If you ran a poll asking the average film goer, and indeed the average film critic, which of the Mission Impossible films they considered to be the strongest outing in the franchise, you would have a significant amount point to Ghost Protocol. On the face of it, you can see why. Once you scratch deeper, those reasons become more opaque.
Mission Impossible III may not be the strongest outing in the franchise, but it may be the most human.
Surprisingly, this works as both a strength and to the film’s detriment in the eyes of many. For everyone who considers Mission Impossible II the weakest episode of the saga, which you can find my thoughts on here, not far behind will be a detractor of JJ Abrams’ sequel to John Woo’s own take on Bruce Geller’s kitsch 1960’s series. This, to me, is hard to fathom, and not simply as a big fan of Abrams and the dominance his works have achieved on pop culture, both in television and cinema.
The reason this revisionist disdain for MI:3 is strange to me is because Abrams’ movie arguably saved the franchise, and allowed Tom Cruise to not just reinvent his character Ethan Hunt but position Mission Impossible as a series which blended fantasy escapism with a relatable heart and soul.
Given The First Purge is first and foremost a horror movie, this may seem like a redundant question. Blumhouse Productions naturally want us to be afraid of a picture designed to make audiences jump and scream, but The Purge franchise has never been simply a series of jump-scare horror films. The most recent prequel, depicting how the concept of the Purge came to be, presents a deeper, more existential question which, by the day, seems to grow in power.
Should we be scared that The First Purge could actually, in some form, one day happen?
Last Action Hero is both ahead of its time and perfectly positioned *within* the era it was made, such is the paradox of a forgotten curiosity of 1990’s action cinema and the stratospheric career of Arnold Schwartzenegger.
Here’s my story and why I’m writing about Last Action Hero some twenty five years on from its release. I was 11 years old when Last Action Hero was released in cinemas, in the US one week after Steven Spielberg’s decade-defining Jurassic Park. In theory, I was the perfect age to consume a film which is entirely about the youthful obsession of a similarly-aged child, Austin O’Brien’s Danny Madigan, with action adventure cinema. Jurassic Park I badgered my parents to take me to see three times yet I didn’t go anywhere near Last Action Hero. It didn’t even register with me. It has taken me until age 36 to actually sit down and watch it, and this is after spending at least the last twenty years being an enormous fan of Schwarzenegger’s movies and career. Last Action Hero was always the Arnie film I missed.
There is a bigger mystery out there than quite what has happened to Westworld by the end of Season 2’s powerfully complex finale The Passenger, and it’s been raging for a good ten years: why exactly is comparing a show to ABC’s legendary series Lost such a terrible thing?
At numerous points across Westworld’s second season–a season which has proved at times divisive amongst fans, audiences and critics–there are clear comparisons to Lost, even if they are–by the writers’ own admission–unconscious. One of the clearest was the opening sequence of episode four, The Riddle of the Sphinx, where we see the morning routine of the Host-loop version of James Delos, which practically screamed Desmond in the Hatch at the beginning of Lost’s Season 2 premiere Man of Science, Man of Faith. Lisa Joy, Westworld’s co-showrunner and director of the episode, has denied the homage but it’s almost difficult to believe in how similarly structured the sequence is. The fact viewers and commentators have been calling out Lost in comparison to HBO’s hit series at various points this season surely cannot be an collective misreading of the text.
Nostalgia seems to be a double edged sword right now in Hollywood. What on the surface appears to be a comforting guaranteed winner in terms of audience satisfaction and cinematic box office is becoming something of a poisoned creative chalice. The lacklustre critical (if not box-office) responses to pictures such as Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom or Ocean’s Eight, sequels to long-standing, well-regarded franchises; or Lucasfilm’s decision to put a hold on more A Star Wars Story anthology movies after the tepid box office (by Star Wars terms) of Solo, seemingly putting immediately paid to rumoured Boba Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi-centric films. There is a nostalgia blowback in progress, the ripple effect of which we are only beginning to understand.
Is this a ripple effect that, like the Nexus in Generations, threatens to engulf the future of the Star Trek franchise?
People, it seems, are struggling with Westworld.
While there is some evidence to suggest a drop in viewership across Season 2 of HBO’s new televisual powerhouse, the conversation is less about the threat of Westworld coming to an end—particularly given Season 3 is already a certainty—but rather why certain people are considering checking out of Jonathan & Lisa-Joy Nolan’s magnum opus.
The main reason appears to be how Season 2 has structured its narrative, or more appropriately ‘narratives’. Season 1 of Westworld left ambiguity between time periods given the mystery of the Man in Black, allowing the audience to question at what point certain storylines involving characters in the park was taking place, but Season 2 has thrown the storytelling ball up in the air to continue the narrative in a fascinating, non-linear fashion. It’s hard to think of a TV show which has experimented so resolutely with time, where pieces fit together in a convoluted mosaic of a tale. Even Lost at its most twisty, deploying ‘snakes in the mailbox’, can’t reach Westworld Season 2 for such complicated plot entanglement.
For some, however, are the writers simply going too far?