My pre-Oscars take on "The Revenant"

I'm a bit late* to The Revenant, one of three movies that came out last December with showdowns in the snow (The Hateful Eight and Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens being the other two). But I wanted to makes sure I saw it before Oscar night, so that I might have an opinion of it regardless of its fate there.

The conversation that has developed around The Revenant since its release has, weirdly, focused on some of its more tangential aspects: how hard it was to film (it almost exclusively used natural light); whether Leo finally gets his Oscar; and, of course, the quickly-refuted but likely pop culturally immortal rumor that DiCaprio has a rather..., um...intimate experience with a bear. 

Having seen the movie, which tells the story of the epic quest for revenge of early American fur trapper Hugh Glass (DiCaprio) upon his fellow fur company man Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy) after Fitzgerald kills Glass' son and leaves Glass for dead in the frozen wilderness following Glass' mauling by a bear, I can confidently say that the above conversation points aren't really the most important parts of the movie. But nor are some of its elements that just felt a bit extraneous: namely, subplots involving crude Frenchmen and morally complex Native Americans, and the inscrutable, sometimes bizarre vision quests on which DiCaprio's glass sometimes journeys involving his dead wife.*

Yet some of the better aspects of The Revenant do, in fact, relate somewhat to the superficial conversations that have sprung up around it since its release. Alejandro G. Iñárritu, who won Best Director and Best Picture for last year's Birdman, clearly worked (and worked his actors and crew) hard to capture the visceral (the bear attack, multiple squirming-in-your-seats, quasi body-horror scenes, the climactic fight), the involving (an arresting opening battle between fur trappers and Native Americans, a precipitous trip through rapids filmed underwater), and the beautiful (every scene is technically proficient, but special marks for any shot of either nature by itself, or Glass set starkly against it). Leo's performance seems to have accomplished that difficult, mysterious task of turning the pre-Oscar conversation in his favor. His grunts and grit are impressive, though his immobile wordless gasping reminded me of nothing as much as this scene from SpongeBob, of all things:


As much acting as Leo does, however, it is Tom Hardy's Fitzgerald, in all his shifty, mannered, survive-at-all costs complexity who emerges as the more interesting character, and Hardy who gives the better performance. As for the bear, well...it's pretty brutal. Let's leave it at that.

The Revenant has all of this working in its favor. Yet The Revenant's most compelling characteristics have not featured nearly as prominently in the "conversation" surrounding it since its release: namely, its explorations of masculinity and morality.

Even if you know only as much about The Revenant as I have told you so far in this post, you can probably guess that it's a pretty manly movie, almost cartoonishly so at times. Maybe three female characters even appear on screen, and virtually everything else involves manly men doing manly male things: cauterizing a neck wound with gunpowder, disemboweling a horse to stay warm in its innards**, breaking a bone apart to suck on marrow, etc. This is not to say that women can't, or don't, do these things, but that the The Revenant is deliberately set in a time when men were not only more likely to be the ones doing them, but had to do so routinely (life is pretty hard when you don't have utilities or appliances, another probably unintended takeaway from The Revenant).

This sets up an interesting examination of the virtues and vices of manhood that probably wasn't meant to be the focus of The Revenant, but is there nonetheless. Foremost is the tender paternal relationship between Glass and his half-Native American son, whose death fuels Glass across miles of frozen wasteland for revenge even though, as Fitzgerald mockingly, almost devilishly, reminds him, it "ain't gonna bring your boy back." It is also in smaller moments scattered through the film, such as the rape of a Native American woman by a Frenchman (manhood wrongly understood) which receives punishment by castration when the tables are turned. And it's in a second--albeit perverse--paternal relationship between Fitzgerald and Jim Bridger (Will Poulter), with Fitzgerald cruelly tutoring Bridger in a way of life that prizes selfishness and survival above all else.

Morality in difficult circumstances, incidentally, is another probably intended-as-secondary theme of The Revenant that nonetheless stands out. The moral antipodes of the film, of course, are Glass and Fitzgerald. Siding with Glass is the obvious choice, but he and Fitzgerald remain parallel characters, manly men drawing from a particular set of skills to ensure their survival. As both men engage in violence and acts of questionable morality, The Revenant forces us to consider the messiness of moral decision-making, and to wonder why (or perhaps whether?) the choices Glass makes keep him on the moral high ground that Fitzgerald abandons early, if ever he occupied it.

But Glass and Fitzgerald are not the only explorations of morality The Revenant ventures. Other characters--such as Poulter's Bridger--also face choices, small and large, mostly concerning whether to make what seem like the easier, if unjust, choices, or to reject the sparse yet tempting logic of the state of nature by showing human compassion. Two of these moments involve sharing food, as befits a movie where the basic questions of survival loom so large. Others concern whether to indulge in momentary, heated passions--especially revenge--or to apply the heart's staying hand.

The Revenant's technical and dramatic proficiency and thematic complexity make for a very good film. I am not sure I am willing to call it great; it falls a bit short of Jeremiah Johnson, my gold standard for this genre.*** Though I could see it growing on me over time. We'll know tomorrow if it grew enough on the Academy to earn Leo the Oscar that he doggedly pursued across the frozen wilderness.

*This is in part because the weekend a strong blizzard hit D.C. closed down all public transportation and made me want to make an appropriate trek through the snow to see The Revenant, all the city's theaters closed as well.
**This makes at least three DiCaprio films in which his character is haunted by a dead wife, the other two I know of being Inception and Shutter Island.
***Star Wars did it first.
****I would say, however, that it's better than the underrated, very similar Seraphim Falls, which also follows the personal feud between two manly men of the distant American past (Liam Neeson and Pierce Brosnan) across the unforgiving wilderness, and also features some strategic usage of animal carcasses.

Where the 2016 presidential candidates stand on UFOs

George W. Bush secures an important endorsement.

The 2016 US presidential election process has people talking about all sorts of issues, such as immigration, inequality, and international affairs. And those are just the ones that start with the letter "i."

These and other concerns may seem important, but when considered relative to the infinite vastness of the universe, they don't really matter that much.

Far more important, however, is where these presidential candidates stand on perhaps the most important question mankind can ask: Are we alone in the universe? It is a question that I, among millions of others, often ask (including once in the Hillsdale Collegian). And it is question that, if rumors are to be believed (and why shouldn't they be?), our next president might become equipped to answer upon entering the White House in 2017.

Unless the aliens blow it up before then.

So, for the benefit of voters, and for all interested parties, in America and out, on Earth and off, I have prepared this helpful guide of where the candidates stand on UFOs. For extra helpfulness, I have ordered the candidates by their likeliness to pursue the truth about UFOs if elected president.

Barack Obama. I know President Obama isn't running for a third term, but he is a useful benchmark. As The Man, there is no way that the current President would pursue the truth about UFOs. In fact, if his facetious (?) comments on The Jimmy Kimmel show are to believed, the aliens wouldn't let him:


I won't grade Obama, since he's not running, but his failure on this front (he even denied participation in a secret CIA Mars teleportation experiment!) should disappoint his supporters. N/A

Sadly, no.

Jeb Bush. The Florida governor is no longer running, and good riddance: He is just as unlikely as Obama to have pursued the truth about UFOs. For Jeb is the son of George H.W. Bush, who as director of the CIA probably helped cover up evidence of extraterrestrials, and as president did not reveal any UFO secrets (despite once claiming, when asked about UFOs while campaigning, that "I know some, I know a lot"), and brother of George W. Bush, who as president also did not reveal any UFO secrets. Another Bush would have been no better. F

Bernie Sanders. Although the Vermont senator appeals to many young voters, he is not a friend of UFO disclosure enthusiasts. A reporter who asked Sanders about UFOs claims that Sanders "had no interest in the UFO question and gave me a flippant response." Sanders is no friend to those interested in extraterrestrial life. F

Marco Rubio. The Florida senator is a bit harder to discern. When a reporter asked him (14 seconds into this video, also posted below) if aliens are real, he simply laughed and said "I don't know." Agnosticism and humility on this question are better than outright denial or active cover-up, but Rubio could do better. C 



Ben Carson. Although he seems to have no opinion on the record about UFOs, he has expressed unorthodox theories about the pyramids (that they were used to store grain), much as Ancient Astronaut Theorists suspect the pyramids were built by/with the help of aliens (note: the two theories are not mutually exclusive). C+

Donald Trump. Trump is not himself interested in UFOs. They are, however, interested in him (do they know something we don't?). And one suspects that he would throw his lot in with UFO enthusiasts if he thinks he could gain more support by doing so. C+

Ted Cruz. Based on his public speeches, the Texas senator is, in all likelihood, a robot. And although this robot has not personally indicated any interest in UFOs, he did listen to his constituents' concerns the Jade Helm military exercise, and briefly employed a UFO enthusiast as part of his campaign. He could be secretly signaling an interest while wanting to keep the aliens confused. There is hope. B-

John Kasich. The Ohio governor is by far the best hope on the Republican side for UFO enthusiasts. He once devoted a segment of his TV show on Fox News to the UFO phenomenon:



He also promised to reunite the space rock band Pink Floyd, even though Richard Wright, its keyboardist, is dead. (Kasich will probably revive Wright with alien technology.)  B+

Hillary Clinton: Hillary is by far the best hope for UFO enthusiasts on either side of the aisle. When her husband, Bill, was president, he tried to find out everything he could; John Podesta, one of her closest advisers, is a notable UFO disclosure advocate. And Hillary herself has promised to do whatever she could to reveal the truth about UFOs if elected president. A+

So there you have it, folks: Where the candidates stand on by far the most important issue of 2016: extraterrestrial life. I hope this helps you make your decision. In a UFO enthusiast's ideal world, we'd have a Clinton-Kasich contest this fall, but alas, a world in which we still don't know the truth about extraterrestrial life is far, far, from ideal. It's a two-party system; we have to vote for one of them:



But somewhere in the clear night sky, hidden in the tapestry of stars and planets, lies the truth. And it can't hide forever.*

*Note, this post may or may not be entirely in jest.

I'm just sticking with Facebook "likes"

A day-ruining thought: These will be part of the record of our civilization when archaeologists excavate its ruins. 

Facebook is stupid. It always has been, and always will be. Yet it nevertheless has enmeshed itself in my life, like some kind of vicious parasite. Every time I try to remove it from my life, I find it has laid eggs in my social consciousness, which hatch and bring me back (boy that is a mixed metaphor, isn't it?).

Though Facebook certainly does not make it easy to stay. Since I joined--er, "was invited to" because that's how it worked back then--the site way back in 2007, it has gone through all sorts of changes. Remember when every status had to start with "is," and how overjoyed everyone was when that requirement vanished? (I believe I celebrated it with a stoic status that simply read "Jack Butler isn't). Remember when it introduced hashtags? Remember when you could start liking people's statuses (an occasion I celebrated with a status that read something like "wants you to like his status").

Facebook has made another change: It no longer limits one merely to "liking" a status. One can now "react" with the emoji-indicated responses of "love," "haha" "wow" "sad" and "angry."

Aside from contributing to the infantilization of our culture and to our steady return to hieroglyphics-based communication, Facebook's decision is just unnecessary. Then again, I have always been a stick in the mud about Facebook's changes. Though I can do nothing about the amount of likes my statuses receive (and long ago conceded to the "like" anyway), I have kept the third-person implication of Facebook's first status template, and have steadfastly refused to use hashtags on Facebook.

I shall react to this change similarly. Consider this my ironclad resolution, recorded for all of posterity, never to use anything other than a "like" to communicate my reactions to Facebook posts. I don't care if it becomes wildly inappropriate when this decision encourages people to start making statuses designed to elicit the new reactions (because now we'll have to decide which reaction is "appropriate"). Mark my words: This change will somehow make Facebook even worse than it already is. Join me and stick with the plain-old "like."

Star Wars: The Dark Side of the Moon Awakens

From my point of view, there is no dark side of the Force, really. Matter of fact it's all dark (image via Consequences of Sound).

Much as I am loath to remove the carbonite-clad case for why I should be Han Solo (originally posted here, and now permanently ensconced atop my blog as a page tab, linked here) from its privileged perch at the top of my blog, I think it is time to talk about something else.

I would have liked that something else not to be Star Wars-related, given how much I've written about all that since The Force Awakens came out last December. As I wrote here in anticipation of its release, I never really thought of myself as a huge Star Wars fan; I would say my incessant writing about the new movie since its release reflects more my reaction to the cultural moment it produced than my own fandom. At any rate, I would like to write about something else.

But like a skilled Force-user, or perhaps a large tractor beam, Star Wars keeps dragging me back. Indeed, how could I not say something about the recent revelation that The Force Awakens syncs eerily well with Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon, one of my favorite albums? Here are some of the purported syncs, via Consequences of Sound:

– When Poe (Oscar Isaac) wakes up in Kylo Ren’s (Adam Driver) torture chamber, the lyrics of “The Great Gig in the Sky” go, “I’m not afraid of dying/ Anytime will do,” and the song’s scream happens right as Poe opens his own mouth.

– “Time” plays while we witness the repetitive mundanity of Rey’s (Daisy Ridley) life making a living by scavenging old electronics.

– The “Us and Them” lyric “And after all, we’re only ordinary men” is sung right as Finn (John Boyega) tells Rey that Resistance fighters look like him. “Some of us,” he says. “Others look different.”

– Twice during the “Keep your hands of my stack” line in “Money”, someone grabs a lightsaber: First it’s Rey taking hold of Luke Skywalker’s (Mark Hamill), then Han Solo (Harrison Ford) grabbing Kylo’s.

– “Us and Them” again syncs with the battle of Battle of Takodana. As Finn surveys the battleground, the lyrics go, “God only knows/ It’s not what we would choose to do.” Then, as David Gilmour says, “Black,” the camera focuses on Finn receiving Luke’s lightsaber (oof). Just as Gilmour says, “Blue,” Finn ignites the blue blade.

– In what turns out to be his final scene, the camera focuses right on Han Solo as the lyrics, “I never said I was afraid of dying” are heard.

– During Kylo and Rey’s final fight, the “Us and Them” lyrics go, “Black and blue/ Who knows which is which and who is who,” echoing the fight between going to the Dark Side or staying with the Light Side of the Force.

– “Brain Damage” in almost its entirety seems to fit up with the movie’s final scene as Rey makes her way towards Luke: “The lunatic is on the grass/ Remembering games, and daisy chains and laughs/ Got to keep the loonies on the path.”

Longtime readers of my blog (if there are any) know that I've written about Pink Floyd syncs before. In that post, I discussed the most famous purported sync: that between Dark Side of the Moon and The Wizard of Oz. Most of that sync is dubious, but some parts align eerily well:



But I maintain as I did in that prior post that the best Pink Floyd/cinema sync is that between "Echoes," the 23-minute epic that takes up the entire second side of their album Meddle, and "Beyond the Infinite," the final segment of 2001: A Space Odyssey, both of which also happen to be about humans transcendence:


Pink Floyd: Echoes - 2001: A space odyssey [720p HD] from Davide on Vimeo.

Having not yet experienced the Pink Floyd/Force Awakens sync, I cannot say how it measures up to these two. But now I'm pretty determined to find out.

An Open Letter to Disney/Lucasfilm: 22.5 reasons why I should be the new Han Solo

Honestly I should just stop this letter right here. What more evidence do you need?

Dear Disney/Lucasfilm,

Jack Butler. I'm captain of the Millennial generation. I am a young adult male who is grateful for the new Star Wars media The Force Awakens has begun. And unlike a small but loud minority of people, I thought The Force Awakens was a really great way to move the epic saga forward.

A few weeks ago, I had a dream that Harrison Ford showed up at my house for a party. My dream self was happy but not terribly surprised to see him there, and treated him with mature respect, not fanboy obsession. I told him that he was great in The Force Awakens. In response, he thanked me, but said that I wasn't too bad myself. My dream then cut to a scene that it created in which I had a small but important role in the movie.

Was this just the wish fulfillment of my hyperactive subconsciousness, or was it a prophetic, Force-inspired vision? For a while, I thought it was the former. But now I'm starting to think it was the latter. Recently, you announced the shortlist of young actors who could star in the upcoming Star Wars Han Solo prequel (news of which first emerged on July 7, 2015, my 22nd birthday), which Phil Lord and Chris Miller (22 Jump Street, The LEGO Movie [which is great]) will direct, and Lawrence Kasdan (The Empire Strikes Back, Raiders of the Lost Ark) and Jake Kasdan, his son, will script. Shockingly, I was not on this list.

My  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ reaction when I learned I didn't make the initial Han Solo casting list.

Fortunately, it is not too late for you to alter this list. I pray that you do alter it further. For not only do I belong on it, but I really ought to be at the top of it. But if the case for casting me, a complete unknown about whom you know nothing, as a young Han Solo isn't obvious, I have provided 22 reasons here to prove that I am not just having delusions of grandeur.
 
1) You're looking for an actor between the ages of 20 and 25. Well guess what: I'm 22 [wow, there's that number again! Must be a sign] years and six months old, right in the middle of your age range. A perfect fit.

2) I'm a normal Midwestern nobody, just like Harrison Ford was before he hit it big. He was born of Irish ancestry in Chicago, was a Boy Scout and attended college in Wisconsin; I was born of Irish ancestry in Cincinnati, got as far as Cub Scout (not as impressive, I'll admit), and attended college in Michigan. Also, as a result, I have a Midwestern, neutrally-accented voice, but also a great vocal range, as my lead singing in the two below videos indicates:

                   

 

and impressive impersonation/improvisation abilities should the need arise:



Click here or go to 2:26 in the clip below to see what needs may arise:






3) I have the appearance of a relatively generic, average, brown-haired, young adult white male of average height (6 feet) and build, which seems to be what you're looking for. And I look about as much like a young Han Solo as any of the other generic, average, brown-haired, young adult white males purportedly up for the role, probably more (credit to the AV Club for all images below that aren't of me):

Emory Cohen

Scott Eastwood

Logan Lerman

Blake Jenner

Jack Reynor

Dave Franco

Jack Butler, clearly the superior Jack on this list

Miles Teller

Ansel Elgort

Oh, look at that! It's me again.

4) I'm in good enough shape to do the fairly basic running, jumping, and shooting that Han Solo does, but not in a freaky-bodybuilder good shape that would distract or detract from my appeal.

5) I'm young-looking but not too young-looking, and maintain a healthy lifestyle that will likely keep me looking young for as long as you want me in the role.

6) I may not have made the Kessel Run in 12 parsecs, but I have broken 15 minutes in the 5k, 25 minutes in the 8k, run a sub-1:11 half marathon, and a sub-2:35 marathon.

7) I would shoot first.

8) I don't like it when people tell me the odds.

9) Sometimes I amaze even myself.

10) I can definitely be scruffy-looking.

This chart proves how scruffy-looking I can be.

As for nerfherder: We did not have any in Ohio or Michigan. But we do have a lot of farmers. And I did use a nerf gun in the picture above. That has to count for something.

11) Like Han Solo, I have won a medal (see above).

12) Also like Han Solo (and unlike that whiny wimp, Luke Skywalker) I can handle the cold.

Pictured: Me, handling the cold. Credit: Caleb Whitmer. That's no moon...

Pictured: Me after running 18 miles in 10 below (no tauntaun necessary)

13) I've seen most of Harrison Ford's movies, including all of the Star Wars saga so far (see points 6-12 for evidence) and every Indiana Jones film.

14) In part because of the previous reason, I can smirk, be facially expressive, and, most important, point.

Harrison Ford, pointing.

Me, pointing. You can barely tell the difference.

15) I'm a nerd who knows and likes the character of Han Solo. But I never bothered to learn his (now-abandoned) Expanded Universe backstory. So I'd be more than willing to take the character in whatever directions the new film decides to go.

16) I like and am good at writing (e.g., this letter) and am quick on my feet, and so could work with the Kasdans on the script and with Lord and Miller on improvising in takes.

17) I can bring to the role part of my own big, unique personality, and can be funny, sarcastic, and deadpan. No, really.

Pictured: funny, deadpan.

18) I am very comfortable performing, and do not suffer stage fright, as the clip below demonstrates (my performance begins at 1:40. Click here for a direct link):



 Compare the above clip to this Harrison Ford scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade:


Uncanny, no?


I have additional acting experience, including an unsettling, visceral, well-received performance as The Joker in a reenactment of the interrogation scene from The Dark Knight. Video of this performance, to my infinite regret, does not exist; this photo will have to do. UPDATE: Except now video of this performance actually does exist; you can watch it below, or here:

Me as the Joker, on the right. Lipstick, flour, and green food coloring, from the original performance.

 I also performed in an award-nominated turn in the difficult lead role of Ed Degas, C'est Moi, the story of an average, unemployed New York man who wakes up one day and decides that he is the French Impressionist painter Edgar Degas. You can find the first few lines of that David Ives play here. See also this news story from my college paper in which I discuss my work ethic in preparing for the role (I read the play every day for several weeks to make sure I memorized all of my lines), and my aspiration to be Daniel Day-Lewis tempered by a realization that such a feat would be difficult. The award was "best newbie" for the Hillsdale College Theater Department. I did not win. It was a tough year. But my lack of recognition has given me a DiCaprio-esque desire to prove myself through hard work. And Harrison Ford hasn't won a Best Actor Oscar yet either (credit for the below pictures to Caroline Kennedy Green). 

Pictured: The opening scene of my performance in Degas, C'est Moi

Pictured: experience in physical comedy, essential for the role of Han Solo

Pictured: the ability to take the absurd seriously, also essential for Han Solo

I am, in addition, a natural performer and an involving storyteller candidly, when not even trying to act, as this completely candid video of me recorded without my knowledge reveals:




19) I am not in the Screen Actors Guild‐American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA), nor do I have an agent, and so am willing to be exploited and work for below-market wages and in horrible conditions (or not--whatever it takes to get the job). Basically, if I get the role, I'll be so grateful that you can treat me however you like and I won't care.

20) I have no expectations of a future in acting. So I'll be fine if the movie destroys my acting career, as playing Anakin Skywalker in the the prequels destroyed the careers of Jake Lloyd and Hayden Christensen. Consider me Bantha fodder. 

21) I have thick skin, so I can take the heat of the inevitable fan disappointment from a Star Wars prequel that people will inevitably say robbed a beloved character of the aura of mysterious roguish charm he once possessed.

22) I'm currently available.

22.5) Bonus fragments that add up to a half reason (to match my age perfectly): I went to the trouble of putting this letter together. That must count for something. And I have a pretty big nose. And some people called me "The Fugitive" in college. Also, incest creeps me out, too.



So there you have it, Disney/Lucasfilm: the carbonite-clad case for casting me as a young Han Solo. At this point, the question isn't "should this movie even be made?" or "why should we cast some nobody with no foot in the industry?" It's "Why haven't we cast him yet?" You really want me in this role. I know. Search your feelings; you know it to be true. And don't worry: There's still time. Have your people call my people. Your odds of getting a better millennial to pilot the Millennium Falcon are at least 3,720 to 1. May the Force be with you as you make your decision. 

Sincerely,

Jack Butler

P.S.

I'm as serious about this as you want me to be. 

P.P.S.

Many thanks to Richard Fariñas, Peter Geoghan, Eric Primiano, Rooney Columbus, and, most important, Ike the dog for making the above pictures possible.

(Almost) Everything is awesome in "The LEGO Movie"

I've always loved LEGOs. They were some of my first toys (I believe my cousins introduced me). And LEGO Island was the first video game of any kind I ever played (it taught me many things, such as the word "information," and not to give hot pizza to prisoners behind bars). LEGO Loco, a train-based LEGO video game that caught me right in the middle of my train phase (I think most young boys had one of those) was also great; it was probably the first time I learned about the Loch Ness Monster, and therefore may have introduced me to the paranormal, in which I have since become very interested. I thank my parents for encouraging my love of LEGOs, and especially for enduring the terrible pain of stepping on my stray bricks.

I loved LEGO sets of all kinds, but especially Star Wars, Harry Potter (one of the only highlights of the day after I fractured my collarbone as a youngster was going to the store for a Sorting Hat LEGO set) and Bionicle (I once won a Bionicle trivia contest at my local Toys 'R' Us, though it was sparsely-attended). I can't even begin to estimate how many friendships I strengthened--and maybe even made!--bonding over LEGOs, or how much LEGOs influenced my development.

In this, I suspect I am not alone. The numbers prove it: As of 2014, LEGO is the biggest toy company in the world; and LEGOs have been a better investment than gold since 2000. As does my own early life. Though I would both follow instructions and build free-form, I preferred the latter. Unfortunately, as I grew older, my LEGOs receded farther and farther into the dark recesses of my basement; I certainly couldn't take them to college with me. Thus, my LEGO self died out somewhat, or at least went into hibernation.

With this exception of this great Christmas gift from a few years ago.

Still, when I heard a few years back that The LEGO Movie was in development, I had enough of a stake in the toys that it both excited and worried me: excited, because it meant another LEGO brick would drop into my life; worried, because I had no idea how one could make an entire movie out of a fundamentally, intentionally plot-free toy without proving a naked cash-grab that would hew too closely to one of its pre-licensed fictional properties and thus become predictable and shallow. But when the movie actually came out in 2014, it dispelled these--and most other--doubts. Yet I did not catch it in theaters, nor had I been able to in any other medium.

Until, that is, a snowstorm trapped me in my house for several days, allowing me to cross several movies off my lifetime watch list (stay tuned for reviews of Attack the Block and Altered States, two other movies I finally caught thanks to the snow). But my first priority was The LEGO Movie. I had to see if critics and audiences were right about it. Boy were they ever. The LEGO Movie, directed by Phil Lord and Chris Miller, is the story of Emmet Brickowski (Chris Pratt, who, between this and Guardians of the Galaxy, had a good 2014), a completely average construction worker living in a rigidly organized, consumerist, LEGO utopia (?) presided over by the evil Lord Business (Will Ferrell, in what turns out not to be his only role in the movie) where "everything is awesome" because everyone follows the instructions.



But when Emmet strays from his instructions and accidentally discovers a mythical object, a vision* starts him off on an epic quest with the Master Builders, LEGO people who don't follow the instructions and can manipulate their LEGO environments at will, to overthrow the tyranny of Lord Business and thwart his plan to glue their entire world in place forever.

It has all the trappings--perhaps too many--of a typical quest narrative. But relentlessly clever, humorous writing and excellent animation (as far as I can tell, everything in the movie is LEGO-based; even the people move like LEGO people, similar to the 8-bit mimicking animation in Wreck-It-Ralph) elevate it far above that. A stellar comedic voice cast (including, in addition to the above, Morgan Freeman, Elizabeth Banks, Will Arnett, Liam Neeson, Nick Offerman, Channing Tatum, Jonah Hill, Charlie Day, and many others) also helps. As does a level of pop cultural cross-pollination--enabled by LEGO's preexisting licensing agreements--impossible for any other movie (for now, anyway) that allows major roles for Batman (perfectly voiced by Arnett), and cameos by Superman (Tatum), Green Lantern (Hill), Gandalf, Dumbledore, Shakespeare, Abraham Lincoln, and others.

Most surprising to me, and perhaps most hilarious (and most ironic, given that this film's directors are now directing a Han Solo-focused Star Wars movie, about which more soon) is a scene in which Han Solo (not Harrison Ford), Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams), Chewbacca, and C-3PO (Anthony Daniels) welcome Batman onto the Millennium Falcon, which I believe officially qualifies as one of the coolest things to happen in any movie ever.


 
But The LEGO Movie isn't great solely for its humor and its pop culture references (though they help). It also has some very clever writing that can stand alone.



It also has some of the most impressive world-building this side of Wreck-It-Ralph. And thanks to a twist near the end that brings the action into the real world, moreover, it becomes a poignant meditation on the father-son dynamic. We learn that (almost**) the entire plot is the unfolding of a young boy's instruction-rejecting imagination against the rigid permanence of his father's (Ferrell, again) LEGO creation (he wants to follow the instructions and keep everything glued together once completed, a desire his son imagines as the tyranny of Lord Business).

Though I knew about this twist before I saw the movie, and determined as honestly as I could within myself that I would have caught the many hints to it throughout the movie without this foreknowledge (if perhaps not predicted what exactly they were hinting), I was still surprised and affected by their ultimate manifestation. Perhaps the only other defect of the movie in addition to its somewhat basic quest narrative is that it creates a few too many climaxes, making things a bit too messy, but all ties together neatly in the end.

But by far the most impressive thing about The LEGO Movie is that it took a toy with no inherent plot and made it into not only a great movie, but one that takes a side in the great instructions debate, turns it into a (somewhat philosophically vague) treatment of the much older individuality/creativity vs. community/conformity debate, and, above all, recaptures how it feels to play with LEGOs. It's enough to make this 22-year-old want to go back into his basement, take out his old LEGOs, dump them all on the ground, and see what happens. And maybe I will.

Fortunately for my parents (and now me), there are anti-LEGO slippers now.

*The "mythical object" that Emmet discovers actually turns out to be the cap to a real-world tube of glue. Touching this is what inspires his vision. But since it's glue, is it possible that he just got close enough to the glue that, although a relatively small amount for a human, may have sufficed to provide a sort of high to a tiny LEGO dude? In other words, did Emmet pick the right week to start sniffing glue?
**The movie is sort of unclear about the relation of the free will of its LEGO characters to the real-world child's imagination. The plot is supposed to be mostly the unfolding of a real-world family drama, but Emmet is capable of limited agency when he (briefly) enters the real world. What does it mean? Probably nothing.
Probably...

The Washington, D.C. Blizzard of 2016

Snow comes to D.C.

I'm sure you didn't hear about it on the news, but a "monster blizzard" descended upon the East Coast this weekend. D.C. couldn't stop talking about "Winter Storm Jonas" (because we name these things now, apparently) in the days leading up to its arrival; promises of two feet (or more) of snow will have that effect on a quasi-southern city such as D.C. As a Midwestern transplant, I was a bit more relaxed. I have seen both sides of snow: in my Cincinnati life, I experienced snow overhype and subsequent disappointment far more frequently than actual snowstorms; in my Michigan life, I endured significant snowfalls but with the same sort of stoic, nonchalant attitude about them as the rest of the state. Having spent more years in the former snow regime than the latter, I was more inclined to believe that Jonas would come to naught. Boy was I wrong. Here follows my narrative, recorded partly for posterity--but what isn't?--of the Washington, D.C. Blizzard of 2016. All photos, except that of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, are my own; you can find them all here, or on Facebook.

On Friday afternoon, my place of work shut down, in keeping with the Office of Personal Management's declaration that the government itself would do the same. (Though I do not work for the government, my workplace mirrors its closure decisions.) As I walked from my building to the nearest Metro station--all of which would close for the duration of Saturday and Sunday--I spotted not a single snowflake on the ground or in the air, nor did I on my walk back to my abode. Deciding to take the warnings somewhat seriously, and wishing to see the chaos the impending snowstorm had inflicted, I had resolved to go grocery shopping after work, but assumed I would have time, as the city did not expect snow until the evening. Looking out a window around 2 p.m., however, I saw that the snow had begun, so I rushed outside into the just-beginning snow.

A scene of utter chaos greeted me at the grocery store. Well, not quite "utter," but it was certainly chaotic. Checkout lines stretched through aisles all the way to the back of the store. Basic items--lettuce, spinach, sliced bread, bottled water--had vanished. And random items--pasta, sugar--had spilled into those same aisles, with no one, customer or employee, making any effort to do anything about them. All rushed headlong merely to procure the items that would have to last them until their next trip to the store--and who then could possibly know how long that could be? Better to get five bags of sliced bread instead of one. I barely made it out alive of this scene of capitalism at its worst. Well, actually, it wasn't really capitalism at its worst (though it did make me wonder what this city would be like in an actual emergency). And I didn't have any trouble getting out of there alive. But it sure sounds better to write it that way, doesn't it? I've had the same experience of unnecessary desperation at the grocery store many times in Cincinnati, though there made doubly unnecessary by the frequent failure of snow actually to appear the next day.

But the walk back to my house quickly proved that the snow would not be so coy this time. By the time I returned to my house, I had to shake heavy snow off my jacket. Seeing only more piles falling from the sky, I settled in for a nice evening of relative inactivity, checking occasionally to see more and more snow settle upon the ground. I watched two movies (Attack the Block and Labyrinth, of which I shall write more hence), caught up on some writing and reading, and waited. When I went to bed, it was still snowing. And so it continued to snow when I awoke Saturday. Well near a foot had probably fallen while I sought refuge from the cold in dreams. And it showed no signs of slowing down. Peeks out of the windows and front door of my house revealed sidewalks almost completely unshoveled, and that the street on which my house sits was in even worse condition. Effectively trapped in my own abode, lacking the proper equipment to mess around in the snow, and having mostly lost my childhood inclination to do so, I, again, had to content myself with interior activity. More movies (Altered States and The LEGO Movie, about the former of which I shall certainly write at least), more reading, more writing, and more waiting followed. At the end of the night, with the snow finally having stopped, I ventured outside in shorts, sandals, and T-Shirt, just to see what it was like; it was not very cold, but the roads and sidewalks were not in any better condition. Perhaps by the next morning things will have improved.

Pictured: My street.

They had not; or, at least, not by much, as my post-snowfall Capitol Hill-area wanderings revealed. The sidewalks in the vicinity were about half clear, half unplowed; the roads were at roughly the same ratio.

The front of my house.

Snowdrifts much higher than the two or so feet we had actually gotten had piled up along the roads, the ironic result of snowplows doing their duty, covering up many cars in the process.

Well at least whoever this was could open the door.

Many roads remained essentially impassable. The areas in front of the Supreme Court and the Capitol Building were clear, but something tells me they were a priority.

The Supreme Court.

The Capitol Building

As I wandered past these two buildings, each still frosted with snow despite the best efforts of their caretakers, I began to see people trudging to and fro with sleds. I knew what they were up to. A recent act of Congress had opened up the previously illegal (!) slope in front of the Capitol. So there I wandered, to behold a joyous scene upon arrival. Sledders of all ages populated the not-at-all-that-impressive slope (it had nothing on Symmes Park or Harbin Park). The surface was worn down smooth; I had to be very careful climbing to the launching point, where sledders had scattered behind them the refuse of broken sleds. And here I realized that probably not even half of these sledders had actual sleds. Instead, these snow neophyes were using whatever they could get their hands on: garbage can lids, cardboard boxes, placards from Friday's March for Life, plastic bags. Standing and watching these cold novices sled greatly amused the Midwesterner in me, and made me recall those childhood winters in which I careened carelessly through snowy woods on sleds with my neighbors. 

After this, I walked over to my local church, which was, fortunately, open, though sparsely-attended. I learned during Mass that every other church on Capitol Hill had closed, which doubles my fortune, as I had not even bothered to check if mine would be open.

St. Peter's on Capitol Hill, which stayed open.

I took a circuitous route back to my abode, at times deliberately wandering through completely-unplowed parking lots, just to see how much snow we ended up with. The snow went up to my knees; I'm asymptotically-approaching 6 feet tall. Walking through it made me feel like Rocky Balboa in the Soviet Union.

Rocky IV up in here.

I think it's the most snow I've ever seen fallen in such a short amount of time; though I regularly endured more snow in Michigan, it was the result of weeks of accumulation when the temperature stubbornly stayed below freezing. When I returned, I confirmed what I had already suspected: the federal government had closed tomorrow (i.e., today), so I would not have to come into the office. Adult snow days are real. I spent much of today working anyway, for nothing can quite match a childhood snow day.

So what have I learned from all of this? Some things, I suppose. I learned that people will freak out over snowhype in many places, regardless of whether it actually snows. I learned that sometimes, when it comes to snow, the hype is real, but apparently you have to leave Cincinnati to experience it (my family and friends there reported that Jonas somehow missed them entirely). I learned that, when you can't leave your house, movies and books are your best friends. I learned that, if you're creative or desperate enough, anything can become a sled. I learned that D.C. is not very good at dealing with snow. And I learned that a snowstorm that centers on the East Coast automatically becomes more important and significant than the dozens of snowstorms that those in places where they strike regularly stoically and quietly survive every year without having to trend three different hashtags about the snow or to make every news report about them. They're the real heroes of winter, because they deal with it without having to make it all about them. Would that we all could endure snow as patiently as they. Although there were some people in D.C. who acted like that: the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

As D.C. cleans up and returns to normal over the next few days, I hope we take these guards, and not the hysteric shoppers I encountered on Friday, as our models.