The Killing Of A Sacred Deer

Based on ancient play
Add modern twists, thrills, and fears
Acting is superb

Helpless, forced to choose
Due to past mistakes and sins
Someone has to pay

Distinctive, surreal,
Most peculiar from the start
Odd, yet enthralling

The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected)

I first recall having the thought  -- maybe it was more a feeling than a thought, but I'm not certain -- while sitting alone at 2:30am on a mountain ridge in south-central West Virginia.

I'm safe and OK. My dad will protect me if something goes wrong.

How I came to be sitting on a dark, isolated mountain ridge in the early morning hours isn't a remarkable story. My dad and I were hunting for raccoons and our dogs, catching a deer's scent, took off on a wild romp though the forest. So they wouldn't get lost, Dad had to get to them quick. My 12-year-old legs couldn't keep up, so he asked me to sit alone on a log for a few minutes while he went on. It was dark, and we were miles from civilization.

I was scared.

"I'll be just over that line of trees, and for only a few minutes. Sit here with your light on, and I'll be back in about 15 or 20 minutes."

And I knew every word he said was true. I knew he'd come back exactly as he said. I knew he'd get the wild dogs back on the right track. I knew I'd be safe.

He said it, so I believed it.

I grew up believing my father could do anything. Smart and curious, he knew at least something about most things. He could fix anything that was broken. He had just the right advice for every uncomfortable situation. He was strong and could always protect us. It's not that he proved he could do those things -- I never saw him in a fight, for example. Simply, because he was my father I believed he could overcome any obstacle.

You know that belief.

The problem with that belief is that I grew up measuring myself against my dad, defining my life milestones as successes or failures based on how I thought my dad would have done in those same situations. And like most people struggling through their teens and twenties -- and hell, even longer if I'm honest-- there were lots of failures.

A lifetime of moments where I felt small compared to my dad, knowing he would have handled the same situation I faced with more strength and grace than did I.

The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected), a Netflix original written and directed by Noah Baumbach, dissects the belief most kids have about their fathers. Through small vignettes -- because that's what life really is, isn't it? -- the film examines from each perspective the relationship between a father and his three children. Starring Adam Sandler (I promise, it's his best dramatic performance ever), Ben Stiller (solid in a non-comedic role), Dustin Hoffman, and Elizabeth Marvel, Meyerowitz Stories deconstructs the existential angst sometimes experienced by the adult children of heroic fathers. Forced to recognize the personal and professional shortcomings of their larger-than-life father, the three Meyerowitz siblings are faced with realities about their own lives, and how the relationship each had with his or her father was integral to their life choices.

Perhaps, they discover, their father wasn't as confident, heroic, or successful as they perceived him to be as children. And if so, perhaps their assessments of their own lives aren't accurate, either.

I believed, during every moment of my childhood and into early adulthood, that my father could overcome any obstacle he faced. What I didn't consider is: did he believe the same?

Logan Lucky

Logan Lucky is the movie for which Steven Soderbergh ended his retirement? 

OK, I admit there are some really cool things -- some things I really liked -- about this flick.

The complicated heist movie -- and isn't that something Soderbergh does best? -- takes place mostly in Boone County, WV and in Charlotte, NC. I know those areas well, and it was fun seeing the culture of those regions portrayed on the screen.

Adam Driver's accent and affect is pure Appalachian. He's channeling scores of people I've known, lived with, and loved during my lifetime in West Virginia. Farrah Mackenzie, who plays Sadie Logan, steals the show and will melt your heart. If you don't get misty-eyed during her emotional scene near the movie's end, you should turn in your hillbilly membership card.

But, there are real issues with Logan Lucky that are difficult to ignore. First, like many heist films, the flick is complicated. Soderbergh tries to tidy up some of those complications at the very end, but some unanswered questions remain after the credits. 

Second, some of the logistics are screwy. Characters travel back and forth from Boone County to Charlotte, NC so often and so quickly that viewers might believe the two regions are in close proximity.

They aren't.

Madison, the county seat of Boone, is more than 275 miles from Charlotte, and it takes more than 5 hours to travel between the locations by car. And Madison to Lynchburg, VA -- where the young daughter of main character Jimmy Logan is moving with his ex-wife, who says the move is OK because "you'll still get your days," of visitation -- is nearly 250 miles driving distance. You just can't make those trips as easily as they appear in the movie.

It almost seems the screenwriter is unfamiliar with the region in which WV is located, and presumes the location to be more Virginia than West Virginia. 

Which brings me to the most interesting part of Logan Lucky: first-time screenwriter Rebecca Blunt. Although listed as being "from Logan, WV, but now living in New York," no one can verify that Blunt is a real person. Instead, the smart money says Blunt is the pseudonym used by Soderbergh' s wife, Jules Asner. 

That theory makes a lot of sense.

What else but a first time writing effort by one's wife would make a retired film director and producer come out of retirement to produce and direct a hillbilly heist flick starring Channing Tatum?

Punisher (Netflix Series)

Marvel's Punisher is -- at least according to my memory -- the comic industry's first anti-hero. Frank Castle's appearance in The Amazing Spider-Man (sometime in 1974) set the stage for later characters like Deadpool, and for titles like Suicide Squad.

(Hell, I doubt Batman's fan base could have accepted a violent, gun-teasing Dark Knight without Punisher setting that tone.)

The Netflix series is an extension of Punisher's origin story from Daredevils second season. The audience watches Castle struggle with the moral dilemma of what he knows he is, and what he knows he must do to carry out his view of justice. We see his struggle with relationships, and manipulate them in order to achieve his mission.


Finally, we see him embrace his (even) darker side in order to deliver a truck load of karma to someone who deserved it.

It was a beautiful thing to watch.

Justice League

I'm considered somewhat of an outcast among my herd of nerds, geeks, and comic book snobs. And that's for two very simple reasons:

1. I dig old-school, team-based, super-hero comics; and,
2. I prefer DC over Marvel, Image, and other publishing companies.

It's true.

Several of my comic-book-readin' friends scratch their heads after learning I prefer JLA or Teen Titans stories over The Wicked + the Devine, or that a stack of regular old Justice Society of America comics helps me pass a day of bad weather better than the best issues of The Avengers.

When I first started reading comics in the 1970s, DC was the company to read for great stories and well written dialogue; Marvel was the place for really cool visual story telling. (There were notable exceptions, such as Spider-Man, and I read and enjoyed those titles too. But those were exceptions.)

It was in a DC comic that I could find philosophical debate over ethics and morals, and friends arguing over the subtle points of a mission. It was in titles like The Justice League where I could watch a group of diverse people consider a problem from all angles, then reach consensus and act together to solve that problem.

My favorite comic book stories weren't those with dozens of panels showing Superman punching through walls.


My favorite comics were the ones where team members sat around their meeting table in debate, arguing through what they should do.



It's for that reason I enjoyed Justice League (2017). The flick has mixed reviews, and I agree with some of the scuttlebutt and poor reviews I've read on the 'net. I'm no fanboy; I have my own issues with the film. I absolutely hate the way The Flash is portrayed as an insecure kid, and I'm not wild about how producers focused in on Peter David's 1990s Aquaman when developing the character. It gives Arthur Curry some sass and stature, for sure, but this is not the traditional Aquaman most readers know.

But there is much about Justice League that is right. Ben Affleck is better as The Batman this round than he was in Dawn of Justice, and I think that's because he spent more time out of the batsuit as Bruce Wayne. Watching Bruce track down and convince the other heroes to join this new league was the highlight of the flick for me, as was the team's debate over the ethics of whether or not they should play gods with someone else's life or death.

(That's a purposely vague reference for those couple of people who don't yet know the plot of this story.)

DC movies are still a step-and-a-half behind Marvel in story-telling, effects, and structure. Marvel flicks are lighter and sell more popcorn. But Justice League is a step in the right direction, I think. And, hopefully, ten years from now the movie will be considered a turning point for when the studio started getting it right.

A Ghost Story

My maternal grandfather -- "Papaw," we called him -- died just before my 24th birthday. I grew up living beside him, so he helped raise me.

We were very close.

Papaw had a quirky sense of humor, and anxious mannerism I notice in my adult self.  He was a bit of a rebel; the sort of guy who bent the rules just up to the point of breaking them and, then, just a little more if he could.

He was the guy who would come back from the afterlife, if coming back from an afterlife was possible.


That he was that-sorta-guy haunted me for months after his death. Although I doubted an afterlife existed, I wasn't certain at that time in my life and couldn't discount it. That he was a rules-bender gave my grandmother hope. Anytime I visited her after his death, the conversation always drifted to:

Mamaw: "I'd give anything for Junior to walk into this room right now and say hello."

Me: "Yeah, but then he'd be a ghost."

Mamaw: "That doesn't matter. When you love someone as much as I love him, that doesn't matter."

Me: "Listen, I loved the man. But I ain't excited to see him as a ghost. That would freak me out! I'd scream, and run outta this house. Nope, no ghost-Papaw for me, thanks."

She'd get really quiet, and then just smile. As if I didn't understand.

Because -- as I realize more than a quarter-century later -- I didn't.

I thought about those exchanges while watching A Ghost Story. Written and directed by David Lowery, this Casey Affleck flick takes its time exploring the emotions of love and grief, and the power of personal connection. Lowery's story suggests love and grief are so powerful that they can allow us to bend the rules.

Even the rules that govern death and the afterlife.

A Ghost Story is a supernatural drama that isn't scary, and it's not an action movie -- in fact, one of the most powerful scenes in the film simply shows a woman sitting on the kitchen floor eating pie. But it's a movie that will move you in the end, if you have the patience to watch.

Gene Wilder: American Comic Acting Genius

1933-2016

Fantastic Four

The latest incarnation isn't perfect -- hell, Ant-Man was better, after all -- but it sure isn't the flop being described by critics.

It's a solid origin story, even if this origin is different than the comic book story first told half a century ago.

Fantastic Four gives us solid character backstory, slightly better than average special effects, and a powerful villain to overcome. It fails  to provide in-depth character development, forces team chemistry, and cheats the audience out of the comic-book style action it came to see.

Daredevil (Netflix Series)

I had a consistent comic book reading routine each summer during the late 70s.

First, I'd roll the titles up into a tight tube, then stick them into the back right pocket of my Lee jeans. After making sure my parents were in another part of the house, I'd scurry up the short ladder that led to the unfinished attic of our house. Two small pieces of plywood were up there, along with a  small lamp and a pillow. I'd lie flat on my stomach, look carefully over each comic cover, and determine in which order each would be read.

I saved what I suspected was the best story for last.

Able to leap tall buildings? Superman titles were always my first read. I liked the character, but his god-like powers made it impossible for me to relate.

The Fastest Man Alive? Loved the art, but Flash stories were formulaic and predictable. His comic was second.

The Dark Knight? Hadn't been created yet. There was still debate about whether Bruce Wayne was "Batman," or "The Batman," and many of us were questioning why the yellow bat-sign on his chest didn't serve as a better bullseye for criminals with guns. His title was third.

The Man Without Fear? Daredevil was read last.

"Daredevil" writers told gritty stories that felt as if they could happen in real life. Organized crime, prostitutes, underdog lawyers and journalists trying to carry out social justice. I savored the stories and waited impatiently for the next issue to hit the newsstand.

I felt the same way binge watching the new Netflix series that opened April 10, 2015. It is, in my opinion, the best comic book adaption to hit a small screen.

I don't want Season 1 to end.

Foxcatcher

During high school in the early 1980s, that dark period in human history just prior to the modern Information Age, we kids spent a lot of time sitting around and talking.

Seriously, Millennials. It's true.

My friend Jamie and I dated sisters. We spent a lot of time together at their house and pretended to talk to each other, even though our true motivations were focused elsewhere.  Our conversations were superficial, themed mostly on sports and girls. Jamie was a high school wrestler. I wasn't.

We had little in common other than really liking sisters.

Most days, during lulls in our conversation, Jamie would say: "Let me put you in a banana split." I'd refuse the offer, for several reasons. One of the most important reasons is because the amateur wrestling move known as the "banana split" looks like this:

Despite my "no, thanks," Jamie would laugh, jump on top of me, and contort my body into shapes not intended by intelligent design. After only a few seconds I'd tap out. Jamie and his girlfriend would laugh, and I'd pretend not to me embarrassed.

Wrestlers don't seem to mind physical intimacy. Many, I think, seek it out.

Foxcatcher, directed by Bennett Miller, is really a movie about physical intimacy. Wrestlers in the movie compete with a physical intimacy that's comparable to ballroom dance -- early scenes of the Schultz brothers practicing basic moves on each other demonstrate the grace and elegance of highly trained athletes. John du Pont (the role that will transform Steve Carell's career) longs for physical intimacy with his mother and the wrestlers he recruits, but doesn't understand how to achieve either. And it was an act of physical intimacy -- the moment when du Pont slapped the face of wrestler Mark Schultz -- that dramatically and forever altered the lives of all three main characters.

I enjoyed Foxcatcher for the brilliant acting of the main cast. The tragic real-life story, however, made me feel so uncomfortable and ill-at-ease I wanted to tap out.

Again.