Doctor Strange

     "Success is determined not by whether or not you face obstacles, but by our reaction to them. And if you look at these obstacles as a containing fence, they become your excuse for failure. If you look at them as a hurdle, each one strengthens you for the next." Dr. Ben Carson, Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story

    If you thought Tony Stark was the most arrogant and pompous egomaniac to ever become a superhero, Dr. Stephen Strange may present some competition for that title. Strange is a self-made man whose gifted hands have made him a savior to many hopeless medical cases. His precise skills as a surgeon have brought him wealth, fame, and a proud sense of entitlement to all the worship that his successes have ushered in. Strange has little concern for anyone outside of their ability to further inflate his ego; he is a god in his own eyes.

     In the blink of an eye, the hands that were once so skilled, steady, and precise, are replaced with shaking and palsied hands that can barely clutch a pen in their curled fingers. Broken, devastated, yet unhumbled and unable to accept the failed outcomes of one medical lead after another, Stephen's narcissistic determination drives him to the far eastern lands of Nepal to seek a more unconventional healing for his physical obstacles. But of course, as this is Marvel, he will most certainly find more than he was looking for.

     Benedict Cumberbatch seems to shine most when portraying egotistical social deviants, and Doctor Strange is no exception. Whether it's the knowledge that for better or worse, this is your protagonist, or the inexplicable draw that current audiences have towards less than upright heroes,  you can't help but hope for the best for Strange, despite his persistently mortifying self-importance. He is genuinely pitiful as he unsteadily walks the line between pretentious denial and looming despair. But then again, it's a bit of a pleasure to watch him fumble and trip his way through learning the crafts of the Ancient One. The sharpness of his wit never dulls, but eventually his self-absorption transforms into something more noble, and he even learns to care. More importantly, he learns to regret.


      Dr. Strange stands out as one of the most original and engaging origin stories we've seen from MCU in a while. Every origin story has something unique to it, but Dr. Strange rises above the standard in almost every way. Visually, Dr. Strange is colorful and mesmerizingly psychedelic, but stylishly avoids the empty grandeur and self-conscious pomp of Thor, for example. Instead, the kaleidoscopic visuals bend and fracture hypnotically to serve the story and illustrate the limitless expanse beyond our dimension.

     Furthermore, Dr. Strange does not weigh itself down in obligatory exposition, but concerns itself only with the here, now, and onwards. Did Stephen Strange hail from a privileged family, or did his own determination lift himself out of the ghettos? Refreshingly, we don't know because we don't have to. We know that Stephen had a rather ill-fated romance with fellow doctor Christine Palmer (played with grounded maturity by Rachel McAdams) at some point in the off-screen past, but it takes little imagination to surmise why it ended. Flashbacks would have been too confusing in this mind-bending world of mirroring dimensions, so the chronological story helps to keep things grounded enough to avoid feeling hallucinatory.

     Dr. Strange is full of lively characters and snappy dialogue amidst its celebrated CGI features. Even the characters that initially seem archetypal break the mold. The Ancient One, for example, is a far cry from the sagely Obi-Wan Kenobi, hardened leader R'as Al Ghul, or even the worldly-wise Professor X; the Ancient One is equal parts eccentric mentor and comic relief, while being a fluidly moving warrior herself. Dr. Christine Palmer is no damsel in distress, nor is she the lovesick lady who vows to always love her man. Christine is a strong and independent woman who is kind to Stephen, but perfectly capable of walking away when his behavior becomes inexcusable. Baron Mordo at first seems to fulfill the role of the mentor's butler, or maybe a future sidekick, but if you wait for the famous post-credits scenes that MCU loves to tease with, you'll know that there's more to him yet to be revealed. Really, the villain is the only one who doesn't surprise much. That's not to say that Mads Mikkelson plays his part poorly-- quite the contrary, he fulfills his role excellently-- but that his role is just straightforward.

     A few months ago, I believed that MCU and DC movies were on the decline as the trend of superhero infatuation seemed to be dwindling fast. With most of the major superheroes already covered in at least two movies each if not more, things were starting to feel stale and unoriginal. Dr. Strange delivers a new, fresh, vibrant installment to the MCU, carrying with it a unique superhero and an excellent actor. Whatever future installments may bring, Dr. Strange easily ranks among the best of the MCU, proving that there are a few more tricks yet to be seen from comic book movies.

The Jungle Book

     "Remake" is not usually a good word. "Live-action adaptation", when the source material is a cartoon, is a risky endeavor that sometimes works and sometimes flops hard. A film wherein the only actor is a child, supported only by the voices of more notable names, is a hard sell. Talking animals in a live-action remake movie is an even harder sell. Yet The Jungle Book rises above these uncertain odds and turns out a surprisingly solid piece of entertainment.

     The Jungle Book adheres closely, but not religiously, to the Disney classic from the 1960's, even throwing in a few snippets of the classic songs. In many ways, it's inaccurate to call this film a "live-action" adaptation, when only the character of Mowgli is in fact live-action, with all the rest being computer-animated to resemble reality. It's really only slightly less animated than its 1960's predecessor, but its imitation of reality is nearly flawless in its execution.

I can remember a time when animated movies contained one, or maybe two at most, recognizable voices, but that seems to be a day long-gone, and now well-known actors are expected to be behind the animated faces. Seemingly strange choices on voice casting turn out to be exceptionally effective here. For example, Christopher Walken's distinct voice works extremely well as King Louie, who is re-imagined into a sort of crime boss (think Jabba the Hutt-- not the main villain, but a dangerous force to contend with all the same). Idris Elba shines as a much darker, more intensely fierce Shere Khan than the 1960's English imperialist portrayal. Scarlett Johansson's brief part as Kaa the python is chillingly effective and significant despite its brevity; a noted departure from the clumsy and comical snake shown in the old version. Every actor featured does a superb job, enhancing rather than distracting from the story and setting. 

     On a narrative level, The Jungle Book successfully gives gravitas to a well-known story that has generally been portrayed with levity onscreen. Jon Favreau's visionary direction of this adaptation walks a bold yet perfect line between a familiar children's adventure story and a coming-of-age tale of survival and responsibility. Mowgli swings from the trees and plays with the animals, but he must also face the reality that Shere Khan will ruthlessly kill him at the earliest opportunity. In this adaptation, there is more at stake than just Mowgli's life should he remain in the jungle-- Shere Khan's wrath also extends to Mowgli's wolf family, and any other animal that helps him.

     The Jungle Book is fairly straightforward plot-wise, but reveals history creatively. In an earlier post some time ago, I gave a tongue-in-cheek piece on villains whose backstory should not be told; among them was Shere Khan. This telling of The Jungle Book undoes that hope, but accomplishes it so well that I hardly mind. And in all reality, in this sort of more serious adaptation, simply setting Shere Khan on a murderous rampage without a reason would have been poor storytelling. The original Shere Khan was regal, elegant, and aristocratic, giving the impression that his hatred of man was innate rather than personal. Elba's incarnation of Shere Khan is fierce, unforgiving, and utterly relentless. Understanding why Khan is this way contributes greatly to the overall tone of the movie, and enhances the maturity of it by several degrees. The realism of Khan's portrayal (and all the animals for that matter) is so precisely tailored right down to every strand of fur and ripple of muscle that the only real indications that this is CGI as opposed to a well-trained circus animal, are the almost human facial expressions (and of course that the animal is talking) and the accuracy of his body language (*see footnote for further explanation).

     Disney has been on a role lately with its live-action adaptations and has a long list lined up to bring old classics to a new generation, with a new spin. If the live-action adaptation trend continues with the level of quality that The Jungle Book displayed, Disney stands a more than decent chance of being taken seriously again apart from its association with Pixar or its production of Frozen. The Jungle Book sets a high standard for future live-action adaptations to follow, being just nostalgic enough for the adults who will remember the original, but also new and fresh enough to not feel too repetitious. The end result is a familiar story told with greater passion and talent than ever before, casting a very great shadow for all future attempts at the story to escape. 

*A predator stalking prey has an unmistakable posture and tension throughout its body. This body language is a marked difference from a trained behavior meant to imitate hunting movements and patterns. If you compared the 1994 live-action Jungle Book to a wildlife documentary for example, you would notice that the movie tiger runs head upright, with a bit of a trot, sort of bouncing onto its prey. Compare that to actual footage of a large cat hunting or stalking, the head is low when running, the body stays low prior to pouncing, and the pounce is erupting with strength. The fact that Shere Khan displays the latter realistic predatory behaviors in this most recent adaptation is proof that a child was certainly not on set with a real tiger. 

Star Trek Beyond

     Somewhere beyond the adventure, beyond the thrill of discovery, beyond the glory of triumph over difficulty, is there purpose?

     The USS Enterprise is three years in to a five year mission, and Captain James T. Kirk is beginning to feel a bit stagnant. In their mission to seek out new life and new civilizations in the endlessness of space, Kirk feels that they are eternally striving for something that is forever out of reach, for there is never an end to the mysteries of the great unknown. Kirk is beginning to feel lost in the great beyond, where there's only himself, his ship, his crew, and the vastness of the borderless final frontier.

     The first Star Trek of this reboot in 2009 was an origin story, bringing all the characters together for the first time. Into Darkness introduced the most notorious enemy and tested the team's bond. Star Trek Beyond deals with the inevitable temptation for the crew to go their separate ways and find another purpose. Although Beyond's main characters are all still young, Beyond is something of a mid-life crisis. Kirk is a well-loved captain of a sterling crew, but is getting lost in the monotony of responsibility. His maturity has progressed enough for him to acknowledge that he actually needs to deal with this personal crisis rather than going for another one-night stand or drunken brawl, which means he is dangerously close to actually changing his trajectory. Spock has decided that his romance with Uhura must be sacrificed for more responsible pursuits (namely, the continuing of the Vulcan race). Although there is not all that much concern that Kirk or Spock will really leave each other-- at least not in any capacity that can't be fixed in a later movie --there is a question as to what will occur to seal the unity of the main crew of the Enterprise.

     Star Trek Beyond is by far the most original of the three movies. Where the first movie introduced familiar names and Into Darkness reimagined Star Trek's most celebrated villain, Beyond is free of the burden of exposition or nostalgia. In fact, Beyond makes decidedly fewer references to the original series, with very few winking remarks that only more hardcore fans will really catch. Beyond's villain Krall is both a new character and a new race for Star Trek, which allows the story a great deal of freedom with the characters' limitations and motives. The movie is more grounded, quite literally, as it takes place more on-planet rather than aboard the Enterprise. Characters are broken into unlikely pairings  (Spock with Bones, Kirk with Chekhov, Uhura with Sulu), giving a brief but usable opportunity to evaluate the characters away from their normal surroundings or chosen company. Ergo, very little about this particular conflict, setting, or plot direction feels familiar. 

     In most ways, Star Trek Beyond is not about any one particular crew member. Had this been the case for either of the two previous movies, it would have felt empty and unfocused, but works here because the movie depends on the audience's investment in the series as a whole. Certainly Kirk and Spock remain focal points among an ensemble, but their personal reflections about their lives quickly become unaffecting footnotes until the conflict dies down. Much of what the Enterprise crew faces in this installment simply would not work in an earlier story, so the level of severity of the conflict feels as appropriate as its unfamiliarity. Truthfully speaking, Star Trek Beyond is not a complex piece of storytelling, but it is executed with fidelity to the humor and action that we expect, and throws a few moderate twists into the wheel to add both intrigue and perspective.

     Star Trek Beyond is not a particularly deep movie except in post-cinematic analysis, but neither did it need to be. Action is exactly the sort of genre where lesser actors thrive by using the excesses of adrenaline indulgences and testosterone highs to distract from mediocre acting. Sci-fi action gets an additional crutch in that no one can criticize an alien humanoid for being acted poorly, because for all we know, that's how aliens behave. In such cases, actors are usually pawns to instigate fantastic action sequences with grand explosions. This is precisely why Star Trek Beyond is actually good-- it is a sci-fi action movie with every opportunity to take the low road and go for cheap thrills, but instead uses its established actors and their ownership of their characters to drive a movie that uses the adrenaline and grand explosions to frame a plot point, rather than the other way around. One notable exception to this, involving the Beastie Boys, is conducted with such grandiosity that the result, however absurd, is more smile-inducing (and head-pounding) than it is eye-rolling.

     If I can make any criticisms, they are fairly minor. As mentioned earlier, there is not all that much concern that Spock might really leave the Enterprise to oversee the founding of New Vulcan. If he did, we'd expect a fourth movie to bring him back somehow. Kirk's enticement to accept an Admiralty is moderately more concerning, but only because Shatner's Kirk did, and then regretted it. Still, the lack of tension that these ends might play out did not lessen the movie as a whole for me, so much as set up a few stakes beyond the usual saving humanity. Otherwise, newcomer Jaylah didn't really bring much to the story other than the cliche "you killed my father" grudge, and providing a way off the planet. She does use some rather fascinating technology, but is herself not a very captivating character.

     Star Trek Beyond is perhaps not the highest point in the trilogy, nor for sci-fi in general, but it's still a heck of a lot of fun. By the movie's end, the present conflict has been settled and the story wraps with the sort of ending that doesn't necessitate another movie, but certainly dangles the hope that we can look forward to another story in a few years that will boldly go into further adventures in the final frontier.

In the Heart of the Sea

     It should be noted that if Moby Dick more resembled the grisly story that inspired it, fewer students would be loath to read it. For reasons that become obvious as the story unfolds, Melville used very few elements of the true story in his nautical epic. Rather, he allowed the true story of the Essex to fade over time, while the fictional tale of the ship Pequod has lived on for generations. As In the Heart of the Sea plays out onscreen, it becomes clear that Melville's choice was one of great propriety and decorum, possibly even compassion, ensuring that the heroes and villains of Moby Dick would always be great literary constructs, never immortalizing the gruesome truth of the Essex.

     Nantucket seems to be a difficult place to make one's way in the world, as Owen Chase realizes when his employers deny him a captaincy, despite his considerable experience as a seaman.Young Thomas Nickerson must take a position aboard a whaling ship at 14 years old to make a man of himself. Captain George Pollard, given command of the Essex ahead of Owen Chase, must live up to his established and respected family name. Mr. Matthew Joy is a recovering alcoholic faced with handling an especially stressful second mate position. No one here is singing about the glorious seas, the fathoms below, or the women back home. Whaling is no pretty picture, and no one is waxing eloquently about the magnificence of it. In the Heart of the Sea is no swashbuckling pirate tale, but a bleak and repulsive account of the harsh reality of being a whaler.

     From the very beginning, the Essex seems doomed to some sort of tragedy. First, Owen Chase, the most able person to captain the ship, is relegated to first mate. Second, George Pollard, the person who is given the captaincy, is an insecure man with relatively minimal experience and plenty to prove. Not only are the tensions high between the two men, but both of them have family pressure to contend with. Early in the trip, the inexperienced and pompous Captain Pollard proves himself willing to make foolish choices against better counsel, just to exert his authority. This choice significantly damages the Essex, which in turn harms their whaling practices. One ill turn deserves another, and the desperation for successful voyage drives the crew of the Essex into dangerous waters to hunt whales in a whale spawning ground. But at least one whale will have none of this.

     In a strange but historically accurate turn of events, a great white whale attacks the Essex, ultimately causing it to capsize. The men who survive this incident are then adrift in a few lifeboats, hundreds of miles from a regular whaling course, followed by the demon whale. Eventually, as the men expire from hunger, thirst, and madness, they must resort to eating the bodies of the deceased. On this particular point, In the Heart of the Sea handles the subject most decorously, referring to the practice by dialogue only, and demonstrating properly the repulsion that all the men feel at taking this measure. Most disturbing is not that the men resort to utilizing the dead for their survival, but that one boat of survivors resorts to drawing straws to determine who should be executed for the purpose.

     For all I know, In the Heart of the Sea may have been an attempt to put Chris Hemsworth in a non-Thor role to test his true acting chops. Whether or not Hemsworth shows any talent here not already seen elsewhere is an easily answered question-- no. Is he bad? No, and it's not even that he portrayed his character with infidelity; it's simply that this movie doesn't really present an opportunity for anyone therein to be anything but angry, distressed, confused, or dying/drunk, which everyone does at some point or another, but never in truly extreme demonstrations. Cillian Murphy, always woefully under-appreciated, masterfully presents all these things at once, and then promptly disappears.

     In the Heart of the Sea never stood much chance at being a popular movie; not when its claim to fame is that the story inspired one of the most tedious reads ever to be forced upon resentful adolescents. The producers seem to have understood this, because the movie doesn't bother itself with A-list actors, stunning visuals, or soaring music. It takes the tone of a Verne narrative, embraces its pace and straightforward story, and presents an interesting and moderately accurate portrayal of the time period and the events therein. It's an entertaining watch, but not much of a standout. As a story however, the facts are thought-provoking. In the Heart of the Sea impresses that Melville not exploiting the sordid details of the account of the Essex was an act of strangely generous decency, allowing the only villain we know in association with a great white whale to be the fictitious Captain Ahab. That decency is something that is lost on modern media-mongering audiences, but strikes a chord of heroism to those who will think through its implications.

Mad Max

The delay on my thoughts on this piece of Oscar bait are not for the normal reasons; in this case, I've been genuinely disinterested in Mad Max, and the amount of fanboys about to wet themselves with excitement at the mention of it has only further confirmed my avoidance of it. Nothing in the promotions, Oscar nominations, Oscar wins, and squealing fanboys has remotely peaked my interest, and it seemed that I could never find out what the movie was actually about amidst all of this publicity. All I could glean from the promos is that the movie featured a lot of large vehicles (easily ignitable vehicles at that), in a desert, Charlize Theron, and a horde of mutants.

It turns out that this movie is about a lot of large easily ignitable vehicles in a desert, Charlize Theron, and a horde of mutants. Complex movie, this is most certainly not. It's not that it needed complexity, but even days after the initial viewing of this oddball piece, I still struggle to comprehend how anyone other than a Mountain Dew junkie thought this was Best Picture material. Admittedly, the technical categories for which this movie won several Oscars were genuinely well-executed, but under the explosive surface that would make Michael Bay weep with joy, is nothing but a mental drought. It's not about survival, social injustice, or the perils of the post-apocalyptic government in a world where life is cheap: it's a high-budget two-hour car chase that will forever rank among the finest indulgences of mindless sub-par entertainment ever to grace a Walmart $5 bin.

Mad Max: Fury Road is the kind of movie that should have Vin Diesel or Megan Fox in it, but instead, the producers use Oscar-nominated names to try to get viewers to take the movie seriously. And yet, the basic premise for Mad Max: Fury Road seemed to be initially written by a little boy with Matchbox cars, the story evolving slowly into a premise well-suited for a low-level video game:

Age 6: People in big trucks drive to a place far away in the desert. Vmmmmm....Then, they drive back! Vmmmmmm....

Age 12: Some of the people are gross monsters. Hwuaaaaaaaaaah!

Age 15: There are lots of explosions along the way

Age 21: Women. Women who are... sex slaves. One is like a Victoria Secret model. She's like the alpha sex slave. There's a bad guy called... Rictus Erectus. Yeah, sounds right.

Despite the slight implication for mild potential, if this movie was attempting some form of social commentary, it fails most miserably. "Women are not things" is a great mantra and all, but even that noble concept is lost in this explosive testosterone trip. While much of the violence is perpetrated against the women, and at times instigated by them, any semblance of plot tied up in their story is still just an irreverent footnote in the endless engine roars, explosions, and heavy metal music. Example, a pregnant woman is run over by a monster truck, and a few moments later as she lay dying in the back of a rumbling tank-truck, her dead unborn child is cut from her womb, carelessly handled by the grotesque mutants, and then both bodies are unceremoniously forgotten while the sordid mutants play with the child's umbilical cord. Then we go back to the high-octane road rage.

For a movie called Mad Max, a Max-centric story is strangely absent. His presence seems obligatory rather than useful, and he functions as something of a rogue tag-along rather than a main hero. His participation with Furiosa and the other women is almost accidental, and he has even less character development than his mutant captor-- a character who is almost interesting. Amidst all of the speed and hell-on-wheels, Max has less dialogue than the lead of your average kindergarten play, and delivers most of these lines with all the zeal of Keanu Reeves before his morning coffee. Furiosa is the real hero of the story, the true vigilante, and the one whose actions set up the story; it's Charlize Theron playing Charlize Theron. The characters are neither electrifying nor despicable, which leaves only typical, and they are.

Mad Max: Fury Road is a strange sort of movie that excels in certain elements of movie-making (cinematography, special effects, sound editing, even makeup), but fails to actually be a good movie. I keep describing this movie as a fiery and high-adrenaline trip, yet for all of the action sequences, the obscurity of the movie itself distracted from there being any real tension. At no point was I really on the edge of my seat or worried about anyone in the movie. The few moments that seemed designed to deliver some sort of emotional connection fell flat due to lack of character development. Mad Max: Fury Road is a visual orgy of excessive vehicular violence, reveling in its own smoke and fumes. It's the kind of movie that only makes sense when you don't want sense.

Bridge of Spies

 As a relatively major fan of Tom Hanks, my delay in seeing Bridge of Spies is woefully overdue. By the time this piece of art graced my home from the Redbox, the movie had already taken home one Oscar, and boasted five other nominations, including the highly-coveted Best Picture.

It's now April-- I've been waiting to see this movie since it came out in October. At least I got around to it eventually, and am even writing about it, which is more than I can say for some of the other worthy movies I've seen in the last year or so. Sometimes something is lacking: the fire, the words, maybe even just the time, take your pick. My apologies to Saving Mr. Banks, Inside Out, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Mockingjay Part Two, and I'm sure many others.

But anyway, Bridge of Spies. I don't remember the last time I saw a Cold War movie, so Bridge of Spies gets points right off the bat for taking on a lesser explored but still significant era. I could be wrong, but I think the last Cold War movie I saw was Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Back on topic though, it's nice to see a movie where the Soviets as the enemy is historical rather than archetypal. The late 1950's setting depicts men in fedoras and long coats, families who say grace before dinner, and children learning to "duck and cover" in school in case of a bombing. Despite high anti-Russian sentiment, the movie portrays even this time of fear as a simpler and relatively peaceful time in the United States. Even the spy Rudolf Abel calmly boards the subway, paints in the park, and picks up hidden messages without violence or harm to anyone. Abel is a far cry from the glamorized type of spy you would see in most movies today. He doesn't wear a tux, probably couldn't handle a gun, and most certainly wouldn't consort with sultry women. He's a rather simple man; gangly, balding, looking more like a lonely history professor than a spy.

Tom Hanks as James Donovan is thoroughly in his element here. So much so in fact, that at no point did it seem like Donovan's character was much of a stretch for Hanks. Hanks' characters have often demonstrated courage, nobility, and integrity in movies such as Saving Private Ryan, Captain Philips, or Road to Perdition. It would be fair to say that Hanks' excellence in acting has become such a basic unsaid expectation for his movies, that even a perfect performance like this one that captures every element of character with precision and conviction, does not particularly stand out. Donovan is a character that you admire for his lonely stand on behalf of an enemy of the country, and you can't help but be impressed by his logic and intelligence. Yet as a movie character, Donovan is unlikely to be as strongly idolized as Atticus Finch, for example, even though there are multiple parallels.

Going in to Bridge of Spies, Mark Rylance had already won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, so I was watching him with more interest than I might have done otherwise. Being completely unfamiliar with Rylance's work in general, I can't comment on how unusual or surprising his role as Abel was. I think he did an excellent job as Abel, but I actually find his Oscar win somewhat surprising after having seen Bridge of Spies. Certainly he played the part well, was likable as a character in how he showed respect and admiration for Donovan, but his performance was fairly straightforward with no real surprises or arcs of emotion at any point. Throughout Bridge of Spies, Abel remained steady and balanced through every turn, even when given the death sentence. 

When it comes to range of skills, spectrum of influence, and passion-driven quality, few directors could compare with Steven Spielberg. While Spielberg is widely celebrated for his genre-defining pieces like Indiana Jones or Jurassic Park, it is in contemplative and character-driven movies like Bridge of Spies that Spielberg's passion shines through in a way that feels meaningful, rather than merely entertaining. Saving Private Ryan, for example, became a defining WWII movie, gracefully blending history and fiction into a tapestry of visceral, heartfelt, and unforgettable art. Bridge of Spies, while packing fewer emotional and visual punches than Saving Private Ryan, and utilizing less fiction in its story, is of a high enough caliber to be to Cold War movies what Saving Private Ryan is to WWII movies (albeit less revered). 

Every frame of Bridge of Spies pays homage to its setting and characters, faithfully delivering a broad perspective (such as the building of the Berlin Wall and the capture of the American pilot) while skillfully maintaining a close and personal look at the relationship between Donovan and Abel. Very few moments feel truly tense, yet the stakes of the story seem so high that even in its slowest moments, Bridge of Spies is simply captivating.

Mr. Holmes

What happens when a character as timeless as Sherlock Holmes succumbs to time? When an ageless entity ages? When the very person who defines critical thinking and deductive reasoning, struggles to think?

These are the heartbreaking questions that Mr. Holmes explores. Detective Sherlock Holmes has long since departed Baker Street, is no longer accompanied by Dr. Watson, and is no longer a detective. Instead, the elderly Mr. Holmes spends his days tending to the bees at his country cottage, tormented by the forgotten details that led to his retirement. He knows that some private choice or failure must have motivated his decision to resign himself to a quiet country living, friendless and un-bothered, but ... what happened? He simply can't remember the truth of the situation, and every passing day he finds it more and more difficult to remember even the simple names of people, places, and events of his everyday life.

A truly sterling performance by Ian McKellen as the aged Mr. Holmes is simultaneously sympathetic and unsettling. His wit and genius are harder to discern through his sagging jaw. His once tireless powers of logic flicker weakly under his failing memory. Certainly Sherlock Holmes may have rather died at Reichenbach Falls as he once pretended, but Mr. Holmes instead travels the hobbling path of age, walking slowly and helplessly to his twilight years in an overwhelmingly ordinary way that Sherlock Holmes probably would have despised.

Yet for the dementia and senility that Mr. Holmes sometimes falls victim to, there remains a glimmer of the old sleuth, and his housekeeper's son Roger is determined to bring it out. The spunky young boy's inquisitiveness impresses Mr. Holmes, and the two develop a grandfather-grandson type relationship as the story evolves. Holmes teaches Roger about bees and wasps, and tricks of deduction and observation, while also recounting pieces of the story that eventually drove him to retirement. Piece by piece, the story comes together, and the memories that Mr. Holmes had blocked, connect, bringing long-needed closure.

Complementing Ian McKellen's spectrum of talent is Laura Linney in a stoic but effective role as Holmes' long-suffering housekeeper Mrs. Munroe. Mrs. Munroe is a plain and simple country woman, steady, but quietly desperate to escape being Mr. Holmes' caretaker as his age imposes growing limits. She is a stark contrast to her young son Roger, played with delightful enthusiasm by Milo Parker. Roger is fascinated by Mr. Holmes, and while respectful of the old man, he wants to learn everything he possibly can about the retired detective. This trio of personalities come together as an engaging core cast, while each bringing their own distinctive heart to the quietly paced story.

As is inevitable in a movie about aging, Holmes must contend with regrets. As he pieces together the disjointed memories regarding his final case, the movie raises a stirring question about the necessity of truth over the comfort of a falsehood. Had Holmes handled his final case differently, and perhaps cast a lie to ease someone's pain, the eventual outcome would probably have been quite different. Interestingly, Holmes determines that honesty is perhaps not always the best policy. Although it is too late for Holmes to change his final case, he decides to close one final issue by covering the truth to save a life.

SPOILER WARNING: NEXT TWO PARAGRAPHS ONLY. One of the strengths of the story as a whole is how it tackles two particularly difficult issues that are timelessly relevant, yet presents them in a way that is faithful and unique to the era and its cultural requirements. Holmes' final case regards a young wife suffering from the depression of having lost two pregnancies, and the further hurt of an unfeeling husband who can't understand her need to grieve her unborn children. The pain of miscarriage is one that women have known for thousands of years, and that despair is masterfully portrayed here by Hattie Morahan as Ann Kelmot. While the root issue is universal and timeless, the limits of medical and psychological understanding are unique to the era, particularly in how Mrs. Kelmot is rebuked for her need to mourn her lost pregnancies. Eventually, the harsh aloneness that Mrs. Kelmot finds herself in drives her to suicide, abruptly ending Holmes' career as a detective.

Elsewhere in the story, Holmes encounters a Japanese man, a Mr. Umezaki, who believes his father died honorably after having supposedly received advice from Holmes to stay in England to help with the war effort. Holmes knows that he never met or advised Umezaki's father. He knows that the truth is that the man abandoned his family out of cowardice, and contrived a story about having been advised by Holmes to remain in England, as a cover to save the family honor. Ultimately, Umezaki's father is just another father who walked out on his family, leaving them to wonder if he would ever come back. Once again, while his reasons may be more specific to the era, the basic issue of a father fleeing his family is relevant to every generation in some way or another. Having learned from his failure with Mrs. Kelmot, Holmes determines that in order to save Umezaki's honor (and possibly his life), he will allow Umezaki to believe a lie rather than contend with the shame of knowing his father was a coward and a deserter. END SPOILERS

Mr. Holmes is by no means an exciting movie, but is the sort of movie that is perfect for a snowy day next to the fire, when we as the audience are most receptive to tender stories about age, grief, regrets, and closure. It is difficult, at times, to watch as the famous detective is reduced to a forgetful and hobbling old man, but ultimately Mr. Holmes gives a satisfying finish that feels genuine, but also hopeful. In piecing together the events he had long suppressed, he brings himself closure and self-forgiveness, allowing the once extraordinary Sherlock Holmes to live out the remainder of his now-nondescript life in the sweet respite of peace.