-native language as "subspeak" and referring to themselves as "pureblood". Yellowface carries that baggage of racism that provokes a very strong reaction, and while many who felt that reaction ultimately did not enjoy the film, I don't doubt that they understood it.

Even in this one visual detail, we can see the theme of the film revealed. The sense of perversion that arises from an obsession with the physical form, the abuse of those differences to establish a system of exclusion and power, and the burning inherent desire to reject that system in celebration of those differences as well as the elements that unite us as one.

I Fucking Love This Movie

When I have given this film an actual numerical "score" for RottenTomatoes and Metacritic, both times I have given it a perfect score, but only because if I were to assign a numerical representation of how I feel about the movie, the highest possible value is the only one I can honestly ascribe to it.

Still, the problem with numerical values is that they aim to get a sort mathematical and statistical quantification for the consensus of a particular work's overall quality. By giving it a 10/10 or a 5/5, it can imply any number of things that may or may not be true. It might imply that I believe this film is "perfect", which in itself can have any number of meanings. It might imply that this movie is better than every other movie that I didn't give a perfect score. It might imply that I'm trying to offset the negative scores given to it by people who feel differently about it than I do.

I'm not sure any of those things are true, though it's also equally possible that they are ALL true. I don't know, but it doesn't really matter.

I do know that, in spite of my perfect scores, not everyone will enjoy this movie. In fact, I saw this film with two people, and one of them had such huge problems with it that it erupted in a very heated debated after a very long awkward silence.

And no, not everyone who dislikes this movie dislikes it for what I talked about in my previous post. There are plenty of people who just failed to connect with it out of no fault of their own.

But let's consider the nature of love for a moment. When you love a person, every part of that person is important to you. Every aspect -- physical, mental, and spiritual -- is vital to what makes that person what they are. Even the flaws do not come off as flaws to you. To you, that other person is amazing, if not perfect. They are your favorite person. If you were to score that person, you would not score them objectively.

Obviously, love is inherently subjective. Though the person we love is perfect in our eyes, they are not necessarily perfect in anyone else's. While being loved might make us feel better than we've ever felt, it does not actually speak to our objective quality as human beings. Being loved by a lot of people doesn't make you a better person.

So yes, I love this movie. It may possibly be my favorite movie, at least for now.

But my personal love for a film is not the only thing that makes me give it a perfect score. As I've said in the past, I love the sequels to "The Matrix", but I would not dream of giving them perfect scores, and that is because while I love them, they could have been better. They could have done a number of things differently and I would have enjoyed the films more.

And on a surface level, "Cloud Atlas" feels like a movie that was made specifically for me. I find it intellectually engaging, the structure matches up perfectly with my mental frequency, it has awesome sci-fi stuff, high concepts, actors I love, great visuals, great music, humor, suspense, romance, mystery, tragedy, comedy, chase scenes, pirates, ninjas, robots, clones, spirituality, examinations of race, class, and gender... A lot of these elements alone are the sort of things I go nuts for. In a way, it's not surprising that I love it so much, and often that kind of love will allow you to overlook or understate or even justify certain faults within the subject of your affection.

However, when it comes to "Cloud Atlas", a part of me DOES want to acknowledge the faults with it. The aspects that rub people the wrong way or just bore them entirely frustrate me because they prevent others from connecting with it in the same way I do, so of course a part of me would like them changed. But the deep truth is, none of those changes would improve MY enjoyment of the film. Yes, even in regards to the yellowface. I acknowledge that it is racist, hurtful, and provokes a very strong negative connotation that can be deeply offensive, but that deep and glaring flaw resonates powerfully within the film as a whole and the message it has and the relevance that it still has in our present culture is one aspect that makes the film even greater. Yes, they could have done it a different way and it wouldn't have been as offensive, and perhaps it would have been just as enjoyable and perhaps also provided opportunities for underutilized actors, but it would change the DNA of the film so completely that I hesitate to say that they should have. In a way, changing that approach simply for the sake of deep societal constructs would have been a betrayal of the central theme of the film, which is that we define our physical presence and we have the freedom to decide what that means for ourselves.

This film holds its audience in high regard. It assumes that we already know racism is bad. It's not here to tell us that. It wants us to understand the underlying conflict behind racism and other systems of oppression. Where it exists in life, where it exists in fiction, where it exists in culture, and most painful of all, where it exists within ourselves. In order to do that, it engages with the audience in a very open way.

That is why I can't find fault with the film as a whole. Even though it has faults, I must admit that I would prefer the film with the faults rather than without them. Maybe I'm just being selfish, but that's the truth.

So I think that is why I gave this film a perfect score. I love this film, warts and all, and I would not change a thing. I can't promise that you will love it or even that you won't absolutely hate it, but I know that I want everyone to experience this movie.

Go see this movie. Open yourself up to it. It might be risky, but that's a chance I want you to take, because if you experience anything close to what I experienced, you will be glad you did. And if you don't, then at least you were willing to take a leap and try something different, which is a worthy enough reason in and of itself.

This Movie Sucks

"The Dark Knight Rises", in my opinion, was not a very good movie. Of course, I am not the only person in the world with an opinion, and many others feel that this is not only an excellent movie, but perhaps the greatest movie of the year, and yes, even better than "The Dark Knight".

Everyone is entitled to their opinion, which is of course a backhanded way of saying, "Your opinion is wrong, but I don't care enough to try and convince you otherwise."

All joking aside, though, it really doesn't bother me that so many people really enjoyed this movie. As I said in my review, the movie is definitely at least worth your time and while I may envy some people who were able to sit through to movie and thoroughly enjoy it without that nagging feeling in the back of their mind whispering all of the movie's huge flaws, I'm content with the idea that two people can see the same movie and take away different experiences.

What does bother me is the notion that my experiences are different because of invalid reasons. I've been hearing this a lot from people on the Internet who disagree with people who weren't fond of TDKR. "You're just a Marvel-ite," or, "You're just nitpicking to find flaws! You should just enjoy the movie!"

This implies that I didn't like TDKR because there was something wrong with me. Obviously I take issue with this, but this is understandable. After all, I am somewhat guilty of this myself. Even so, when I defended the Star Wars prequels, I wasn't doing it in order to convince anyone that they should enjoy the movies, I was simply trying to defend the fact that I like them and that my enjoyment of them isn't purely out of nostalgia or my own idiocy. I wasn't trying to say, "There's something wrong with you if you didn't like the Star Wars prequels," I was trying to say, "There's nothing wrong with me if I like the Star Wars prequels."

In my mind, there's nothing wrong with trying to defend your own opinion, but there is something questionable about attacking someone else's opinion just because they disagree with yours.

When it comes to TDKR, it feels like all the people who loved it are upset with anyone who didn't love it, as though they have some personal stake in its success or failure. I can understand this sense of fanboyism... we all have it with something. But if you want to defend TDKR, you shouldn't do it by suggesting that those of us who didn't much care for it are just trying too hard to find the flaws in the movie, the implication being that we overlooked all of the good parts because we were spending all of that time looking for problems in the movie, like it was some sort of treasure hunt.

So let me start my rant proper by making this abundantly clear: I did not WANT to dislike "The Dark Knight Rises". I WANTED to sit back and enjoy the movie. I wanted to be thrilled, engaged, provoked, and to take something away from the experience. You know, like I have with EVERY OTHER CHRISTOPHER NOLAN MOVIE. But that didn't happen for me, and not because I was actively trying to stop it. No one goes into a movie wanting to be bored. You find anybody with a strong bias against something and every once in a while you will find that they will find an exception to the rule. This exception exists because even if they generally don't like a certain type of thing, some movies are just so good that it doesn't matter to them.

Let me put it another way. A lot of people liked "Captain America: The First Avenger" not only because it was a good movie, but because it was a superhero movie. It had a lot of fun action and clever dialogue and cool characters. For some people, that stuff is enough. Sure, the fact that it was a really good movie made them love the movie even more, but even if the movie was mediocre, they still would have enjoyed it for those things they tend to enjoy. But not everyone likes those standard ingredients in a movie. Some people just really don't care for superheroes. But even some of THOSE people really liked "Captain America", and that's because it was still a good movie beneath those simple features and they connected with that. Maybe they went into the movie with a bias against it, but that didn't STOP them from enjoying the movie, it just meant that the movie had to offer something different to really work for them.

My point is that you can't discredit someone's opinion because they were biased against it. You can certainly IGNORE that opinion, but you can't discredit it. If a critic didn't like a movie you enjoyed and you believe that their reasons for disliking it are frivolous, then that just means that they're bothered by things that don't bother you. You like sweet foods, they like sour foods. It's about personal taste. That's all bias is. And sometimes, a movie can be so good that bias is trumped.

So when it came to "The Dark Knight Rises", I can understand why a lot of people loved it. The movie has a lot of really great INGREDIENTS. Really good actors, really good action, a really good premise, it tries to have a lot of depth, and it has Batman in it. Some people love those ingredients so much that it doesn't matter if they're assembled well or not. Just the movie HAVING those things is good enough for them. And there's really nothing wrong with that.

My problem with TDKR was that those ingredients were not assembled properly. I wanted so badly for the movie to suck me in the same way "The Dark Knight" did, but no matter what, I just wasn't enjoying myself. With "The Dark Knight", I felt like the Nolan brothers really knew what they wanted to say about crime and the nature of humanity and they managed to say something that really stuck with me. That scene with the two boats is still one of my favorite scenes in any movie ever because it was a culmination of all of the movies themes and plot points. It was perfect. "The Dark Knight Rises" never hit that moment for me. I wasn't feeling engrossed the way I typically am with Nolan movies. He usually has TOO MUCH to say, but it this movie I felt like he had far too little to say. Nothing drew me in, nothing enthralled me for more than a few moments, and there were long stretches of time where I was just plain not enjoying myself.

And when I'm not enjoying myself, I start doing something. This is something we ALL do when we see a movie that doesn't work for us. It's not a matter of shutting your brain off or whatever. The dumbest person on the planet, when he's placed in front of a movie that he doesn't like, will also do this exact same thing, I guarantee it.

When I'm not enjoying myself, I start to try and figure out WHY I don't like it. Some people are more surface level than others and they just point out the tangible elements of the movie. "I don't like this movie because that Jar Jar character is really annoying," or, "I don't like this movie because I find it offensive to my personal beliefs." We have that moment where a part of us says, "This movie sucks," and then we try to finish the sentence with a "because." But those of us who have spent a lot of time overanalyzing media and its production tend to reach a lot deeper. We try to find the root of the problem and it often seems to be a deceptively small thing.

That's why it's much harder to find fault with movies like "The Amazing Spider-Man" or "The Dark Knight Rises". Generally, these two movies don't HAVE a lot of tangible problems. The majority of people, even if they don't really like the movie, will be at a loss to point to a particular reason WHY they don't like it, so they'll just shrug and say, "It wasn't bad." And then when the rest of us point to problems in the script or the story or the pacing, the people who enjoyed the ingredients of the movie and were having a good enough time that they didn't stop and try to analyze the flaws in the movie will say that we're just nit-picking. That we're reaching for reasons to dislike the movie out of some sort of denial or misplaced aggression.

Like I said, this reaction is understandable. To them, the movie ranges anywhere from great to perfect. They had such a good time that they didn't for one second stop to try and find flaws in the movie. Like I said, you only stop to find flaws when you aren't enjoying the movie. So for them, those flaws might as well not exist. They're trivial. They didn't bother them, so why should they bother me?

But just because this reaction is understandable doesn't make it appropriate or sensible. You can go ahead and defend against the arguments. In fact I encourage it. I might say that Bane wasn't an effective villain, and you might say, "No, he was amazing and his motivation made total sense to me and THIS IS WHY." I would really love to hear that argument. But what I DON'T want to hear is, "Shut up, Bane was great, you're just too picky." THAT is just denial. That is you seeing a flaw with the movie that you didn't see before that you can't bring yourself to actually refute. You probably don't have any problem with overlooking that flaw, but knowing that it's there bothers you. Suddenly the movie isn't objectively perfect, so you get defensive. You want to prove the person's opinion invalid because you want to go back to thinking that the movie is perfect.

I know that this was how I felt about the Matrix sequels for the longest time. To me, they were excellent. I maybe noticed one or two flaws, but I still thoroughly loved them. But those movies are RIDDLED with flaws, as I'm sure anyone can tell you. And whenever someone would bring them up, I would contort my reasoning to try and justify them or derail the argument to suggest that the flaws didn't matter. But eventually I realized that yes, those flaws absolutely exist, but I can still enjoy the movies just as much in spite of them. In fact, some of those flaws I absolutely enjoy. I'm OK with the fact that I'm the only person alive who likes those movies. I don't need the world to agree with me.

Since I'm a fan of analogies, let me give you one. Say you fall in love with someone and, to you, they are perfect in every way. One day you overhear someone saying that that person is ugly. You confront that person and understandably get defensive. "Ugly!? How can you call this beautiful creature ugly!?" And then that person proceeds to rattle off a list of physical traits that, to them, are ugly. Generally, all of those traits are factual. They exist. This person is accurately describing your loved one's physical appearance, just in a negative light. You might find their negative reaction to those traits silly, but denying the existence of those physical traits is equally silly. To you, your loved one is perfect in spite of or perhaps because of those features that the other person pointed out. They say your loved one is too short, but you like the fact that they are short. They say your loved one has hideous curly hair, but you don't really care about hair. The opinion of this other person is not WRONG, it just doesn't MATTER to you. Don't argue with them over it because there's nothing to argue about. Like I said, there's no need to discredit their opinion, just feel free to ignore it. It doesn't apply to you.

When a critic goes on and on about the flaws of something you really enjoyed, don't argue with them over the fact that the movie is enjoyable. That's a battle you can't win and it doesn't really matter. No critic's opinion can stop you from liking a movie and no opinion of yours can convince them that they like it. If you must argue, simply talk about the things you love about the movie. Tell them what parts of the movie really reached you. Tell them what parts made you jump up with excitement. Tell them how this movie changed your life. Give an alternate perspective, don't try to mold their perspective into yours.

If they are just plain WRONG about something, like they claim this plot point didn't make sense but in your mind it absolutely did, feel free to bring that up and discuss that. There's no reason to allow someone to carry on their opinion based on false information. Just don't try to CHANGE their opinion.

In all things, let all of the facts be made clear and allow each individual to draw their own conclusions.

Defending the Star Wars Prequels: The Phantom Menace

For those of you who are expecting my next Old Who Review (on the off-chance that you exist) I'll probably have it ready this weekend, so don't worry. But right now, there's something I've been meaning to write about for a while and I just suddenly had the urge to finally do it.

The "Star Wars" prequels aren't that bad.

That's right, I said it.

Speaking personally, I actually enjoy watching them. Some more than others, but truth be told, even my least favorite from the batch I enjoy watching about as much as I enjoy watch "Return of the Jedi".

But I know that my personal tastes aren't enough to dictate that a movie is actually "good". For example, I KNOW that the "Matrix" sequels are "bad" movies. They are paced and constructed poorly, the plots make little to no real sense, and a lot of the acting choices really don't work. That said, I still enjoy the "Matrix" sequels because I like techno-philosophy, kung fu action sequences, and Hugo Weaving as Agent Smith. Also I think there are parts that are very memorable and quotable and I have a lot of fun watching them.

That being said, I won't ever try to DEFEND the "Matrix" sequels because I know they are bad and people have plenty of reason to not like them.

I will, however, defend the "Star Wars" prequels, not because I think they're necessarily "good" movies (I do acknowledge they have a lot of problems) but because I think "Star Wars" fandom has a tendency to overplay just how "bad" these movies are.

Because I don't want this post to be TOO long (Spoiler Alert: It is anyway), I'm going to break this up into a three-part series, each part discussing a different movie and the points that are commonly brought against it.

"Prometheus" Didn't Exactly Set the World on Fire (UPDATED)

Since I mentioned "Prometheus" once or twice during my last post, I thought it would be fair to explain my overall feelings on the movie and also my theories regarding some of the parts that were left somewhat open-ended.

First of all, I didn't hate the movie. I actually enjoyed it. Don't think I would go see it again in theaters, but I might buy the Blu-ray or at least watch it on Netflix at some point. I kind of put it in the same overall category I would put the Matrix sequels and the Star Wars prequels: I enjoy watching it, and I can get lost in some of the bigger ideas that the movie touches on, but as a film it is definitely more than a little problematic.

Since better writers than I have already explained the overall failings of "Prometheus" far more adequately than I, I'll be as brief as I can be with this part. I'll also keep things spoiler free before the jump.

With a couple exceptions, none of the characters made a lot of sense. One of the most frustrating things that can happen in a horror movie (or any movie really, but horror is where it can be a serious deal-breaker) is when a character does something a reasonable person would never do. The best moments in horror movies are when you know a character is about to do something stupid, but you also know that the only reason you know it's stupid is because you're looking at it from the outside. If you were in the character's position, you would probably make the same stupid mistake. But when a character does something you would never do even if you were in that exact same position, it's not scary, it's just annoying. You WANT the character to die. That happens more than a few times in "Prometheus".

Another big problem is that the film doesn't have very good structure. I talked a lot about the Hollywood Formula last time, and to apply it here, you run into a lot of problems. The protagonist, Elizabeth Shaw, has a clear goal at the beginning of the film, one that she shares with a few other characters: To meet the Engineers (AKA the Space Jockeys). The movie has many deuteragonists for Elizabeth to play off of, but the most notable one would be David, though he isn't very effective in this role because he's kind of doing his own thing for most of the movie. Aside from David, the cast is full of people who either also want to meet the Engineers (and their desire to do so doesn't really conflict with Elizabeth's goal), so the movie doesn't really have an antagonist. Nothing is really keeping Elizabeth from meeting the Engineers other than the fact that she has to go looking for them. So the central conflicts of the movie are very loosely defined and not very interesting. We don't really care who lives or dies or whether or not Elizabeth gets to meet the Engineers.

Where the movie largely succeeds is in presentation. Quite a few aspects of the story are told brilliantly and visually without needing to info-dump, which is rare in science-fiction. However, doing it this way is a bit of a double-edged sword because you end up leaving a lot open to interpretation.

This is where one of the writers, Damon Lindelof comes into play. You might know him better as one of the major creative writing forces on the TV series "Lost". Similar to "Lost", "Prometheus" leaves as many doors open as possible and whenever if closes a door, it opens three others. Anyone familiar with "Lost" knows that this can become frustrating very quickly, and "Prometheus" is no exception. Speculation is a lot of fun, but there's a difference between leaving a story point vague in order to ask a fundamental question with two very different answers that can change the entire meaning of the story in order to provoke a deep philosophical discussion, and leaving a story point vague because you wanted to be mysterious. Lindelof has a serious problem with doing the latter more than the former.

That being said, there are a lot of little things that I really enjoyed and the bad parts weren't bad enough to sour the experience for me. From here on out, I'll go into more specific detail, but this will require a SPOILER WARNING. Proceed after the jump.