Arrow Review

So I recently finished taking in the pilot for the new CW show 'Arrow.' For the one or two people out there who are not so much in to comics the show is an adaptation of the DC Comics character Green Arrow. I guess the producers decided to drop the "Green" from the name since historically green superheroes do not tend to do so well in terms of live action adaptations. Green Lantern, Green Hornet, The Hulk, you get my drift. I had been looking forward to the show for quite awhile and after seeing the adds, was really digging the more grass roots approach they seemed to be taking with the emerald archer who, in a departure from his more theatrical, hi tech depiction as a re-acurring character in Smallvile, was now wielding an actual bow and sporting a no thrills vigilante get-up.
The show kicks off with a haggard looking Oliver Queen being rescued from a remote island were we find out he has been stranded for five years. The flippant, overprindulged son of a wealthy industrial Tycoon who perished in the shipwreck that turned him into a castaway, Oliver returns to his home town of Starling City a changed man with a newfound social conscience and an agenda against the criminal elite who have profited in the wake of his father's demise. While openly trying to reconcile matters with his family and an old flame, Oliver secretly dons a Green hood, and armed with little more than the bow and arrow sets about a one man crusade to set things right while making some very powerful people very angry in the process.
Throughout his comic book history Green Arrow has always struggled with the perception of being a cheap knockoff of Batman, even being dubbed the unflattering nickname of "Batman Lite." Arrow does not do a whole lot to disprove this mispercection as indeed the pilot has A LOT in common with 2005's Batman Begins both in tone and narrative structure. From Oliver Queen's character building years in exhile, to his mission to take on the crimminals who are morally bankrupting his hometown, to the requisite love interest who works in a law office and is already trying, albeit unsucessfully to make a difference from within the system, to the none linear format the story is constructed in jumping back and forth from the present day to the fateful beginning of Oliver's ordeal when his father's yacht capsized in a storm, all of these felt somewhat derivative of Bruce Wayne's journey in the first entry of the recently concluded trilogy. I am not necessarily saying this is a bad thing. Better they try and copy something that was good than something that wasn't.
Probably my biggest qualm with the pilot was that it just seemed too rushed. I would really have liked to see more service given to Ollie on the island, struggling to make the rough transition from a world were everything was handed to him on a silver platter to one were he has to kick scratch and claw for every scrap of food he can get. On that same note, I wish they had built up the bow more and explored the idea of him employing the same tool he mastered to stay alive as a weapon to fight injustice. Like Captain America's shield or Thor's hammer, Green Arrow's bow is an integral part of who he is and what he represents though in the pilot next to nothing is said about what it means to him or even were the heck he got it in the first place. Perhaps this is a theme that will be touched on in later episodes.
Despite falling a bit short of a bullseye Arrow's aim was true and it definately hit the marks that will make me want to tune in again next week. Just no Arrowmobile please.

Ross

Mer

She watches the humans with starry eyed fascination. Watches them stretch, saunter, and roughouse about. Their grunts, their guffaws, their four letter words shouted aloud. The cream colored skin and clinging raiments of orange and yellow conceiling all but salt caked hands whiskered, weather beaten faces. Extraordinary visitors from a beautiful, forbidden world. From her solitary perch amidst the rolling ocean the great, otherworldly craft that keeps the strangers afloat seems to leap up on invisible legs before crashing into the sea with a thunderous, concussive force. In the spoken language of the above, a single word is carved into the crafts hull. Through sapphire colored lips she tries to speak the word in the custom of the surfacers though the sound she emits is garbled and unnatural, not like the men on the craft whose mouths poor forth rapid articulations faster than her ears can follow. It is as though she is a person rediscovering a muscle after a lifetime of neglect. With a furrowed brow, she consults her mind voice to master the word her underdeveloped vocal chords can not, allowing her conscious to slide over each syllable with relish like an invisible tongue tasting something exquisite. "Lyndsay" her inner voice speaks in a mellifluous chiming echo, and she repeats the word over, and over, celebrating the word, stretching each syllable into the chorus of a song before a deafening crack that sounds like a hole being torn through the roof of the sky makes her dart like an arrow into the the blanketing safety of her cold blue world.
Skirting the shoals of the craggy gray bottom she gazes upward, wondering if it was the surfacers that made the sky to cry out like that. Were there any limits to their power? Craning upward, she observes that Lyndsay has shrunken to the size of a minnow and she giggles and chides herself for being so skiddish. Safely in her element as she was surly she should not turn tail at whatever showy displays of power the surface men could flaunt.
Swiftly, like silk in the wind her fins thrust forward and she glides on a wave of upward momentum. Climbing, climbing, she readies for the moment when the ocean's everpresent being relinquishes itself to the empty, unfilled nothingness of open air, to the danger and mystery of man's world. Rising on a column of blue, eager to complete the act of emergence, of symbolic birth, of gleeful and unapologetic defiance of the edicts of ocean antiquity.
Gazing through the distorting veneer of water caressing sky, she suddenly notices what looks to be a great hand reaching down from above to help her in her ascent, though a moment later she realizes this is not the case in the slightest as the strange apparition does not glide to meet her in a lucid arc of motion but rather plunges forward violently like a starving predator desperate for a meal. A beast the likes of nothing she has never seen before, the creature unfurls its arms and tries to force itself upon her, coarse brown appendages, groping out blindly to ensnare her in its grasp. Instinctively, she propels herself to safety though not before feeling the monster's knotty, chorded fingers scrape roughly against the back of her fins. Turning back upon reaching a safe distance she observes that others are not so fortunate and looks on astonished as a school of black cod are swept up in its seemingly unbreakable clutches. The bizarre, membranous thing, now bulging from its writhing catch, tightens and begins to rise though not before a dozen or so determined cod manage to wiggle their way through through a small circular opening in its apex. Racing away in terror, none of them seem to notice she was there save one, who's tail twitches uncontrollably as though dancing to the discordant rhythme of misfiring nerves.
"DANGER! AWAY!" its thoughts cry out in an unreasoning, terrified voice before hurriedly cutting off after the rest of the fortunate liberated.
Shaken and afraid, she considers abandoning this foolish game. Perhaps it was no coincidence that she had come within bare inches of being ensnared by that fish snatching atrocity just moments ago. As always, she had been careful, but who knew what incomprable methods of human sorcery she was meddling against? They could very well know she was spying and at this very moment be poised and ready to unleash the monster once again. Could her luck hold out a second time? She didn't think so. But fascination's lure had pierced her all the way through and she was too obsessed, too enthralled, and too stygmatized to attemp to pull it out now. Wary of staying in the same area any longer she glides a ways across to the other end of Lyndsay before ascending from the depths to resume her extraordinary observations.
A different group of men are at work on that side. One of them, an older one judging by the rumpled indentations of his skin and the tired, deliberate way in which he places his steps, struggles to re-position a set of cumbersome looking equipment and calls out for help. "David! Lend me a hand her will ya son!?" Appearing beside him a moment later is a much younger man who quickly relieves his beleaguered looking crewmate of his burden, casually hoisting the gear onto broad shoulders that appear as though they had been chiseled from granite. "Careful Grady, were a long ways from the nearest emergency room and I promised Charlotte I'd have you home in time to help her re-tile the kitchen didn't I?" The elder seaman grunts, eyeing the veral deckhand with grudging appreciation. "Good boy. Now Howz' about more muscle and less lip Hercules, eh?" David laughs and begins to say something which is immediately drowned out in a rising cacophony of rain drops barreling down from the sky like a million liquid kamakazis and the whap whap whap sound of Lyndsay as she leaps and crashes. The rain is soaking through the conceilatory orange hood masking his profile and he slides it off and she is convinced that the sea holds no comparison to the crystal blue hue of his eyes as he gazes out to the edge of the world and lets his long dark hair be tossed about by the invasive rush of rain chilled wind.
"David..." she speaks softly from the rippling undulations below. It is the first word she has spoken aloud in human custom and she smiles for having discovered a voice she hardly knew existed. Her reverie is short lived however as an almost unearthly rumbling from an endless suceession of pitch black thunderheads lining the skies above imposes itself on the moment. Minutes pass and activity aboard Lyndsay slows to a crawl as the men stop to survey the ever darknening skies. Their fingers twitch nervously and their faces read like a shared unspoken prayer for mother nature to be generous to them. But like a depraved animal that knows no kindness, only the lurid satisfaction of the kill, the squall intensifies.
She looks on worriedly at the men in craft as their earlier zeal and lusty fortitude begins to erode under the chaotic force of the downpour. A stubby, hard looking man emerges from within the vessel and begins to shout orders to the agitated crewmen as bodies rush to and fro wildly with none of the steady cadence and rhythme of before. Then, it is as if the very essence of nature's might itself, distilled into a vibrant bolt of blue fire tears open the skies and discovers a viable target upon which to excise all its unbound ferocity.
Terrified she ducks underwater wondering if the storm isn't divine retribution against her treasonous and incendiary behavior in daring to venture to the surface. Her thoughts are interrupted by a sharp osillation of water at her back and she looks to see a school of mackeral brush past her, their usual drowsy colllectedness now abondoned in the face of the sound and fury above as they push, nudge, and jostle to be formost among the group. DANGER, DANGER, DANGER, AWAY, AWAY, AWAY, there thoughts scream out to her, piercing in their urgency. She looks at them, then at surface above. Not blue but black now. What had that streak of light done to Lyndsay and the men? To David? It does not matter. She is terrified and wants nothing more than to give in to the fishes frantic flight mode and race off with them into the safe familiarity of the deep, discarding this day as a half remembered dream only there to laugh and feel silly over later on. But there is another feeling inside her that is stronger than the fear. A feeling potent enough to challange even the terrible blue fire she witnessed pour out of the sky. And as she musters her courage and swims back up, she cannot help but wonder if it is a human feeling that compels her to do so. An earie light filters over the water as she tilts back to surface. It is blood orange like the setting sun and accompanied by something else, dark and foul looking. The cloud of smoke assails her senses the moment she draws her first breath and she coughs uncontrollably, swiveling in the water before at last regaining sight of the ship. Lyndsay is on fire.
Like a green young soldier ordered to man the front lines on the day the bloodshed is at its grisliest, she looks on with mounting horror at the varying reactions of the men on inside. Some, shaken with panic, take a flying leap from the deck where they flail ungracefully in the turbulent waters beneath while those posessing of firmer character aggressively douse the assailing walls of flame with hefty pales drawn to the tip again and again. But the effort is having no visible effect. The fire only becomes angrier at the men's attempt to squelch it and seems to grow hotter and even more deadly. David is at the forefront of the attempt, his handsome face tarnished by smoke as he slings heavy balefuls of water upon the oscillating crimson tongues with a steely resolution that seems to energize the other men. Eyes stinging with sweat and tears they chuck and heave, drowning out the ardent cries of protest from aching muscles exhausted from a long day’s work. Like a group of warrior tribesmen grappling with a predator they fight on half mad with courage when suddenly the ship itself appears to moan in agony as a series of sickening snaps tear her open from within and they are at once struck with the grim understanding that their struggle has been for naught. A rabid malignance, the fire has seeped into the very bones of Lindsay herself and with bitter acknowledgement that their combined will could not overcome nature at its fiercest, the crewmen make like bandits for the ship's sole life boat as more ruptures in the hull appear and pieces of the old girl begin to collapse around them, red wreathed and smoking. Retreating down a side latter the men retract the cables holding the modest vessel aloft and rapidly pile in, plunging their hands into the frigid waters to help those foremost to abandon the ship drag themselves aboard before someone jerks the outboard motor to life with an unceremonious tug and they finally feel themselves being carried away. Some, overwhealmed from the ordeal go so far as to use their hands and arms to try and hasten the escape.
Upon having gained a safe distance the men conduct a silent head count. One short. "Oh God...Grady" David whispers with mounting horror. He rises to his feet amidst a throng of incredulous, disbelieving glances.
"DAVID NO! GRAB HIM YOU ASSHOLES!" Screams the skipper but it is to late, and before the others can so much as raise a hand to thwart their foolhardy compatriote David is already cutting through the water with marked determination back toward what can now only be described as a floating microcosm of hell itself.
Terrified, they cry out words of petition. That Grady had known the risks. That he was certainly already dead. That David was only sealing his death warrant as well.
David hears all of these things but listens to none of them as his fingers finally brush against the hull of the ship before a ill timed blast of sea water sends him coughing out loud. Gritting his teeth he reaches for the thin metal ladder bolted to Lindsay’s portside. The sizzling sensation of hot metal on flesh makes his hands sing out in pain as he hoists himself unto the battered, smoldering ruin of the deck. Like stepping into a furnace the heat is now nearly unbearable and whatever former dependence he held in the seemingly indestructible armaments of youth is quickly stripped away as wave upon wave of scorching agony blasts him from all sides. "GRADE!" he cries out hoarsely between great, hacking coughs as noxious gouts of acrid smoke reder him dizzy and unbalanced. He brings his foot down on a weak spot in the deck and a stabbing pain shoots through his ankle as a section of the it collapses beneath his weight. Pivoting wildly to the side, he scrambles to free his leg from the treacherous aperture in the floorboards. Using both hands to ease it out, he hunkers to one knee, gently caresses his throbbing ankle and noticing, through a dense haze of tears and exhaustion, the red rivulets of blood filling up the long, winding gash that stretches the length of his pantleg.
Undaunted, he again throws his voice into the charred oblivion of the once robust and seaworthy veseel.
"GRADE!" Nothing, save for the subversive crackling of ongoing incineration.
"GRADE!"
He barely hears it. A whimper coming from somewhere within the smoke and ash.
Wincing, David pushes himself upright by the strength of his uninjured leg and limps in the direction from which the voice originated. The smoke has laid a black shroud over everything and he extends his hands out before him like a sleep walking caricature to navigate his way through the blackness. Twenty paces or so later and his foot happens upon something yielding and, in spite of his throbbing ankle he manages a smile as a voice yelps out in mixed surprise and indignation.
"What’re you trying to help me or do me in!?" David looks down to the sight of his old friend pinned to the deck with a collapsed metal girder pushing down unto his chest and ribcage. Kneeling beside his fallen crewmate, David hooks his hands beneath the fallen girder and pulls upward like a weightlifter performing a curl while Grady, appearing as though he has aged another twenty years during his entrapment aboard the burning ship, lends what meager strength he has remaining to push up against the metal girder that has rendered him immobilized. For three agonizing minutes the struggle stretches on and the two men manage five or six inches on the girder before their arms go limp in supplication and a volley of explosive gasps ensue.
"David, listen to me... " Grady manages over the incessent cacophony of burning wood and alabastar, but David refusing to do so, shakes his head doggedly before his shoulder is grasped tightly by a hand calloused from hurling many nets. "Dammit kid you need to get clear of here now! The fuel tanks are going to blow any second! Just what the hell were you thinking coming back here anyway!? Sighing in fear and pain, Grady looks up and into the face of the scrawny young boy he had reluctantly allowed to join his crew at the almost unheard of age of thirteen. Back when the aches and pains that were now becoming harder and harder to endure were little more than a mild annoyance, easily ignored and he could cast a net and reel in a catch with the best of them. Better than the best of them. As was the precedent for any Captain worth his salt. If it had not been for the desperate appeals of the little prince's mother, for that was what he and his crew had dubbed him, not unflatteringly, during his first few years aboard due to his fine dark hair and deceptively delicate appearance, she was a widow trying her damndest to raise him and four girls on a waitresses salary with little success, he had known her, a lifetime ago, watched her come of age in the very town he had apprenticed on his first boat all knees and elbows and as green as they come. Even years later, after the ravages of heartache and loss she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. How could he ever refuse her anything? Slowly, his grip loosens and his voice comes softer. David...it's okay...really... I'm okay..just go..please...
Gasping for breath, David covers Grady’s hand with his own and a second later, thrusts it away disgustedly.
"The hell with you! I’m Hercules remember! Now quit acting like some decrepit bagger at the A&P! You’re a Goddamn fisherman now you push that freakin' thing for all your worth you crone!
"Little shit" Grady rasps, "and here I was just starting to get a tan." With that his face contorts into a grimace of effort as once again he pushes up against two hundred plus pounds of solid metal. David, likewise redoubling his efforts, looks as though fire is about to burst from his veins and they protrude like thin exclamation marks beneath the tensed skin of his arms and neck.
Slowly, tortuously, the beam rises up from Grady's chest and at last with a stoic cry, David thrusts it forward were it smacks the deck with a deafening wham. Exhausted, he helps the older man to his feet, wrapping his arm around his shoulder for support in spite of his mangled ankle.
"We survive, first rounds on me." Grady says, smiling wanly, his wrinked skin caked heavily in soot.
"Alwayst thought a brush with death would be the least it would take for you to loosen that wallet old skin flint," replies David as the two commence in an urgent, ungraceful shuffle toward the nearest edge of the boat. Flaming debris spits out at them from the curtain of smoke stifling their vision and David grips his mentor closer before extending his arm in a sideways v to deflect it away. Stumbling a little ways ahead, David's waist finally collides with the hot metal rail running along the ship’s siding and he cries aloud in mixed pain and elation. Breathlessly he turns to the older man at his side realizing, upon observing Grady's drooping head and vacant expression, that his friend is nearly running on empty. A few more minutes of breathing in all this carbon dioxide and he would be no worse for ware as well.
"Don’t you dare give up on me now old timer" he rasps through lips more stained black with ash and grunting in exertion, heaves him into a fireman’s carry before committing him to the water‘s below. The sudden immersion seems to send a jolt of awareness back into the older man's senses. Shock mingles with relief as he breaks the surface and gazes up at the ship that just a short time before, he was convinced would be his funeral pyre. He looks up and sees David on the rails, poised to join him, and he motions frantically for him to jump.
Meanwhile, a stone's throw to the distance, the crew of the fish and shrimping boat once known as Lindsay look on in stunned silence as two ghosts emerge from the standing sheets of flame, for not more than ghosts could have survived such an unholy inferno. But when they observe the soutestained silhouette of David struggling to lift Grady over the bow reality sinks in and they know the sea is not playing tricks on their senses. "C‘MON!" one screams. They had not gotten but a few feet when suddenly there is a thunderous sound and the crimson wreck which had not long ago resembled a seaworthy vessel is swallowed in a hellish ball of fire. "Christ! The fuel tanks!" one of them cries out as the blinding glare generated from the blast forces them to duck their heads as they begin to feel specks of debris rain upon them. A moment passes and they lift their heads, reluctant to see but powerless to do otherwise.
He is a lamb. The ocean, an alter. "I have a name, what is it?" the young man wonders as consciousness fades in and out like like a black and white silent film with damaged, missing frames. Careening wildly his lungs scream for air and he opens his mouth though nary a hint of oxygen can be found. With a defiant cry, weak hands reach and writhe in desperation for the water's surface seemingly miles away before at last succombing to their cruel captor's icy embrace. Murky green dissipates into a swirling tableu of black and red and with the seeming departure of reality comes the certainty that the threshold of the living has been left behind. For why else would he feel the sensation of hands clutching him tight? Of long hair brushing against his skin? Of an unmistakeably feminine figure pressed closely against him? With sudden intensity the taste of lips hits his mouth like an electrical charge and a surreal sense of awareness washes over him as breath is forced back into his starving lungs in long sensuous bursts. Slowly, the veil of incoherence liftes and he realizes he is moving at incredible speed, no longer a captive of the sea but gliding effortlessly through it like a hawk cutting deftly through the wind. And she is beside him the entire time, holding him close, never letting go, a phantom lover.
Minutes pass. Or are they hours? Time assumes a lucidity that blurs and contorts perception like a winding corridor of deceptive trick mirrors. Faintly he hears a voice, drifting evocatively from somewhere unseen, infiltrating his senses, sweet, soothing, beautiful. A tonic equally healing and debilitating. He moves his arms and legs and feels the course, yielding texture of the sand bank upon which he rests. His eyeslids flutter open and she is there and she is singing to him. Singing in a tongue he has never heard before. Singing though not a word leaves her lips. Her face is like nothing he has ever seen before and he struggles for a clearer picture though his vision is obscured with the sting of sea salt and the muddying veil of lingering delirium. Vaguely he senses a hand gently caressing his face and wonders at the membranous folds of skin resting between the narrow, sinuous fingers. It does not matter though. Nothing matters but that she keep singing to him. That the moment be wrung dry and the dream last for as long as possible. He smiles and reaches up to take her when suddenly a distant chorus of men's voices intermingles with hers and before he even realizes she is gone they are upon him. Genuflecting in the sand they shower him in a loud chorus of hurrahs before helping him to his feet as two crew members rush to support him on either side, taking the pressure off of his hurt ankle. His back is covered in first degree burns and he flinches in sudden pain and discomfirt as a large overcoat is wrapped around him in place of his tattered shirt.
"Gave us one hell of a scare kid...A damn brave thing...Can't believe your still here..." their commendations, though well meaning assail his mind like falling glass and he twists around desperately searching for some trace of the one who saved him though none at all can be found.
Amidst the swarm of his coharts David hears a familiar, weatherworn voice call out to him and suddenly Grady is in his arms and crushing him in a fierce hug as though the younger man might choose to depart from the living at any second.
"Damn it kid don't you ever do something that stupid again okay!? You hear me!?" Grady manages, trying, with little success, to choke back tears of happiness and relief.
"To hell with you old man" David replies with a dry smile," hugging him back though his eyes continue to comb the beach and the ocean beyond, longingly, relentlessly. The Skipper is among them and though the hard looking man is likewise belated to find the youngest member of his crew alive following his harrowing ordeal, he cannot help but regard him with a suspicious look bordering on outright fear.
"how on God's earth's did you manage to swim back inland in the state you were in? We were nearly fifteen miles out at sea?
Hesitantly, David regards the skipper, completely lost on what to say. Completely lost on a lot of things. "When you first caught sight of me on the beach, was I alone?"
"Of course."
"You mean you didn't..you didn't see her too."
"No, but had I spent the last few hours drinking sea water maybe I would have. Who are you are you talking about son? Who is "her?"
Grady along with the rest of the lot gaze at David expectantly, waiting on pins and needles for the next words that would leave the young man's mouth. However, David cannot meet their eyes and instead looks to the sea for answers though the immense sleeping giant before him is a closed book, mysterious and unknowable. He aches with a desire to tell them everything that happened. To profess the truth of what had only ever existed in folklore and bedtime stories. The song of his mysterious rescuer still echoed in his head, begging to be shared with the world. Was it enough to bear silent witness to the extraordinary? Could he learn to keep this treasured in his heart for the rest of his days?
Quietly, he looks back at them, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"No one."

Ross







　
　

Dredd Review

Harsh is probably the first word that comes to mind when describing gritty and ultraviolent Dredd. A major departure from the corny and overblown 90's dud featuring Sly Stallone and an insufferable Rob Schneider, this latest cinematic incarnation of the future's most extreme supercop and the post apocolyptic world he inhabits is lean, mean, and much like its titular character, sticks to its guns.
One of the aspects that I enjoyed most about Dredd was the intense focus of the storytelling. Rather than bog the audience down with 45 minutes plus of tedious exposition and backstory we are told all we need to know about the film's setting, the distopic Mega City 1, and the elite organization who police its streets and if the situation mandates, perform on site executions, Judges, in the first few minutes of the movie. From that point on, boom, we are off and rolling. This immersive, no nonsense approach is best summed up in a line of dialogue early on in the film.
"Sink or swim it is time to throw her in the deep end and see what she's made of" says a recruitment officer to Dredd of a rookie, Anderson, whose performance he must evaluate after a day of on the job training. "It's all a deep end" responds Dredd dubiously, no doubt talking about the chaotic urban hell hole that is Mega City 1, which is so dense and sprawling that Judges can only respond to six percent of the crimes that occur. In this way, from a thematic standpoint it as if the film itself wastes no time chucking the audience right into the deep end right along with Dredd and Anderson, letting us learn more about them through their actions and behavior as the plot progresses and the situation they have to deal with becomes more and more dire.
All the performances were solid though I particularly enjoyed Karl Urban's portrayal of the scowling, gravely voiced Dredd. Despite his cold, emotionally detached demeanor and nonexistent moral compunctions for blowing multiple bullet holes through a host of unsavory characters it is clear that he holds himself to an extremely high standard of conduct with an emphasises impartiality. This is best expemplified in the very fair, indiscrimmatory way he treats Anderson, who Dredd's superiors are pushing on him to pass mostly due of her strong telepathic abilities rather than any proven aptitude for the work, and in a scene were, despite Anderson's being 99.9 % sure of an apprehended crimminal's guilt, Dredd replies that that is still not good enough for them to perform an on the spot execution.
Besides giving the audience a rudimentary understanding of Dredd and what he does, almost everything else about the man wearing the uniform remains shrouded in mystery. This  includes his face, which in a nice nod to the comics, we never recieve a full glimpse from behind his trademark Judge's helmet. I really enjoyed this minimalist approach. It left me wanting to know more about the character and the circumstances that led to him being that way.
Although unfortunately it seems to have flown a bit under the radar in terms of commercial sucess Dredd is a film that deserves to be seen. With smart, thought provoking writing and an overall creative vision that manages to be both provocative and harshly uncompromsing it is definately a movie that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go until well after the credits roll.

Ross  
                        

The Dark Knight Rises Review

Back in the summer of 2008 when a little movie called "The Dark Knight" managed to both transcend and redefine the comic/superhero movie genre as we know it, the liklihood of a potential third installment, be it the tiniest glimmer on the horizon, became natural and inevitable. During a long and quiet couple of years in which Christopher Nolan, the director and all around master and commander of the hottest comic book franchise to date took a hiatus from the gritty streets of Gotham to direct his mind bending dream caper "Inception" many ideas were postulated by an ever hungry fanbase on were they would like to see a third movie go in terms of themes, villains, etc. I myself was eager for a story involving Batman on the run from the law while at the same time determined to hunt down a certain cerebral assailant obsessed with leaving riddles at the scene of his crimes as a taunting lure for Gotham's shadowy protector. Well, after finally have seeing that long anticipated third installment "The Dark Knight Rises" after a grueling four year turn-around, all I can say is thank goodness Chris Nolan and everyone involved were thinking so much bigger than I ever was.
Taking place eight years after the events of TDK which ended with Batman willingly becoming an outlaw to save Harvey Dent's reputation after the horribly scarred district attorney went on a mad rash of violence prompted by the The Joker's schemes, TDKR sees a Gotham that has since prospered under an era peace under "The Dent Act," which has allowed police to effectively stamp out the remaining elements of organized crime that for many years proved a blight on the heart of the city. Not fairing so well however are Police Commisioner Jim Gordon whose guilt over having betrayed his good friend and confidant in order forge a tremulous peace built on a lie is finally becoming more than he can live with, and eccentric billionaire Bruce Wayne, who, after riding off on the batpod to escape a vengeful police force in the climactic final moments of TDK, has relinquished his crime fighting alter ego of The Batman and since slid away into a life of reclusion and ignominity. Suffering from wounds both physical and mental, the once fearsome hero has let himself deteriorate into a gaunt, disheveled ghost shuffling around in his night gown and haunting the corridors of a sparse and sterile looking Wayne Manor.
But when new adversaries threaten to plunge the city into peril once more, Bruce is determined to dust off the cowl once more, and despite his past prime state, jump back into the fray much to the displeasure of his loyal butler and surrogate father figure Alfred, who yearns for his master achieve a happy and fulfilling life beyond the obsession of being Batman.
One of those adversaries is Selena Kyle, a sultry, crafty con artist who uses a potent combination of feminine wiles and kung fu kick a$$ery to get what she's after. Although she is a free agent and never truly a legitamite threat to the city, Selena (never referred to as Catwoman in the film) nevertheless plays a pivotal role in shaking Bruce, who senses a kindred spirit in Selena, out of his gloomy self exile, and opening his eyes to the economic disparities that are rotting the city from within.
Batman's other adversary, who is very much a threat to the city is Bane. Built like a 200 + pound tank and outfitted with a grotesque mask that evokes the image of a muzzled pit bull from hell and is part heavy metal part Hannibal Lecter, Bane is truly frightening not only in his strengh and size but also in the demeanor of smug casualness he projects while perpetrating extreme acts of violence in pursuit of his ultimate and horrifying goal. He is the biggest dog in the yard and he knows it.
Rounding out Bruce's stable of allies is head of Wayne Enterprises R&D department Lucius Fox, the veriable Q to Batman's 007, who makes his employers decision to resume his nightly theatrics even easier by supplying him with a truly cool and sci fi looking air assault vehicle crisoned "The Bat." Miranda Tate, an attractive and environmentally conscious Wayne Enterprises board member who encourages Bruce to come out of his shell and pursue his father's philinphropic endeavors by means both in the boardroom and bedroom. Lieutenant Peter Foley, a character whose arc is intended to mirror that of Gotham as a whole. And John Blake, an earnest and idealistic rookie cop who refuses to go along with the aura of complacency that has crept into the city and proves an indispensible ally to Batman in his war against Bane.
In the tradition of The Dark Knight, "Rises" taps into many real life contemporary fears including urban terrorism, class warfare, and the threat of total economic collapse. Like modern day suicide bombers eager to give their lives in perpetuation of some "glorious" cause, the villains of the story truly believe in their own twisted ideals of order and justice and are willing to go to any means necessary to accomplish those ends, thus making them far more scary than a giant CG lizard or some anonymous alien army from outer space.
Themes of suffering and redemption pervade as (spoilers!) after being beaten nearly to death and tossed in a hole to suffer and die, Bruce must rise from the abyss and truly become the symbol of hope he originally set out to be in the first movie, (2005's "Batman Begins) in order to save his city and perhaps finally overcome his need to be Batman.
 Epic in every sense of the word, The Dark Knight Rises is truly a moving and bittersweet finale to the most outstanding superhero film franchise there has ever been and perhaps ever will be again. Batman truly rises to his highest height and the film's simple yet profound rational for what constitutes a hero really stikes at the core of why people love Batman in the first place. That any of us can be him.

Ross

Batman: Earth One Review

Among the pantheon of superheroes, Batman's origin is certainly one of the most compelling and identifiable. Scarred by the trauma of witnessing his parents gunned down by a mugger during a harmless family outing young billionaire Bruce Wayne literally puts his life on hold and vowing justice against the evil that robbed him of the two most precious people in his life thenceforth committs every fiber of his being to achieving the peak of mental and physical perfection. Eventually developing the alter ego of the Batman, Bruce assumes the facade of a vacuous and narcassistic playboy during the day while at night, strikes fear into the hearts of Gotham's criminal underbelly while inspiring hope in its good people as the city's Dark Knight.
There have been quite a few interpretations of Batman's origins both in comics and cinema. The most noteworthy probably being Frank Miller and David Mazzuchelli's grim and gritty Batman: Year One series, pretty much considered as cannon to any current reader of the comics, and Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins, which is just as much a thought provoking psychological exploration into Bruce's drive and motivation for putting on the cape and cowl and choosing to be a hero as it is a rousing action/adventure story.
And now, just in time for The Dark Knight Rises no less, we have Batman: Earth One, the long awaited graphic novel by writer Geoff John's and artist Gary Frank in which The Caped Crusaders origins are re-imagined for a new generation of reader's. I had been looking forward to this for a long time and, John's definately takes some liberties with the mythology, probably to the disdain of more than a few hardcore purists, I found myself liking the book quite a lot.
Undeniably one of Earth One's most compelling aspects lies in its very human and fallible presentation of its central character. Contrary to his current depiction in comics and, to some extent, on film, this Batman is not yet the brilliant crime fighting strategist, not yet the cunning martial arts master, and not yet the stealthy sleuth who can creep beneath his enemies noses completely undetected. No, the Batman we are presented with in Earth One is a reclusive and angry young man not as interested in protecting the innocent and inspiring people for good as he is the single minded goal of uncovering the conspiracy behind his parents murders and dispensing violent revenge against the people ultimately responsible. He does not have the convenient amenities of a batcave or batmobile and his gadgets, or "gadget" I should say, does not always function properly in the heat of the moment. He is brash, arrogant, and his forays into to constumed vigilantism do not usually end with the bad guys lying in an unconscious heap on the floor. While I found this version of the character to come off as cold and not quite as sympathetic as the Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins who gained a sense of closure for his parents murders yet chose to become a hero anyway, I  thought he was nonetheless a very compelling character as we see him grow from a snobby and entitled little rich kid to a penitent and almost tormented adult for the role he unwittingly played in the tragedy that claimed his parents lives. On a purely ascetic level, it is interesting to note that this is really the first depiction of Batman in comics were you can see his eyes, as they are not whited out and hidden like they have always been in the monthly books. The result is pretty striking as rendered by Gary Frank's exceptional, life-like artwork, causing the reader that extra degree of identification with the character's vulnerability and humanity.
Some gymnastics are made with the supportive characters of Batman's mythology especially Alfred who, in a true departure from the fastidious, dry humored and stiff upper lipped domestic housekeeper we all know and love, is a gruff and gnarled veteran of the Royal Marines who forged a close friendship with Bruce's father, Thomas Wayne, after saving him in combat. Contrary to his virtuous "against the grain"  depiction in Batman: Year One, police sargeant Jim Gordon, Batman's loyal alley and confidant, in this book, is rather a disenfranchised and world weary drone in a hoplessly corrupt system he gave up trying to save after his wife died under "mysterious circumstances."  Perhaps the most radical character re-imagining is that of Detective Harvey Bullock who, in a far cry from the slobbish, outspoken, in your face cynic he was shown to be in the comics and to a greater extent, in the 90's Batman animated series, is a handsome, squeaky clean, agonizingly cheery and all around naive ex reality t.v. star from the west coast looking to re-invigorate his career by making a name for himself in Gotham City though his confidence is eroded later on when he witnesses first hand the horrors the city breeds. Earth One also feature's one of the most creepy and immoral versions of The Penguin I've ever seen on page and a truly terrifying serial killer who looks like he came right out of the pages of a Thomas Harris Hannibal Lecter novel.
One of the things I enjoyed most was how each of the featured characters experiences their own unique arc throughout the course of the story which, by the end renders them all the more recognizable to their counterparts in the DC Universe proper, particularly Batman who, (spoilers!) after saving Gordon's daughter from certain death at the hands of one of the story's villains, begins to comprehend the bigger picture of the symbol he could represent to Gotham and starts to transcend his former role as a mere vigilante lost in the scramble for his own gratification to a hero committed to an ideal greater than himself.
Overall, I really enjoyed Batman: Earth One and would definately recommend it to fans of the comic book medium. It is a fresh and engaging look at Batman, not as just a super hero, but truly and inescapably one of us as well.

Ross

     

The Amazing Spiderman Review

Maybe it was the jazz dancing or the Jared Leto eye liner that did him in, either way by the end of Spiderman 3 it was painfully apparent that the character had lost a good portion of his "amazing-ness." A fresh start was needed. Enter "The Amazing Spiderman," a witty, edgy and innovative re-telling of the character's origin and ultimate decision to become the hero, Spiderman.
What's that? Why are we getting another origin story when we've already covered all that in the 2002 Spideman film you may protest. Well, unlike it's predecessor, which was in such a mad rush to get Tobey Maguire in the suit that they barely scratched the surface of who Peter Parker was, "Amazing" really provides an in depth look at the character, from his earliest childhood memories of his parents leaving him under mysterious circumstances, to the strong sense morality instilled in him by his aunt and uncle as featured in the scene were he stands up for a kid being harassed by the token highschool alpha jock/meathead and takes a pounding for his troubles. In short, the movie makes you care about Peter Parker before he puts on the costume. Much of the credit for this goes to Andrew Garfield for turning in such a genuine and memorable performance. Tall, lanky, and awkward, Garfield's Peter Parker just comes across as more in line with webhead's original comic book incarnation than the diminutive maguire, and although he is fundamentally a good kid, I liked how the movie is not afraid to portray Peter Parker as just that, a kid, who can be reckless, selfish, arrogant, and even a downright snarky little a$$hole a times. When his uncle is shot and killed after trying to stop a robber, Peter does not immediatly shape up and commit himself to the lonely and selfless road of the road of the hero as he did in the previous franchise but instead becomes an angry and unpredictable vigilante acting out of a self-centered desire for revenge against his uncle's killer. It is not until later, when he uses his powers to save a young boy from falling to his death in a flaming car that Peter begins to realize his responsibility to use his abilities for good and his motives take a more altruistic bent. It is these added dimensions of moral ambiguety and wrestling with the ego that make Peter's journey as compelling as it is gratifying.
All the performance were pretty top notch. Martain Sheen is Uncle Ben to a t. evoking both wisdom and a rascally sense of good humour. The intimate and dramatic scenes between he and Garfield really shined and, although it is really small part, one of my absolute favorite bits of the movie happens near the beginning when the two are talking and Peter just tells him, "Your a pretty great dad." Sally Field, is likewise perfectly cast as Aunt May who, as in the comics, acts as Peter's moral anchor throughout the film, believably conveying the fear and heartache a parent feels when a child starts to meander down a dangerous path yet all the same never giving up on them no matter what. Emma Stone was was very well cast as Peter's classmate and love interest Gwen Stacy and ended up bringing a lot more to the table rather than just being the requisite "damsel in distress." Unlike the agonizingly forced chemistry between Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst in the Raimi films these two were a lot of fun to watch on screen together and root for as a couple. Rys Ifans was solid as Doctor Curt Conners who winds up turning himself into a giant, scaly lizard man after trying to regenerate a limb through gene splicing. There was kind of a been there done that feeling of repitition however as Peter is forced to defeate his surrogate scientific father figure, a part represented by Norman Osborn/The Green Goblin in the first film and Otto Octavius/Dr. Octopus in 2004's Spiderman 2.
Even though I have been harping on them, I still really love the Raimi/Maguire films (the first two anyway) they have a sense of wonder and fantasy about them that is infectious and makes you want to put on a red unitard and start scaling walls, but, at the end of the day, I think Amazing Spiderman's honest depiction of the complex, confusing and often times messy nature of life along with a very strong character focus on Peter Parker is what makes it soar, or should I say "swing" higher than what has come before.

Ross

Superman vs. The Elite Review

In Superman vs. The Elite, the latest from DC Entertainment's direct to dvd animated line, themes of  pheomenal power and even more phenomenal restraint are at the forefront as the man of steel's reverence for the sanctity of life is challenged  when an edgy new team of super powered individuals calling themselves "The Elite" burst onto the scene. Led by the charasmatic and calculating Manchester Black, The Elite instantly garner public apporoval by demonstrating their willingingness to get their hands dirty and make the hard choices that Superman avoids. Namely, in dispensing lethal force on the world's criminal element. As people everywhere seems taken with the rockstar-esque Black and his motley crew of  hard hitting anti-heroe's and their promise to clean up, Superman recognizes the immense danger The Elite pose through their casual and reckless displays of "might makes right" and  braces for the inevitable showdown while all the while contemplating if the world truly has moved on to a place he cannot follow as his old fashioned, mid-western values seem to have lost their relevance and become somewhat of a parody in an increasingly fearful and calloused modern world.
I enjoyed this movie a lot. Not only does it deliver the goods in terms of action and thrills, but it also manages to be a moving and thought exploration into what truly makes Superman a hero and why his high moral standards and no killing policy when dealing with the world's most vicious monsters, though not an easy road to tread by any means, is at the end of the day superior to the instant gratification of eye for an eye championed by The Elite.
That is not to say that the thought never crosses Superman's mind, and during his brutal standoff with the volatile team, one actually experiences a twinge of panic for Superman as the paragon of truth, justice, and the American way comes closer than ever to crossing that line.
Simply put, this is one of the best from DC Entertainment's animated line thus far and, for readers of Superman in comics, a refreshing alternative to the characters attempted more edgy and sci-fi ish "New 52" revampment that, aside from Morisson's current run on "Action Comics" has left a decidedly sour taste in the mouths of many longtime DC loyalists. Now more than ever we need to be reminded why the ideals embodied by heroes like Superman are still a pivotal part of our culture and this movie does the job near perfectly.

Ross