Angel — Season 4

**warning contains spoilers**

You know the thing that made me love "Buffy" and "Angel" the most? It wasn't just the strong female characters, the emotional resonance, the relatable quality of even the most supernatural of characters, or the pop culture-laced wit; it was for a very simple reason- they were both just so damn good. Even the weakest episodes of each could outclass just about every other show on TV, and the writers managed to make even the lesser episodes worth watching.

After I ran through Season 3 for the first time, I was so insanely high on this show that it couldn't possibly let me down. In retrospect that season suffered from a great deal of empty tension and had a severe problem with episode consistency, but at the time it managed to gleefully misdirect from its problems and, apart from its terrible letdown of a finale, was one of my favorite seasons of either show. But nothing could prepare me for the shock of what was in store.

Season 4 starts things off by magnificently fixing everything that was wrong with the previous season's finale. "Tomorrow" had been chock full of interesting developments, but threw them together so sloppily that it played like the most generic episode of TV that Mutant Enemy had ever put out. "Deep Down" brings it back from the abyss (in some cases quite literally) by firmly establishing Wesley's new attitude, bringing back Angel from the briny deep, and laying out Connor's plan for all to see. It was the darkest episode since "Sleep Tight," if not season two's existential nightmare "Reprise."

Then we hit the skids almost immediately. "Ground State" introduces Gwen, a bizarre combination of the X-Men Rogue and Storm (anyone who touches her skin gets fried), who works as a expert thief. It's fun enough filler, but nothing of note happens other than setting Gwen up as a possible love interest for Angel. "The House Always Wins" is one of the all-time worst episodes of the series; it points out that gambling is risky and can ruin lives, all with metaphors about as subtle as the neon lights of the casinos. It could have been so interesting too; Lorne's dream had always been to perform at Vegas, and to see that dream so thoroughly perverted could have set up a killer character arc. Instead, he gets rescued and is exactly the same as he always was.

Things begin to get back on track with the superb episode "Spin the Bottle," a wholly irreverent standalone that came about simply because Joss wanted to see the old bumbling Wesley again. The result is the second funniest of the series (after "Smile Time") and one of the funniest in the Buffyverse.

"Spin the Bottle" marks the start of an incredible run that rivals anything Mutant Enemy's ever done. "Apocalypse Nowish" introduces the Beast, an unstoppable creature who brings with him all sorts of plagues. We sense immediately that he is not the brains in charge of the operation, however, which serves the story much better (remember how lame Adam was when left to his own thought-processes?).

Not half as sinister as the writers.

The best development of the Beast arc? The return of Angelus. Oh, it's been a long time coming indeed, and Boreanaz looks like he's been waiting for it too. Mix the Beast's rampage at Wolfram & Hart with the unleashing of the greatest villain in the Buffyverse and you've got a cocktail for success. Things couldn't get any better right? WRONG. Enter Faith, sprung from prison by Wesley to save Angel from turning permanently evil. Faith's reapperance cements the journey of her arc, proving that she, like Angel, has learned to live with her sins and to live a life of goodness not to redeem herself but because it's the right thing to do. Faith would go from here back to Sunnydale to make peace with "Buffy" in some of the better moments of that show's final season, but this is the true payoff of her character.

The Beast/Angelus arc is such a long, consistent arc that I got the feeling that "Angel" is on top of the world and that anywhere the story went from here was going to be epic. I was wrong Dead wrong. "Angel" goes from great to bad so fast it makes your head spin.

Thank Christ for Faith.

Signs of trouble were present even in the excellence of the middle arc. Connor, who was such an interesting character in the third season, is destroyed. Last season, he came back from Qu'or Toth after a few weeks suddenly a full-grown teenager brainwashed against his father by Holtz, who used Connor as his avenue for revenge; upon his return Connor adamantly hated Angel but retained his father's moral code. Even when he locked Angel in a crate and threw him into the ocean, you pitied him.

Not so in Season 4. Instead of the complex, tortured character who promised so much, the writers lock Vincent Kartheiser into playing Connor as a one-note, insufferably annoying bitch who pushes emo teenage angst so far into the red it leaves you begging for someone to hand him a razor and a copy of "The Virgin Suicides." After Angel proves beyond shadow of a doubt his love for his son no matter what he did, Connor hates him more than ever, just because. At every turn he tries to convince everyone to kill Angelus not because he's evil, but because he just doesn't like his dad.

Compounding Connor's descent is the utter destruction of Cordelia. Cordy's arc was certainly one of the more surprising of the show. She had started her journey at the very start of Buffy as a vain, stereotypical valley girl and matured into a more intelligent yet no less biting character by the time she left Sunnydale impoverished by her father's illegal business practices. When she arrived in Los Angeles, Cordy still had that crazy dream of becoming a star, but came into her own. She went from a bitch to a caring, almost motherly individual, and while her acension in the Season 3 finale was so insulting and stupid that it defies reason, it was a nice touch for her.

Then Cordelia returns, possessed by a higher power. She manipulates Connor into sleeping with her in order to impregnate her so the higher power can be born into a body of its own. She takes Angel's bottled soul to keep Angelus around. She stabs Lilah. Finally, when you couldn't possibly be any more outraged with the treatment of her character. Cordy gives birth to Jasmine and slips into a coma.

Even screencaps of this piss me off.

If the undercurrent ruination of two major characters wasn't bad enough, the Jasmine arc is enough to tip things over the edge into downright badness. It all starts with "Inside Out,"{ an episode that so fearlessly tackles a range of philosophical questions and features such great acting all around that it never hit me at first that it set up the worst development of this or any other show in the Whedonverse. Jasmine's appearance is the result of her tampering with all of the events of the show to make possible her birth; everything that moved the characters forward, led to emotional and thematic breakthroughs was all predestined. I must admit a bias against predestination; it is the philosophy that resulted when real logic collided with Bible logic, and I think it's the stupidest concept in the world. It also has no place in a show, because it strips events of their importance and resonance.

It also doesn't help that Jasmine is perhaps the worst major villain I have ever seen in a TV show. A goddess, she inspires tranquility in all who gaze upon her. Unless some of her blood mixes with yours, that is. If so, you look at her and see not a beautiful goddess but a rotting, maggot-infested corpse. I don't know why either. Oh, and Jasmine eats people, who consider it an honor to be feasted upon by her.

Eventually the Fang Gang all snap out of it and fight Jasmine and kill her fairly easily. Yet for some reason it takes them four episodes to do so. Four. Looooooooonnnnnnnnnnnggggggg. Episodes. I just watched this three days ago and I can't remember anything about this arc that would necessitate more than two episodes. Then again, I wish it had never happened at all. Part of me thinks that the writers used Jasmine as a placeholder for the writers, much as the Trio in Buffy's sixth season represented the more nitpicking fans.

But don't count out Tim Minear, who swoops in after an entire season away to write one last episode for the show he made so great. His season finale, "Home," is every bit as redeeming as "Restless" was for Buffy's own weak fourth season. Lilah returns as a ghost and deliciously turns Angel Investigations' victory on them; by killing Jasmine, they effectively ending the possibility for world peace. Ergo, the Senior Partners were so impressed that they offer Angel and co. the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart.

"Home" rights so many wrongs it looks like Minear kept tabs on everything that went wrong and found a way to twist almost all of it into a positive. Giving Angel the keys to Evil on Earth is just about the most interesting thing he could have done, and it makes the fight against Jasmine darkly ironic. The fact that Angel agrees on the condition that everyone's memory is erased so Connor can live with a normal family and have a happy life calls to mind the agonizing finale of the early classic "I Will Remember You," and it reinforces his heroism.

Despite this incredible end note and the promise it contains, Angel Season 4 is unbelievably frustrating and even moreso on a repeat viewing. It continues to push forward Wesley's arc, and it FINALLY develops Fred and Gunn and splits up their initially promising but ultimately banal relationship. However, Angel remains stagnant (apart from the re-emergence of Angelus) and the utter bungling of both Cordelia and Connor is unforgivable. The saddest thing about those two is that both get one episode's worth of attention in the fifth season ("You're Welcome" for Cordy and "Origin" for Connor), and both of those episodes fix just about all the problems that an entire season piled upon them, which tells me that all this could have been avoided. I understand that Charisma Carpenter's pregnancy threw the writers off a bit, but this was the best solution?

The operatic tone of the season is a bold new direction for the show, and the Beast arc still ranks among my favorites, and it's got enough to make the season worth owning. But this is the first and only season of Whedonverse TV that has not only failed to entertain me over the course of more than one episode but has actively put me off. I was reluctant to watch the final season after this, but thankfully the fifth season more than redeems the show and stands as the best season of TV that Mutant Enemy has ever produced.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer — Season 4

**warning- contains spoilers**

After a shaky but bold first season and two followup seasons that firmly established the show in the annals of TV history, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" was on top of the world. The third season ended (quite literally) on an explosive note, and I couldn't wait to see the Scoobies go off to college. Sadly, like seemingly all shows about high school life, the transition to college was shakier than any real life experience.

At the start of the season, Buffy, Willow, and Oz are setting up in their dorms and registering for classes. Y'know, the usual stuff. But before long it starts to spiral. Buffy's roommate is annoyingly chirpy and turns out to be a demon for no other reason than to put Willow up as her roomie. Why not have just made Willow her roommate from the start, letting the two grate on each other, and show that you have to learn to overcome differences instead of just sending the annoying one back home?

Furthering the half-assed way in which the writers shift the setting is Buffy's sudden dip into idiocy. While I certainly sympathize with her for her doomed relationship with Angel, suddenly falling for a guy who is clearly using sweet talk to get to her, sleeping with him, AND THEN still not catching on even when she spots the guy using the same tricks on another girl. The despair of being used leads Buffy to turn to that most trusted of friends: booze. The resultant episode, "Beer Bad," is the worst episode to come along since Season 1's nadir "I, Robot...You, Jane." A simplistic message hit home with all the subtlety of a heroin-crazed bull in a shop that sells only red china, "Beer Bad" is an unfunny, uninsightful exercise in incompetence.

Amazingly, things get worse when the season's arc begins to form. Buffy moves on from Parker and slowly comes to be with Riley, the T.A. of her difficult psychology class. Riley seems to be everything that Parker (and even Angel) is not: a nice guy with no scruples. Well, that would have apparently been boring, so suddenly we discover that Riley is actually a footsoldier in some offshoot branch of the military that deals with paranormal activity. The branch is called the Initiative and it's run by Mulder and Scully Maggie Walsh, the psych professor (even though Riley is the most prominent member).

Captain Cardboard and the Spiders from the Military Industrial Complex.

Basically, this season replicates most of the themes of the first season, but moves it all to college and tacks on an army. This might have been OK if the Initiative guys could act, but it's like they went down to the nearest local theater and just grabbed all the understudies. In particular, Marc Blucas (the "actor" who "plays" Riley), has all the range of a heavily medicated Keanu Reeves. The Initiative is probably the most inept special soldiers in the history of masturbatory governmental paranoia; they have absolutely no understanding of demons and Walsh's horrible creation, the half-man, half-machine, half-demon Adam, is a henchman that gets elevated to the status of Big Bad for no reason. He is uninteresting and spouts the kind of philosophical musings that would have been ponderous in small doses but are overbearing since he gets the screen time befitting a major villain. We got Angelus and The Mayor in quick succession; Adam doesn't stack up in the least.

But enough about the terrible main arc, let's focus on why Season 4 claws its way out of the abyss. For one thing, Spike becomes a regular. I'll admit a bias: I cannot ever pick a favorite character on this show or its spinoff, but Spike is in my top five with Angel, Fred, Wesley and Anya. Seeing him go from show-stealing minor baddie to constant presence was an absolute delight, even if the reasons for it (Initiative chip renders him evil but incapable of attacking humans) made no sense and pushed the show dangerously close to jumping the shark. James Marsters has the ability to play off anyone, and his ability to do so is second only to Anthony Head's. He has terrific interplay with Buffy, Joyce, Willow (in the scenes where he discovers his new biting impotence), Giles, and Xander, any one of which would be reason enough for him to stay a regular despite the ham-fisted circumstances.

Only a demon couldn't love this.

Another big plus is the fact that Season 4 of "Buffy" boasts the best standalone episodes of the series and its spinoff. "Fear Itself" is the first episode of the season to really nail it, with an interesting premise and Giles' hilariously practical solution to getting into a sealed building. For some reason they did this exact episode later on in the season, removing all of the humor and development and renaming it "Where the Wild Things Are." "Pangs" is one of the weakest episodes of the show plot-wise (Buffy trying to corral everyone for a normal Thanksgiving dinner), but it's so insanely funny that you have to love it.

Of course, the standalone that everyone knows is the Emmy-nominated "Hush." Ostensibly a self-challenge to prove critics wrong, Joss Whedon created an episode that was mostly silent. Instead of relying on his pop culture-laced conversations to attract fans, he made do with unsettling Monsters of the Week and silent comedy. "Hush" wasn't the first off-the-wall episode (see both of the Xander-centric eps, "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" and "The Zeppo"), but "Hush" is the most brilliant. Not only was it a fun concept, but it featured a great deal of plot advancement that is both essential to the story at large and accessible to people who just drop in to watch this. "Superstar" is a glorious joke on fan-fiction, in which then-minor recurring character Jonathan suddenly becomes the hero of Sunnydale after he casts a spell to be popular. It's wildly funny on both a surface level and a deeper one and it's one of the most off-the-wall ingenious eps of the series.

But perhaps even stronger than "Hush" is the season finale, "Restless." A Lynchian mixture of thematic advancement, foreshadowing, and cheese, "Restless" is like every great aspect of "Twin Peaks" rolled into one episode. Looking back, it so cryptically yet so clearly points to the future developments of the show that you cannot help but be amazed at how sure of himself Whedon is. It also ties together all the loose strands of themes and character that stuck out during the season in a way that is not only not ham-fisted but stunningly original. I defy you to find a more dense and complex hour of television around.

Where's his spinoff, Joss?

So what can I say at last about the season as a whole? For all the floundering and retreading of its arc and the insufferable quality of "Beer Bad" and "Where the Wild Things Are," Season 4 gets across a great deal of character development (even by the standards of the show). It gets Buffy out of her rut before I we all go insane, they make the Buffy/Riley relationship work (even though Marc Blucas is the worst casting choice they ever made), Willow becomes a lesbian, Faith comes back for a hell of a two parter, and "Restless" gets across a lot of truths for the characters. The humor is among the series' best (even eclipsing the wildly funny third season), which is good because it keeps you laughing enough to forgive the plots. Add to that its handful of astonishing standalones, and you've got a perfectly entertaining season (although I don't know if I'd classify "Restless" as a standalone since it's so vital to both the events of this season and of future ones). But I must say, it certainly doesn't help that it's sandwiched between the two most consistent seasons of the series.


Choice Episodes

Fear, Itself
Pangs
Hush
Who Are You?
Superstar
The Yoko Factor
Restless

Letdowns/Bad Episodes

Living Conditions
Beer Bad
Where the Wild Things Are
Primeval

Angel — Season 3

**warning- contains spoilers**

On a second viewing of the Buffyverse I've had differing opinions of just about all the seasons. Apart from Buffy Season 3, which remained almost entirely constant, I've found new things to love and new things to criticize. Occasionally my opinion differs drastically, with Angel Season 3 representing likely my biggest change in opinion.

The first time I watched the season, I was completely enraptured. As I was still watching Buffy seasons concurrently, I liked the Big Bad concept and, while I loved "Angel" very much, I missed the sense of a season-long arc. So when I sat down and finally saw the darkness of "Angel" mixed with the structure of "Buffy," I was over the moon. However, a re-run pointed out glaring quality inconsistencies and empty tension.

The season starts out with unquestionably the worst season premiere in the Buffyverse, "Heartthrob." After Tim Minear plunged us into the despair and mutual defeat of Angel and Darla's relationship throughout the big middle arc of the last season, the writers decided that apparently we all didn't get it and make this shambles of an hour. Basically, they show a vampire couple that traveled with the two who were truly in love, and in the present the surviving male provides a contrast to Angel's conflicted feelings for Darla. The problem (apart from vampire Romeo's acting)? The writers retcon the Angelus timeline for the sake of haphazardly inserting this couple, ostensibly showing a disregard for continuity that I'd never expect from Mutant Enemy.

From there the main plot sets in: Darla, despite the impossibility of vampiric conception, is pregnant with Angel's child. The ripple effect of this event will completely change the tone of the show yet again, and leads to numerous unexpected developments. The season takes a few episodes to get going (apart from "That Old Gang of Mine," which is reviled by its writer, Minear, but is the best look into Gunn until the middle of Season 4). Fred is still (quite understandably) disturbed by her experiences on Plyea, and the first few episodes show her very slowly coming out of her shell. Then we get "Fredless," which inexplicably wraps the whole thing up in a single hour.

As Darla gets closer and closer to term, the season heats up. She alternates between not just hormonal anger but rage that she shares the baby's soul. This leads to one of the most shocking, best written, and utterly moving decisions in the series. As the child's soul influences her (or infects, depending on your point of view), she comes to truly love something in the world. It all comes to a head in "Lullaby," in which she sacrifices herself because she knows that once the baby leaves her, she'll be soulless again and will likely kill him. It's a stunning end to one of the most understated and brilliant character arcs in the Whedonverse.

A beautiful end to a great character.

The birth of Connor sends Wolfram & Hart into a frenzy. Unfortunately, when Lindsey left and Holland Manners died the collective intelligence of the firm seems to have gone with them. While Stephanie Romanov is still wonderfully sinister as Lilah, the additions of Gavin Park and Linwood seem like almost parody. While Lindsey and Lilah always feared for their lives and warred with each other for power, they never came off as cowardly or petty. Linwood and Park, on the other hand, are incompetent one-note dolts; it's as if they took those two Team Rocket morons from "Pokémon" and made them lawyers. Park, thankfully, would become more calculating and devious by the end of this season and into the next one, but it doesn't excuse the fact that the writers took Wolfram & Hart, argubaly the single greatest entity in the Whedonverse and made it into a cartoon. It wouldn't recover its unsettling glory until the gang moved into their HQ in the final season.

Hey there, champ. Who's gonna ruin this show one day? You are! Yes, you are!

So with Wolfram & Hart more or less out of the picture, we need a new villain; not necessarily a Big Bad, but someone more important than a MOTW. Enter Holtz, a demon hunter revived after over 200 years by a demon named Sahjahn with a personal vendetta against Angelus. If we can't have the insidious scheming of Wolfram & Hart, then Holtz is about the best possible substitute you could have. Though he is steadfast in his hatred of Angelus, even upon learning of his foe's re-souling, Holtz is a complex figure. We see that he has every reason to hate Angel, and we're left wondering if Holtz really is the bad guy. However, when he settles on young Connor as the avenue to his revenge, we see how vengeance can turn even a good man into a beast.

Holtz's desire to take the baby from Angel receives support from a prophecy Wesley translates, which states that "The Father will kill the Son." This simple sentence results in what is inarguably the most unforeseeable, shocking, and complex development arcs in Buffvyverse history: the fall of Wesley. People throw out the term "Shakespearean" too often (I myself am a bit too liberal with it), but you'll be hard pressed to find a story arc on television that comes closer to classic tragedy than Wesley's.

When we first met him, Wesley was a craven, inept, friendless Watcher who used his position to (try to) coldly boss around a teenage girl, likely as an outpouring of his own forceful father. If Alexis Denisof hadn't been so damn funny Wes could have been downright loathsome, but you couldn't help but love the goof. Then, he went to Angel Investigations and grew into a new man. Slowly leaving his nervosa behind, he becomes a surprisingly capable fighter and forges close bonds with these new friends. After years of fantasizing about being the hero, Wesley had finally become heroic. But his unrequited crush on Fred began to separate him from the crew, and the knowledge that Angel was prophesied to kill his own son drove him to make a bold decision.

In "Sleep Tight" the tragedy explodes. Wesley steals Connor, gives him to Holtz, and gets his throat slashed by Holtz's right hand lady Justine. He has truly reached rock bottom, where he will reside for quite some time. When Holtz takes Connor into an alternate dimension, he destroys his nemesis. Angel completes Wesley's fall from grace by attempting to smother him as he lay recovering in a hotel room.

In all honesty, the season should have ended here. It would have left a lot of questions unanswered while not feeling like your usual cliffhanger. But it carried on. Just when you thought it had gone as far as it could, Connor returns as a teenager. As much as I wanted the season to have ended, I admire this last leg, strangely enough because of the actions of maybe the worst character in either Buffy or Angel. When Connor returns after only a few weeks worth of Earth time, he has spent a lifetime getting brainwashed against his father by Holtz. Holtz's final victory is what cements him as a true villain; in his quest for revenge, he ruined not only his foe's life, but that of an innocent child. Connor's barely suppressed rage generates almost as much tension as Wesley's agonizing choice.

Too. Awesome. For Words.

Sadly, my fears were confirmed when "Tomorrow" ushers in the close of the season with...a cliffhanger. Come on, man; the whole reason I took such a shine to Whedon's work in the first place was that it played so far outside of the usual conventions. It's all setup and no payoff, which I have no problem with...provided that it's followed by the kickass season finale. But this is the finale. I'll concede that it sets up a killer episode in the form of next season's premiere, but what must it have been like to have to wait five months just to get to the goddamn point?

Apart from my nitpicks at the end, you're probably wandering when all this new criticism is supposed to kick in. Well, looking back, Sahjahn, though a wildly entertaining character, fails to let us all know why he's here until after Wesley commits his dasterdly deed. It turns out that the dreaded prophecy originally stated that Connor would kill him, so he went back in time and rewrote it to say that Angel would kill Connor. I don't get it; does this point out the inanity of prophecies? I could get on board with that, but knowing what I know now about the events of Season 4 and what they meant to the show philosophically, this turn of events is out of place. Also, we should have learned about these events before Wesley made his choice. Imagine how much more suspenseful, it would have been to see Wesley slowly come to a conclusion that he knows is right even as we know that he's being played.

And that's the chief problem of the season: the tension has no foundation. Upon a first watch, we're being jerked around so much on a leash that we have no time to question. Every time you stop and wander aloud "Are Fred and Gunn going to go anywhere?" they toss a bone with yet another Wesley development or some crazy new happening. When I plowed through this again, I was almost excruciatingly bored at times. Whereas the last season mixed impossibly deep character and story advancement wrapped up in thoughtful yet entertaining episodes, Season 3 suffers from a notable disconnect between the episode plots and how the characters move forward. You still have to watch the episodes to see how the characters grow, but it's too often a chore.

Still, there are some strong episodes. "Billy" is total MOTW material, but it's one of those immensely unsettling and memorable ones along the lines of "I've Got You Under My Skin," while the aforementioned "Lullaby" and "Sleep Tight" are some of the most affecting and thematic in the show's run. A surprising treat is the metaphorical "Waiting in the Wings," in which the gang sees a ballet that's been repeating for a hundred years under the spell of a perversely lovelorn patron. The final stretch, though very much tacked on, is mostly superb, except for the finale.

Upon a first watch this was my favorite season until I got to S5. By then, Season 4 had purged me of my need for a big arc and it's mammoth run in its second half blew away everything I'd ever seen. But now, this rests near the bottom of the Buffyverse, along with S4 of both shows and Buffy's first season. It's still entertaining in a number of places, but apart from Darla and Wesley and, occasionally, Angel, we get too little character development. Holtz is a great villain, but Wolfram & Hart take a severe blow. If you haven't watched it yet (and I hope you have since I threw a spoiler tag at the top), then you'll likely find a lot to love about this season. But eventually you have to face the facts and admit the emperor has no clothes.

Gran Torino

There are plenty of reasons why I should hate Clint Eastwood's new film, “Gran Torino”: it's generic and clichéd to the point of instant predictability, it features scenes so contrived that I cannot understand why Eastwood didn't cut them out before he even shot them and, for the first time, the director fails to get even good performances out of his actors. Yet despite it all, I couldn't help but love this film and its crusty-but-lovable hero.

Eastwood is back in front of the camera as Walt Kowalski, a retired Korean War veteran who, at the start of the film, has just lost his wife. We learn all we need to know about him as he stands by her coffin at the funeral, the skin on his skeletal face pulled tight with teeth-grinding suppressed anger, squinting so tightly that his black pupils seem to take up the entire eyeball. He growls every line as if he even has contempt for speaking. Thoroughly bigoted, Walt is disgusted to live in an increasingly Asian neighborhood; in particular, his Hmong neighbors always seem to have a gathering, perhaps just so the matriarch of the clan can annoy him. However, when he stops a local gang from harassing the timid boy next door, he becomes a hero in the Hmong community, much to his chagrin.

From here we’re on a predictable path: Walt gets slowly drawn into the community, and even forms close bonds with the two teenagers next door, Tao and Sue. However, it’s the understated, leisurely way in which Eastwood depicts these friendships that makes “Gran Torino” such a treat. Walt never loses track of his racism, but he comes to view his Hmong neighbors as equals, even if he only thinks of them as “some of the good ones.”

Eventually the tensions between Walt and the gang he incensed must come to a head, but it plays out in a way that is both pre-programmed and surprising. The ad campaign gives the impression that the film is gonna lead up to some big action climax in which Eastwood will kick butt and take names and punks shall feel very unlucky indeed. Instead, Walt’s actions are much simpler, much nobler and much more reserved, and he couldn’t have ended it any other way.

While the plot doesn’t exactly shake things up, it’s still pretty solid thanks to Eastwood’s knack for visual simplicity and minimalism. Unfortunately, he stumbles quite a lot along the way. The gradually developing relationship between Walt and his neighbors is undermined by the juxtaposition with Walt’s children and grandchildren. Selfish and spoiled, they put up with the old man just long enough for them to feel like they’ve done their part. They clearly exist solely to point out the culture gap between not just whites and minorities but between Walt and the likewise traditional Hmongs and his lazy yuppie offspring, but their actions are so unrealistic and overblown that they turn a subtle comedy into a melodramatic bore. Likewise, the scenes with Walt’s profane barber are pointless and just there for a quick laugh.

And who is keeping track of the characters? Walt worked in on the assembly line at a Ford plant all his life, yet he has a shack stuffed with more tools than a high-end mechanic, and his children were clearly spoiled from a young age. How did he get all this money at a Joe job? Did he just steal the tools off the line when he left? The teens have no personalities of their own; they’re both brainy and Tao is shy, until the gang goes too far and suddenly he acts like he can take them all on single-handedly. It’s easy to blame the young actors, who are inexperienced and thus slip into grating melodrama, but the real problem is the weak script.

On paper, the film may seem hopelessly derivative and self-defeating, and it is. But that ignores Eastwood’s ability to draw our attention away from plot holes and cliché and onto the character of Walt, who is on solid ground. Eastwood is not an actor of great range, but he manages to tweak his performance just enough each time to make it different. Despite a few moments of incredulity, Eastwood finally leaves the usual melodrama at the door, and crafts perhaps his most instantly fun movie of the decade. It’s no awards contender, but it’s perhaps the truest display of the legend’s talent as a director not just of actors (which is not on display here) but of audience manipulation.

Top Five Disappointments of 2008

Every year there is a slew of bad films. The latest entry in the Saw franchise. Whatever Seltzer and Friedberg cooked up just by watching trailers. The new Kirk Cameron movie. All guaranteed bad. But what about the movies that promise something more? That hook you and draw you in until you can't possibly do anything but love it... only to thoroughly shortchange you. Isn't it the worst feeling in the world to line up for a sequel to a movie you loved, or the new film from one of your favorite directors, only to walk out hating it? Well, I'm here to open those barely healed wounds and bleed my nerdy bile anew for the films that betrayed me this year (some spoilers):

5. Be Kind Rewind

You have now seen the only enjoyable moment of the film. You're welcome.

Granted, I didn't expect too much from this based on the premise (anyone remember the Blockbleester sketch from The Amanda Show?), and as much as I enjoy Jack Black (yeah, you heard me, go watch High Fidelity or Tropic Thunder if you don't agree) he and Mos Def didn't exactly sell me. But when I saw that Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Science of Sleep) was directing, I couldn't help but get excited. However, when I sat down to watch my rented DVD (yeah, I never did get excited enough to go to a theater for it), I was crushed: all the scenes from the trailer that made the movie look somewhat promising? Those clips were the only good parts of the goddamn movie. The rest was a clichéd story about saving the little store that no one likes because The Man wants to tear it down.

As much as I hate the retail giant system (I firmly believe that every Wal-Mart is a Hellmouth), sometimes old crap needs to be torn down. And then the FBI tries to bust the guys for copyright violation for making their own versions (even though I'm pretty sure parody is allowed in the Copyright Act of 1975), but relents when the whole town comes together to watch a film about a random jazzbo that Danny Glover won't shut up about. You know, because togetherness is so rare these days. The story doesn't allow Gondry to get up to his usual tricks, and he just costs through this. Here's hoping he rebounds nicely.

4. Quantum of Solace

"I'm saving the most elaborate torture for my agent."

I remember growing to loathe the Bond franchise right about the time I hit 16 (in 2005). Funny, considering that teenagers (or grown men who never aged mentally past 16) are Bond's primary audience. But I found his increasingly self-parodying, misogynistic formula tiring. Imagine my surprise then, when Casino Royale hit the scene. Mixing a liberal dash of Bourne into a back-to-basics Bond, it was an absolute blast that edged Bond in the direction of realism whilst still remaining a pure romp. It also gave us to date the only well-rounded female character of the series. Then came Quantum of Solace, which demonstrates the classic Hollwood sequels mantra "If it ain't broke, screw it up."

Whereas CR operated in a more realistic world and remained fun, Quantum decided to push things over the edge into the dreaded realm of "Paul Haggis' Real World. PHRW is a recent epidemic that has turned many a potentially fun and/or deep film into a exaggerated, self-aggrandizing dungheap that loves to scribble the words "GRITTY REALISM" all over the place without ever showing anything remotely realistic. It tries to take on real world issues (the environment, the shadiness of businesses), which is so un-Bond that even I, someone who has no love for the franchise, must call foul. Amalric tries his best, but in many ways he's too talented to be a Bond villain; if I want nuance I'll watch something besides the biggest man-child fantasy in cinematic history. Even Jonathan Pryce set aside his chops to drool and twirl his imaginary moustache over the prospects of controlling the media. The Bond here can't decide if he wants to be the fun old Bond of yore or Agent Serious Business, and the film never finds a footing because of it. Oh, and we won't even talk about the direction.

3. Miracle at St. Anna

Clockwise from left: Bashful, Dopey, Doc, Grumpy, and Asshat

To say that Spike Lee is a polarizing figure is like saying the sun is bright or orgasms feel good, but I think he's one of the most talented filmmakers of his generation. He (quite rightly) complained that there were no films being made about the contribution of blacks to the war effort in World War II by (quite wrongly) taking it out on Clint Eastwood. Then he puts his money where his big mouth is and made Miracle at St. Anna, which comes so close to being a great war movie (and the last thing in the world you'd think could be made by the maker of Crooklyn) that to see it play up every stereotype in the book AND add some ridiculous deus ex marble head that saves the day is just heartbreaking.

Race is a hard subject to get right on film and even Lee, who is the only person of the last 20 years to realistically portray, is uneven in his successes. But Miracle is an all new low; it stereotypes blacks, whites, Italians, Germans without ever examining and breaking down those stereotypes like Lee does in his best films. The flashback scene in the ice cream parlor is ridiculous: do you honestly think that a squad of black soldiers who drew their guns on a white American shopowner would not be immediately court-martialed and probably lynched? Miracle works neither as a war movie (because of that effing miracle head) nor a comment on race relations.

2. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

"I can only hope that this fridge can protect me from the seismic force of everyone's childhood shattering."

OK, I knew it was going to suck. As heavily involved as Lucas was to the creative process (as opposed to just letting him add the explosions in in post-production), it couldn't have possibly been great. What I didn't know is that it was going to completely destroy one of the most iconic action heroes in film history. Look, I'm not stupid; I know damn well that Spielberg would never kill the character, but when you watch Raiders you fear for Indy. Here, well we all know about the fridge. That fridge scene almost made me leave the theater. Action films must contain a certain amount of suspense; yes, the hero will live 99.9999999999% of the time, but you need to make us feel for at least a moment that he or she could snuff it. When Harrison Ford just sort of stumbles out of his bomb shelter-to-go there's no reason to stay tuned.

But it gets worse. Cate Blanchett and John Hurt, two magnificent actors, are forcced into these one-note roles that are excruciating in their blandness while Shia LaBeouf, a fun enough up-and-comer with a pretty good wit about him, has nothing to do. And of course, there's the aliens. In a way, it makes sense, but only if you think about it from the point of view of an emotionally stunted grown up who still has train sets and still puts little action figures on the rails and runs them over. In other words, it's great if you're George Lucas.



And the number one biggest letdown of the year for me waaaassss:



1. Cloverfield

"I heard you liek Mudkips."

I know, a lot of people love it. And it's certainly not the worst film on my list (Indy 4, remember?), but I believed in this. For months I was caught up in the JJ Abrams hype and I'm not big on the man. Sure, out of the few episodes I've seen I liked Alias, and Mission Impossible III was the only good installment of the franchise (mainly thanks to Phillip Seymour Hoffman), but Abrams strikes me as the sort of person more concerned with getting people excited than delivering on the promises he makes. But that didn't matter, cause this was going to be great. Even when my friends got sick of the hype, I was there waving the Clovy flag. I popped into the theater the Saturday after it came out and...I hated it.

Not only was it achingly predictable, not only was it completely devoid of tension, but the characters were completely unrealistic. I could maybe buy a dude running into Ground Zero while it's still being torn up to save his not-girlfriend who he slept with once and suddenly he like, totally loves her, but there is no way on God's green Earth that his friends would follow him. Even as they drop one by one, they stick by their dumbass frat boy buddy because someone has to carry the camera. And that's the downfall of these first-person stories; why would I believe that someone would continue to carry a camera (and keep holding the thing up) while he's running from a monster and its weird killer lice. Yeah, I don't care that he keeps saying he's filming so "the people can know what happened;" you don't shove a camera in your friend's face or sit across from him and zoom into his face to see the tears as he mourns the death of a loved one to document a monster rampage. And when they do find his special lady friend, she has sustained an injury that would surely kill her, only for her to get up and, with the power of love, run just as fast as the uninjured people. It's insane.

I can hear the Cloverfans now: "Well, eccuuuuuussse meeeee, Mr. Hard-to-Please. I'm sorry that you had to suspend disbelief for a MONSTER movie." Yes, it is a monster movie, but that does not excuse the filmmakers from the responsibility of making your human characters act like actual humans. They are cookie-cutter yuppie trash who have no real personalities to win us over. Hud is the guy who cracks unfunny jokes, Rob is so focused on saving Beth that he stops only to squirt a few tears for the friends and family he loses along the way before they all suck it up and keep going for no reason, and Marlena is the person who knows none of them and tags along, and I won't go any further into that for my own sanity. The monster is ridiculous too; again, I know it's a monster film, but why would you make a creature that has lived in the seas for thousands of years a creature clearly designed to live on land (and it's NOT an alien. If you think it is you're not enough of a fan to read what Abrams has to say on it)? Ultimately Drew Goddard's weak script ensures that you want the characters to be offed, but you can't root for the monster either because it's a background figure. This rivals Spider-Man 3 as the biggest cinematic letdown of my life (the prequels are excluded from the competition).




Well, there you have it: the five films that stuck with me far more than the cream of the crap. I was let down by a few other movies this year, but none came close to the disappointment I had with these.

Angel — Season 2

**warning: contains spoilers**

Angel's first season was a confident but shaky debut, one that boldly moved away from its parent show while still remaining in the same universe. It managed to get across a lot of thematic development as well; at the start Angel is a brooding loner who fights evil just to whittle the time away until something finally kills him, and by the end of it he has a whole new outlook on life. Armed with the knowledge that he is prophesied to become great, Angel is more upbeat than ever before. But, as with all things Whedon, the good times never last.

The first few episodes are, with the exception of the deeply metaphorical "Are You Now Or Have You Ever Been?," the superb Tim Minear classic that remains a fan favorite, fun but meaningless. Angel is still riding high on the prophecy, Wesley is coming into his own but still clumsy, and Gunn slowly starts to acclimate to the team members.

But it all changes with "Dear Boy," the beginning of what would become a mammoth mid-season arc that drastically shifted the tone of the show. Darla's return throws Angel for a loop; he can't decide if he wants to help her or kill her once and for all. Darla, brought back by Wolfram & Hart purely to screw with her ex-lover, came back as a human and, funnily enough, hates it. At one point in the season Angel remarks that she's been destroying mirrors because she has a soul and, when someone points out that he doesn't go around smashing mirrors and he has a soul, Angel responds "I don't have to look at myself." As cold and ruthless as Darla very much still is, she must confront herself on her past, and whereas Angel shut down from the gult, she poured those feelings into rage.

The Darla arc is split into two segments; the first ends with her shocking re-turning in "Reunion," which sets the stage for some of Angel's darkest moments. It launches the second half of the arc, commonly titled the Beige Angel arc. In it, Angel, crushed by his inability to save Darla, realizes he is entering a dark part of his mind and fires the Angel Investigations staff. He begins to hunt Darla and Drusilla with a vengeance; he strikes a terrifying balance between Angel and Angelus, a creature who has a soul but, like any human, can bring that soul into the darkness.

It all hits a magnificent nadir (in terms of cheeriness, certainly not quality) in the two part arc ender "Reprise" and "Epiphany." "Reprise" is one of the absolute finest episodes of either Angel or Buffy; it's an existential nightmare that reveals that the hell Wolfram & Hart answers to (and, presumably, the real Hell since they are the embodiment of evil) is right here on Earth. It obliterates the themes laid down at the end of Season 1 by flat out stating that evil is not something that can ever be defeated. Angel's parent show would tackle the same issue throughout it's final season, but as much as I enjoy it, the entire season never comes close to the depth and despair of this single episode. "Epiphany" rebuilds the show from the ruins of its predecessor, putting Angel's life back on track by reducing his mission back to its "working class hero" roots.

This lengthy arc is one of the most consistent and incredible runs in the Whedonverse, but sadly the season ends on a weak note with the Pylea arc. Perhaps in an effort to allieviate some of the philosophical darkness of the rest of the season, the writers decided to make some weird-ass version of The Wizard of Oz. If I'm lying I'm dying. In all fairness, this four episode arc isn't bad, per se, and it would have been lovely, pointless frivolity...if it wasn't so long. Pylea's a one-joke town, and we get four episodes of it. It does, however, get a pass purely for introducing Fred. I'll go into that in later seasons.

All in all, this is one of the best seasons in the Whedonverse, for one simple reason: Tim Minear. Run down the writing credits for this season: Every. Single. Classic episode is written by Minear. He combines wonderfully dark humor, deep allegory and metaphor, and thought provoking philosophy into 43 minute chunks. He even wrote the only good episode of the Pylea arc ("Through the Looking Glass").

Apart from a few hiccups at the start and finish, you'll rarely see a season of TV more captivating and thoughtful than this. For my money, only the show's final season could best it.


Choice Episodes:
Are You Now Or Have You Ever Been?
Darla
Reunion
Redefintion
Reprise
Epiphany


Letdowns:

Judgment
Disharmony (Thank God they figured out how to make Harmony interesting in the final season)

Jesus Camp

I've never been a fan of horror films. Apart from the general lack of production values, taut writing and decent acting, I feel manipulated into shocking moments rather than horrifying ones. Basically, something jumps out at me to make me have an asthma attack rather than really cutting into my basest nightmares. Instead, I often turn to documentaries. The cold sting of reality will forever unsettle me more than any beast or monster, and many docs can wind up horrifying with even the most genial of setups. Such a film is Jesus Camp, a look into a Christian retreat that becomes a terrifying look into religious fundamentalism.

The camp is question is called the Kids on Fire School of Ministry, a name that immediately invokes images of suicide bombers, not love. It is run by Becky Fischer, a firebrand who speaks in tongues and seems to inspire love of the Lord through fearful talk of damnation. She so thoroughly cows the children that when she damns the fat and lazy of America, no one points out her own girth.

We follow the lives of three of the children in attendance: Levi, Rachael, and Tory. Levi is homeschooled and has actually preached several sermons at his father's church. We meet him as his mother teaches him that Creationism is the "only explanation that has all the answers" and that global warming is a hoax, though what people have to gain from the lie she never explains. Rachael, the daughter of a pastor, is first shown handing out pamphlets to patrons at a bowling alley. Tory listens to Christian heavy metal and deplores the sinful popular muic of the day.

It's too easy to say that these children have been brainwashed, but Fischer leaves us little choice; she remarks that Muslim fundamentalists so thoroughly indoctrinate their own children that they are willing to give their lives and says that Christians must do the same thing. When the camp counselors speak of these kids as soldiers for Christ, you can't help but wonder how literal they're being. More than once, she reduces the campers to tears with promises of hellfire if they do not give themselves fully to Christ.

As I watched Jesus Camp, I felt more and more repulsed by what I was seeing. The counselors take the message of Christ's love and pervert it; they speak of abortion to children who cannot be older than 10 years old. They bring out a cardboard cut-out of George Bush and instruct the children to pray that he surrounds himself with faithful staffers. Their "hook 'em when they're young" outlook sends chills down the spine. (Now ex-)Evangelical leader Ted Haggard preaches in a megachurch, then sits down aftewards and gleefully tells the filmmakers that, if all the Evangelicals vote, they can decide any election. In his own mind, he's the most important man in America. But quite humble I'm sure.

Sadly, the film is not perfect. At only 84 minutes, Jesus Camp never really delves into its subject; I feel more like I've just watched a highlights reel rather than an actual documentary. Because of its length, it never provides us with a real opposing view. Oh, we get one alright, but it's in the form of a radio host who proclaims his own Christianity and decries the practices of the Evangelicals. Such scenes are essential but, as we never get any more dissent, they feel ancillary and tacked on. If they really wanted to be objective, the filmmakers would have shown other, kinder churches. Many documentaries pick a very specific subject and stick to it, but Jesus Camp would have greatly benefited from being less myopic.

How then do I rate the film? It's trying so hard not to judge these warped tykes or the adults who control them that I can't say I learned much. However, I would be lying if I said this didn't stick with me, if it didn't shine a light into a shameful practice. In the film, Fischer chipperly states that George Bush provided them with a platform to legitimacy, that he ushered in a Golden Age for them. I cannot help but think that, with the first black man and a staunch liberal about to enter office, the horrors of Jesus Camp will seem like (excuse me for a moment) child's play.


Note: After watching it, I couldn't help but be somewhat warmed that Evangelical leader Ted Haggard has since been humiliated and that the camp closed because of this film. Sometimes it takes so little.