Tag: 2024

Dr. Manhattan faces Rorschach in a snowy standoff outside Veidt’s complex

Watchmen Chapter II

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

You don’t understand. You all think I’m trapped in here with you, but you’re all trapped in here with me.

Rorschach vs Dr. Manhattan. Who wins?

This marks my fourth experience with this story. My first full grasp of the real villain, tho.

I’m 19 when Zack Snyder’s Watchmen (2009) hits theaters. My dad is 53. We go together.

Experience #1) Watchmen: The Theatrical Cut (2009) [162 minutes]

Neither of us knows there’s a graphic novel. I’m just excited for R-rated superheroes. We don’t know what to expect.

He drives, buys our tickets and stays awake the whole runtime. Noteworthy.

We don’t discuss much afterward. It shook us. Neither can say we loved it. Dad doesn’t dislike it – he just can’t explain what there is to like.

I can’t say I enjoy it either.

I don’t understand why it’s so dark, or why nothing feels satisfying. Who has powers? How do we intuit such details as the story unfolds?

Years later, I read the graphic novel.

Experience #2: Watchmen (Moore & Gibbons 1986) [414 pages]

A 10-star book. Still sad, but less bleak. Beams of sunshine peek through. It’s an intricate character study which raises philosophical questions and challenges moral ambiguity.

Provides a unique meditation on the topic of sexual violence. How memory transforms thru time. Events reframe across retellings.

Only one character actually has a “super power.”

Soon after reading, I rewatch Snyder’s version with a friend.

Experience #3: Watchmen: The Director’s Cut (2009) [186 minutes]

Suddenly, the inspired magnificence illuminates.

The truth: Watchmen is rich and powerful, demands revisiting.

Don’t expect love on first watch, especially without context. The story is tragic, philosophically heavy. The world has concrete rules, but not obvious parameters. Dr. Manhattan informs Laurie of something she’ll soon admit – and then appears surprised when she does. How’s that work?

I still wonder. That alone justifies this animated duology. Watchmen’s material warrants a full return.

A key difference between the graphic novel and Snyder’s film lies in the ending, a change that irks purists.

But Snyder’s entitled to artistic license. His film is nothing if not reverent. Much of Watchmen (2009) recreates the source material frame-by-frame, panel-by-panel. Capturing the stillness of the graphic novel with uncanny precision. Each cinematic composition is a living comic panel, frozen in tone, mood and arrangement. It’s a historic achievement in adaptation.

Most fan criticism stems from Snyder’s refusal to depict the novel’s original conclusion.

The animated version does. We see the squid. Watch it land.

Experience #4) Watchmen Chapters I & II (2024) [84 & 89 mins]

The animated two parter can be considered a product of its live action predecessor; a further grounding of the narrative in realism. Brute savagery and elaborate fight choreography are de-emphasized for the sake of more intimate character interactions.

A more tender form of the story is revealed. Favoring relationship fodder like the mutual respect between Dan & Rorschach. Less intrigue, perhaps, than the graphic novel. But a much clearer telling is the result.

A Dr. Manhattan one can more easily sympathize with. His personal agenda, use of subterfuge and potentially sinister intents are distanced from the spotlight. This Jon’s more dutiful puppet.

Nite Owl & Silk Spectre II

Between halves, the narrative focus shifts – from Blake and Osterman to Dreiberg and Juspeczyk. Here, richer traces of redemption emerge.

They form the emotional core of Chapter II. The film even inverts their relationship: it’s Nite Owl who is found bare-butt, musing. He’s the one who struggles in bed.

Another inversion of traditional gender roles: Laurie’s apathy toward the escalating situation – her avoidance – suggests a certain cowardly carelessness. Dan, on the other hand, can’t run or hide.

His intuition tells him they’re nearing a point of no return. His body won’t cooperate with basic self-interest. Unlike Jon, Dan’s identity is rooted in being an individual within a collaborative community.

Midair Intercourse

Only after rescuing civilians from a burning building do Dan and Laurie consummate their connection – hovering in Archie, Nite Owl’s airship. Remote. Removed. Secluded from all else. An impossible act to witness.

Sometime after, Dr. Manhattan phases back to Earth mid-flight, entering Archie directly from Mars. That would require near-omniscience – yet he’s clearly unaware of Laurie’s current location, thoughts or behavior. He isn’t monitoring her. Jon only sees what he wants to. He burrows into quantum abstraction to avoid the harsher duty of self-governance.

Laurie, meanwhile, is searching for the missing piece to her jigsaw memory. She’s never been the most sympathetic character – nobody feels bad for Superman’s girlfriend – but here, her pathos becomes clear. She makes the courageous decision to speak to Jon on Mars. Her intentions are noble, unromantic.

She frames it as a mission for the people of Earth. That’s how she puts it to Dan – just before seemingly abandoning him. But she’s also attempting to take agency of the situation. Instead of being forced or commanded to go to Mars, she chooses to go.

I do wonder how events progress differently if she insists Jon speak with her on respectful terms. At a pre-arranged time & place (on Earth) the following day.

Patrick Wilson

A modern treasure. His impact on the animated Dan is tangible. One moment – just a single word, “No” – echoes his original performance. It hits with the same emotion and beauty.

An ironic mirror of Jon’s single-word protest, “Don’t,” from Chapter I. Do not instead of No. A command, not a lament.

Adrian Veidt

Few panels from the graphic novel depict him with any level of insecurity.

Chapter II contains his most human depiction. Maybe the most effective execution of Veidt yet. I finally understand the origin of his arctic fortress. His lynx. The squid.

Adrian’s finest moment is a final exchange with Jon.

He asks a question.

Without answering, Jon turns away and phases off planet.

That silence – that is the only moment Jon behaves virtuously.

Unintended Evil

In Chapter I, we watch Jon’s disaffection, his inertia, his refusal to act unless moved by another hand. He speaks his objections only after it’s far too late. Vietnam is just a smaller-scale version of Earth’s fate.

Jon is, in fact – unintentionally – the greatest villain in Watchmen. He is discord. Unfeeling and detached. Never acting, only reacting. In only the manner he sees fit.

The animated version brings that most clearly to the forefront. Tho it sands away a more sinister edge, his lack of empirical wisdom is laid bare.

Rorschach, by contrast, represents order. Reason and decency. Even when he quarrels with Dan, he is the first to apologize for speaking in a manner offensive to a friend.

He is the most morally committed. Dan and Rorschach represent two forms of virtue – human compassion versus brutal clarity. Theirs is the slightest of divergences. Antagonism at its pettiest.

When events become so twisted our most heroic heroes fall to superficial squabbling; it is Rorschach who rises above.

If nothing else, Watchmen Chapters I & II illuminate this arc quite clearly. While delivering a simpler, more practical edition of the narrative. For the first time, Rorschach’s quiet victory shines out from the story’s core.

★★★★★ ★★★★★

TLDR? Check IMDb or Letterboxd for briefer thoughts.

Ariana Grande as Glinda in Wicked (2024), part of Stephen’s critical review on the musical adaptation.

Wicked

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Tough to write a movie review when fans can’t articulate tangible value.

“Did you really enjoy it the third time on the big screen?”

A small part of me craves an answer but I know how my sister will respond.

And I respect that. Films are for entertainment, and here Patricia finds the fun I can’t access.

Yet Wicked – over-produced, bursting with CGI and filmed almost entirely on soundstage – isn’t a forward-thinking cinematic piece. It’s a lesser recreation of the Broadway show, a shallow pool where viewers bask in nostalgia.

Consider the exchange among friends after a pickup volleyball match:

“You haven’t seen Wicked? You should have your gay card revoked.”

“I saw Wicked,” I interject, “Will I lose my straight card?” We laugh. “Seriously though: What did you enjoy about it?”

“Well, I saw the original Broadway musical and loved it,” the common refrain.

“With Kristen Chenowith and Idina Menzel? Me too.”

My feelings were more mixed, but I only wish to discuss the film itself. Aside from Ariana Grande and Jeff Goldblum’s performances – or the familiar songs (‘Popular’ specifically) – why was it enjoyable?

There’s no concrete answer. His best explanation is a misinterpretation of the source material:

“This is part one of a two-book series. The film only covers book one, which uses the play’s plot, so it’ll be all new stuff in Part 2.”

He’s wrong. The musical Wicked draws its inspiration from Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. There is no follow-up novel; the story from the original musical will continue in Wicked Part 2.

It seems people often fabricate background knowledge to justify their feelings. This particular friend ties his enjoyment to the homosexual community—a connection that’s hardly a valid reason to see a movie. Demographics aren’t a legitimate justification for falsified uplift.

My mom calls this, “fibbing.” If lying’s required to avoid critical discourse how substantive can the praise be?

On Thanksgiving, someone said:

“I like Wicked, and I know your sister loves Wicked. And she’s standing right over there.”

In that gal’s mind, Wicked is good simply because it would hurt a friend’s feelings to think otherwise—an admirable trait, perhaps, but hardly conducive to fruitful film discussion.

Shifting focus, consider the film’s internal logic. Ask yourself: if magic doesn’t exist in Oz, what is the purpose of the university they’re attending? The curriculum doesn’t involve sorcery or academia; The audience is privy to a single lesson; talking animal civil rights history.

Contrast this with The Grinch, where mythic tales recount hours-long makeup sessions before every shoot day. Jim Carrey is the poster child for the endless transformation process – even handling his own contact lenses.

Then there’s Cynthia Erivo’s performance as Elphaba. Despite the reverence many express, the makeup on Cynthia is poor – bordering on lazy. Fully sleeved and pant-legged in almost every scene. Do we ever see green arms? This hurts even more because I’m a big Erivo fan. Working with her on Widows cemented a deep respect, making her miscasting all the more disappointing.

Mid-shoot a co-worker asks, “Why they making her run so much?”

“Because it’s awesome! Black actresses rarely run on screen,” I reply.

Still, stunt casting her as Elphaba was the wrong choice. Her singing is unremarkable, and changing the character’s race muddles the metaphor. Elphaba becomes not just an outcast, but an outcast defined by the otherness of her skin color. Instead of a singular, green-skinned anomaly in Oz, she transforms into a marginalized individual rather than representing a marginalized race. Casting a black woman alters that dynamic entirely.

Her acting comes off as uninspired and paycheck-oriented. Later in the film, she recites an incantation – a terrible example of fantasy storytelling. She cycles through a short, nonsensical phrase – “something ibn something” – like a disingenuous, repetitive Arabic chant. According to Reddit, these words are drawn from the musical: “Ahben Tahkay Ahben Tahkay Abhen Atum Takayah,” etc. There used to be a melody adding flavor, but it’s lost here.

Here lies my core issue with the film: many adaptations use artistic license to change things when moving to the big screen. If Cynthia can’t make the incantation melody work, the overall scene requires reworking. “It is drawn directly from the source material,” isn’t adequate justification.

And there’s nothing redeemable about Elphaba. In fact, she’s standoffish, unfunny (her “these are not the reasons I’m green” bit sucks) and utterly put-upon.

Glinda is worth rooting for, and the Wizard too, but Elphaba? Who gives a pointed cap?

Ultimately, Wicked lacks inspiration. It’s neither edgy nor engaging. The film has no stakes and offers no contemporary commentary or enjoyment for those lacking in nostalgia.

My sister – and all like-minded women and gay men – can enjoy this film, justifiably or not. But an Oscar nomination for Best Picture?

Gtfooh.

See Kraven the Hunter instead.

★★★

Click IMDb or Letterboxd for my succinct thoughts.

Wolverine’s claw in Deadpool & Wolverine (2024) – Featured image for the movie review.

Deadpool & Wolverine

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

A film caught between two identities. On one side, it’s a continuation of the irreverent, boundary-pushing Deadpool series. On the other, it’s a corporate-mandated multiverse spectacle designed to please an algorithm more than an audience. Somewhere along the way, it lost balance.

Desecrating the Sacred

The film announces its misguided approach from the very first scene. Deadpool desecrating Wolverine’s corpse is an immediate red flag – not for being edgy, but for being lazy. It leans grotesque not to shock the audience in a meaningful way, but simply because it can. This type of humor isn’t boundary-pushing; it’s just a shortcut for actual clever writing.

Much of Deadpool & Wolverine follows this pattern, choosing cheap, grotesque gags over engaging storytelling. Deadpool shredding dudes while taunting the audience through fourth-wall breaks might be what fans expected – but does it actually add anything? The film mistakes excess for entertainment, a flaw that only snowballs as it goes on.

Meta Humor & Fan Service

Meta humor has always been Deadpool’s bread and butter. This time around, it feels like the writers confuse meta with meaning. Instead of adding depth, much of the self-awareness serves as a crutch. An excuse for lazy writing rather than an enhancement to the narrative. The film pauses many times to wink at the audience. As if acknowledging its own absurdity absolves it of needing to tell a compelling story.

Deadpool dancing to the backstreet boys IS funny. But why would such footage exist?

Fan service is weaponized here – relentless and exhausting, rather than used to enhance the story. The film leans heavily into cameos, references and multiversal chaos. It often forgets to be a story in its own right. If Spider-Man: No Way Home is the gold standard for using fan service, it serves a compelling narrative. In contrast, Deadpool & Wolverine serves as a cautionary tale. It shows what happens when a film relies on nostalgia without earning it.

The Lack of Stakes in a Multiverse

The multiverse is both the film’s biggest hook and its greatest flaw. The idea of Deadpool jumping across universes is inherently fun. But it quickly becomes an excuse to throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. This leads to a chaotic and unfocused narrative where stakes are nonexistent.

The problem is exacerbated by Wade and Logan’s near-invulnerability. The best fights in the Deadpool series work. They are effective even though Wade Wilson can heal. The violence has weight, impact, and consequence. Here, the excessive mutilation crosses the line from darkly humorous to grotesquely pointless. Watching Deadpool and Wolverine repeatedly slice each other to ribbons loses its appeal. Neither of them is ever truly in danger.

The TVA’s (Time Variance Authority’s) presence, lifted from Loki, is another example of a narrative decision that removes tension rather than adds to it. When the film leans into the TVA’s metaphysical mechanics, it feels less like a Deadpool film and more like a Loki spin-off trying too hard to justify its own existence.

Masked Background Talent

One of the film’s most frustrating elements is its over-reliance on masked, faceless background actors. This was a glaring issue in Deadpool & Wolverine’s fight sequences, where an army of generic, masked goons serves as cannon fodder.

The overuse of these faceless enemies undercuts the impact of the violence. There’s no emotional connection, no investment—just a barrage of blood and limbs flying in every direction. Compare this to the fights in Deadpool 2, where every enemy had a personality, and the difference is stark.

The Absence of Romance

One of the most glaring omissions in Deadpool & Wolverine is the near-total absence of Vanessa, whose presence was instrumental in grounding the first two films. Deadpool’s love for Vanessa provided an emotional throughline that gave weight to his irreverence. Deadpool 2 even hinged its entire premise on him trying to reunite with her in the afterlife.

Yet, in Deadpool & Wolverine, Vanessa is barely acknowledged. The opportunity to expand her presence – to use her as a counterbalance to the multiversal chaos – is completely squandered. Without this emotional core, the film feels hollow, transactional and overly fixated on spectacle.

Predictably Nice

One of the film’s few memorable bits involves “Nicepool,” a version of Deadpool with an uncharacteristically gentle demeanor. Ryan Reynolds delivers a strong performance in these scenes, showcasing his comedic range. But the film leans too heavily into predictability. The moment Nicepool appears, it’s obvious he won’t have a healing factor, leading to his predictable demise. Deadpool’s humor thrives on subverting expectations. But here, the setup itself is the joke. Making it feel less like a clever gag and more like a telegraphed punchline.

The Deadpool franchise thrived on subverting expectations. Here, the beats are too obvious, the punchlines too telegraphed. The film feels less like a chaotic force of nature and more like a carefully constructed, over-calculated product.

Final Verdict

Deadpool & Wolverine is a deeply frustrating experience. It has flashes of brilliance but is ultimately weighed down. By its own excesses, an overreliance on fan service and overall lack of a compelling narrative. It mistakes more for better, flooding the screen with references, blood and CGI without providing a reason to care.

Deadpool was always about controlled chaos – this is just a mess.

★★★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Check out my review of Endgame for more teleportation complaints.

Kraven the Hunter stands in a forest, surrounded by flames, wearing a leather vest and bracing for battle

Kraven the Hunter

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

Factory Fresh Tomatoes

Know how Rotten Tomatoes works? It calculates the Kraven review two ways:

  1. The Critics’ score (Tomatometer)
  2. The Users’ score (Popcornometer)

The second is usually the better measure of a film’s value. Kraven the Hunter sits at 15% / 73% – a textbook case. Audiences clearly found something here that critics didn’t. Maybe it’s the inventiveness, the self-serious intensity or the sheer commitment to its absurd premise. The bigger the gap, the better the movie. There’s a dark satisfaction in watching critics collectively harumph while audiences dig in.

Villainous Studio

Kraven the Hunter’s 15% critic score isn’t just about the film. It’s about Sony’s failed grand plan. Initially intended as a step toward a Sinister Six movie that never materialized. Now, it’s an artifact of an abandoned roadmap. But does that justify dismissing the film entirely? Critics seem to think so. There’s an odd wish to punish Kraven for existing. Like it’s an embarrassment that needs to be erased rather than a film to evaluate.

But that’s a mistake. If anything, Kraven deserves respect for not leaning into the worst tendencies of modern superhero films. It’s not a CGI crossover event; it doesn’t shoehorn in multiverse nonsense or cameos that mean nothing. Aaron Taylor-Johnson and J.C. Chandor clearly worked like mad to carve out something fresh in a genre of diminishing returns. The result’s imperfect, but also a rare thing: a superhero film that’s actually trying something different.

Even its most controversial decision — the reimagining of Kraven as virtuous — feels deliberate. In the comics, Kraven is one of Spider-Man’s most morally bankrupt villains. Yet here, he’s positioned as the strongest, most principled hero in a world where power should mean something. It’s a fascinating inversion. Even if it’s the result of corporate maneuvering, isn’t it at least interesting? After all, Kraven’s first comic appearance stood out for a reason. He wasn’t just another villain – he changed the rules. Isn’t that better than yet another recycled origin story?

Lee, Stan and Steve Ditko. The Amazing Spider-Man, no. 1, Marvel Comics, Mar. 1963.

The Lee/Ditko duo produced 38 issues together before Ditko’s departure in 1966. Lee stayed on as writer until 1972. The series hasn’t stopped since. Later this year, Amazing Spider-Man #1 (aka issue #944) will hit shelves.

As a kid, I read those first Spider-Man issues in bound volumes from Barnes & Noble. Even then, it was clear: Spider-Man was softer-edged than his bat-winged counterpart. His “Spidey Signal” projected a spider silhouette into the night, like a discount Bat-Signal. His science was more fiction than science – he once defeated Sandman with a household vacuum. If Sandman can break through concrete, a canvas dust bag shouldn’t be an issue.

The series’ lack of stakes creates an inevitable drag. Kraven’s introduction in Amazing Spider-Man #15 was a jolt. His presence elevated the stakes. Not another scientist-turned-mad or an animal-themed gangster — Kraven is human. A hunter. He doesn’t concoct death rays or mutate in a lab accident. He tracks, he studies and he kills. His target? Not just any human but the strongest one. Finally, a true challenge to Spider-Man – not to his virtue, but to the world he operates in. Kraven pulls the narrative out of its sci-fi comfort zone and into something more elemental. For a moment, Spider-Man belongs to a different, slightly elevated genre.

Kraven the Hunter is not the film anyone expected, but it’s something the genre desperately needs. A break from formula. It won’t lead to Sony’s Sinister Six, but does that even matter? In a world of corporate-driven franchise-building, it’s refreshing to see a film daring to stand alone.

Its estimated budget was $110 million, and it has only recouped $61 million worldwide.

A shame for a film this ambitious.

★★★ ★★★ ★★★

For tangentially related reviews: The Amazing Spider-Man & The Amazing Spider-Man 2.

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

Demi Moore in The Substance (2024), blowing a kiss during a surreal televised fitness sequence

The Substance

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

What does a rat feel? Revulsion. Discomfort.

Both can be essential to great storytelling – when used carefully. But The Substance isn’t careful.

It is an anthem to the grotesque, mistaking shock for substance. A film that can’t be enjoyed – only endured.

It believes pushing discomfort to the extreme makes a profound statement about fame, beauty and Hollywood’s exploitation of women. But its heavy-handed approach, artificial production design and indulgence in shock tactics undercut whatever commentary it thinks it’s making.

The opening segment depicts the cement pouring of Elisabeth Sparkle’s Hollywood star. We see more of this later in the film’s closing moments. A bold visual choice that suggests The Substance is operating on a grand thematic scale. But like much of what follows, its ambition outweighs its execution. It avoids shooting on Hollywood Boulevard, opting for an artificial soundstage version instead. It wants to feel dreamlike. Instead, it feels like a cheap imitation of reality. It’s another layer of artificiality on a film already drowning in it.

A sophisticated viewer can’t escape into this world. The film wants us to stay aware that we are watching something staged. But never finds purpose in that decision. The ketchup-smearing, the exaggerated performances, the lack of real-world immersion – it stands back from mainstream cinema, offering commentary on fame and stardom, yet never justifies why its own theatricality matters.

Even exterior shots feel just as artificial as the plastic interiors. This near-future Los Angeles is an empty, motionless husk. No automobile traffic, no pedestrians, nothing to suggest life beyond the immediate scene. The result is an uncanny sterility that feels more like an oversight than an intentional choice. It’s not a world, just a series of sterile stages.

The grotesque is meant to unsettle. The Substance lingers too long and revisits too often. It bludgeons the viewer instead of unsettling them. This is clearest in its body horror. The difference between unsettling horror and empty provocation is simple: restraint.

The finger transformation is enough – one moment to illustrate the rising stakes. Instead, the film fixates, revisiting the image until its power dissolves into retching. The Substance doesn’t trust its audience to understand discomfort. It insists on holding the camera on every oozing, gaping wound. It seems to demand, Do you feel sick yet? No? Let’s keep going.

There is one scene that works. Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) applies makeup before a date. She looks perfect yet feeling self-conscious, she applies even more. This has an increasingly deteriorating effect. A glimmer of good filmmaking – a moment where the horror emerges naturally from a relatable insecurity. Then, true to its instincts, it upends, taking it one step too far. It attempts a third round of application. This stretches credulity and beats the dead horse. Moderation is not in its vocabulary.

The film seems desperate to punish its audience for appreciating beauty.

“You like seeing Demi Moore’s body?” it sneers. “Let’s see how you feel when it’s mutilated. Or infected. Or deformed beyond recognition. Still enjoying it?”

It’s a juvenile provocation – one that says nothing new but screams it at full volume. The film doesn’t explore the commodification of the female form. Instead, it weaponizes it. It mocks those who enjoy its first presentation.

By the end, the viewer feels trapped. Several patrons in my auditorium fled during the climax. At least one person can avoid the visual by closing the eyelids. Panicked, writhing masses midst a fire hose of blood. But men shouldn’t cover their ears, so for some, there’s no escape.

The screaming. Oh, the blood-curdling screaming. And the punk rock.

Sloshing. Straining.

★

Briefer thoughts at: IMDb & Letterboxd.

Read Nosferatu for more horror that doesn’t work.

Héra draws her sword with fierce determination in The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim (2024)

The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim

On By Stephen LoveletteIn Film ReviewsLeave a comment

We’ll return to The War of the Rohirrim review momentarily. First…

The Disparity Between Trilogies

92% of 236 certified critics reviewed The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) favorably.

The 19 or so folks who gave it a negative review should have their critic cards revoked.

64% of 302 critics reviewed The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012) favorably.

These folks should be killed. In all seriousness: None of The Hobbit films are strong.

Uninspired

Considering them anything but inadequate is lunacy.

There was one worthwhile scene in the entire trilogy: Galadriel rescues Gandalf.

Kicking down doors and orc butt. Galadriel swaddles Gandalf, beaten and blue. (Need my childhood male heroes be whipped flagrantly? Male Chauvinism’s back in style for 2025; warn your sisters.)

A freshly converted [first trilogy viewing < 5 years] friend claims to have enjoyed The Hobbit films. She is mistaken.

Her thought is, “the single hottest take in cinematic history,” I explain. 

She confirms my wisdom privately with another friend. He agrees: Suggesting The Hobbit films are ‘good enough’ is not okay.

Fine Intent

“I guess I thought it was nice just being back in that world…” she mules.

Wrong. It’s not nice.

And The Hobbit is not a return to the world of the original trilogy. Rings of Power the television series has more success at accomplishing this goal, impossible as it is.

Show caution, fine viewer, against this type of casual intellectualism. Think more.

The disparity between the trilogies is obvious. The original is the peak of cinema and storytelling. Debatable the highest art ever. Worthy of multiple re-viewings across decades.

The second trilogy is an unjustifiable lengthening of sub-adequate topic material. Derivative. Ptuey!

Suitable Portals to Middle-earth

Closest experience to viewing the original LOTR trilogy is reading the books: Fellowship, Two Towers, Return of the King. Children of Hurin = good. The Hobbit’s okay. Skip The Silmarillon.

If you’ve suffered the above analysis there’s a slim chance you’re still unconverted. If you still have yet to view the original trilogy, please take a bow. Or continue bowing, I guess.

Maybe you think it’s still up for debate whether or not Tolkien wrote…good? Or cool? Or fun?

At any rate you’re being stubborn. By and large you’ve spent a quarter century refusing to view. Why not hang it up already – what has reluctance gained thus far? Turn on Fellowship in earnest.

You will enjoy. I promise.

Above all you’ll see the value of an escape back into the world of LOTR. With, say, a book or film like War of the Rohirrim.

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Briefer takes on IMDb & Letterboxd.

Check out Justice League x RWBY for more anime adjacent, but ungood entertainment.