For the week of April 4th, the biggest title (for some, it's the only title) is Disney and Lucasfilm's release of Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens. Following its December release, the sci-fi adventure quickly broke box-office records and ushered in a whole new era of Star Wars fandom, and for one simple reason: The Force Awakens is not the prequels. Whereas George Lucas' artistically questionable prequel trilogy made money from distending a generic origin story to near-redundant length (seriously, only Revenge of the Sith covers consistently relevant content, and even it's twenty minutes too long and suffers from terrible acting and even worse dialogue), The Force Awakens lights off for the territories, picking up some thirty-plus years after the events of Return of the Jedi; the fascistic New Order (led by Adam Driver, Domhnall Gleeson, and Andy Serkis, the latter buried under unconvincing mo-cap character design) is looking to reclaim the previous Empire's control over the galaxy through capturing the missing Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill, who's second-billed and in the movie for maybe ninety seconds), but it faces unexpected resistance in the triumvirate of Han Solo (Harrison Ford), former stormtrooper Finn (Attack the Block's John Boyega), and Rey (Daisy Ridley), a young orphan whose connection to the Force might be stronger than anyone - including herself - could possibly imagine. Director J.J. Abrams has long revered the original Star Wars trilogy (one could argue he was trying to turn his two Star Trek movies into stealth Star Wars entries, much to the detriment of any and all things Star Trek), and he evinces the same breakneck pacing of those first three movies, sending the heroes through a breathless adventure and then rolling credits just as the main conflict ends. Abrams packs in enough X-Wing dogfights and Millennium Falcon chases and lightsaber battles and blaster showdowns for three movies, and while few of these moments have any iconic pull (only the heroic reappearance of the Falcon and the climactic lightsaber duel between Finn, Rey, and Driver's menacing Kylo Ren linger - that last showdown feels like something Kurosawa would have made had he the latest in modern technology and weren't dead), they hustle so quickly (major props to editors Mary Jo Markey and Maryann Brandon) that we can't help but get caught up in the Flash Gordon-serial quality of it all. It helps, too, that the new characters are so wonderful. Screenwriter Lawrence Kasdan (he of Empire Strikes Back and Raiders of the Lost Ark scripting duties) has crafted four wonderful leads: Ridley's headstrong, no-B.S. heroine proves a wonderful contrast against Driver's tremulous, vulnerable Big Bad, and their hero-villain dynamic lets people like Oscar Isaac (a delight as dashing X-Wing pilot Poe Dameron, even if his character suffers the most from some late-stage rewrites/reshoots) and especially Boyega stand at the sidelines and poach all the scenery. In fact, these new figures are so compelling - rich, funny, and complicated - that they highlight the biggest problem with The Force Awakens. For all its flash and excitement, the new film is desperate to reference the first Star Wars trilogy. Rey's journey is a gender-swapped take on Luke's story in A New Hope; Serkis plays the same kind of behind-the-scenes puppeteer as Ian McDiarmid's Emperor; and the bad guys' Evil Plot here employs yet another Death Star with all the same weaknesses. And this sense of been there, done that extends into all the non-new characters. As charming as Ford is (and he is more engaged than he has been in a long time), his Han Solo here invalidates the great character arc he experienced in Episodes IV-VI - Solo gets some funny lines and the film's Big Important Scene, but those moments can't erase the fan-service nature of the part - and Carrie Fisher is both terrible and unnecessary as now-General Leia. For all its flaws (legion as they might be), the Prequel Trilogy wanted to take a novel approach to tired material (a blockbuster trilogy about trade regulations? Signs and wonders). It failed spectacularly, but you can't ignore the ambition on display. By comparison, you keep waiting for The Force Awakens to do something different, to try and innovate, and it takes the safe path every time. Here's hoping Rian Johnson can make a Great Movie - and not just a Great Star Wars Movie - with Episode VIII.
Martin Liebman wrote that the film "proves just as spectacular in its 'new.' The movie is filled with fresh faces that are smartly cast and the beneficiaries of good, clean, efficient writing that, for some, continues in the exploration of old parallels while others open up new realms of possibility for where the franchise has been and where it's going. The new characters aren't simply a collective rehash of the old ones, however. Similarities abound, but there are role reversals, amalgamations, and new origins introduced that all, generally, fall into classic comfort zones while building up a uniqueness all their own. That's really the driving theme here, much like it was with Abrams' Star Trek films: things can and do change, sometimes even radically, but the foundation rarely does. The new heroes allow for some shifts in focus and new roles for certain types of characters, but none of them feel tacked on, forced in, or in any way otherwise inorganic within the world. As with the previous films, the feelings of fate and destiny permeate through each one of them, particularly in Rey who is sort of like a composite of Anakin, Luke, and Leia. The film's most interesting new character is Kylo Ren. Adam Driver is fantastic in the part, arguably the best of the new collective. His ability to so precisely capture Kylo Ren's conflicting nature and develop the character through the totality of youthful vigor, uneven temperament, and even the way he carries himself as both a leader and a fighter is above reproach. Conflicted villains are always the most dangerous, and the way the movie manipulates the character, evolves him, and establishes him near the end all but guarantees in future installments an antagonist capable of anything, as cold and strong as any before him, but with that hint of internal strife still ever-present even as the movie culminates the character's path in a very forceful, deliberate, and thematically paralleled manner."
The studios don't want to compete with The Force Awakens, so this week doesn't offer as pronounced a variety of titles. However, we do have a few noteworthy affairs, including two TV sets: Banshee: The Complete Third Season and Doctor Who: The Complete Ninth Series. Both shows are the screen equivalents of dimestore pulps - they're quick and cheap, but with just enough interest to keep people pouring through them. Banshee is definitely the more overtly pulpy of the two programs. The story of a career criminal (Antony Starr) who begins impersonating the sheriff of the titular small town, Banshee often plays like Peyton Place as assayed by Charles Willeford; Starr's character is a grade-A sociopath who becomes more dangerous once he starts operating under the sanctity of a police badge, but in some ways, he's no worse than Banshee's previous inhabitants, which include - but are definitely not limited to - near-mute psychopaths, bank-robbers, corrupt cops, brutal casino kingpins, and ex-Amish gangsters. It's all very silly, and it's enlivened with the kind of sex and violence that starts as "gratuitous" and quickly crosses over into "indefensible." But it's also bullet-train fast and wholly unpretentious, and its meat-and-potatoes story quality ultimately becomes a strength. This season, in particular, builds some incredible action sequences off the rote narratives, including an episode-long Assault on Precinct 13 homage that is, in its own junky way, one of 2015's most enjoyable hours of television. If Banshee is pulp fiction, then maybe Doctor Who is a sci-fi serial, the kind emboldened with artwork detailing far-away galaxies and strange aliens. That said, Doctor Who is also an institution in ways that Banshee will never be - it's been running for fifty-three years and counting - so it's a little sad to report that maybe some of the spark has gone. BBC writing-producing impresario Steven Moffat picked up showrunner duties with Season Five, and he's brought the same wit and spark of his great Sherlock to the proceedings, but this year has been a little less taut, a little more uninspired. My guess is, Moffat is aware of this fact, too, considering he's leaving Season Ten to Broadchurch's Chris Chibnall, so maybe a change will do everyone good. Still, even imperfect Doctor Who is better than noDoctor Who, and in this case, Peter Capaldi's edgy, acerbic Doctor goes a long way towards making the proceedings watchable. Let's hope he sticks around a little longer.
Jeffrey Kauffman noted that "the series tends to careen along at such an amped up level that it may appear that character development is taking a back seat to the sheer momentum of so many people working at such odds in such an off the wall atmosphere. Banshee's writers perhaps are attuned to that perception, for they do pause the onslaught from time to time to offer brief descriptors, even in the form of flashbacks, that are obviously designed to illuminate the often shady motives of these folks...There is so much going on throughout this third season that a brief précis is all but impossible, but a couple of observations may help to make the patent absurdity (not a knock, just a comment) of much of Banshee a little clearer to those who haven't yet experienced its over the top ambience. In that long list of villains laid out above, neo-Nazis were referenced. Well, guess what? Banshee's police department ends up with one of them in uniform this season, replete with a swastika tattoo adorning his cheek. 'Heightened reality,' anyone? And a final little 'twist' seems to put the kibosh on one of the central artifices of the entire series, leaving Banshee fans to wonder what exactly the creative staff has in store for [Starr's] Lucas next season. Whatever that may be, chances are many will be reacting with a hearty "Well, that just happened."
Finally, Lionsgate Home Entertainment is bringing William Monahan's Mojave to Blu-ray. As a screenwriter, Monahan is a titan; his dialogue and story command is simultaneously complex, literate, and deeply populist, as anyone who has seen Kingdom of Heaven, The Gambler, and the Academy Award-winning The Departed can attest. As a director, however, his work is a little less assured. In films like London Boulevard and now Mojave, Monahan seems to be working in all the loose ends, non sequiturs, and right turns that he justifiably had to excise from his more polished drafts and then stringing them together with the kind of postmodern, self-reflexive eye on the creative process that Charlie Kaufman did so well in Adaptation. To wit: London Boulevard was a pseudo-remake of Sunset Boulevard that really acted as a platform for Monahan's thoughts on celebrity and the movie business, and Mohave pushes that latter aspect even further, creating a very William Monahan-like artist (Garrett Hedlund) whose self-loathing and distain for the Hollywood community leads him into the path of an eccentric serial killer (Oscar Isaac). Casting the marquee-idol-ready Hedlund is the only vanity Monahan allows himself - his on-screen proxy is almost violently unappealing, a mass of bitterness, apathy, and ego that knows he's to blame for all his professional and personal failings (including his mistreatment of Louise Bourgoin's beautiful girlfriend) but can't stop himself. It's almost a toss-up who's worse - him or Isaac's actual killer - although as is always the case, we can't help but gravitate towards Isaac, who delights in tormenting Hedlund's character. Isaac isn't playing a real person; he's practically a homicidal Bugs Bunny, but he embraces the lunacy of the part as well as Monahan's florid dialogue. Were Mohave just a series of violent and linguistic turns between the two leads, it would be an easier recommendation. However, that solipsism comes back to bite Monahan during a third act that sees Isaac rampaging through a Los Angeles consisting of one clichéd Hollywood stereotype after another, not least of which is Mark Wahlberg's preening, obnoxious super-producer. Maybe it's his facility within the Hollywood system that hampers him: Monahan doesn't really have the distance to skewer himself and the cinema with the same precision and odd empathy as Charlie Kaufman does, and so Mohave becomes just a curio, a palate-cleanser between major projects that probably matters more to Monahan than it does to anyone else.