Ben Christenson

A Matter of Taste

27 September 2018

Introduction

I recently had the distinct experience of watching Face/Off. I’d seen snatches of it on FX, but the synopsis had always put me off a bit. Directed by John Woo and starring Nicolas Cage and John Travolta, the premise is that “an FBI agent undergoes a facial transplant surgery and assumes the identity and physical appearance of a terrorist, but the plan turns from bad to worse when the same terrorist impersonates the FBI agent.” The last John Woo movie I’d seen, Paycheck, had been marred by Ben Affleck’s acting and a ridiculous plot. I figured that I was in for something similar with Face/Off, but I decided to look up the reviews on Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes. I was stunned to find a 92% Fresh score and an 82 on Metacritic. Within the first minute of the movie, I was laughing. John Travolta is riding a carousel with his child in slow motion, black and white. These shots are intercut with Nic Cage preparing to snipe Travolta. As Cage lays down, we see his mustached lips take a long draw of soda, as the camera moves from his menacing mustache to the cold eyes of our chief antagonist, Castor Troy. As if that weren’t enough, we’re treated in the next scene to Nicolas Cage dancing wildly dressed as a priest. The scene closes with what became a running trope of his ostentatious sexuality as he gropes a choir girl with a face best described as frat-bro Smeagol. This fan-made supercut gives an idea of what watching Face/Off is like. 5 minutes in, he asks a woman, “If I were to send you flowers where would I… Wait, let me rephrase, if I were to let you suck my tongue, would you be grateful?” This woman happens to be an undercover agent, and, duty-bound, she does indeed suck his tongue. Throughout the film, there are some wild action sequences full of diving shots and graceful pirouettes. Needless to say, I was hooked.

When the movie finally ended, I returned to read the gushing reviews. The legendary Peter Travers in reference to the wild premise, acknowledged that the script “lacks even a nodding acquaintance with logic but permits Woo to up the ante on psychological gamesmanship” (Travers). In his closing paragraph, he praises the closing chapel shootout: “As ever with Woo, violence and sentiment collide with operatic intensity.” Operatic intensity? This is a scene that begins with John Travolta saying, “Wee! What a predicament!” to describe the “Mexican stand-off” that’s begun. He later licks his daughter and then is stabbed in the leg by her. Obviously, I need to go to the opera with Mr. Travers.

Were Face/Off to be released today, it’d likely tank. Nicolas Cage 360-no-scopes notwithstanding, the action sequences look a little silly or quaint next to Captain America curling a helicopter. My first thought then was that Face/Off is just a bad movie. But, Cap’s curl is really a matter of better technology since 1997. The urge to shoot outrageous and macho stunts is the same in both. Oddly, Face/Off was a way in to modern movies for me, especially modern, highly praised movies like The Last Jedi or Captain America. I began to think about why reviews of Face/Off seemed so ridiculous to read now and its rating seemed inflated. Face/Off gave me plenty to chew on, and another key influence was Jonathan Haidt’s book, The Righteous Mind. Haidt presented the idea that intuition rules reason, and reason can often be just “along for the ride.” That is, perhaps Peter Travers’ reason came in later with that “operatic intensity” line when the actual delight in the scene was in its humorous absurdity.

In The Righteous Mind, Haidt has a model for humans as an elephant and a rider. The elephant is our intuition and the rider is reason. To test this, he conducted an experiment in which an assistant hypnotized subjects to feel a flash of disgust at the word “often.” Then, he had subjects read a story in which there was no moral wrongdoing. A student council president named Dan schedules discussions

between students and faculty. For the control group, the sentence read: Dan “tries to take topics that appeal to both professors and students.” The experimental group read Dan “often picks topics that appeal to professors and students.” Haidt expected that, hypnosis notwithstanding, the subjects would have to overrule their gut feeling of disgust because Dan had clearly not done anything wrong. But, he was surprised to find that a third of his subjects said Dan had done something wrong, and he included some of the responses: “Dan is a popularity-seeking snob” and “I don’t know, it just seems like he’s up to something.” Haidt notes that these subjects “made up absurd reasons to justify judgments that they had made on the basis of gut feelings—feelings Thalia had implanted with hypnosis.” In his model then, when the elephant (intuition) has a negative feeling, the rider (reason) will make up post hoc judgments (Haidt 62-63). Haidt demonstrates this throughout the book: Our intuitions are powerful and constant, and our rider or “reason” is capable of fabricating post-hoc explanations that appear reasonable.

Another major point in the book is Moral Foundations Theory. The premise for this is that fundamental values such as Care, Fairness, Loyalty, Authority, and Sanctity are not held in equal regard by conservatives and liberals. He describes the freeing process of not being caught in a partisan mindset: “reject first, ask rhetorical questions later.” So, at the time, he learned to listen to leaders of the religious right argue that they wanted prayer and spanking in schools, less sex education and access to abortion. He could understand that Falwell and other conservatives believed feminism and social welfare increased rates of single motherhood and weaken traditional social structures, not merely that these people were daft or hateful (Haidt 127). That, as well as Dr. Crace’s Life Values Inventory put in my mind the idea that focusing on different people’s values rather than striving for a fundamentalist or righteous mindset was most productive.

I ran into this constantly as I discussed movies with friends. I’d try to say, “the movie is just bad.” Some pushed back that it may be “bad for you.” But, Hallmark movies are good for escape and just “sitting down and zoning out.” This “good for ____” kept coming up. So, instead of working to find a possibly elitist standard that would align well with current tastemakers, I tried to really listen to the values behind people’s movie preferences. Reading A Righteous Mind was serendipitous because of those two points. First, it made me consider what intuitions might be shaping taste without taking at face value the reasons that people will give. Secondly, it pushed me to not divide into right and wrong but instead to consider the values reflected in a movie that viewers respond to either positively or negatively.

As I watched movies that got nominated for Oscars or Razzies (which are awards recognizing the worst performances of the year), top-grossing films as well as films at the Toronto International Film Festival, I developed a greater sense both of the diversity of values and the values of our moment.

The Landscape Today

I’ll begin with an obvious point: people’s values in movies vastly differ. A recent study found that the correlation between ratings of average participants and critics was no higher than between two participants. Critics’ responses were correlated with one another while non-critics generally correlated with an IMDB score, an aggregation of non-critics scores (Devitt). “The average agreement in scores among moviegoers is 26%, while the agreement between regular people and individual film critics is 27%.” (Chamary). All that to say, critics and average filmgoers don’t always agree. Marvel movies aren’t

getting best picture nominations (although maybe at some time they’ll receive Popular Film nominations).

The Last Jedi was on odd example because of its vast gulf between critical and popular reception. Currently, TLJ has a 91% critic score and a 46% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes. On Metacritic, it has an 85 from critics and a 4.6/10 from fans. Now, these scores have been subject of great controversy with Rotten Tomatoes and others writing articles to publicly verify the authenticity of this score (Cain). Although, given the opt-in nature of the response—only those with strong opinions will take the time to score the movie—the number could be skewed inherently, even without bots interfering. According to exit polls conducted by comScore, the film was received positively by 90% of viewers (Shapiro). Some claim that RT doesn’t include ½ star ratings and skew the audience score positive. Depending on who you listen to, TLJ should’ve received either a 24% or a 90%. Given that, it’s quite possible that the 46% score is about right. Wrapped up in all of this has been the progressive politics and representation of TLJ. Beyond revealing the intensity that Star Wars fans bring to the franchise, the controversy in responding to the movie hints at differences in values.

As I went to read critic reviews, I was struck by their focus and concerns. Critics spent much time praising Johnson’s visual and technical excellence as well as progressive social values. Calling it a “Star Wars film for all” isn’t a baseless praise. Kelly Marie Tran was the first Asian to star in a Star Wars film, and it gave her the platform to publish a NYT op-ed about her experience growing up as an Asian-American (Tran). This is in addition to the diversity of the cast both along race and gender (with sexuality somewhat unknown presently). You’ll also find numerous reviews praising Johnson’s visual references. Regarding the visuals:

Johnson brings to The Last Jedi a cinephile’s erudition as well as a geek’s devotion, and he’s made a film that connects to Star Wars at the root—not just the first movie, but the ones that inspired it. There’s Kurosawa in it, both the rowdy fabulism of The Hidden Fortress and the impressionist choreography of Ran, a sword fight in a scarlet throne room that draws on Powell and Pressburger’s Tales of Hoffman, even an overt nod to Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch…It’s a film of genuine beauty, one where you come away as eager to talk about the set design and the choreography as you do the fate of the galaxy or what might happen next (Adams).

Or in describing the island of Rey’s training:

This is the Michael Powell section of the film, evoking both the weird dreaminess of the great English filmmaker’s Black Narcissus and the rugged half-natural half-mystical landscape of his Hebrides love letter The Edge of the World. Cinematographer Steve Yedlin makes its mysteries sing.

Johnson made his entrance as a filmmaker with the 2005 indie hit Brick, and his last feature was the 2012 futuristic crime drama Looper. Neither picture would suggest that he’d be this good at huge-budget mega-blockbuster fantasy filmmaking. But as it turns out, he has a gift for orchestrating massive action scenes with specificity and a light touch: The finest is a multi-player light saber battle that’s regal and thrilling, a gorgeous set piece that seems to take its cues in part from Balinese puppet theater (Zacharek).

In addition to the visuals, critics often place emphasis on a film’s place within the tradition, and the presence of a well-known director (Lovell 18). In a 2009 study, this was found to be the most unifying trait among critics. For critics, the ability of a movie to position itself within the film tradition relative to other important works is not just a cute or fun fact; it’s relevant to evaluating the movie’s quality. Thus, reviews that run through a laundry list of movie influences. For the majority of the film-going audience, these references will likely be missed. While it’s possible that critics are pretentious and eager to establish their credentials as film scholars, it’s more likely that these references reflect the values of a critic when seeing The Last Jedi. It’s quite possible that Stephanie Zacherek thought about the 1950’s opera Tales of Hoffman when in Snoke’s throne room. Her choice to focus on all of Johnson’s “cinephile erudition” makes sense if she values technical excellence as well as placement within the canon. I might add that, for blockbusters, these sorts of reviews aren’t often possible. In Transformers: The Last Knight, the references are things like, “Say hello to my friend, Bumblebee!” Not quite a “cinephile’s erudition.”

Just as Haidt outlined Moral Foundations Theory or Crace the Life Values Inventory, I wanted to develop something similar for films. To move beyond, “it’s good for you” and try to understand why I, friends, critics, and others respond to different movies. I’d argue that viewers’ taste is shaped by some straightforward values: identity, moral, social value, ending, technical excellence, nuts and bolts (plot and characters), and tightness. These aren’t fixed values though. You may enter one movie expecting excellent character development and another a predictable, feel-good romance. There’s no problem in shifting values and expectations. Those who don’t risk becoming close-minded or snobbish. Acknowledging your expectations can help you enjoy different types of movies fully.

I’d like to explain these values with some examples, and then take a close look at two movies that are opposites in many ways with respect to critical and popular reception: Transformers: The Last Knight and Star Wars: The Last Jedi.

Identity is consistently knowing what movie you’re in. That is, a tone that moves in a comprehensible way is essential to a good film. With all of these values, they’re often more felt in the negative than in the positive. Consider The Phantom Menace. George Lucas’ editor tried to explain to him that the rapidly shifting emotional tones don’t work: “In the space of about 90 seconds, you go from lamenting the death of a hero to escape to slightly comedic with Jar Jar to Anakin returning…” Lucas replied famously with, “It’s a little disjointed…it’s bold in terms of jerking people around, but…I may have gone too far in places.” But, he later pointed out that the movie’s structure is, “stylistically designed to be that way.” While this explanation may sate George Lucas, many fans and critics skewered TPM. In part, this is due to its lack of identity. Lucas also famously said that “Jar Jar is the key to all of this,” but his ridiculous antics often felt out of place in TPM. It’s hard to imagine many movies where “Mooey Mooey, I love you!” could fit right in.

The inverse would be a movie like Mudbound. Dee Rees worked hard to create an environment that felt real. She asked her white actors—Jonathan Banks, Jason Clarke and Jason Hedlund—to do an exercise with Rob Morgan, who played their slave. They’d just say, “You’re a good nigger” and he’d reply “thank you, sir” (Film Society). They repeated this because Rees wanted a word that now is incredibly charged to roll off the tongue as it would’ve in the Reconstruction Era South. This, in conjunction with her keen eye, costume, attention to story, and any other number of things, gave Mudbound a distinct

identity (and an Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Supporting Actress and Best Cinematography)

The moral of the story remains integral to many, often noted when it drastically departs from or confirms their own beliefs. Here, I’d like to take a moment to look at the Kendrick Brothers movies. You’d be hard-pressed to find movies that are more overt with their message. These are movies like Facing the Giants, Fireproof, Courageous, and War Room. They’re unapologetically Christian movies with low budgets that kill at the box-office. If you’re unfamiliar with their work, here’s a representative clip. Although these movies have been consistently panned by critics, their box-office returns have been remarkable. Facing the Giants has a 13% on Rotten Tomatoes and was made for $100,000. It made 10 million at the box office alone, and with DVD sales and accompanying Bible study materials, the movie was a pound-for-pound commercial juggernaut. Marvel movies may have a 2x return when considering production budget as well as marketing costs and be considered a very successful film. Facing the Giants had a 100x return or more. The next movie they made, Fireproof had a 67x return with a $500,000 budget but a 33 million take. If messaging is a treasured value, movies will be read as moral tracts that either enhance the experience if they accord with your own values or diminish it if they advance views you find offensive or silly. Thus, Facing the Giants has an enthused, evangelical audience.

In 2017, perhaps the most widely publicized value is the social considerations of the movie.

This past year, the Oscars were generally praised for their diversity:

“It’s true that Greta Gerwig became the fifth female director to be nominated for best director, and that Jordan Peele became the fifth African American director to be nominated in that category; four actors and actresses of color were nominated in the acting categories; Rachel Morrison and Dee Rees became the first woman and African American woman, respectively, to be nominated for cinematography and best adapted screenplay. Even when they weren’t “issue films,” this year’s best picture nominees explicitly or tacitly addressed such subjects as gay identity, racism, sexism and xenophobia.” (Hornaday)

Another article written by the woman who coined the hashtag #OscarsSoWhite argued for the commercial and moral logic of increasing representation (Reign). She included this chart to demonstrate the great success more diverse movies enjoyed:

To fill in the blanks of the top 10, Beauty and the Beast, Despicable Me 3, Spider-Man: Homecoming, and Wolf Warrior 2 also performed well although they lacked representation. You’d be excused for not recognizing Wolf Warrior 2, as it made only 2.7 million or 0.3% of its total of 870.3 million in the U.S, making most of its money in China.

Of the two movies in the top 10, The Last Jedi and Wonder Woman received thorough coverage for their diversity. The Last Jedi was lauded for being a “Star Wars movie truly for all.” Wonder Woman was a trailblazer. It was only the third movie with a 100 million dollar budget helmed by a woman. It starred Gal Gadot, and its cast and crew were solidly female. Both of these movies responded to the political pressure of 2017 in a way that generated overwhelming critical and public support. With solid

representation and clear messaging, the political views of the filmmakers were on display and in step with social norms.

Movies seen as backwards or offensive are swiftly reprimanded on social media. Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle is listed as one of the representative films of 2017, but it faced backlash for its promotional photos:

Karen Gillian was immediately tagged as a perpetuation of sexism in cinema with her skimpy outfit. Now, the movie’s internal explanation is that it is poking fun at the sexism of 90’s video game. The movie’s premise is that the four characters above are actually within a video game and they are inhabited by humans from the real world. Thus, Karen Gillian is only dressing this way because 90’s video game designers would’ve done something like that. Correlation is always tricky, but the movie did receive negative press initially and had a weak opening weekend of about 30 million. However, it rallied to a domestic tally of nearly $330 million and a global haul of $824 million. It’s possible that not fully informed bad press hurt it initially but positive word of mouth gave it legs. The clear point though is that a movie that’s deemed offensive will be noted and condemned. Diversity has very real commercial consequences now more than ever before.

Some movies are praised for this. Thus, one of the biggest headlines coming out of Solo is “‘Star Wars’ Writer Confirms Donald Glover’s Character Is Pansexual In ‘Solo.’” (Bradley) Within the movie, it’s a pretty irrelevant point. It’s a passing mention, and it’s using the term “pansexual” to involve robots and aliens which is a bit more encompassing than our usage. All that aside, it was a large share of coverage surrounding the movie. Oscar-nominated movies almost without fail crushed this value. In looking at the best picture and screenplay categories, nearly every movie (except perhaps The Disaster Artist) has a strong claim to being socially significant. These movies elevate characters and stories that have been historically underrepresented. Dee Rees is the first black woman to be nominated in the adapted-screenplay category, for her Mudbound script; she is only the second black woman to be

nominated, ever, for writing. (Suzanne de Passe was nominated in 1973 for her original screenplay for Lady Sings the Blues.) Greta Gerwig became only the fifth woman in Academy history to be nominated in the directing category, for Lady Bird. Joining her is Get Out director Jordan Peele, just the fifth black director to receive a nomination in the category. (Reign) The movies of these categories are stories that involve women (Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri, Lady Bird), people of color (Get Out, Mudbound), or the LGBT community (Call Me By Your Name). The Shape of Water touches on issues of ability, patriarchy, race, xenophobia, and marginalization more broadly through the central fish-man character. It cleaned up, winning a total of 4 Oscars off 13 nominations.

Last year, I heard someone discussing the Oscars who clearly places a high value on woke media: “So, there’s two movies likely to win Best Picture. La La Land is about two white people who fall in love and a white guy who saves jazz. Moonlight is about a gay black poor youth growing up.” On the opposite side of the spectrum, a friend’s parent told me, “Moonlight? Ah, that’s just liberal propaganda.” Both of these people share a concern with social values in film, but their different politics make Moonlight either a triumph or a hassle. Moral and social value can have overlap, but social value is specific. So, Call Me By Your Name and La La Land could both address the fleeting nature of love. A reductive message could be: even a vibrant love doesn’t always work out. But, since the characters’ sexual orientation in Call Me isn’t heterosexual, some viewers would respond hostilely or be more excited to see it.

Often, critics scoff at mainstream movies that so frequently end happily. You’ll hear people say things from time to time like, “I only watch movies that make me feel good when I finish. After all, I don’t want to spend two hours just to feel really sad.” Sometimes this takes on a more specific case. For instance, a friend of mine complained that La La Land ends on a bit of a sour note with the two leads separate, and she would’ve liked the movie much better had it ended with them finding a way to stay together. Typically, critics prefer movies that don’t have a happy ending (Lovell 18). Often these are more serious, realistic movies rather instead of maybe romantic comedies which by design are a bit fantastic. People who value an ending like knowing what they’re getting themselves into. This explains some of the demand for superhero movies, romantic comedies, and channels like Hallmark. A viewer can come into those movies with a good sense of how they’ll feel for almost all of the film, but most importantly, they can know how they’ll feel when the movie ends. This may be one of the most apparent distinctions between popular and critical taste.

Technical excellence is a broad term that I’ll use to describe appreciation for specific elements of the film. This could be a strong performance by the lead. This could be the finer details of the film involving cinematography, score, set pieces, and so on. In the past year, The Disaster Artist was praised for James Franco’s performance as Tommy Wiseau. His ability to capture Tommy’s voice and ethos was remarkable and he managed to still tell a moving story about a figure legendary for his oddness and incoherence. Watching the side by side scenes brings home the extreme attention to detail Franco took in recreating moments from The Room. Good acting can be taken for granted, but when it’s missing it becomes apparent. This confrontation in Fifty Shades Darker between the childhood abuser of Jamie Dornan’s character and his future wife has zero emotion. The dialogue is painful: “You don’t know what’s right for me, Elena. You taught me how to fuck. Ana taught me how to love. And, the delivery is stilted. It’s not without reason that both Dornan and Johnson received Worst actor and actress nominations at the Razzies, and Kim Basinger won for her role as Elena in 50 Shades Darker.

Even movies nominated for Oscars can get criticized for technical skill, though, and reviewers can disagree over the same value. Molly’s Game was praised by Bob Mondello of NPR for Sorkin’s skilled eye: “Even though this is Sorkin's directing debut, quite a bit of the clarity comes from the visuals, annotated when necessary, precisely shot and edited with nearly every trick known to contemporary filmmaking.” In describing the opening sequence specifically, Mondello notes Sorkin’s bones as a director: “the entire arc of her brief skiing career is established in the film's snappily paced, frenetically edited opening sequence. I counted more than a hundred shots in 90 seconds; director Aaron Sorkin is letting us know that he knows what he's doing.” (Mondello). Yet, others critiqued Sorkin’s skill as a director: “While the script crackles and excites, the film itself is profoundly uncinematic. The style is flat and staid, cutting methodically back and forth between camera setups that are rooted in place, the color palate [sic] akin to dishwater…Nothing is all that formally interesting to look at, so Sorkin relies on verbal bombast and excellent actors.” (Walsh)

It's curious that two reviewers could focus on a similar aspect of the film and come away with such different impressions. Especially the second critique feels like the rider trying to explain a general sense that the movie didn’t look good or wasn’t visually enjoyable. Can an entire film, especially one that deals with the flashy life of wealthy gamblers, really have a color palette “akin to dishwater?” I’ll offer that the color palette only appeared to be “akin to dishwater” in the opening sequence, and that’s because the scene is on a ski slope in a snowstorm. In my opinion, Sorkin’s inability to make snow appear anything but white or off-white seems forgivable, especially for a first-time director.

The tightness of a movie could also be termed “effective world-building.” Tightness touches our logic when we’re viewing films. In fantastic or supernatural movies, this requires that after initial suspension of disbelief, the film follows its own logic. A recent critique a friend of mine gave about Avengers: Infinity War involved a fight sequence between Thanos and Captain America. Thanos had previously taunted The Incredible Hulk and then dispatched him easily. Yet, later in the film, Captain America caught a punch Thanos threw. Considering the incredible strength necessary to catch a punch in any context, Captain America, even briefly, overpowering Thanos seemed far-fetched given Thanos’ previous ease in swatting the Hulk away.

In less incredible movies, our viewing is disrupted when characters or situations are illogical. So, someone may complain that The Notebook stretches credulity beyond reason. After all, the premise is that a summer fling between 15 year olds simmers for almost 15 years until she breaks off her engagement to marry him. These two types of tightness can intersect in blockbusters. For instance, Captain America: The Winter Soldier asks us to accept that there are superheroes and enormous disappearing flying aircraft carriers. We may be accustomed to accepting this. It also asks us to accept that roughly half of the Super equivalent of the CIA, S.H.I.E.L.D, is actually part of Hydra, a super-equivalent of the Neo-Nazis/Taliban/Russia. Moreover, this half of the CIA working for a terrorist organization reveal their associations by whispering to one another “Hail Hydra.” A reasonable person could object that half of the CIA being corrupt stretches credulity, and thus the film lacks tightness. A filmmaker sets up the universe and the characters, and if the rules continue to be altered throughout the film, this can confuse or jar a viewer from being engrossed in the world created by the filmmaker.

When it’s done well, however, the effect is marked. There are two high-profile movies screening at Toronto dealing with addiction, and Ben Is Back particularly impressed me. Its premise is simple: a “prodigal son” returns home after some time away dealing with an opiate addiction. The whole movie

takes place within a day, and it’s all ordinary. Ben lies constantly to get drugs and is forced to confront a drug kingpin who steals his dog. While it may sound silly, some of the power in the movie is in how ordinary it is. Peter Hedges, the director, said that he was very interested in making organic moments that felt real in presenting this mother and son dynamic. The power of the movie isn’t diminished by ever thinking, “An addict would never do that. A mother would never do that. A dealer would never do that.” Hedges’ film is riveting because it’s real; its simplicity is its power.

The last element, which I’ve termed “nuts and bolts” is at once all-encompassing but also a value unto itself. Nuts and bolts refers to the essential elements of every story—plot, character, place. No story can exist without these elements, so all other values depend on nuts and bolts. There are numerous attempts to quantify or describe character and plot arcs. Syd Field made an early attempt as well as Joseph Campbell. I’ll try to present some possible ways of scoring the effectiveness of a movie in these elements.

A movie that nails nuts and bolts would be The Godfather. In Michael Corleone, we have a character with a structurally sound arc who begins as the virtuous soldier who tells his wife, “that’s my family; that’s not me.” John Yorke has a convincing structure for character development that balances façade and flaw (Talks). In Michael Corleone’s case, his façade is a military man, his flaw is a desire to please his father and become a gangster. As the movie develops, he slowly shifts and at the exact midpoint of the movie, Michael kills Sollozo and McCluskey, marking the shift from façade to visible flaw. These arcs when done well are often subconsciously noticed. Yorke argues that this process mirrors our ability to process new information, an idea developed by Hegel. Dialectics—thesis, antithesis, synthesis—underly the arcs we see in famous characters.

In some characters, those changes occur only through new knowledge coming to light. Any detective drama or James Bond movie is about a lack of knowledge or incorrect knowledge being corrected and then the protagonist coming to grips with it. As Yorke puts it, Bond is white bread, meant for easy digestion (11).

In poorly done movies, characters often have ill-formed arcs. Take 50 Shades Darker. Anastasia begins the movie distrusting of Christian as in the prior movie he’d “gotten off on the pain he was inflicting.” That is, she’d realized that his love of bondage extended to sadism. Yet, mysteriously, she quickly returns to the “red room” and subjects herself to what she herself terms “kinky fuckery.” There’s no clear character development that makes her return seem like a change in her or Christian or her knowledge of Christian. Thus, one could argue that 50 Shades fails on a character level.

Yet, not all bad movies botch typical plot and character structure. The Emoji Movie won Worst Picture at the Razzies and a painful 12 on Metacritic. Still, at a structural level, the movie was solid. Our protagonist, a “meh” emoji, begins the film thinking that there’s something wrong with him since he cannot be perpetually nonplussed. In “Textopolis,” the role of emojis is to never change their expression as this is their livelihood—to appear in text messages with their given facial expression. This gives rise to some obvious messages about self-actualization and some humor. The “meh” attitude of the teenager satirizes typical adolescence. The “meh” of the parents is a (dare I say) clever take on making literal the trope of a checked-out parent as by nature his parents must seem always exhausted and uninterested in their son’s life. Our hero goes from upset that he can’t always be “meh” to learning about the value in accepting himself by exploring the full range of emotions. He returns to Textopolis to overthrow the

oppressive “Smiley,” the fearsome first emoji that, of course, is always smiling. With a heavy-handed moral, The Emoji Movie is structurally solid, if unoriginal and suffering from numerous other flaws.

Nuts and bolts is the most difficult category to work out as it comes to the crux of what makes writing good. Anytime I discussed this project with someone, they noted that good writing means something different to each person. Some revere Aaron Sorkin’s fast-paced, borderline grandiloquence. Others think he’s a pompous prick who’s heavy handed in his politics and divorced from actual human speech patterns (and that he’s repetitive ) . The point being, when it comes to acknowledging great writing, people are hardly unified. However, I don’t think that we’re entirely without direction here. After all, The Notebook may be beloved by many, but no one’s picketing The Academy for it getting shutout of all major categories. Although, Gosling can take to the grave the near sweep The Notebook enjoyed at the Teen Choice Awards, including a win in the always competitive “Choice Movie Liplock” category.

While some things like Aaron Sorkin’s dialogue may intuitively connect with you or tick you off, I’d like to attempt to give at least some ideas for how we can evaluate a movie beyond “I like it” or “Yeah, I don’t like it.”

George Lucas famously modeled his character developments from Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces. On the chart on the next page, you can see a detailed breakdown of Luke’s arc juxtaposed with the format of Campbell’s hero journey. Now, of course, this isn’t the only way to structure a story, but this could be one criterion that you employ. A movie that followed this structure you could argue does a good job with the fundamentals of plot and character development. Star Wars adheres closely to this, as does The Matrix and even The Emoji Movie.

(https://www.pinterest.com/pin/28077197656662800/)

For broad storytelling arcs, there are other models as well.

Here’s Dan Harmon, the writer of Community with some “Super Basic Shit”

Here we go, down and dirty:

1. A character is in a zone of comfort,

2. But they want something.

3. They enter an unfamiliar situation,

4. Adapt to it,

5. Get what they wanted,

6. Pay a heavy price for it,

7. Then return to their familiar situation,

8. Having changed.

Prof. Patrick Dacey has a simpler model of three triangles.

Something kind of crazy happens to get the story started. Something really crazy happens. Finally, something crazy happens, but it’s now plausible. If you take a moment, you can fit almost all good stories to any of these models.

To me, good writing that nails nuts and bolts is engrossing while movies that whiff on these can be entertaining at best and horrific at worst.

Exempli Gratia

As an illustration, let’s walk through Star Wars: The Last Jedi and Transformers: The Last Knight and look at each category individually. We’ll start with identity.

Identity

The Last Jedi has the difficult task of existing within a franchise with a rabid fanbase. In the opening sequence, Admiral Hux is crank-called by Poe. This moment was one Johnson was nervous wouldn’t connect, and at least one reviewer went out of their way to note it (Zacharek). Within the Star Wars universe, this sort of humor is largely unprecedented. In the original trilogy, interactions between the heroes and villains almost always had an epic or moral stake and weren’t often ironic. Leia tells Governor Tarkin, “I thought I smelled your foul stench as soon as I boarded this ship.” Or, Padme warns Nute Gunray that the senate will never stand for this blockade that infringes on the rights of the people of Naboo. Or, in Revenge of the Sith, in the showdown on Mustafar, Obi-Wan insists, “Anakin, the Chancellor is evil!” to which Anakin replies, “From my point of view the Jedi are evil.” For the first six movies, interactions between heroes and villains clearly framed good and evil, right and wrong. Leia may have said to her ally, Chewbacca, “Can somebody get this walking carpet out of my way,” but she sure didn’t say, “Governor Tarkin, I thought I smelled your diaper as soon as I boarded this ship. I’m glad to see that the Empire discriminates only on race and gender not incontinence.”

Jokes happened, but never when they touched on matters of morality. When Obi-Wan said reach out with your feelings in A New Hope, it was sincere. When Luke told Rey to “reach out” in TLJ, the moment couldn’t be that earnest, so Rey gets a laugh by literally throwing her hand out. When Luke was handed his lightsaber in the scene last film left off at, the music swelled only for him to throw it off of the edge behind him. The ironic comedic payoff relies on the sincerity of the past movies, and they lift the format from recent blockbusters like Guardians of Galaxy. In Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, there’s a scene when a regal sovereign is having a carpet rolled out for her. Grand music is playing then cuts out suddenly as the carpet jams. This style of joke gets repeated throughout the movie and has caught on in blockbusters. Consider Luke’s interactions with Rey. Rey says that she’s from nowhere, and Luke replies, “Nobody is from nowhere.” Keep in mind, Luke himself once described his home planet of Tatooine as a place “furthest from” the bright center of the galaxy. He was a moisture farmer that drank purple goop. So, for him to reply when Rey says, “Jakku” with “Yeah, that is nowhere” gets a laugh, but it’s an ironic laugh, the kind that’s hip now but isn’t Star Wars’ bread and butter. Luke, now an elitist, goes against some of his basic principles we’d seen in prior films. As Hamill himself put it, “he’s not my Luke Skywalker.”

Rian Johnson made a movie with flair. Its battle sequences and set pieces were visually sharp. He delved into some of the morality of the series. There’s never been anything like the Canto Bight subplot with Rose and Finn. As they traveled to a wealthy planet, Finn saw the ugly underbelly of wealth in the galaxy. His naivete in assuming that the rebels are pure was challenged. As Benicio Del Toro’s character noted, good and bad in war are just a matter of perspective. Rose and Finn presented some

more mundane examples of heroism that could be seen as more universal and less restricted to wealthy or otherwise powerful people, like Skywalkers or Solos. Star Wars grappled with classism as Rey was revealed to be a hero not of Skywalker blood. Many praised this as a move that was more representative and didn’t reinforce narratives of old money or generational power. TLJ had a strong internal identity formed largely by Rian Johnson. He made a film that was personal and consequently, it didn’t feel like a George Lucas film. Perhaps one explanation for the furor over the film is that simple. Film is an auteur’s medium, and Lucas’ imprint on the first six films is noticeable. The Star Wars culture is being formed by new artists now. Not all fans are thrilled to see that.

Transformers: The Last Knight is undeniably a Michael Bay and Transformers movie. In one of the opening lines, Sir Anthony Hopkins narrates, “It has been said throughout the ages that without sacrifice, there can be no victory.” The camera widens to reveal a battle sequence involving King Arthur and Merlin convincing some dragon Transformers to join team Britain. This isn’t the climax; it’s the ten minute mark. Transformers is shameless in its excess. It’s extremely generous with its historical accuracy. We learn that Bumblebee is a WWII vet who broke into a nazi compound and “turned the tide of the war.” Transformers in human history is something of a series trope as the third film was built around Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin going to the moon to find a Transformer spacecraft. In a truly remarkable scene, Sir Anthony Hopkins explains that Vivian is part of the “Order of the Witwiccans.” The Witwiccans trace their lineage back to Merlin, and they include just about every important historical figure: Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, William Shakespeare, Isaac Newton, George Washington, Sam Witwicky (the human hero played by Shia Labeouf in the first three films), and Vivian. Realism never gets in the way of a wild action sequence. Michael Bay’s made a name for himself recently with his CGI-heavy battle sequences and use of slow-motion. In The Last Knight, just over 7 minutes of the movie is in slow-motion.

I’d argue that Transformers is best viewed as deliberate camp, and as such, it’s responding to the obsession with mature blockbusters (Sarkosh). Deliberate camp is the genre that Sharknado exemplifies while The Room would be pure camp. Sharknado winks at you, but in The Room, Lisa is tearing him apart. So, TLJ is torn about what exactly it’s trying to do. It’ll poke fun at reaching out with your feelings or wielding “laser swords” (as Luke called them), yet these are integral emotional (and plot) devices. Rey is able to touch hands with Kylo Ren across the galaxy. Luke creates an apparition that dupes Kylo Ren into dueling with him for a few minutes. The Force is very much a real thing, as are the First Order, but TLJ seems a bit bashful about this. Earnestness isn’t highly valued in 2018. Compare this to Transformers.

In Age of Extinction, there’s a wonderful creation story for the Transformers that involved “the Seed.” Acting like a bomb almost, when the seed falls, it turns organic matter into the transformium that transformers are made from. Thus, Optimus finds a long-hidden T-Rex transformer and rides it into battle. The obvious takeaway to me is that Transformers wants to make epic scenes, full stop. Anything to service that end will be employed. So, the villain will send three metallic dogs after our protagonists, much like the Joker in The Dark Knight. Hound “smokes” a cigar that’s actually a round (which he later fires into the face of an enemy). In The Last Knight, besides its liberal use of history, one of my favorite adoptions is the “Book of cyber-Kells.” As you may be aware, the Book of Kells is a famous Irish Bible that’s beautifully illuminated. Some of the pages are still in museums today. Equally revered (in more learned communities), the Book of cyber-Kells contains a history of Transformers on the earth, and Sir Anthony Hopkins reads it to learn about the apocalyptic battle to come between Unicron (earth) and

Quintessa (the evil creator-goddess). Transformers doesn’t try to fit history naturally into the needs of their movie. Embarrassment seems a struggle for TLJ, and an impossibility for TLK.

Trying to actually do history in blockbusters is difficult. Wonder Woman tries to set its movie in WWI. Wonder Woman aims to be more respectable than Transformers, but it’s still bound by restrictions of the genre. Consequently, its message is muddled. In a superhero movie, clear protagonist and antagonist is nearly essential due to the scope of the movie. Most of the movie is figuring out how to defeat the villain, not trying to define whether they are evil.

The movie’s setup is that Wonder Woman is an outsider. She’s a strong woman mystified by the patriarchy in early 20th century Britain. Steve Trevor’s secretary explains that, as a secretary, she “does whatever Steve asks, go[es] where he sends me.” Wonder Woman replies, “Where I’m from, that’s called slavery.” Humor and social commentary: perfect. Another part of being in 20 th century Britain is picking sides in WWI. She believes that the war is all due to Ares, the God of war, operating in the guise of General Ludendorff of the German army. She also believes that all humans are essentially good, and if she defeats Ares, then she will free the Germans from their desire to fight. Yet, despite believing this, she dispatches numerous German soldiers, although, according to her own logic, they haven’t done anything wrong. Ares has corrupted them.

More than that, WWI doesn’t have the same us vs. them moral weight of WWII. Diana didn’t come across any extermination camps. So, the constraints of a superhero movie that makes Germans=bad, Britain=good is necessary, but it requires Diana the morally pure outsider to disappear. She pretty quickly accepts that she should be fighting for the British. This is cheaply addressed in the final scene when she vanquishes Ares. Within the last scene, Steve tells Diana, “Maybe people aren’t always good.” Then, when she kills Ares, it turns out that people are actually always good because Germans and Allied soldiers begin crying and hugging. But, in her final narration, she says she used to think people were either good or bad, but now she knows both exist within them. Let me point out that this is the exact plot of Transformers—Megatron thinks all humans are evil, but Optimus Prime comes to a more nuanced view and ends the film saying, “I’ve seen them display great courage and bravery. Like us, there’s more to them than meets the eye.” This in a movie where the Hoover Dam is a giant base protecting a Transformers super cube that can create life. Wonder Woman takes history so seriously that its messaging is nonsense. It wants to be woke; it wants to be serious; it wants to be historical; it wants to be a bit didactic; it wants to be a blockbuster. This is a difficult balance. One might argue TLJ has similar identity issues at points in its use of the Force. Transformers would never let historical accuracy or overly earnest lines disrupt its purpose: shameless maximalism.

Moral

Rian Johnson said that the movie’s lessons center around failure. He acknowledged that the best practical lesson of any Star Wars film is from Empire when Yoda says, “Do or do not—there is no try.” All the storylines deal with failure and processing that in different ways. In the opening scene, Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) is impulsive in leading the attack on the dreadnought which loses half the fleet. Leia castigates him for his decision, telling him, “get your head out of your cockpit.” Finally, at the end of the movie, he sees what Luke’s sacrifice offers the rebellion, a chance to escape so that they can mine the flint and steel that’ll make “the spark that’ll light the fire that’ll burn the First Order down.”

Luke Skywalker must reckon with his arrogance as he became a “legend” that led him to create a Jedi temple. Moreover, he nearly killed a teenage boy because he saw “darkness” within him, leading to Ben Solo, skilled Jedi, becoming Kylo Ren, emo Sith. When Finn and Rose travel to the Canto Bight casino, their “entire mission completely fails.” In summing up the movie’s message, Rian Johnson said, “The notion is that you have to get over that and that failure is teaching. Failure is how we learn. If you wallow in your failures, then that’s the point that you gotta move forward. Expressing that in literally every single story line felt good” (Goldsmith). I’d add as well that Rose’s line after saving Finn is a kind of thesis for the film’s morality: “That’s how we’re gonna win. Not fighting what we hate; saving what we love.”

In Transformers 5, the moral centers around the knights of the roundtable. Anthony Hopkins intones in the movie’s opening, “It has been said throughout the ages that without sacrifice there can be no victory.” This is a motto apparently from King Arthur and the knights of the roundtable, which became the Witwicky mantra. This even is engraved on a brick in the “secret entrance” to the Prime Minister’s residence: “Nulla Victoria Sine Sacrificio.” Laura Haddock, a professor at Oxford, in one of her first scenes lectures her students about King Arthur. She begins with a painting of a dragon and the knights on a medieval battlefield. She introduces these legendary warriors:

“Lancelot, Perceval, King Arthur, honorable men, brave, muscle-sinewed, sweat glistening off their bodies. A few brave men who are willing to sacrifice all for victory. Sound too good to be true, Poppy? Because it’s horseshit. . .Why do we tell ourselves these stories? Other than the fact that dragons are wicked. It’s because we want to believe, believe that we can be heroes in our own lives. When all seems lost, a few brave souls, us, can save everything we’ve ever known.”

Rarely is Transformers subtle in its thematic material, and in this monologue, we see the fundamental message of the film. Initially, the virtue and bravery of the knights seems impossible to Haddock. As she encounters first Mark Wahlberg’s Cade Yeager and later members of the military as well as Transformers, she sees their chivalry in trying to save the world against all odds. Just before the final battle, as she looks around at the fighting force, she says to Wahlberg, “A few brave warriors willing to sacrifice all. I told my students that was bullshit.” Of course now, she sees that brave warriors risking all are real, if scarce. Ideally, Haddock’s character arc mimics a viewer’s experience. She ultimately comes to have faith in the greatness of humans through seeing her companion’s courage. She becomes a hero in her own life, setting an example for the audience.

I’d be remiss to not mention one of the more notable quotes in the movie. Transformers is famous for Optimus Prime both giving closing monologues as well as pre-battle speeches. In The Last Knight, just before they go into battle, he echoes Winston Churchill, albeit, in a transformerfied way: “Knights, Autobots. This cannot and will not be the end. To save earth and her people we are going to steal Quintessa's staff. Only you, Vivian, can take it back. I will lead the way into her chamber. And when the account of the ages is etched into the cosmos, let those who exist long after us know that this was our finest hour!” This speech is cliché and mawkish. Yet, it also exemplifies one of Transformers’ biggest selling points. Transformers continues to uphold values that are usually tempered with irony or cynicism. In the Transformers universe, faith and bravery are always rewarded. In each movie, the human protagonist can face insurmountable odds because they’re fighting against an alien race that’s physically superior in every way. Yet, each time with little more than grit and faith, they triumph.

Transformers still teaches movie after movie that we really can achieve success if we believe and sacrifice. The American Dream is alive and well for Michael Bay.

Social Value:

As I mentioned earlier, there are few things that get more attention than a movie’s representation and political value. Star Wars: The Last Jedi received overwhelmingly positive feedback in this respect. Kelly Marie Tran who is a lead in the film recently wrote an New York Times op-ed about being a woman and person of color in Hollywood and the world today. She closed with these lines: “I am not giving up. You might know me as Kelly. I am the first woman of color to have a leading role in a “Star Wars” movie. I am the first Asian woman to appear on the cover of Vanity Fair. My real name is Loan. And I am just getting started.” (Tran). John Boyega returned to star as Finn. After backlash about him playing a black stormtrooper in The Force Awakens, Boyega merely said, “Get used to it” (Watercutter). In addition, Rey is the strong female character that counters what one writer described as Kyle Ren’s “toxic masculinity.” And, Ren “might as well be asking her to join the patriarchy each time he tries to lure her to the dark side” (Watercutter). On a representational level, The Last Jedi succeeded.

The buzzy scene is the Canto Bight casino scene. John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran’s characters travel to a Las Vegas style casino to find a master codebreaker. Boyega is immediately awed by the beautiful city and the wealth on display saying, “This place is great!” and “Look, this whole place is beautiful. C’mon, why do you hate it so much?” Tran counters, “Look closer. My sister and I grew up in a poor mining system. The First Order stripped our ore to finance their military, then shelled us to test their weapons. They took everything we had. And, who do you think these people are? There’s only one business in the galaxy that will get you this rich.” “War.” “Selling weapons to the First Order. I wish I could put my fist through this whole lousy, beautiful town.”

While Tran implores Boyega to look closer, we see jockeys beating creatures that resemble a cross between a horse and a hammerhead shark. Worse, a four-armed creature uses two arms to whip a hammerhead horse in the pens, while another arm pushes off the young stable boy objecting to the violence. By this point, we were all missing Dex. Johnson continues in the past tradition of Star Wars in portraying the homogeneity of villains. Every human at Canto Bight is white and dressed to the nines. The Canto Bight casino stands for whiteness, the 1%, exploitation, selfishness, hedonism, the patriarchy, and more. We see the master codebreaker, played by Justin Theroux, with a woman on each arm. As Tran and Boyega are led off to prison loudly, one woman asks, “What was that?” His only reply is, “Not now, lovely. I’m on a roll” as he confidently throws his dice down the table. In 2018, this may be the most wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Transformers: The Last Knight has a complex relationship with politics. Transformers has always struggled with this. In the first movie, we had a female computer analyst wading through patriarchal government as she slowly uncovered DNA-based computers: Transformers. Yet, in the same movie, we have an entire scene glorifying Sam Witwicky’s uncomfortable lust. As far as representation goes, Transformers has gotten into hot water previously for robots that seem to be stereotypes. The series anthropomorphizes its metal heroes perhaps to a fault (see: Bumblebee taking a leak or John Turturro’s standoff with a Decepticon scrotum). In this fifth film, Drift certainly seems to be Asian, although whether that’s points for or against depends on who you ask, I suppose. On the human front, we have an overwhelmingly white cast: Mark Wahlberg, Laura Haddock, Anthony Hopkins, Col. Lennox. There’s a modest role for the African-American Jerrod Carmichael. The Peruvian-American Isabela Moner is in a

relatively large role. But, Transformers 5 wasn’t receiving any major press for its groundbreaking roles for minorities. The only praise would be relative to its own precedent. Isabela Moner’s character is much more capable and respected than Nicola Peltz, whose shorts were famously “shrinking by the second” or Megan Fox.

For women, this movie isn’t a political nightmare. Laura Haddock, the primary female lead, is actually a notable foil to Mark Wahlberg, the male lead. She’s introduced as, “Miss Vivian Wembley, Master of History, Oxford, Doctor of Philosophy also Oxford and Doctor of Letters again Oxford, I think. Anything else? Anyway, meet Cade.” Cade Yeager, the failed inventor, is inferior in almost every way. This continues throughout the rest of the film. She’s educated, dignified, and her skills prove to extend beyond academia to world-saving. By the final scene of the film, Mark Wahlberg has become completely irrelevant. Haddock is Merlin’s last living descendant who must take a back his staff from an evil goddess, Quintessa, who plans to use it to destroy earth or “Unicron,” her sworn nemesis (Master of History maybe, but she seemed embarrassingly caught off guard by it all). Anyway, Haddock is the one who needs to go, Wahlberg is just moral support. In fact, he’s ready to abandon the mission. He’s stopped when Haddock kisses him and runs off to save the world. Without her, Wahlberg would’ve left and been a failed inventor again. Despite having no training and limited Transformer experience, she fearlessly runs past Megatron and Quintessa to grab the staff. Then, when she’s dislodged and the ship is plummeting, she’s kicked by Bumblebee and thrown by Wahlberg through zero gravity back to the staff. She’s not a token damsel in distress or object of Wahlberg’s fantasy. She saves him.

Tightness

Since both The Last Knight and The Last Jedi are supernatural or involve extraordinary circumstances, their tightness intersects their identity. Transformers is going to deliver great action sequences and praise the virtues of bravery and sacrifice. If far-fetched historical situations are helpful to this end, they’ll be employed. In fact, once you know that these are the rules, the movies become much more enjoyable. You can relax because the movie doesn’t try to be anything more than an action movie. Concerning Transformers preoccupation with coming to earth, Sir Anthony Hopkins asks Mark Wahlberg, “But, you want to know, don’t you, dude?” and it’s hilarious. Or, when a Transformer in the fifth movie can suddenly shoot something that stops time, it doesn’t bother you, and you can just enjoy a lot of slow-mo people in mid-air. It doesn’t particularly make sense that Bumblebee (or any Transformer for that matter) fought in WWI or WWII. Or that a crazy Decepticon pocket watch killed Hitler. But, a sequence when Bumblebee destroys a Nazi compound is very much in line with the tone of the movie: teen boy wet dream.

Does it make sense that we’re now on our third creation mythology: The AllSpark, The Seed, and now Quintessa? Does it make sense that Sam Witwicky saved the world three times and is now never mentioned by anyone, human or Transformer? Does it make sense that Optimus Prime could be shaken from his mind control by his friend Bumblebee speaking to him? Does it make sense that Merlin was actually a drunken fraud who came upon early Transformers and convinced them to fight alongside the knights of the roundtable? These sorts of questions could continue almost endlessly. At the same time though, if these questions really hang you up, you’re applying a standard Bay doesn’t demand of you. In that first ten minutes, it’s clear that the movie won’t be plausible, it’ll be fantastic. Camp doesn’t concern itself with being realistic.

However, in The Last Jedi, physics are integral to the plot; the constant violations of them are upsetting. We’re made to believe that The First Order cannot close a short distance because they’re too big, so we watch most of the movie as they chase small craft, lobbing bolts at them. Physics is real. When Princess Leia is sucked into space, she does appear to freeze to death, then she Force floats back onto the ship. This is entirely unprecedented as a Force power. Johnson noted that new force powers occur in every movie. Force pulling and pushing didn’t occur until Empire. Yet, this isn’t an unfathomable power from what we know of the Force through the first movie. However, in Episode III, General Grievous escapes into space and Obi-Wan and Anakin are helpless. For Leia to have this ability suddenly, despite minimal training, is far-fetched. She also opens a bay door directly into space that Poe and Finn are standing in front of. Space in one sequence sucks people into space and kills them. Yet, with Poe and Finn, it’s a non-factor. In one scene, a bay door is open into space, and a soldier falls normally, then kicks a ladder until a remote falls. Gravity and space aren’t constant forces. Whether we’re supposed to use our brains keeps changing. If we do, we’d be upset that the First Order only “ran a decloaking scan” when they got a tip instead of always having that on. Or, we’ll wonder why they couldn’t jump ahead in hyperspace and box in the rebels. Or, we’ll wonder why one kamikaze rebel didn’t take down the dreadnought instead of slow-as-hell bombers. We’ll also wonder why the bombers were slow as hell. Forty years on from y-wings and these bombers are Clone War tech. We can’t just throw out logic because a big plot point hinges on us believing that it’s real. It’s inconsistent.

At a character level, people do things that make no sense. We’re told by Maz Kanata that there’s only one codebreaker in the galaxy that’d be skilled enough to help the rebels. Yet, a random prisoner sharing their cell also happens to be sufficiently skilled. Supreme Leader Snoke is likely the most powerful force user of all time. He is able to bridge two minds across the galaxy so that they can feel physical contact between each other. Additionally, Snoke’s powers of mind reading are remarkable and unprecedented. He lifts Rey up and holds her still and then pulls Luke Skywalker’s location from her mind by force. Interrogation’s come a long way since Vader’s day. As you may recall, one of the fundamental force powers is sensing your surroundings. This was one of Luke’s first exercises. He objected “with the blast shield down, I can’t even see,” and then proceeded to block bolts shot by the training ball. Thus, it’s truly absurd that Snoke only gets the general outline of Kylo Ren’s thoughts that he’s now “resolved” to “kill his true enemy.” It’s absurd that Snoke cannot determine that he’s the one Ren’s resolved to kill. It’s absurd that he didn’t sense a lightsaber twirling next to him ready to ignite through his midsection. Snoke’s legendary force powers, right up there with Darth Plageius the wise, are integral to the movie in numerous ways. Thus, his immense incompetence in the final scene is hard to write off as an unimportant detail.

As George Lucas might say, this constant shifting in expectations and logic are “bold in terms of jerking people around.” The Last Jedi creates a high standard of tightness and then fails to meet it. Transformers never has to deal with these sorts of criticisms because it doesn’t put the pressure on itself to be perfectly logical or historically valid. Its concern is big action sequences and affirmation of basic chivalric values. Outrageous things in Transformers assist it in achieving its goal.

Technical

The chief virtue of Transformers has always been its visual effects. The Last Knight is the first movie to be shot in IMAX and 3D natively. Meaning, they spent an extra 10 to 15 million dollars to have two cameras constantly shooting IMAX on the set. Bay gave the example of a shot with dust kicked up.

Were they not shooting with two cameras, to achieve the necessary depth for 3D, they’d need to post convert. They’d need to add that depth artificially using a computer. Native 3D is shooting with two cameras simultaneously so that post conversion is unnecessary. When combined with IMAX, last summer, The Last Knight was by default one of the most sensuous viewing experiences. While Michael Bay’s style may not be universally beloved, his ability is unquestionable. He’s on the cutting edge of CGI in his work with Industrial Light & Magic, and his ability to integrate gigantic robots into shots is remarkable. Those looking for tour de force acting performances, homage to past movies, or any marks of critical note will likely be disappointed. It’s not without reason that The Last Knight received a drubbing from just about every outlet.

I’ve already mentioned reviews that praise the technical aspects of The Last Jedi. Johnson’s set design, choreography, and ability to bring a “cinephile’s erudition” made the movie a treat for critics. It integrated diverse influences and brought vivid visuals throughout, whether on the salt planet of Krayt or the throne room of Snoke. The cinematographer made the island’s mysteries “sing” (Zacherek). The Academy took note, awarding four nominations to The Last Jedi: Original Score, Visual Effects, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing. Meanwhile, the most prestigious nomination The Last Knight received was the Teen Choice Award for Choice Summer Movie Star Male: Mark Wahlberg. Six in one, half dozen in the other, if you ask me.

Ending

The Last Knight gives the satisfying ending typical of blockbusters. Our two protagonists begin the movie single and end up together and in love. We see at the start the evil goddess Quintessa plotting earth’s destruction and turning a missing Optimus Prime evil. In the end, Optimus defeats Quintessa and gives a peppy speech “calling all autobots.” There are no loose threads, and there’s nothing particularly unhappy. Each character is in a much better place than they were. The autobots are reunited. Cade’s no longer being hunted. He’s saved the world and heeded his daughter’s advice (at least, in part): “You don’t need to save the world. You need a friggin’ girlfriend!” Isabela Moner found a family and triumphed. Anthony Hopkins had his moment and acted, alleviating his insecurities about being a worthless keeper of the secret history of transformers and humans. It’s an ending that places no demands on the viewer and allows them to walk out of the theater feeling slightly upbeat but otherwise unburdened. Good wins; evil loses; humans can be trusted; faith is rewarded; everything works out alright. These messages all go down easy.

The Last Jedi, as the second in a trilogy, is more complex with its emotions. We may rejoice at the death of the evil Snoke. We may be inspired by Rose saving Finn and exhorting him to win by loving rather than hating. We may be thrilled to see Finn, Rey, and Poe reunited. We may be awed by Rey’s strength in lifting massive stones and standing firm against Kylo Ren. We may mourn that Luke is one with the Force but no longer physically present. We see the Rebellion that looked to be nearly collapsed revived. Rey asks Leia, “How can we build the rebellion from this?” and Leia replies, “We have all we need.” One of the final shots is of the little boy on Canto Bight revealing his rebel alliance ring. The message is clear: hope is spreading. The stage is set for a showdown between Rey and Ren, now the two

clear representatives of light and dark. It’s not quite as light fare, and I don’t believe it’s intended to be. Johnson is dealing with challenging issues, and he isn’t aiming to comfort the comfortable.

Nuts and Bolts

Let’s talk about plot and character in The Last Knight.

Cade Yeager (Mark Wahlberg) begins the movie as a cocky but solitary gunslinger, still trying to find his footing. He’s unable to be in contact with his daughter, and he’s trying to protect Transformers from hostile humans. He has no support to speak of. He’s given a call to be “The Last Knight,” from a dying transformer. As he continues through the movie and encounters Vivian Wembley (Laura Haddock), he grows to be open to love. He learns to care for others through meeting Vivian as well as Izabella (Isabel Moner). Finally, he learns some humility as he must help Vivian to retake Merlin’s staff.

Vivian Wembley (Laura Haddock) is initially cocky as well, condescending, and distrusting. She doubts anyone could be truly brave and loving like the knights of the roundtable. She’s tired of hearing about how she needs to find a man. In the end, she’s inspired by genuine sacrifice. She learns to treat Cade Yeager, a man who is less intelligent and well-read than her, with respect and even love. She’s drawn in by the ideal of the roundtable when it is embodied.

Sir Edmund Burton (Sir Anthony Hopkins) is insecure about his role in the world and in this huge story. He doubts whether he’ll ever have a moment to prove himself. At Stonehenge, he distracts Megatron and is fatally shot. He dies peacefully knowing that he made a difference in his moment.

Izabella (Isabela Moner) is homeless and an orphan as well as somewhat directionless at the start. She finds Mark Wahlberg, and by the movie’s close, they’ve formed a family of their own. She’s found a purpose in helping repair and protect Transformers. Mark’s last line to her is a heartwarmer: “Ya did good, bro.”

Optimus Prime begins the movie floating through space, going to “meet his maker” (in a literal sense). He does this without explanation to those remaining on earth, and he doesn’t rely on any back up. He’s overly confident and a bit self-righteous. Quintessa easily takes control of his mind and sends him back to earth as her slave. It’s only Bumblebee’s righteousness and friendship that’s able to shake Optimus from his stupor. That is, a friend’s virtue brings Optimus back from evil. In the climactic scene, Optimus is frozen, defeated by Quintessa. This time though, instead of losing control, he grinds out, “Say hello to my friend: Bumblebee!” Then, Bumblebee pops out from behind a wall and delivers the finishing shot. As the theme of the movie revolves around the community and interdependence of the knights of the roundtable, it’s fitting that Optimus, who wields a sword much of the film, only succeeds with fellow warriors.

Now, the plot is typically incoherent. When discussing the plot, Anthony Hopkins said simply, “I have to admit, I don’t quite get all of it” (Orange). In the writer’s room, apparently ideas involving King Arthur and WWII were both pitched. Michael Bay liked them so much that he decided to do both! The upshot is that you’re juggling Transformers mythology mixed with real history as well as numerous locations: Cuba, England, Scotland, Wales, Norway, America. The dramatic premise is that the apocalypse is coming with a world-ending battle between Unicron (earth) and Quintessa, the evil creator-goddess. Gigantic horns start popping up around the world, setting the stage for an epic

showdown between the two. (Unicron seems to resemble Bowser. His B-down on Quintessa would be denotatively awesome). The only thing stopping Quintessa from unleashing her destruction is her missing staff, which is Merlin’s staff and is buried with Merlin. This leads to the U.S. military, the paramilitary TRF (Transformers Resistance Force), Megatron, Optimus Prime, and our human protagonists all converging on an underwater ancient spaceship shaped vaguely like a sword. I don’t need to type out the whole plot, but I hope that you get the sense for how tangled the plot is. That’s been Transformers consistent reputation, and this movie certainly delivers. Don’t come expecting a movie that is personal, coherent, or tightly structured and you may be pleasantly surprised.

The Last Jedi is more complicated in its character and thematic material than The Last Knight. As mentioned previously, Johnson discussed how good it felt working through failure in every storyline. Each character had to work through failure and learn from it rather than wallow in it. Rey began the movie naïve in her faith in Kylo Ren as well as Luke. Eventually, she was able to rally Luke from exile, and she developed a more nuanced view of Ren’s character. She closes the movie confident in herself and the undisputed champion of the light side.

Luke begins the movie cut off from the Force and the world, believing that this is the morally right decision. In the end, he dramatically intervenes in the battle, saving the Rebellion and becoming one with the Force.

Finn is initially unconcerned with the Resistance more broadly. He attempts to flee in an escape pod in hopes of finding Rey. In his showdown with Captain Phasma, she says, “You were always scum.” He replies, “Rebel scum.” He concludes the movie bought into the Resistance, and he’s let go of hate for the First Order to love those around him.

Rose is a wallflower, a shrinking violet at the start. She’s a fangirl of Finn and lacks confidence in her own abilities. She slowly develops greater confidence and autonomy until in the final battle, she saves Finn from certain death.

Poe is the hotheaded, head-in-his-cockpit pilot at the start of the film. He urges a flashy attack on the dreadnought that results in massive casualties. In the end, Leia sits him down and contrasts the leadership of Admiral Holdo. Holdo didn’t seek praise for her bravery. She sent the small transports away and was willing to stay behind and shoot her ship at hyperspeed through most of the First Order fleet. Poe learned the value of humility as well as levelheadedness. After all, he led a mutiny because Holdo seemed inert.

Kylo Ren is mocked for being a Vader wannabe and bested by a girl who knows nothing of the Force. He eventually strikes down Supreme Leader Snoke, thus becoming a Sith in his own right. He’s unable to fire on Leia at the film’s start because he’s so conflicted. By the movie’s close, he’s stiffened up that chin and committed to opposing Rey.

The plot itself mirrors much of Empire Strikes Back. A concise overview of similarities can be found here.

Let’s run through some of our major plotlines:

Rose and Finn set out on a desperate mission to find one master codebreaker. With his abilities, they’d be able to infiltrate the First Order ship and disable the ship tracking them through hyperspace, allowing the Resistance to escape. They head to Canto Bight, a “lousy, beautiful” town. Soon, they get

caught in a discussion of class and privilege. Then, they end up freeing some hammerhead horses who race on Canto Bight. They’re thrown into prison for a parking violation where they meet a master codebreaker (not the one they were sent to find though). With the help of BB-8, they break out. But, they’re captured by the First Order. An epic showdown between Finn and Capt. Phasma ensues and eventually Finn, Rose, and BB-8 make it to Krayt for the Resistance’s showdown with the First Order. Finn attempts to take his one-legged hover ski straight into the “battering ram cannon.” At the last moment, Rose hits his ship out of the way and explains how to win: “Not fighting what we hate; saving what we love.”

Rose and Finn are completely irrelevant in almost all actual respects. They don’t find the master codebreaker. Even the padawan codebreaker double crosses them. In battle, together they manage to entirely cancel one another out. Had Finn spent the whole movie attempting to find Rey, it would’ve made almost no difference. It’s a b-plot with zero stakes, and its utter failure is lost in the mess of the conclusion. Their subplot gives some more thematic material (they fail), but more than that, it’s an opportunity for some on the nose commentary. Part of the controversy surrounding Canto Bight is its irrelevance except as a soap box portion of the movie. “What are they even doing there?” seems a pretty reasonable question as the movie frequently cuts back to them.

Poe begins the movie taunting Admiral Hux and destroying the defense turrets on the dreadnought. Then, he leads an attack that takes massive casualties but does destroy the dreadnought. He’s chewed out by Leia, and Holdo puts him on ice. Holdo seems to be retreating but also resigned to death for all. She refuses to explain her plan to Poe, leading him to start a mutiny. He ends up getting knocked out and put on an escape transport to Krayt. Leia tells him that Holdo didn’t want to be an ostentatious hero. Holdo remains and goes through hyperspeed in a suicide run. She destroys most of the First Order fleet. On Krayt, Poe leads the flamingo craft in an attack that he quickly calls off. He then delivers his big line: “We are the spark, that’ll light the fire that’ll burn the First Order down.” Once more, it’s difficult to take this sub-plot seriously. Had Holdo just explained her plan, everything would have been resolved. Leia’s explanation that Holdo’s too modest doesn’t really justify causing a crew to mutiny because you refuse to explain yourself. Poe’s big lesson about hotheadedness also is unsatisfactory for a whole movie’s worth of development. He seems to make the right decision at the start. The dreadnought is such a high value target, half of a fleet of small craft is a reasonable price. Moreover, his decision is completely validated when it’s discovered that the Resistance can be tracked through hyperspace. After the dreadnought attack occurs, had Poe and Finn sat in a circle for the remainder of the movie, it would not have made much of a difference. Once more, Poe is handed a subplot with basically no stake.

Rey begins the movie training under Luke Skywalker. Luke promises to teach her three lessons. He doesn’t get to the final lesson. But, that’s no cause for concern since Yoda tells us that Rey already knows everything that she needs to know, despite having read none of the Jedi sacred texts. In fact, Yoda decides that they’re so unimportant that he’ll destroy the tree that houses them. Rey is trained by Luke, all the while having telepathic conversations with Kylo Ren that occasionally include shots not suitable for anyone, especially kids. She slowly begins to believe that Ren has good within him and that Luke is a coward as well as potentially a murderer. She travels down to a mystical cave that seems endued with Dark Side energy. She asks to see her parents and only gets an a capella group in return. She goes to face Ren, certain that she’ll be able to sway him. In Snoke’s throne room, she watches as Ren slays Snoke. Together, they fight off Snoke’s guards, but she’s crushed by Ren’s utter unoriginality in

holding his hand out and imploring her: “Rey. . . I want you to join me. We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy.” She ends the movie disgusted with Ren, and a bit less naïve in her hope for turning everyone to good. Moreover, she manages to stand firm against the seduction of Ren: “You come from nothing. You're nothing, but not to me. Join me.” Of the three central characters, Rey certainly is the most genuinely important. She brings Luke out of retirement and is integral in defeating Snoke. It’s something of a let down that her family lineage was so built up and ended up being nothing. But, many cited that as a welcome departure from the royalism of the prior films that reinforced the importance of Skywalker, Solo, or even Fett bloodlines.

Any evaluation of the nuts and bolts of The Last Jedi would inherently intersect with other values. If you believe that the ship chase scene is unreasonable, you’ll sour each time we cut back to Hux or Poe on their ships. If you think that Finn and Rose are on a pointless mission you may be upset. But, if you really agree with the political points being made, the Canto Bight sequence might be special to you. I think a fair assessment would be that Johnson doesn’t place plot and characters as a top priority. Canto Bight values social considerations above plot and characters. Much of Ren and Rey’s throne room scene mirrors shots and moments from prior Star Wars movies. As they ride up the elevator, it’s the exact situation from Return of the Jedi with Vader and Luke. Ren holding out his hand and asking Rey to join him is the exact gesture and request of Vader to Luke on Cloud City. There’s plenty of visual beauty in that scene as well as nostalgia invoked. Plot and character in this specific movie are second to those concerns. That’s not a knock on Johnson, only an acknowledgement that the movie wasn’t made with everything in service to story above all.

Concluding Thoughts

I saw a screening for Ben Is Back at the Toronto International Film Festival that floored me. A real treat was the director coming out for Q&A afterwards. When asked about some of his motivations for making the film, he began by mentioning his desire to tell more personal stories instead of adapting films; he wrote and directed Ben Is Back. He said, “However you feel politically, I’m very worried about what’s happening to truth and the capacity for us to be real and speak to each other. . .we have to find a way to be the most real and honest and organic with each other. . .this is a story that I hope will add to this conversation.” We’re living in a time that is often described with words like “polarized” and “divisive.” One of my goals for this project was to gain a sense of what I valued, and what others presently valued as reflected by films that were popular or well-received. I’ve gained some sense of that.

Now, I’d be the first to tell you that my categories of values need refinement and further research, although I don’t think the idea is bunk or unhelpful in attempting to understand others. I’m not claiming it’s original, only that it’s easy to lump people into “snobs” or “knuckle draggers” if their opinion differs from your own. What Peter Hedges said that I think is worth considering is demanding humanity from films that we’ll praise. There’s a lot of pressure presently to make political films, and that’s deserved and valuable. But, when they become soap boxes and lose their humanity, I’d argue that it’s bad art and ineffective persuasive material as well.

While “human” and “organic” are slippery terms, perhaps that’s a helpful thing in the back of your mind for what “good writing” or a “good movie” looks like. The Notebook isn’t really telling a story involving two humans or teaching much about humanity besides that humans are idealistic (as evidenced by its audience support). The characters aren’t remotely real. Not that the situations must always be strictly realistic. Logan may involve superheroes, but the issues of fatherhood, loss, and failure

are ubiquitous and the movie brutally addresses them. Perhaps the idea of movie values can help you understand yourself or a friend or a critic better. A trite definition for good writing or a good movie might be one that can shape our intuitions and judgements and deepen our understanding of the human experience. But, I’d push back ever so slightly on the notion that there’s no such thing as Good only things “good for.” Acknowledging good beyond our limited experience acknowledges that we as humans share something in common, that there are some experiences that transcend barriers of demographic. A movie that’s “organic” and “human” can bring us into that goodness.

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