Dune: Part Two

Director: Denis Villeneuve
Starring: Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, Rebecca Ferguson, Josh Brolin, Austin Butler, Florence Pugh, Dave Bautista, Christopher Walken, Lea Seydoux, Souheila Yacoub, Stellan Skarsgård, Charlotte Rampling, Javier Bardem 
Running Time: 166 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)     

Denis Villeneuve's adaptation of Frank Herbert's seminal sci-fi novel Dune always seemed intended as a giant, visually impressive spectacle that doesn't primarily rely on its story to succeed. You could even argue it benefits the viewer not to think too hard about the details for risk of ruining the experience. That definitely holds true for its 2021 predecessor, where Velleneuve overcame the challenges of introducing a world populated by characters who needed to hold our interest through two or more sequels. 

Most of that first film felt like setup, abruptly ending before the main course arrived. Now, after what felt far longer than a two and a half year wait, the sequel arrives. Only this dark, heady, somewhat odd property isn't your usual franchise tentpole, carrying the risk that some fans may find themselves playing catch up with the story. But with its mind boggling vistas, astonishing effects and flawless sound and production design, it does qualify as "epic" in every sense of the word, noticeably bigger and more ambitious than what came before.

Picking up almost immediately where the last film left off, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) aligns with the Fremen following the destruction of House Atreides by House Harkonnen. Against his pregnant mother Jessica's (Rebecca Ferguson) wishes, Paul is taken in by tribal leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem) as "the chosen one," forming a close bond with Fremen warrior Chani (Zendaya). Now with friend and mentor Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin) back by his side, Paul aims to avenge his father's death while the Harkonnens escalate their attacks to gain control of Arrakis. 

Meanwhile, the incompetent hothead Rabban (Dave Bautista) proves himself a failed leader of the Harkonnens, prompting his Jabba-like uncle Baron (Stellan Skarsgård) to transfer the reigns to ruthless younger sibling Feyd-Rautha (Austin Butler). And as Paul settles into his new role with the Fremen, Emperor Shaddam IV (Christopher Walken), daughter Irulan (Florence Pugh) and the Reverend Mother (Charlotte Rampling) brace themselves for retribution. With fighting between the two factions reaching its boiling point, only a showdown remains in determining Paul's final destiny.

Overflowing with plot and characters, you'd think this follow-up would lend credence to all the skeptics who still consider Dune one of those notoriously unfilmable novels. So it's to Villeneuve and co-writer Jordan Spaihts' credit that they manage to balance it all out and wrangle the themes into a straightforward, digestible package. If someone bypassed the 2021 entry and came into this cold they may not be completely lost, especially since the world itself is as much a draw as the actual narrative.

Paul's journey takes detours and excursions, but all roads leads to his gradual transformation. While we're given some voiceover from Pugh's Irulan, the opening hour mostly consists of his assimilation into the Freman, the burgeoning relationship with Chani and a handful of spectacular battle sequences. Originally, Chalamet was considered a divisive choice for the role, but everything about the character's arc in this sequel lends more credibility to his that casting, as the actor quietly builds on the groundwork laid out in the last film, paving Paul's path from insecure, reluctant outsider to burgeoning leader, despite Chani's legitimate reservations.

Zendaya further extends her 2024 on screen winning streak with her extended take on Chani, conveying just the right mix of stubborn skepticism and practicality opposite Chalamet. We detect her character's unease over what's to come and it won't be long before discovering just how right she is. And as the dangerous consequences of mixing politics and religion remain constant, Rebecca Ferguson's hooded, face tattooed Reverend Mother Jessica (who telepathically communicates with her unborn daughter) will come to represent the inflection point for that conflict.  

As everything converges in Empire Strikes Back style by its end, so too does the rise of the ruthless Feyd-Rautha, terrifyingly played by a pale, unrecognizably demonic Austin Butler. Tasked with stepping into the role originally filled by Sting in David Lynch's '84 attempt, he definitely makes it his own, especially during a black and white coliseum showdown stunningly shot by cinematographer Greig Fraser. 

The more our "hero" avoids fulfilling his prophecy the closer he gets, with that ongoing sense of inevitability hovering over every scene. By the time he eventually reaches his perceived goal, it won't come without major sacrifices he'll continue to weigh as this saga continues. Some of the metaphysical elements are a bit much, but at almost 3 hours, Joe Walker's masterful editing ensures there's no extra fat on the bone, as everything at least feels important and unmissable. Once pulled into this expansive, oddly hypnotizing universe, any uninitiated viewers' concerns should wash away, replaced with anticipation for where Villeneuve plans to go next.  

The Little Mermaid (2023)

Director: Rob Marshall
Starring: Halle Bailey, Jonah Hauer-King, Melissa McCarthy, Javier Bardem, Daveed Diggs, Jacob Tremblay, Awkwafina, Noma Dumezweni, Art Malik, Jessica Alexander
Running Time: 135 min.
Rating: PG

★★ (out of ★★★★)

Of all the recent live-action Disney reboots, The Little Mermaid always had the potential for the most to go wrong. Unlike the reimaginings of Cinderella, Dumbo, Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King and Aladdin, much of its story takes place underwater, making a daunting assignment that much more difficult. And whether or not you feel those titles are purely cash grabs, few would argue the weakest aspect in each are the frequently underwhelming CGI effects. 

With a project so dependent on its visuals, director Rob Marshall can't really use the beloved source material for cover like the rest. That's apparent within the first few minutes, as the film's clunky look distracts from the few things it gets right. While every Disney entry will have a rabidly dedicated adult fanbase ready to pounce on any changes made to their childhood favorite, the problem seems bigger this time, since its entirely possible kids will be just as bored.

Ariel (Halle Bailey), a mermaid princess and youngest daughter of merpeople ruler King Triton (Javier Bardem) longs to visit the surface world despite his objections stemming from the murder of Ariel's mother by a human. While Triton enlists trusted advisor Sebastian the crab (Daveed Diggs) to keep an eye on her, his evil sea witch sister Ursula (Melissa McCarthy) has other plans, scheming to exploit her niece and brother's dissension to gain control of Atlantica. 

That opportunity arises when Prince Eric's (Jonah Hauer-King) ship crashes, prompting Ariel to venture above water and bring him to shore, saving his life with her siren singing voice. Desperate to see the prince again but fearful of her father's reaction, Ariel accepts a shady deal from Ursula that gives her the chance for a reunion, even as she must sacrifice her beautiful voice for human legs to finally join the other world she's desperately longed to be a part of. 

Given his big screen musical experience, Marshall wasn't necessarily the wrong choice to helm this and there's more than enough catchy, show-stopping numbers from the animated feature to believe the magic would carry over. Only it doesn't, mostly due to the effects work and art direction in the underwater scenes. To be fair, there aren't many films of any genre that truly capture such a setting, but this attempt is so jarring it's difficult to focus on anything else, as the actors appear supernaturally transposed into sea surroundings that look dark and inauthentic.  

The action does eventually shift above water with the impressive fiery shipwreck sequence, only to head back under for more bickering between Triton and Ariel. Despite a couple of changes that help with character motivations (like a new sibling dynamic between Triton and Ursula), writer David Magee fulfills the plot obligations of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale and the '89 version, leaving the rest up to how Marshall translate those elements to live action. 

Supporting creatures Sebastian, Flounder and Scuttle generally retain their personalities from the original, but despite energetic voice work from Diggs, Tremblay and Awkwafina in the roles, only Sebastian gets enough screen time to make an imprint. The character's popular "Under the Sea" is an expected highlight, but even that's shortchanged by the tune's rearrangement and a flurry of cringy visuals.

Halle Bailey radiates Ariel's sincerity and innocence in the title role, boasting a tremendous singing voice when successfully belting out Alan Menken favorites like "Part of Your World" and "For the First Time." Those songs also don't undergo the lyrical revisionism that plagues "Poor Unfortunate Souls" and "Kiss The Girl," as certain lines are replaced with supposedly tamer and less offensive lyrics. While not the outright atrocity some have suggested, it does draw attention to a non-existent issue, which is the last thing Disney needs right now. 

When Ursula's curse renders Ariel mute, it robs Bailey of her biggest weapon for a long stretch and leaves the heavy lifting to a bland Jonah Hauer-King. Even by Disney's interchangeable generic prince standards, Eric hardly registers, as he and Ariel's scenes never ignite the sparks necessary to hammer home her massive sacrifice. 

Thankfully, Melissa McCarthy's comically sinister take on Ursula channels the tone of Pat Carroll's classic vocal performance while Javier Bardem subtly dials into Triton's overprotective motivations. And though her appearance is extremely brief, Jessica Alexander makes a strong impression as Vanessa, Ursula's human alter ego disguise.

Crawling to the finish line at an unnecessary two and a half hours, dissenters up in arms over the casting should have instead directed their ire toward the effects and pacing, not to mention just how little fun this is to sit through. Its second half exceeds the first, but even with the same music, characters and story beats as the animated classic, there's a lifeless feeling to the proceedings. Once we arrive at a key turning point halfway through, it already seems like checkout time, confirming this adaptation is more of a chore than the delight it should be. 

Being the Ricardos

Director: Aaron Sorkin
Starring: Nicole Kidman, Javier Bardem, J.K. Simmons, Nina Arianda, Tony Hale, Alia Shawkat, Jake Lacy, Clark Gregg, Christopher Denham, John Rubinstein, Linda Lavin, Ronny Cox
Running Time: 131 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Writer/director Aaron Sorkin's Being the Ricardos poses the question of how much an actor or actress's physical resemblance to an iconic public figure affects our perception of their performance. Even while conceding there's a lot more to acting than mimicry and imitation, Nicole Kidman's casting as Lucille Ball does push the envelope in terms of how points should be scored for embodying a person the performer looks or acts nothing like. It's been a discussion point since the first trailer, or maybe back further to when Cate Blanchett unexpectedly dropped out of the project. On paper, she was perfect for the role in every way, but things happen, and is often the case, another big name stepped in, causing many to question whether Kidman would be the right fit.

It's a credit to Kidman and Sorkin that the actress somehow makes it work, as well as the rest of the cast who who are frequently given more intriguing material than you'd expect. It's all very inside TV, providing glimpses into the pressures and challenges facing the first juggernaut sitcom of the medium's infancy. When Sorkin's focusing entirely on this, the film's at its best, which isn't to say that Lucy and Desi's tumultuous marriage holds no interest. As both personal and business partners, the two sub-plots are frequently intertwined, with Sorkin taking some creative license in jamming all the troubles facing the show and its star into one fateful week. That Kidman's casting has become such a point of debate is ironic considering she's playing a woman who was constantly told by studio executives she "just wasn't right" for the part, forcing Lucy to take matters into her own hands before experiencing true success. It then became a constant battle to hold on to it, consuming the comedy legend from the inside out as she hid her biggest fears and insecurities from the world.

Mostly taking place within one chaotic week of rehearsals and preparation for a 1953 live filming of I Love Lucy, Lucy (Kidman) must deal with tabloid rumors of Desi's (Javier Bardem) infidelity and a newspaper article declaring her a Communist, despite being cleared of the allegation in a HUAC hearing months earlier. On top of that, the couple are also attempting to convince CBS and sponsor Philip Morris to write Lucy's pregnancy into the show, which isn't just unheard of for television at the time, but downright scandalous considering their married characters aren't allowed to even sleep in the same bed. 

As Lucy's marital and creative frustrations begin boiling over, she clashes with writer/producer and show runner Jess Oppenheimer (Tony Hale) and new director Donald Glass (Christopher Denham) over certain scenes, while also taking the writing team of Bob Carroll (Jake Lacy) and Madelyn Pugh (Alia Shawkat) to task over the dumbing down of her character. Before long, even co-stars William Frawley (J.K. Simmons) and Vivian Vance's (Nina Arianda) patience starts to wear thin when it comes to Lucy's obsessive perfectionism. The root of that is revealed through flashbacks when the young RKO-contracted actress met Cuban band leader and actor Desi Arnaz, while "interviews" with an older Oppenheimer (John Rubenstein), Pugh (Linda Lavin) and Carroll (Ronny Cox) frame the events leading up to that week's memorable live show.

It may seem odd that Lucille Ball's life is upstaged by the more compelling backstage machinations and ego clashes that go into creating a television sitcom, until you remember how big this show was and who's making the film. If the knock against Sorkin has always been that he's a far better writer than director, of the three projects he's helmed, this could be the most practical example yet of the theory. While adequately directed, it's still a writer's movie through and through and there's probably no one better equipped to believably bringing a TV writing room to life than him. Unsurprisingly, these are the scenes that really click, detailing the battles Lucy wages over the show's content, as dictated by the network, but trickling down to producer Oppenheimer and his writers. In a way, they're all casualties of their own enormous success, as a sitcom that brings in a staggering 60 million viewers is a reliable cash cow that won't be given much leeway from the network to experiment, potentially compromising its creative direction.

Sorkin's fly-on-the-wall approach is appreciated, especially in regards to the nuts and bolts of what makes comedy scenes work. Since I Love Lucy is a classic remembered for pioneering an entire genre, there's an existing perception of flawlessness, at least by the time it made air. He demystifies that, recognizing that any show is rife with issues, while giving credit to Lucy for taking the initiative to correct and tweak every one, whether or not the staff agrees. And most of the time she's completely right about everything, even as her aggressive, frequently insensitive approach alienates rather than inspires. It's an uphill battle for Lucy that Desi couldn't possibly understand as a man capable of smooth talking his way out of any predicament, occasionally losing his temper, but ultimately getting everything he wants in the end. That Desi often commands more respect as a producer than Lucy is a cruel turn considering she was the one who strong armed the network into hiring him as her co-star.

Bardem captures all these contradictions so well, dispelling preconceptions that Desi wasn't a talented performer in his own right.  His performance is such that it doesn't come off as if he's outright controlling Lucy, but subtly gaslighting her in way that fills the actress with self-doubt, thinking that nothing's ever good enough in this continuous quest to "keep" him. The smoothest of players, he even offsets his infidelity with what seems like a tireless professional loyalty to Lucy that rarely extends to their actual marriage. Bardem deserves a lot of credit for bringing all these dimensions to someone most associate as just being along for the ride. Whether it's true they'd be no Desi without her, Bardem situates him in the driver's seat more often than not, even making him remarkably likable while doing it. He also really impresses in the sitcom reenactment scenes, which all play better than expected due to the comedic chops of those involved.

The flashbacks and staged interviews are somewhat redundant, underlining what's already evident in the '53 segments that detail Lucy's week from hell. If you can get past the fact Kidman looks nothing like Ball and rarely attempts to vocally inflect her, there's a lot to appreciate in what she does with the material, which treats her as a real person who should be played as such. The actress excels in conveying the deep seeded feelings of inadequacy that cause Lucy to micromanage the creative process, while Sorkin shows us with read throughs, run throughs and rehearsals that she's not wrong. Tony Hale hits it out of the park with what's probably his most memorable big screen supporting role thus far far as the frazzled show runner attempting to keep it all together, given the unenviable task of pleasing both Desi and Lucy while still keeping them in line. 

Hale's former Arrested Development co-star Alia Shawkat also makes a huge impression as Madelyn Pugh, the lone female writer and sounding board for Lucy as she tries to push her more progressive ideas through, while Nina Arianda's take on Vivian Vance successfully navigates the strain of being Ethel to Lucille's Lucy and screen wife to William Frawley's much older Fred. Arianda doesn't get a ton of screen time, but she makes the most of it, especially in one dynamic scene opposite Kidman, who shows us there were few limits to whom and what Lucy perceived as threats to her career. And the great J.K. Simmons breathes more complexity into the hard drinking, wisecracking Frawley than one would guess from his character's hysterically dry and cranky demeanor, proving to be Lucy's most unlikely friend and supporter during a tough stretch.

Given all the justifiable reservations concerning whether Kidman fits this role, she's the common denominator in all of this, often anchoring the film's best scenes, be it comedic or otherwise. If the ending's very literally a real crowd pleaser, it's simultaneously a downer as well, forcing audiences to reconcile two Lucys. One was a trailblazing talent that delighted generations with her talent while the other felt constantly insecure and diminished, as if nothing was ever good enough, especially when it came to Desi. Through that lens, the end of her show and marriage could have been an unexpected triumph, enabling Lucy to start a new chapter where she could spread her creative wings without limitations. But even while remaining a force in front of and behind the camera for years to come, it would be impossible to reach these heights again, with Sorkin doing a thorough job exploring exactly why.

Dune (2021)

Director: Denis Villeneuve
Starring: Timothée Chalamet, Rebecca Ferguson, Oscar Isaac, Josh Brolin, Stellan Skarsgård, Dave Bautista, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Zendaya, David Dastmalchian, Chang Chen, Sharon Duncan-Brewster, Charlotte Rampling, Jason Momoa, Javier Bardem
Running Time: 156 min.
Rating: PG-13 

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Better the longer it sits with you, Denis Villeneuve's Dune has the unenviable task of once again bringing to life the world in Frank Herbert's groundbreaking 1965 novel, while also picking up the pieces from one already perceived failure of an adaptation. There are few major, commercially viable cinematic properties left carrying as much baggage, due mostly to its inaccessibility and heady themes. Despite a story predating Star Wars by over a decade, on paper the plot contains elements justifiably earning those comparisons, albeit with more abstract material at its core, previously resulting in a rough big screen transition. Even if appreciation for his vision has grown slightly since, David Lynch learned found out the hard way in 1984, ensuring it wouldn't be revisted on a similar scale or scope until now. 

Arrival and Blade Runner 2049's Villeneuve seemed as good a choice as any to tackle this, possibly bringing the visual grandeur necessary to distract from, or maybe even enhance, some of the colder, navel-gazing excursions long thought to make it a better read than watch. And he does, giving us the best possible adaptation under the circumstances, even if a feeling of dread may overcome viewers when they see a title card reading "Dune: Part One" at the start of this 265-minute epic. Given the density of its source, that was inevitable, but you have to wonder whether this has the creative momentum necessary to become the franchise it's being positioned as. But it's a success, carefully guided by a director who, to his credit, doesn't try to fit a square peg into a round hole or dumb down a story that takes its time to marinate.

It's 1091 and the ruler of the ocean planet Caladan, Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac) of House Atreides has just been assigned to replace Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard) of House Harkonnen as the fief ruler of desert planet Arrakis. It's a rough, harsh terrain, but provides the only source of "spice," an invaluable resource critical to human viality and interstellar travel. Unbeknownst to Leto and House Atreides' weapons master Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin), the Emperor is having Harkonnen stage a coup wit his troops to retake the planet, eradicating them before they can control the spice or form an advantageous alliance with the Freman, Arrakis' native inhabitants, represented by tribe leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem).

Leto's concubine, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), an acolyte of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, possesses advanced physical and mental capabilities that have been passed on to son Paul (Timothée Chamalet), who is trained by her, Halleck and  swordsmaster, Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa). While they all sense greatness in young Paul, he has impulse control issues and problems harnessing his powers, distracted by visions of a turbulent future and dreams of a mysterious young Freman woman (Zendaya). A war looms as Harkonnen's fleet of troops and hulking nephew Glossu Rabban (Dave Bautista) prepare to attack. With the fate of House Atreides, as well as the planet of Arrakis hanging in the balance, their futures may depend on Paul answering the call to fulfill his true destiny.      

As involved as this all seems, it's even more convoluted than that, so Villeneuve deserves credit for distilling the script he co-wrote with Joe Spaihts and Eric Roth into a palpable cinematic experience that reaches a certain level of comprehensibility. They didn't exactly hit the jackpot in terms of the breeziest sci-fi tomes to adapt so it's actually amazing how well this holds together, especially in its strongest middle section. For anyone not already familar with Herbert's novel or Lynch's '84 take, what will initially be most noticeable are how many basic mythological tenets it shares in common with the Star Wars trilogy, including a young hero struggling with his lineage who's now suddenly thrust into a leadership role in the wake of family tragedy. 

The use of a Bene Gissert Force-like technique known as the "Voice" that's ultilized to control others actions are where the closest similarities between Paul and young Skywalker end. If the latter was an eager go-getter almost too energetic for his own good, Paul's the most reluctant and introverted of heroes, with Chamalet subtly conveying a quiet confidence, while still registering his character's inner anguish and growing dread in nearly every scene. He's asked to do a lot while at times sustaining an almost absent stillness, putting a lot of pressure on the audience to embrace an entirely different kind of protagonist who must adhere to a philosophy built almost entirely on restraint and passivity, at least until it isn't. 

Since the character of Paul is such a departure, for some it may not be the most compelling thing to watch, but Chamalet completely makes it work, especially in his many scenes opposite a tremendous Rebecca Ferguson as his mother, Lady Jessica, who's simultaneously disappointed in and encouraging of her son. This, and his futuristic visions of Zendaya's Chani might be the film's most successful element, with even cinematographer Greig Fraser's impressive vistas and Hans Zimmmer's score managing to take a backseat (though not too much of one) when those actors are on screen. And while his time is more limited, Jason Momoa finds a way to make maybe the biggest impression as the spectacularly named Duncan Idaho, perfectly filling the cocky, anti-hero warrior role that's been so frequently miscast of late in these big blockbusters. 

That such strong acting assets as Oscar Isaac, Javier Bardem and a slimy, Jabba-like Stellan Skarsgård (buried in prosthetics) are far from an afterthought in an already stuffed A-list cast is a testament to how well Villeneuve utlilizes what he has. Whatever the story's perceived problems or occasional lapses in focus are made up for by them and the sheer spectacle of the fight sequences and effects, especially those ferocious sandstorms. Striking just the right balance of keeping your eyes glued to the screen without going overboard, the ratio of meditative scenes to slam bang action is well proportioned, with visuals that make one of the better recent cases for theatergoing.

A seemingly uncompromised Dune that's free from the pandering you'd expect from a movie this size might the best thing about it, staying true to its vision while avoiding the temptation to self-indulge. Culminating in more of a stoppage than an end, it feels so much like a first part, they may as well just slap a "to be continued" on the screen. How many will want to follow this story into the next chapter is the bigger question, even as it stands as one of the year's bigger technical achievements, awash in imagery and scenes that stay with you long after the final credits. No one expected this new Dune film to achieve perfection, but it's impressive nonetheless, reigniting a spirited debate as to why that lofty goal seems unattainable, both for better and worse.

mother!

Director: Darren Aronofsky
Starring: Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Ed Harris, Michelle Pfeiffer, Brian Gleeson, Domhnall Gleeson, Stephen McHattie, Kristen Wiig
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)
  
Sometimes, it only takes the first few minutes to figure out whether you'll be on a film's wavelength. From the opening scene of Darren Aronofsky's mother! and each succeeding one over the span of two hours, every single moment is compelling. There's a built-in, unnerving tension accompanying the execution of even the most menial tasks and a genuine feeling that you have no idea what will happen next. That's exciting, and for the accusations of this being the most polarizing, controversial, and challenging mainstream film in years (all true), it starts as merely a story about a couple of unwelcome houseguests. But there's this unpleasantness bubbling under the surface, and while we're not sure exactly what, most probably expected something resembling a traditional horror movie with supernatural elements. That's what the commercials and trailers hinted, as well as what we've come to expect and have been trained to spot. And while classifying it as a psychological thriller seems fairest, that description also fails to convey the magnitude of what plays out.

In creating a work of art that challenges and confronts his audience in almost sickeningly uncomfortable ways, Aronofsky backs us into a corner and makes us think our way out. It's not only 2017's best and most audacious effort, but the most accomplished work of this filmmaker's career, which is no small feat considering he's the director behind Requiem For a Dream, The Wrestler and Black Swan. This sees him truly breaking free from whatever creative shackles remained and operating on an almost entirely different level, upping his game in ways I didn't think possible. You'll know when you get to that point in the narrative whether you're willing to go along for the ride, or decide to abandon ship, as most critics and audiences already have.

The cruelest irony is that this isn't a confusing story lacking a coherent beginning, middle or end. It's everything in between that confounds, with very little of it having to do with plot. The only wrong way to watch is literally. And in Jennifer Lawrence, the director finds the ideal vessel with which to deliver it, showcasing her abilities in a manner we've never seen exhibited, or rather, inhibited, before.  At the very distinct point the movie starts riding the rails of the crazy train everyone's been talking about, I just fastened my seatbelt. "It's here," I reminded myself as the madness and insanity unfolds, relishing how rare it is in cinema to get a final act that pays off with such reckless abandon and unexpectedly thrilling consequences.

So much happens in mother! and yet it remains strangely immune to spoilers because what occurs isn't even half of what it's about. Still, a certain degree of restraint is best when describing events.  A struggling poet known simply as Him (Javier Bardem) is rebuilding his life after a fire destroyed the house he shares with his much younger wife, Mother (Lawrence). Prone to unexpected panic attacks, suspicious occurrences around the house disturb and unsettle her as she renovates, while Him suffers from the worst case of writer's block since Jack Torrance took up residence at the Overlook. Endlessly staring at a blank page, he finds his only inspiration from a rare, mysterious crystal object he keeps on a pedestal in his study.

Things change when a stranger named Man (Ed Harris) shows up at the house looking for a place to stay. Chain-smoking and prone to hysterical coughing fits, he's clearly ill, but also gives some indications his arrival isn't exactly a coincidence. Him and Man soon form a bond over the former's writing, but Mother is immediately suspicious. A day later, Man's wife Woman (Michelle Pfeiffer) arrives and the atmosphere worsens. Considerably. Before long, Mother is on the outside looking in, a spectator in her own home and marriage, with Him's behavior growing stranger and more self-obsessed, as these strangers infiltrate their lives.

A clear dynamic exists in this marriage before the houseguests from hell arrive, or more accurately, move in and take over. Him pretty much just does what he wants and Mother is expected to just go along with it, without nary a word. And mostly, she complies, out of love. But it's a love that seems unfairly balanced, as she stands by and watches Him let these strangers run roughshod over their home, basically ignoring the affections and support she provides on a daily basis. It only worsens as their presence grows more invasive, specifically in regard to Michelle Pfeiffer's Woman, whose questioning of Mother about her sex life and marriage, as well as the flagrant invasion of her personal space, has you scratching your head wondering when the latter will finally assert herself. The unexpected arrival of more family members pushes her to the breaking point.

As to why the title character is named "Mother" when she isn't one, and how that fits into the larger picture, is initially a mystery. And just as she starts putting her foot down after enduring far more than even the most patient spouse could, a single shocking event occurs that turns the story on its head, soon severing the already tenuous bond that exists between them. The lengths Him goes to in conveying an illusion of stability when the problem has clearly reached apocalyptic proportions is almost comical. As he explains away everything to placate his wife, you start wondering if this guy's for real. Could he actually be this vain and self-absorbed? If so, what's the possible explanation, and what does it have to do with these intrusive houseguests? O the mysterious crystal? The answers do eventually come, but once they do, you might regret you asked.

With her energetic presence and brash, oversized charisma, Jennifer Lawrence is already a seasoned pro at inhabiting characters who command in any room they walk into. As Mother, the actress gets to do something she's never attempted: Play the victim. A weak pushover whose only purpose seems to be providing for others, most specifically her husband, as she caters to his increasingly absurd whims. Even as the narrative clearly puts viewers in the position of identifying and sympathizing with Mother and seeing much of what happens through her eyes, it's fascinating to see Lawrence's natural playfulness and likability stripped away. Psychologically beaten down, she can't command anything since her character takes a passenger seat in her own developing nightmare. So, we start discovering what else Lawrence can do well, which is unsurprisingly everything. While she's again cast as the much younger wife of a male lead, it's the rare age gap that's acknowledged multiple times in the screenplay for purposeful effect. And not in the man's favor.

The more muted than usual Lawrence somehow finds a way to make what should be mundane, everyday activities like painting and boiling tea crackle with tension and suspicion as she grows increasingly weary of her unwanted guests. There's this slow escalation of insanity around her that explodes in the final act, the full force of which depends on her surrendering to the material and fully giving herself over to Aronofsky's vision, regardless of how disturbing and humiliating it becomes. Even if you despise where the story goes, it's tough to deny how present and gripping Lawrence is in every scene, or at least acknowledge how far outside her perceived zone she goes with the performance, adding "risk-taker" to the growing list of Jennifer Lawrence superlatives. It's also the first performance she's given that represents something bigger than only the interior life of the character she's playing, showcasing darker, quieter shades to her range we haven't been experienced in more mainstream projects that first punched her card as an award-winning star.

Bardem just might have the even tougher role, playing this damaged man who talks of the great love he has for his wife, even as his actions contradict it. He has to commit to this absolutely and does, dialing in on his character's vain self absorption in the face of a woman willing to do anything for Him. But he wants more. Whether it's adulation, admiration, or attention, it just never stops with this guy, and if you can figure Him out, you're a step closer to figuring out the film. As Man and Woman, Ed Harris and Michelle Pfeiffer are brilliantly aggravating and deplorable, with Pfeiffer given her juiciest, most complex role in decades, especially shining in her combative scenes opposite Lawrence. In fact, she's so good (or rather deliciously bad), a strong case could be made, not only for a supporting nomination, but even more screen time. And yet, the amount she gets seems ideal, serving its function until her presence is no longer necessary. In a broader sense, the same could apply to all four characters, who are very much functional representations of something greater than they initially appear.

In this house, Aronofsky creates a world, and does it via the performances, the camera's perspective, sound and even production design. And when all hell breaks loose in the last third, you start realizing the scope and enormity of what he had in mind when creating this universe. And while much of this is tiptoeing for the sake of spoiler avoidance, let's just say it's one of the few instances where a script builds to a crescendo, then actually over-delivers on any reasonable expectations. It's disgusting, uncomfortable and there's one moment I'm convinced is the sole cause for all the animosity directed toward the film. And yet, somehow, in the end, it all makes sense.

The very last scene is just perfect, providing justification and clarification to nearly everything that came before. It's one of those great endings where you practically hear the sound of a book closing, even as its content, as well as the biblical and metaphysical questions it poses, stay with you long after the credits roll. View the film as a disintegration of a marriage, a religious allegory, a desperate plea to save us from each other, or maybe all of the above, its impact is lasting and worthy of a discussion audiences should have been having. That we're not speaks to a larger problem that Aronofsky is more than willing to throw in our faces, and deservedly so. It's all right up there on screen for intense examination, at least for those able and willing to see it through.

The Counselor

Director: Ridley Scott
Starring: Michael Fassbender, Penelope Cruz, Cameron Diaz, Javier Bardem, Brad Pitt, Rosie Perez, Natalie Dormer, Edgar Ramirez, Ruben Blades, Goran Visnjic
Running Time: 117 min.
Rating: R

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

It would give me great satisfaction than to say that Ridley's Scott's The Counselor isn't nearly as bad as you've heard. But that would only be half the truth. Viewers' tolerance for just how "bad" it qualifies as will vary. But sandwiched within the mess are flashes of brilliance resulting in the type of spectacular near-miss that could only be made by a talented filmmaker. Scott definitely earns an "A" for ambition, as its easily his most intriguing effort in a while, despite wildly mixed results. If you're going to fail this is at least the most respectable way to do it, taking risks and swinging for the fences. Unsure if its a pulpy crime thriller or pitch-black comedy, the only thing audiences can be certain of is that they'll be baffled and repulsed, and maybe even a little shocked to discover the story comes from the Pulitzer Prize winning author of No Country For Old Men and the director of Gladiator. And that's assuming they can even make it through to the end. Just don't say you weren't warned.

Michael Fassbender is the unnamed "counselor" of the title, a respected attorney who finds himself in the middle of a dirty drug deal with the Mexican cartel thanks after taking some bad advice from his eccentric friend Reiner (Javier Bardem), whose cheetah-obsessed girlfriend Malkina (Cameron Diaz) has some nasty intentions of her own. Despite being warned off the deal by business associate Westray (Brad Pitt), the counselor seems to sink deeper and deeper, not only jeopardizing his own life, but that of his girlfriend Laura (Penelope Cruz). Their relationship is perhaps the only traditional element in a story that's told unconventionally, often forsaking plot and narrative drive in favor of dishing out long, symbolic soliloquies that ruminate on the nature of man and the presence of evil.

There are a couple of scenes that merit mention if only because it's unlikely you've seen anything else like them in a movie before, for better worse. One is obviously the now infamous Diaz scene, in which she pleasures herself on the windshield of a yellow ferrari as Javier Bardem's wide-eyed, crazy haired Reiner looks on in utter shock and disbelief. But what you haven't heard about this flashback is how little it has to do with anything and how it's dropped in the middle of the story without any real rhyme or reason. That's less a criticism than an observation, but also that could also reasonably apply to just about every other crazy scene in the movie, of which there are plenty. It's just that this one takes the cake as its most sensational and tittilating, its existence intended to incite that very debate. There's also a big moment in the last act involving Brad Pitt's Westray that can't really be described, not so much at the risk of spoiling anything, but because  a mere description can't do it justice.

The only predictable element in a project this bizarre is that the performances would also have to be, with the exception of Fassbender's character who is essentially the put-upon straight man amidst the insanity, with Cruz gamely taken along for the ride. Since we're so used to seeing the actor playing edgier roles that exploit his intensity it's a neat reversal to see him as an essentially weak, helpless character, dialing down the charisma he's known for. The rest of the characters at times seem to function primarily as mouthpieces for Cormac McCarthy's philosophizing, spouting thematic observations about greed and selfishness. Given her most delicious role in years, Diaz again proves (as she did in Vanilla Sky) that she's born to play a heel, making you wonder why she isn't given villainous opportunities more often. Complete with spotted tattoos, her Malkina channels a predatory cheetah in both physicality and attitude, making her by far the most eccentric and intriguing character. She flat-out steals the movie, and for reasons entirely unrelated to her showcase scene.

On paper, The Counselor seems like something that deserves praise for at least being unique and stepping outside the box, transforming what could have been a pedestrian crime thriller into an entirely different animal. But it's just such a mess, marred by the nagging feeling that there's a much better movie trapped inside, struggling to get out. It looks great but is often such a slog that it's tough to get a handle on what's happening and who's double-crossing who. McCarthy's script undoubtedly contains ideas, but they're dispensed in such an undigestable manner that the film's events seem almost beside the point.

This is all about style and flash, two words that more frequently leap to mind when considering the late Tony Scott's filmography than his brother's. In fact, if I didn't know better I would have really thought it was his last film because in many ways, it kind of plays as a bizarre tribute. For Ridley, it's major departure, and one that probably needs more than a single viewing to fully absorb as it contains considerably more passion than many of his superior films. There's an extended director's cut out there and I'd be curious to discover if any of the issues are resolved since this reeks of a project that came apart during the editing and post-production stages. But even in its current state, it's hard to claim anyone involved is phoning it in. Most successful movies aren't nearly as compelling as this failed one.
       

Skyfall

Director: Sam Mendes
Starring: Daniel Craig, Judi Dench, Javier Bardem, Ralph Fiennes, Naomie Harris, Bérénice Marlohe, Albert Finney, Ben Whishaw
Running Time: 143 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

As far as 007 opening sequences go, they don't more thrilling than the one in Skyfall. So far, we've had 23 Bond installments. Let that sink in for a minute. It's a lot. But what's more remarkable is that we've still yet to see one that succeeds as something more than just a franchise entry and can stand on its own as an accomplishment in any genre. Too often the series is hamstrung by tradition as the producers are afraid to step out of the box and take genuine risks that might upset the core audience, but result in a superior finished product. Does anyone remember anything that happened in Quantum of Solace? Skyfall is the closest we've come to perfection and its opening minutes reflect that. It's less shocking in hindsight when you consider Bond can't just die but this entry completes a transformation that's been hinted at for half a century, but really started building since Daniel Craig put on the tux in Casino Royale. He's now a full-fledged, reality-based superhero. In other words, the character's basically evolved into Batman.

Much of the picture's first half plays as a classic Bond tribute, at least until director Sam Mendes pulls the rug out to deliver what might be the craziest entry since On Her Majesty's Secret Service. As a non-fan of the franchise, it was a much needed diversion, since the more often a Bond film veers from tradition, or at least puts an exciting spin on it, the better the result. Helping a great deal is that it's visually more impressive than any previous outing and features a villain that's genuinely terrifying and dangerous. But let's just call this what it really is: Bond as The Dark Night. Mendes has acknowledged the similarities, but what's surprising is just how much of Christopher Nolan's influence seems to be all over the picture, even lifting a specific plot point. There's no denying the strategy worked. It's the strongest entry in years, and the first in a while that doesn't feel behind the times.

After being left for dead in an enthralling pre-credit train sequence, James Bond (Craig) is back after a short seclusion, though certainly not better than ever. Wounded, weak, and even lacking his  usual confident swagger, M (Judi Dench) controversially decides to put him back on active duty despite not being even close to ready. His job is to retrieve the hard drive that slipped through his fingers earlier and contains the names of undercover agents placed in terrorist organizations.  Standing in his way is cyber-terrorist Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem), a creepy sociopath whose actual motives remain cloudy from the get-go, yet become painfully clearer as his twisted plan unfolds with brilliant precision. Despite help from M., MI6 agent Eve (Naomie Harris), nerdy, gadget-savvy Q (Ben Whishaw), M's Intelligence superior Gareth Mallory (Ralph Fiennes), and possibly even Silva's mysterious mistress Séverine (Bérénice Marlohe), this marks one of the few times Bond seems legitimately outmatched by an adversary.

Since Craig took over the role, much fuss has been made about the franchise's detour into more serious territory, all but abandoning the series' cheekier aspects that have been so prevalent over the years.This badder, meaner Bond reached its self-serious peak with Quantum of Solace, which was so derivative and slickly packaged it became indistinguishable from your latest Bourne installment. It was also a real bore that featured a dour Craig performance, making me wonder whether a return to some cheesiness was in order. But if you watch most of those old Bond movies (particularly the Roger Moore entries), they are very much a product of their time, and not in a good way. Sam Mendes could be on paper the most accomplished director to tackle 007 and proves it here by getting serious right. There are some minor pacing problems in the early going, but the plot isn't a slog and supporting characters are actually fleshed out.

Mendes makes it feel like a contemporary action vehicle, but also a Bond movie willing to take risks while still maintaining loyalty to the Ian Fleming source. Perhaps borrowing from Nolan's recent portrayal of Commissioner Gordon, this is the first time Dench's M has been given anything more to do than stand behind a desk and act as a figurehead. She's not only showcased as an important piece of the puzzle here, but even promoted to a Bond sidekick of sorts. She also does some unlikable things and makes questionable decisions that causes Bond (and us) to rightfully doubt her judgment and consider whether she's exceeded her expiration date. But the bigger question might be whether 007 has exceeded his with Craig given the rare opportunity to play a weakened, vulnerable Bond, or at least the most vulnerable he's been since the concluding events of Casino Royale.

If these movies tend to only be as as good as their villain than Javier Bardem's bone-chilling work as Silva goes a long way. Strangely effeminate and almost flamboyantly wacked out, Silva's like no other Bond baddie we've recently seen, and comes complete with a backstory that's intricately fleshed out and surprisingly personal. There's a lot of juice behind his motives and Bardem takes full advantage, relishing the chance to play Silva as a bizarre cross  between Heath Ledger and Cesar Romero's Jokers and Anton Sigurh from No Country For Old Men. He'd walk away with the film, if not for the fact that, as lensed by the still Oscar-less Roger Deakins, it's the most visually pleasing Bond entry of all-time, with hardly a shot undeserving of being framed and hung in a gallery. This is especially true of a captivating Shangai assassination sequence and the film's finale, in which Silva physically lends even more credence to that theory that some men just want to see the world burn. Even if you detested everything else about the film, just the cinematography alone would still be reason enough to recommend this to anyone without hesitation.

If there's a weak plot link, it's Marlohe's Bond girl, who serves little purpose other than to hop in the sack (or in this case, shower) with him, which given the all business nature of this installment seems particularly ill-fitting. If she's there to merely fill a quota, Naomie Harris proves to be the exact opposite as MI6 agent Eve and, without giving too much away, proves in her few impactful scenes to be worthy of sticking around. If she's more than a field agent, than Bond is finally shown in this installment to be something more than just number, complete with a personal history that's inventively woven into the screenplay. A bearded Albert Finney is Kinkade, the caretaker of Bond's childhood home and though he plays the role well, it's impossible not to imagine that it was tailor made for the retired ex-007 Sean Connery. But no conversation about Skyfall is complete without mentioning Adele's Oscar-winning title song, a classic throwback that earns her a spot in the Bond theme hall of fame alongside Shirley Bassey, Carly Simon, Paul McCartney and Duran Duran.   

The general consensus is that each time a new Bond entry is released, it's treated as a reboot, disregarding much of what came before in order to re-energize the franchise so it continues to stick around for the long haul. But this is the first entry in a while that really does feel like a full reboot, despite its heavy influence from another series of recent films. It's also features stronger plotting and a more distinctive visual style than Casino Royale, which garnered much of its praise because of a massive change in tone, the debut of a new actor in the role of 007 and one of the franchise's more compelling love interests. While it proved exceptional at re-introducing Bond to contemporary audiences, it's still really hard not to prefer Skyfall, which simply does more with what it has, inching closer to that seemingly impossible holy grail of a perfect James Bond movie. It definitely puts Craig back in the driver's seat but sometimes you have to wonder how much of this franchise's success depends on that. It always seems to be everything else that's changing around him.

No Country For Old Men

Directors: Joel and Ethan Coen
Starring: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Woody Harrelson, Kelly MacDonald, Garrett Dillahunt, Tess Harper, Stephen Root, Beth Grant
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: R
***1/2 (out of ****)

SPOILER WARNING!!! I GIVE AWAY THE ENDING

Here’s something you may not have heard about 2007’s Academy Award winner for Best Picture No Country For Old Men: It’s absolutely terrifying. It’s also darkly humorous and gripping in the best way possible. But it’s not a masterpiece. It may not even be the Coen brothers’ best film, as I’d argue Fargo still holds that title. Like Fargo, this also deals with a stolen suitcase full of cash, but the setting and circumstances are far different. Joel and Ethan Coen have long been known for their quirky, risk-taking style as filmmakers, and while they stretch out of their comfort zone quite a bit here, this proves to be no exception. Their dedication to finding the humor in the most dire circumstances has been their calling card but has also proven to be their biggest hindrance in gaining mainstream acceptance. But here there’s no winking and it’s their most serious, dramatic effort to date, and it’s technically close to flawless. I may not think it’s as great as everyone else (or The Academy) does, but at worst, it still ranks among the year’s best efforts.

Controversy has swirled around the ending and looking at the star rating above you could probably guess where I stand on it. I understand why the Coens made the decisions they did in the final act and give them credit for making them, even if I don’t fully agree. If you’re one of the few who haven’t seen this movie yet, it’s time to be honest and admit the big reason to: Javier Bardem. I don’t think this film will be one of those Best Picture winners that have a lasting cultural impact or will even necessarily play as well on repeated viewings, as I’ve discovered already. It’ll be remembered for Bardem, who creates a character who deserves to join Darth Vader and Hannibal Lector in the pantheon of our greatest screen villains. His performance powers the film, and at times, even overpowers it.

When retired welder and Vietnam vet Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) happens to stumble upon a drug deal gone bad while hunting in the Texas desert. He discovers some dead bodies and a suitcase containing $2 million in cash, which he impulsively decides to take off with, despite the danger this poses to he and his wife, Carla Jean (Kelly MacDonald). Hot on his trail is a cold, heartless killer named Anton Chigurh (Bardem) and at times you wonder whether he’s even all that concerned about the money itself, or just the thrill of physically and psychologically intimidating anyone in his way to getting it. With his Beatles era bowl haircut and inventive cattle air gun murder weapon, he needs just a single coin flip to determine the fate of anyone he encounters. Every moment he’s onscreen and every single word Bardem emotionlessly delivers is pure terror.

He has a talk with a store clerk and you almost hope the old man doesn’t live through it so he isn’t burdened with the memory of actually having a conversation (if you can call it that) with this twisted psychopath. It’s arguably the most tension-filled scene in the entire film. Nearing retirement, seasoned Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) has uncovered this sicko’s trail of terror and is determined to reach Llewelyn and the cash before Chigurh does. So is bounty hunter Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson) who’s hired to track down the money by a businessman who had invested interest in the botched drug deal. Wells is the only man with prior knowledge of just how dangerous Chigurh is, even though he uses his witty sarcasm to downplay it. There’s edge of your seat suspense as this monster closes in on Llewelyn and although its never explicitly stated in the film you get the impression this war vet is giving Chigurh the only real fight he’s ever had.

As we head at a breakneck pace toward the big showdown the Coen brothers pull the rug out and make a brave (some would say stupid) decision to deprive us of it. Llewelyn is discarded literally and figuratively as we head toward the film’s polarizing final 20 minutes. There’s a shift to the less interesting character of Tommy Lee Jones’ Sheriff Bell. The film, set in 1980, finds a way to remain very much of that time period while still telling a story that’s just as relevant now. The Vietnam wounds are still fresh in these characters’ minds and there’s a new kind of evil emerging. It’s an evil Sheriff Bell and even his father’s generation before him couldn’t have possibly prepared for. It’s encapsulated in Anton Chigurh and Bell wants no part of it. With time passing him by and retirement on the horizon, he’s just going through the motions and would likely prefer not to come face-to-face with this monster. If he does, he’s done.

Llewelyn is also a victim, but of greed and temptation. His character is also a casualty of the changing guard and comes to represent concepts Sheriff Bell can’t really get a handle on. Everything now seems determined by fate and forces he can’t control. It’s just a matter of timing and chance that Chirgurh never does catch up with Llewelyn and even more so that Sheriff Bell narrowly avoids an encounter with Chirgurh himself that most certainly would have ended in his death. That this madman is never apprehended and walks away at the end of the film is supremely important. This psychopathic monster will live to see another day and for that the future looks bleaker than ever. The final scene of the film with Bell sitting at the table with his wife (Tess Harper) and explaining the dream he had about his father seem meant to echo the themes of fate and change that permeate through the entire film. And it ends very abruptly with the screen fading to black in almost mid-sentence.

The decision to take the story in that unconventional, anti-crowd pleasing direction makes sense given both the title of the film and the hints given by Jones’ narration at the beginning, but it can’t help but feel a little anti-climactic since we had so much invested in the two major characters and their potential face-off. I haven’t read Cormac McCarthy’s novel from which this film is based but supposedly it stays slavishly faithful to it straight up to and including the ending. If so, this may be the first case of filmmakers actually being criticized for staying too true to the source material.

While I understand the reasoning behind it and commend the Coens for refusing to give us an easy, comfortable ending, I couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling that the wind was taken out of the sails of the film a little. The rest of the movie crackles with so much suspense and intensity the shift toward the end left me a little cold. Not necessarily disappointed, but more unfulfilled. I realize that was the intention behind it but in a year full of powerful finales in motion pictures, often the last thing on a viewer’s mind after they’ve seen a film is those final minutes. And even the film’s diehard supporters couldn’t argue that the last 20 minutes leave a lasting, impactful impression. It isn’t a major problem, but it is something that prevented the film from reaching the highest plateau possible for me. Everything else is perfect, especially Roger Deakins’ typically brilliant cinematography and near absence of a musical score. We’re left with only the sounds, which, in the context of this story, create a menacing horror and suspense.

Josh Brolin, capping off an incredible year, delivers a subdued performance in the classic mold of rugged screen legends like McQueen and Eastwood. His work is so quiet and pitch-perfect that amidst all the hype surrounding the movie and Bardem he kind of got lost in the shuffle, which was unfair. He makes you feel for a man who admittedly made a very selfish, stupid decision. Jones is also strong in a smaller role that grows in importance as the film wears on. He’s kind of the eyes and ears for the viewers and the moral centerpiece of the story. Scottish actress Kelly MacDonald disappears into the role of Llewelyn’s confused and naïve wife with a dead-on Southern accent while Woody Harrelson reminds us just how much more effective he is when given the right role, no matter what its size.

But the movie really belongs to Bardem, who gives a performance that has to be considered one of the strongest Academy Award winning supporting turns in years. Part of me wonders if the movie has garnered the praise it has primarily for Bardem’s performance and the big scenes that accompany it. Everyone loves an entertaining bad guy and it’s been a while since one as entertaining and as scary as Chirgurh has hit the screen. Just the opening scene alone, in which he strangles an officer to death with his handcuffs, is enough to give you nightmares for weeks. That’s not to say the film offers nothing else, but I do think everything else it offers would mean nothing if Bardem weren’t a part of it.

With No Country For Old Men The Coen brothers have finally gained well-deserved mainstream acceptance, but while doing so still managed to make a film that’s as inaccessible and challenging as anything else they’ve ever done. Continuously finding new ways to frustrate us and confound our expectations just may stand as their biggest accomplishment.