Review: "Dark Knights Rising: The Wild Hunt" Is An Uneven Embrace of Comics's Insanity

Dark Knights Rising: Wild Hunt is many things. It's the first Metal tie-in to not focus on the origin on one of the evil Batmen. It's the return of comics legend (and definitive Batman writer) Grant Morrison, who joins series writer Scott Snyder alongside Flash writer Joshua Williamson and Detective Comics writer James Tynion IV. It's the most I've enjoyed any of these tie-ins. But most importantly, it's part of Metal's ongoing love affair with all the complicated and insane aspects of the DC multiverse. It honestly reminded me most of Mad Max: Fury Road, as an escalating;y bonkers chase scene stretched over an entire issue. 

Wild Hunt is focused primarily on the trio of the Flash, Cyborg, and Raven as their ship is pursued across the multiverse by the much larger dreadnought of the Dark Knights, who intend to stop them from reaching the Hall of Heroes and stopping the slow corruption of the multiverse. Meanwhile, on Challengers Island, Detective Chimp (no, really) reflects on his origins as he works with the world's greatest minds to try and keep the multiverse portal open. It all builds to a gut-punch of an ending and one of the most surprising comic final pages I've read in years. (And given that this event also gave us the reveal that Batman was working with Neil Gaiman's Dream in it's first issue, that really says something.)

Unlike Mad Max, Wild Hunt struggles from the inconsistency of multiple writers. Morrison's surrealism and ambition, Snyder's grimness, Williamson's quippiness, and Tynion's skill with team dynamics are all great on their own, but it fully clicks here, with the same applying to the art teams of Ivan Reis, Doug Mahnke, and Howard Porter, whose styles are each so distinctive that it sticks out when they try to mix. (Interestingly, all three artists are frequent collaborators of Morrison, with his and Porter's 5-year tenure on JLA being one of the greatest comic runs of all time.)  

While it doesn't come together all the time, it's still incredibly entertaining, with the sheer scope and intensity of the story overcoming any massive weaknesses. At it's best moments, it (and the entire Metal event in general) reminds me of Final Crisis, Morrison's final event before the end of his contract with DC. All the pieces are there: hopeless situation that threatens the multiverse, leaving a ragtag group of heroes to save the day. It should be so cliched, but it throws so much at you that you're on board pretty much from the get-go. I mean, it gives real pathos to Detective Chimp. What's not to love?

Three Billboards And the Issue of "Redemption"

So I saw Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri and I liked it quite a bit. If the buzz building to the Oscars comes true, it will be the latest in a line of fairly strong Best Picture winners (though it's not my favorite of the batch, which is an honor that definitely goes to Shape of Water). So, naturally, there's already been a backlash against the film by general audiences, particularly surrounding it's themes and it's antagonist of sorts, Officer Jason Dixon. (If I don't know any better, I'd suspect that being seen as a frontrunner directly poisons audience expectations, given that this also happened to La La Land and The Revenant, which were widely seen as frontrunners.) 

While I certainly see why some people dislike it, I definitely disagree with the primary form of criticism, which tends to go along the line of, "This film redeems a racist, violent thug character with no real comeuppance." To avoid spoiling too much until the next paragraph, that's all I'll say for now. To avoid spoilers, please stop here. Read my other posts, which are also very good. If you've seen Three Billboards or don't care, please continue. 

Still here? Sick. Anyway, Jason Dixon is established as violent, short-tempered and somewhat bigoted, with many accusing him of torturing a black prisoner while the man was in custody. Over the course of the film, we get more of an explanation for Dixon's behavior and he begins to come to terms with his own reputation. As part of the film's recurring theme of redemption, Dixon strives to be a better man and a better cop by the end of the film, which sort of sums up the backlash in a longer paragraph. The problem with said backlash is that Dixon doesn't find the redemption he seeks, and in fact regresses to his old ways in the film's final moments. 

Around the film's midpoint, Dixon gets a heartfelt speech from Willoughby, which has him resolve to be better as he realizes how many people he's hurt. But Dixon spends the rest of the film assuming one good deed will undo his bad, which is proven to be untrue. The man he suspects of being the culprit of the crime that kicked off the film's plot isn't guilty, and Jason is immediately confronted with the idea that redemption is harder than it looks. So what does he do? Now, if he was actually a better man, he'd keep it and go back to being a cop, but Dixon instead quits the police force for good and convinces the film's protagonist to help him hunt down and kill Dixon's suspect, who is definitely guilty of something. Does that sound like something a "good cop" would do? 

Not only does Dixon not really change his ways, no one really forgives him either. The film's few black characters continue to treat him with skepticism, the man he directly hospitalized rebuffs his attempts to apologize, and the main character herself only softens because he's helping her personally. Three Billboards is a film about forgiveness and letting go of anger, but by the end, poor Dixon never really manages to achieve either, for himself or from others.  

Three Billboards isn't a perfect film, by any means. It's a bit too long, sometimes overly crass, and it peaks at the midpoint with a spectacular character moment. But do I think the film deserves complaints because a villain (of sorts) tries to change himself and arguably fails? Not really. I just think it's a case of people being angry that a character that is traditionally unsympathetic in most forms of media gets deconstructed in a way that reminds you, "Hey, everyone in this film is still a human being." 

Review: "Cloverfield Paradox" An Interesting, But Disappointing, Addition to Anthology Series

So, there's been a lot of buzz about Cloverfield Paradox's marketing strategy. Make the movie in secret, then show an ad for it during the Super Bowl, then release it right after. It's becoming the norm for this franchise to go as secretive as possible, with Cloverfield having an incredible viral marketing campaign while 10 Cloverfield Lane was announced two months before release. It's daring and oftentimes brilliant in the age of trailers for trailers that this franchise is choosing to go guerilla with it, emerging from the shadows only when absolutely necessary. 

Of course, all the cool tricks in the world won't contribute to much if the film itself isn't very good, and that's where Cloverfield Paradox really struggles. 

Without spoiling too much, Paradox focuses on the crew of the Cloverfield Station, who are testing the Shepard particle accelerator aboard the ship in hopes of ending an energy crisis that has left the planet on the brink. After a year and a half of testing, it apparently works, but it becomes apparent very quickly that something is very wrong, both on the ship and back on Earth. 

The film's major problem is that it feels both overstuffed and underwritten. It's plot is largely paint-by-numbers "doomed space expedition" fare, specifically reminding me of a mash-up of Interstellar and Event Horizon, which would be fine were it not for how largely paper-thin the characters are. The cast themselves are great, with particular stand-outs in the form of Chris O'Dowd and Gugu Mbatha-Raw, but beyond Raw's Hamilton (who functions as the film's protagonist), none of them ever really develop beyond archetypes, making it hard to care for their struggles. The dialogue doesn't help, often coming off as clunky or overexpository without ever feeling real. 

Perhaps the film's entire issue is a lack of a real identity. The direction, dialogue, and plot all feel like something I've seen a million times before, with very little in the way of surprises outside of the ways in which the ship messes with the crew (with a scene involving a severed arm in particular standing out) and the film's spectacular final scene, which is shocking and entertaining in a way that I wish the rest of the film had been. It all just clips along at a fine pace up until the credits rolled, at which point I said, "Well that was ok." and clicked out. 

In an era where there's simply too much content to devour, perhaps the worst reaction of all is a shrug. Is it terrible? No, but is it the gamechanger Netflix sorely needs to prove themselves as a realistic option for blockbusters? Sadly, no. Does this mean they should stop, or that the Cloverfield franchise is dead? Of course not, especially given that Paradox sets up the idea of Overlord, the forth installment that is rumored to come out later this year. I just wish that this film had tried a little harder to be something new. 

How "The Punisher" Flubbed the Gun Control Debate

So, The Punisher came out on Netflix last year, and while it was very good, there was one aspect of it that I found...rather clumsy. That clumsy part was it's handling of social issues, particularly it's take on gun control. As a way of padding out it's 13-episode season, Punisher spent several episodes discussing the impact of violence on the human condition, the role of veterans in today's society, and,  most importantly, the aforementioned gun control. While the first two were handled incredibly well, gun control is an issue that's handled tenderly and ultimately dropped unsatisfyingly. The show's take on the issue struggled simply because it never took a clear position and failed to really explain why either side even really has a point. 

The show takes on gun control at the direct midpoint of the series, with several characters (including the Punisher and his ally Karen Page) taking a pro-gun stance while literally just one character (a Senator of New York) is pro-gun control. The immediate problem is the pro-gun side consists of a vigilante (Frank) , a close friend of multiple vigilantes (Karen), a domestic terrorist (arc villain Lewis Wilson), and a cowardly liar pretending to be a veteran, while the senator is portrayed as a smooth-talking wuss who ultimately begs for his life when it comes down to it. The show chooses to portray both sides as flawed with no real upsides, reminding me a lot of South Park's tendency to mock both sides of a real debate without ever taking a side. 

Remember when they made fun of Al Gore for spreading climate change awareness? 

While a more moderate stance on the issue is fine, the problem is the show seemed unwilling to admit that this was it's stance. Rather than ever have any characters admit that they may be wrong, the show simply drops the subplot once Lewis is dealt with. They even have a ripe opportunity to resolve things, with Frank taking a bullet to save the Senator from Lewis, but ultimately backs off. Frank never admits that maybe assault rifles shouldn't end up in civilian hands, nor does the senator admit that maybe guns could save lives. And ultimately, that's dangerous and somewhat lazy. 

It's dangerous because in a world of mass shooters who frequently take inspiration from characters like Frank Castle (to the point where the show's release was delayed due to a mass shooting in Las Vegas while the Virginia Tech shooter's dorm was covered in Punisher art), a show about him really could've addressed the character's roots as a gun-toting vigilante and role in a gun-obsessed society in a deeply meaningful fashion. But instead, it simply blinks when given the opportunity and moves on rather than trying to take a side. And in many ways, saying both sides are dumb is more dangerous than saying nothing at all. 

What's the Deal with Doomsday Clock, Part 1 (SPOILERS)

Ever since DC announced they were bringing Watchmen into the mainstream DC universe, it's felt as though a lot of comic fans were holding their breath. How could DC bring one of the most seminal and beloved takes on superheroes into the DC universe, which was basically the main thing it was taking on in the first place? Of course, some of the anger faded once Geoff Johns, Chief Creative Officer of DC and writer of the event, explained his event would be both a sequel to Watchmen and a critique of it's impact on the comics industry, suggesting the take we're getting will hopefully be more intelligent than initial lead-up suggested. 

Previews came out, showcasing a world on the brink of war with a new Rorschach on an unclear mission, complete with elements of social satire and mystery that the original used so well, and many started to go, "Hey, maybe this event will be okay." 

And then the first issue came out, followed by two more in subsequent months before an announcement that the miniseries will be going bi-monthly to cover the complexity of the series. Since we're at that point now, I figured I could discuss my general thoughts on the series thus far. So, what do I think of this controversial sequel to Watchmen that threatens tarnish everything good and holy about the original? 

It's fine. 

Don't get me wrong, it's good, but it's neither amazing nor terrible. My big positives are the art of Gary Frank, which feels a lot like Dave Gibbons work from the original series in the 80s but does it's own thing at several points, and Johns's new additions to the Watchmen universe, particularly Mime and Marionette, a criminal duo that sort of resemble Joker and Harley Quinn, but with an added twist that Mime can't talk. You know, like a mime. The duo, formed as part of a team by Ozymandias to locate Dr. Manhattan, are incredibly entertaining and feel the most fleshed-out of any characters in the series. 

As for the negatives, it's, weirdly enough, a lot of the DC universe aspects of the comic. The stuff involving Batman, Superman, and an apparent backlash against superheroes as evidence suggests they were created by the government is interesting, but it almost feels like it's dragging down the story and would've been better suited to it's own comic. The fun of this should come from stuff like confrontation between Batman and Rorscach, where we get to see two iconic characters meet. 

My last negative is what the series does with the fate of the Comedian, the antihero whose murder set up the plot of the original series, and how it's an example of negative impact on the canon. (This is where the spoilers come in, by the way.)

After Edward Blake is hurled from his apartment window, Doomsday Clock reveals that Manhattan saved him and dumped into the main DC universe, where he now lies in wait for Ozymandias, his attacker, to show up so he can get revenge. The problem with this reveal is that a) nullifies the power of Comedian's death in the original comic and b) simply doesn't make an incredible amount of sense. It's nullifying because after so much of Watchmen focused on who he was as a person and how many of his peers have regrets surrounding their relationship with him before his death, it's simply been revealed that he was fine somewhere else. 

It's nonsensical because if Blake was transported somewhere else, what did everyone in the Watchmen universe see? They found his window smashed and his blood-soaked iconic button on the pavement, but was there a body? Did literally everyone just assume that the Comedian hit the ground and died so hard he exploded into a puddle of blood? 

Of course, maybe Johns will explain that in a later issue. After all, we're only three in at this particular point, so maybe I'm just dragging the series for something that will be clearly defined later. All in all, this isn't a terrible series by any stretch, and it's certainly a better event comic than anything Marvel has put out since Secret Wars, so I'm excited to do this again when Doomsday Clock hits the sixth, ninth, and final issue marks.