Fallout Flaw

(Fallout 4 Review By Neamo)

It's been a long time since I've sat to do a review, and I've no excuses. So, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's get to it.

The Fallout series is one steeped in nostalgia, and boasts a deep legacy of beloved and acclaimed titles that build upon it's lore. I, having only played Fallout 4, do not buy into this and instead shall review Fallout 4 as it is without trying to apologize or even cover it's flaws for the love of previous titles. In many ways, this review shall be one more frank and earnest about the product at hand than many you will see, and likewise, many subtle nuances that would delight will utterly evade me. If you are a fan of the game and the series as a whole, I shall wish you well and invite you not to read further, as nothing good lies within. For those willing to trudge onward, a few things I need you to note are that I am reviewing the game as it is, with no allowance for mods to sway my experience, and no open ends for what I'm sure will be additional content patches. Furthermore, I write, as any critic would, about the things that I looked for, and my own concerns, and there are most certainly topics missed or abbreviated in lieu of things you the reader may not care for. If you disagree or feel I've missed an important point, I look forward to reading your own lengthy review on the matter, so please link me to any carefully crafted articles below. Now, let's get started.

One of the big draws to this particular game, aside from the promise of an open world to explore and the inherent adventure within was the settlement mechanic, a system for building better and brighter new things within the wastes that you could claim your own. My interest was piqued, a bold fusion of Minecraft and The Witcher 3 beneath the glow of a thousand radiation tubes? "How could this possibly go wrong?" I asked. The answer of course became evident almost immediately. In your arsenal of tools to build a better and brighter world, you are given the workbench. Able to scrap a fallen building in an instant, or a cluster of trees in but a moment, you are tasked with clearing your homestead of the debris of two centuries of nuclear winter to give you a foundation to build upon. To note, I shall use Sanctuary, your starter as an example although I'm well aware of the other locations. After scrapping that which can be scrapped, the tires, burned out cars and fallen through houses, you are left with a clearer space. It's filthy of course, covered in leaves, detritus and rotting matter that no amount of coaxing can convince your later arriving settlers to clean, but it's clear. Well, almost. The 'structures', and I say it loosely for they no longer hold any structural integrity, that remain are indissoluble, unmovable and irreplaceable eyesores that continue to haunt any project you might venture forth. The only way past that is of course to accept that perfection is beyond your limited means.

Once you've moved past that particular disappointment, it's on to making lemonade out of lemons and placing down walls for your new fortress. This is where the buggy and otherwise unyielding mechanics of building come into play. With terrible snapping detection, poor collision avoidance and a limited palate of hobo-clique articles to splatter and spatter your new kingdom with, after several hours of rifling through every trash can in Boston, you too, with a lot of invested time and effort can make your own redneck motel. I say that disparagingly of course, well knowing that the aesthetic of the game is meant to lean toward the hobbled together ruined world, but when every wall has holes, every ceiling leaks and you are limited to building squared boxes of cobbled together crap, what your accumulative effort and energies afford you is a home that you would be ashamed to show Jed Clampett. I'm not entirely sure I want to live in that world. Surely things will be improved once you invite some new blood to tend your shanty town, right? Well in order to do so, you must finagle your way through the game's power system with no prior explanation and build a beacon, and in doing so, the cavalry will come and help restore order!

On to the settlers! At last, they've arrived, and once you've managed to herd and collectively pen in your motley assortment of thugs and vagrants, you can militarize them! That's right, lured by the siren song of a beacon hobbled together from garbage and wishes, your settlement can attract the denizens of the radioactive new world. Surely to survive such a world before your arrival, they must have garnered and cultivated the skills to endure, each with their own backstory of struggle and victory through the nuclear hell-scape that surrounds them? Well, no. Not exactly. As it turns out, those wily globe trotters can't be lured by the promise of your meager offerings and have all set themselves against you. Instead, you can summon the rejects of the wastes, the invalids. That's right, that's where this particular criticism lays. Like an armada of tamagotchi, they exist purely for their own purposes adding almost no benefit to your otherwise meager existence. Unable to improvise and unwilling to aid, they will without direct supervision languish in their own feces. It's one of the area's that for me felt the most lacking in building a settlement, that after you've trekked into the wastes hoarding anything you can find, from mugs to tin cans, and hauled them back to attempt to forge your empire, it serves the same purpose as an animal pen. Your denizens, capable of following only the most basic of tasks will never help you in any real way, other than repelling invaders that only appear in the wake of said settlers, or farming food, which you can if you should obtain a surplus, turn into adhesive in order to make more things for the settlers. One could argue about the shop function and the idea of using them to make bottle caps, and you'd be right, but the agonizing sloth and set up around that makes the entire affair a fanciful whimsy of misplaced passions. It all feels like a wasted avenue of the game.

I could talk at length about the hideous character models, the drab and faded textures and the overall lackluster world of Fallout 4, but it's been done at length by others and, well, it's plain to see. While some may speak of it being a non issue in the face of modders, it shouldn't be up to outside parties to add polish to your product. While excuses have been made, namely that it was done to make the game accessible over a wider array of gaming machines, I remain dubious in the face of the products and indeed the mods currently available. Add to that character models that look like Leatherface's sex dolls and you've got a remarkably ugly end product for a triple A title! Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I didn't buy this for the sparkling sunsets or lush vista's, so consider this a minor gripe, albeit a bitter one, so instead I'll move directly on to the exploration.

In being an open world game, or rather one where you have free reign to explore off of the beaten path, Fallout 4 succeeds in inspiring a certain wanderlust. What lays beyond that mountain? Is there more garbage? Will I find a semi casual reference to an earlier title or some form of meme? The desire to roam is endless and one without bounds or measure. What if I move slightly to the left of my settlement? Is that a cave? Where did those mole rats come from? The rewards are endless. Endless, and yet as you've probably noted from the dripping cynicism I've written this with, largely hollow. Certainly, should you wander in any given direction you will find something, some forgotten furrow of the wasteland that on the surface seems deeply interesting, but as you dig your way within it quickly becomes evident that it's either a hoarding spot with others teased at on repetitively hacked computer terminals, or a junk dump filled with mutated stragglers. At first, that's wonderful! After all, the game boasted of it's dazzling array of weapons and touted it's unique crafting system, of course you need the targets and materials! And yet, hours into the game having trekked to yonder shore, aside from the flat and lusterless new visuals of a meme based structure, what are you left with? Where is the intrigue or impetus to continue? There are of course rare examples of something new being dangled before you, an immortal doctor possessed by an alien headdress, a crashed UFO and a 'haunted' house naming just a few examples, and they do add shreds of variety until their conclusions where each is a quickly dispatched foe and a new gimmicky weapon without any form of lasting impact. Hardly something to laud, and more a distraction from the general monotony of countless hours hamming it up with a propane torch stapled to a katana I'm afraid. That's my main problem with the overall reward of this exploration, that you could spend literal months scouring the well crafted map for new locations and hidden secrets, for little to no reward and no impact other than bragging rights to yourself for having the largest and shiniest bullet dispenser in a single player game with no real story line, like a budget and stretched out Borderlands, without the chuckles.

One of the main failings of the game, and I say this knowing full well that I may receive flak from apologists of the series, is that the main story, the impetus for you to crawl from the cryo-pod and venture forth into the irradiated land ahead, is garbage. I realize that some will argue that the age old quest to save a child and avenge a lover is one tried and true, but it was a story executed without prowess or skill. Introducing your soon to be departed loved one only through a gender selection screen and a series of scant compliments, the child and indeed beloved are taken within the first few moments of the opening act. While that allows us to get to the meat and potatoes of the game ahead at a brusque pace, it leaves nothing to invest upon in terms of story. No one cares, nor should they. It's about the most impersonal and rushed story mechanic in the world with no real ties, and in all honesty has very little to do with the game at hand. The game, bar a few small deflections for choice alternatives, would be no different had you toddled into the vault on your lonesome. That's an awful thing to say when in the face of a plot that in most instances would have far deeper implications. It was badly told, and left me with absolutely no desire to scour the wasteland for my missing son, instead leaving the only real motive to play that I can shoot things and pick up broken desk fans for gears. It turns what is meant to be an RPG into a single player open world sandbox in but a moment, and destroys any canonical interest in any story within. To make things worse are the laughable companion romances that you can cultivate by changing your actions to effectively woo your rabble. That's right, mere days after escaping the vault, lovingly prying a ring off of your lovers cold dead hand and embarking on a quest of family honor, you too can mack with a stranger for perks. Who was Shaun again? Do you care?

Something that instilled ire within me through this game was the illusion of choice. What I mean by that is the idea that you, the player, can make decisions of consequence and lead the story through your own initiative in any meaningful manner, all the while being hemmed in to one of a handful of very suspect conclusions. For instance, while it says you are the 'lone wanderer' that has been so heavily tagged throughout this installment, you will of course, naturally, have to sidle up to one of four misguided groups striving for the betterment of the new world for perks and general progression. Unable to progress without sidling up to bigotry, you are effectively pigeon holed into picking your own racist overlord to appease; be it the slavery endorsed megalomania of the Institute whose missions resemble lynchings of the KKK, the gentle Nazi parody of the Brotherhood of Steel, the ever feral anti humanism of The Railroad which drifts into the darker realms of the Black Panther movement, or the feckless Minutemen who more resemble the last march of a communist trope than the Minutemen of old. Surely however such a dubious selection, and such moral fragility would leave you the choice to join up with the raiders or progress on your own steam? No dice. You must forever play the good guy who joins a morally bankrupt group to progress the story down one of four avenues of unrewarding and unremarkable player 'choices', forever rounding down to what is basically the same conclusion.

And so now we come to the voice acting, the game's control system and those things that make it tick. I am a console peasant, not a member of the PC master race, so I feel any notes I try to make on the controls of this game will largely fall to parody or deaf ears, but suffice it to say that when I tried to aim my gun, my character aimed his. I shot, and he shot. It was a very standard affair that moved quickly. The dialogue system of course is broken, displaying the ghost of text options past, and when attempting to make small talk I often found myself saying the worst possible things guided by the barest of clip notes, but it's not that large of a flaw in the grand scheme of things. The inventory system is bare bones and clunky in places, and the AI for this game regarding companions, settlers and monsters in general is hideous, but having learned to suffer Dogmeat as my companion, I moved past it in my stride. It's what I should expect from those bred from desperate stragglers after two hundred years of nuclear wind and rain. The voice acting was generally sub par, with the exceptions being Nick Valentine and Codsworth, who should have starred in this game as he was the only real focus of any emotion other than disdain. Overall, it played as I expected, it just didn't gift me with the experience I paid for.

In brief summation, and note I'm reviewing the base game and not the mods or additional content, Fallout 4 markets itself as an open world RPG and rapidly turns into a kleptomania simulator with less replay value than Paris Hilton's sex tape. I'd advise picking up the original Bioshock if you're a lover of the retro-ruin aesthetic, or the Witcher 3, if you want an open world with variety and actual story craft.

Tedious Town

(Ghost Town Review By Neamo)

I'm sure that greater minds than my own have looked over this film and found a wealth of things to talk of. Perhaps some intangible subtlety otherwise missed or a hidden nugget of delight sitting within plain sight. I'm sure of that, and while I'm pleased that someone undoubtedly will find something good to say of this film, I am not that man. Like the visual delights of the color white, the vibrant flavor of tofu or the scintillating read that is the phone book, this film will stand the test of time as being one of those truly bland experiences.
 

Following the adventures of a constipated English dentist, we see a premise for the worlds most unlikable man fall like stepping stones leading us across a dreary pool. Unloved and unloving, Bertram Pinkus played by Ricky Gervais, aside from earning the award for the worst name in history, falls foul of a rogue colonoscopy, and dies on the table from a reaction to the general anesthetic. Revived minutes later, Bert can to his chagrin now see ghosts, and is roped into the recently deceased machinations of Frank played by a rather slimy Greg Kinnear. Agreeing to aid in Frank's plans of alienating his wife from her potential new love interest, Bert ultimately begins to fall for the maligned Gwen portrayed by Téa Leoni. Worming his way into her affections, Bert ultimately slithers into a corner he can't back out of when he has to explain knowledge of the deceased, and the two abruptly part ways. After a brief reunion, he dies, is revived once more and the two bond over the idea of Egyptian corpses. Oh, and for a few minutes Bert helps the resident spooks of New York, Sixth Sense style. A happy event for all.

The truth is, when all is said and done I'm left overwhelmingly unenthused by the entire sensation. That doesn't connote that it was bad in of itself, although it certainly remains drab and lackluster, but it leaves me with a great void or chasm of things to discuss. This isn't so much a movie as it is an amalgamation of poor ghost fiction that allows Ricky Gervais to front his mainstay as the most annoying man in the world, and while everyone enjoys a good bastard now and again, the laughs don't support the screenplay. It's possible I've been desensitized to that particular brand of comedy, it's also possible that I lack a sense of humor, but for the life of me I can't understand how it's been branded as a funny film. With little to no comedic timing and a wealth of awkwardness in it's stead, each gag either overplays or falls tragically short, aiding only in the feeling of general ineptitude. The romance that sparks between Gervais and Leoni feels forced and without any on screen chemistry, and ultimately the film just fizzles to an anticlimax. Any other plot cohesion falls flat in the face of his Scrooge like emotional rebirth, and while I can see many would compare this to Scrooge, I would argue that Ebenezer was inherently interesting and this wasn't.

The acting of this film was fairly mediocre. I feel that might come across negatively, and while that isn't my intent it remains the best statement of pooled talent within. Greg Kinnear remains a friendly face and soothing voice, despite his dysfunctional and sleazy portrayal of a shameless womanizer. Perhaps it stands only in contrast to the other lead, but he remains an identifiable source of comfort in a film otherwise destitute of easy viewing. Téa Leoni in slightly less favorable tones portrays a woman who, while beautiful, is just weird enough that you could conceive a world where Ricky Gervais stands a chance. I'm not overstating it, that is the point of her entire character development as an Egyptologist. Ricky Gervais is Ricky Gervais. The sentence ends as it begins and reveals all whilst saying nothing. With harks back to obsessive compulsive disorder, social anxiety and perhaps a knowing nod to autistic tendencies, the accrued sum of his portrayal stands alone- as a portrayal of Ricky Gervais. If it weren't for the laughable special effects and rare humanizing moments delivered with the tender subtlety of a muggers fist, I would swear blindly that he had no idea he was being filmed.

Of gripes I have few. It was tired, yes, and it was dull, but I've mentioned those things at length throughout. The only other things I could truly pick apart were the laughable attempts at redemption by Gervais in which he solves the problems of a handful of spooks. Throughout the entire film he had been haunted by ghosts asking for his aid, and in a three minute montage he solved their earthly woes, allowing them to pass on. It felt cheap and insulting, frankly, like a writer attempting to plug a literary hole.

In summation, Ghost Town lingers only as a pale emulation other movies. Tedious, humorless and generally unmentionable, it's a film that will be forgotten in moments, as well it should be. Don't watch Ghost Town, watch Ghost.

The Books Grief

(The Book Thief Review By Neamo)

I'd like to start with an explanation as to why I'm reviewing this film rather than the promised critique of Ghost Town. If I'm entirely honest, I felt it might be insensitive on my part to review a film entitled such just after writing a memorial for an actor I held in high esteem. It might seem overtly cautious, but it's simply a mark of my own respect. As such I'll complete that review at another time, and lead on with my take on The Book Thief in it's stead.

Opening in the pale of winter, our narrator, Death, takes us on a whimsical and light hearted journey into the depths of Nazi Germany in order to tell us in tones of drawl nostalgia of a member of the Hitler youth he became enraptured with. Liesel, played by Sophie Nélisse, is a girl of communist parents who serves as our titular protagonist, the book thief, and lives alongside the jovial Hans played by Geoffrey Rush and the staunch Rosa portrayed by Emily Watson. Encouraging Liesel to come out of her shell by teaching the girl how to read, Hans ultimately feeds a literary fire within the impressionable Liesel, who in warming to the magic of the snow draped swastika's takes it upon herself to fuel her passion where-ever available. Befriending an Aryan sprint racer with a penchant for black face, Liesel's foster family pay an old debt in taking a Jewish refugee into their house, and life goes on as it may with the sickly but carefree fellow. As time passes, ultimately her friend Max is forced to leave in the increasing pressure of house searches, and Hans too is drafted into war, and while I would like to tell you the crux of this story is of how Liesel steals books, it isn't. It's a bomb. I'm not joking. In a segment that breaks through all traditional story telling rapture of five minutes, a bomb falls on their house killing all but Liesel. Liesel, momentarily filled with despair and ennui, is delighted to find a book after walking past her perfectly preserved friends and family, shrouded by their ruined homes of rubble and splintered timber. Cutting forward, Liesel meets up with Max once more who strides in looking decidedly more debonair than is to have been expected, and it's all finished with a happy and heart warming monologue from the Grim Reaper. It's a family film.

I'm more than a little conflicted in reviewing the plot of this film. I have been assured that the book this originated from portrays the story with the depth this seems to yearn for, but as I haven't read the book I shall have to take those words at face value. Feeling much like a thing of grandeur pulped down for the sake of being concise, the film consistently brings red herrings into the foray in order to build tension, only to let them wane and fade away. Max and his introduction? Merely a footnote. The book given to Liesel, inscribed with Hebrew? A momentary flutter of the imagination. Even the principle act of stealing books builds to nothing as no repercussion save brief scolding amounts of it, and it leaves a man feeling dour. I'm certain these thematic elements were better placed and more deeply drawn within the pages of the original book, but on film it feels like random tangents designed to fill space until the ending act. When the film is entitled the book thief, and aside from a love of literature it has no deep bearing on the plot, one can be forgiven for feeling decidedly misanthropic about the entire affair. The film instead showed a girl's coming of age and development within Nazi Germany, nothing more and nothing less.

The ending of the film is perhaps my largest gripe, and it's also the source of my inner struggle. It's garbage. I know I'll piss off some of the story's more ardent fans who will applaud that it keeps true to character, and shows that death may come for any at a moment's notice. I'm not denying that, nor am I denying the validity considering it's setting. The reason this ending is garbage is entirely involved in it's set up and aftermath. The bomb wipes out the town, and abandoning all reason now that those countless plot devices and mechanisms built carefully from before are now lain to waste, we are left back at square one. That would be fairly bad, but I could live with her clambering from the wreckage and perhaps the ending scene there. Instead after a moment or two of grief we are treated to a sickly sweet reunion and monologue finish in the expanse of five minutes. I felt cheated. Deservedly so. I had felt the tension of the prior moments, and felt eager for the plot to build and gather pace, but it didn't. It simply ended, after an event that was by all other measures an act of deus ex machina. I'm flabbergasted that this was the agreed screenplay, and while the ride til this point had been faintly enjoyable, I quickly regretted investing any time in it.

To talk of the acting, it is for the most part masterfully executed. While I didn't attach to Liesel's dry and rather listless performance as the most ignorant girl on Earth, it wasn't wholly unbelievable. To speak of the girl as an actress however feels to be too much of a kindness, and I would instead compare her to a talking prop. Overtly harsh? Possibly, but she truly gave the weakest performance of the principle cast, and she was the lead protagonist. Geoffrey Rush and Emily Watson's performances in turn however were things of beauty, as beneath the kindness both seem tired and drawn. In each scene a haunted expression lurks beneath a down trodden smile, or a furtive glance to each tender gesture that otherwise betrays a prior history only hinted at on screen, and it adds true character depth. Ben Schnetzer gives a fair performance as the sickly Max, and although the plot remains a little contrived over the issue, he remained a presence. Nico Liersch gave one of if not the best performances of the film however as Rudy. Proving that children can act in the wake of the lauded but lackluster lead performance, Nico's character remains one of the films true moral centers, and assists in the immersion of the viewer. Oh, and where would I be if I didn't mention Death? Voiced by the legendary Roger Allam, it's a voice that I both instantly recognized and held favor to. A good casting decision.

The music and mise en scene are appropriate to the era. I can't say I was blown away by the setting, but it was a snow capped village in Nazi Germany, and it was never going to be a festival of light and sound. For the large part the music evaded me, save for the juxtaposition of one beautifully shot scene where a choir of the Nazi Youth are singing soft and lilting tones to the cut overture of the Kristallnacht and the horrors therein. I also noted the original German national anthem being sung at the burning of books, which while entirely appropriate became quickly drawn out. It was as it was.

I can't recommend this film with an open heart or ease. For the most part it's fairly unoffensive and actually provides very decent performances from it's leads. It's set well, and the ride though infuriating can provide some satisfaction. It ends however not with a bang, but a whimper. I'd suggest Schindler's List if you are looking for something of that time period that actually provides depth. Or perhaps The Boy In The Striped Pajamas. Watch something else.

Taking Some Nea Time

(An Announcement By Neamo)

 Well, this seems to be something of a recurrent theme, but once again in a moment of British weakness I feel I must apologize for the sporadic nature of my posts, and their spontaneity. The fact of the matter is I had started this blog under a false pretense, that I would have a near infinite pool of free time in order to post at my leisure. Without too in depth a back history, I had rendered myself in years past practically unemployable, and aside from a little dabbling in the murky and otherwise formless waters of volunteering I had nothing to occupy my time with. This blog came about as most good things do, in a conversation over films and reviews thereof. Now however, this week especially, I am finding time to be a far rarer commodity than I had banked upon. I've been secured in a potentially career changing placement. What does that mean? Well, for the purpose of this blog it means continued breaks, and that my somewhat regular updates, at least until I've stabilized in my new working environment will become somewhat irregular, as I shall have to cut down upon the posts. Fear not however as this is not me stopping, more an announcement that until I have settled, the reviews shall trickle rather than pour through. I hope that is acceptable. I can assure you that whenever a nugget of unused time creeps my way, I shall use it to try and entertain you, the viewers of my blog. So, with that out of the way, I shall post apologetically, and announce that my next review is to be of the movie Ghost Town.

Ripper Sweet

 (Ripper Street Review By Neamo)

The show reeks of quality I had thought lost to British productions. I don't mean that in an offensive manner, but the fact is British television by and large has stagnated and festered in the wake of it's rapidly moving American counterparts, and we've become accustomed to an air of accepted mediocrity in productions and values within. I could argue, rightly, that as a general whole it may be due to the budgetary constraints as England has a lesser purse and by the same means tighter drawstrings, but that often doesn't seem to be the case. There is something of a renaissance appearing within American television, where concepts are being pushed and boundaries of old are being bowled over, as seen by the success of the before unmarketable Game of Thrones, the dark drug addled depths of Breaking Bad or the deep postulations of True Detective. There's a revival of the small screen values that otherwise had been lambasted to the wayside as fit for queasy soap opera's and paltry dramatics, and it's exciting and vibrant. It's not an entire change, and for the most part those sloppy sitcoms and tired staples of television hold their heads high, but increasingly so, we're seeing shows appear that take risks. Playing with formula and paying for results, it's a bold and daring thing I have admired and expected fully to remain out of British grasp, but here I am, talking of a BBC production, a studio long since mired in it's own filth, in an astoundingly positive manner. The BBC have since cancelled this show of course.

• Acting : The acting of Ripper Street is by far it's strongest suit. Boasting actors that have been lamented for their prior performances, it would take far too long to mention the episodic extra's that waft in from various productions, notably Game of Thrones. Instead I'll focus on the core cast. Matthew Macfadyen provides a believable and grounded detective inspector, playing the part of the haunted Edmund Reid with a finesse rarely seen. Curt without callousness, his sincere and stern demeanor perfectly portray the gentile of Victorian society, astute and knowledgeable but with a healthy dose of skepticism, wrapped neatly within the persona of a man damaged and emotionally crippled. His awkwardness at times lends itself beautifully to the character without making him an English stereotype. Jerome Flynn is a man I can't get enough of on television, from his early days in Soldier Solider to his rousing performance as Bronn in Game of Thrones, and in this show he portrays the reliable muscle that is the Detective Sergeant Bennet Drake. Strong, merciless with a brutal edge, he is also a large part of the comic relief with little about him providing the suave sophistication of the other two leads. The thug, but also the innocent, he remains unencumbered with the dark brooding and instead serves as the righteous force that otherwise helps ground the show. It would be unflattering to call him a Watson, as he seemingly wants no part of that life, more the layman that can be identified with, he provides the show's brutal moral core. The final addition to the team is the mystical American doctor played by Adam Rothenberg, a man by the name of Captain Homer Jackson. With aliases to boot and the troubled past of being a gun man but also a surgeon, he provides an often large centerpiece for strife, but also some of the most startling wisdom of any of the characters. Functioning much like a magical hobo, doling out life experience and knowledge disproportionate to his years, Homer Jackson appears to have knowledge about chemistry, smells and scents, geography, insect migration- If there is a subject, he has something profound and case aiding to add. It might seem like I'm being facetious, and if I'm honest I am a little, but his acting prowess allows the suspension of disbelief, keeping him relevant and fresh. Relatable and funny, he remains a suave if morally bankrupt character.

•  Writing : The writing of this show is superb. While there are plot devices that I would otherwise disagree with, for instance, the uneasy introduction of John Merrick in the second season, the writing and the dialogue within remain faultless. Easy to watch and easy to listen to, it retains a Victorian candor without sounding false and forced, and each sentence or quip mingles pleasantly to the ear. The plot threads themselves each have impact with every episode adding to the background or changing the view of the characters episode for episode leading to a steady progression. There are no fillers here, and likewise it is not a show where events have no impact upon the characters. Instead through joyous writing, the likes of which I had long thought lost to the BBC with their love of Moffat and his dull scribblings, we see progression and change that ultimately leaves much to be questioned but little to be complained of. Detective Reid on surface appears fairly well held together, haunted by the loss of his child but with a fixed moral center and dedication toward justice. Over the course of two seasons we see this pillar of the community gradually slip into the darkness, with the ending of season two providing a moral ambiguity that frankly remains jarring. Showing that the best of us can crumble, it's but one of many clever devices employed by skillful writers. Writers now unemployed thanks to the BBC discontinuing the show. Thanks BBC.

•  General Positives : The positives to this show are many. For one it is set after the Jack the ripper killings, an idea that otherwise hadn't been fronted as it was a time of fear, of public skepticism in the law and in others but also of utter darkness. Our detectives likewise were unable to catch the ripper and in ways see the fulfillment of their duty as a form of atonement. It's clever, and it provides alarming depth to a subject otherwise glossed over for the romanticized idea of the mysterious serial killer. I also like the tastefulness with which certain subjects are handled. This was an era where prostitution was common place and brothels held information for the good detectives. While we do see flesh, it pales in the light of other current shows, and remains ever tasteful. You won't see a dwarf fondling tits here for shock value. I also very much like the main theme, which evokes memories of Firefly. That was probably why it was cancelled in retrospect.

•  Gripes : As mentioned earlier it is a little off setting that the resident surgeon seems to have an encyclopedic knowledge of any subject presented, but I can't call that a genuine gripe as I admire that it defies stereotype. What do I mean by this? When you introduce an American gunslinger to an English Victorian, odds are fairly good that they will be written off as a toothless drunk, with barely a thought in their head. These are stereotypes long standing, and it's reversal actually provides an area of distinct fascination. I was not thrilled with the portrayal of John Merrick as I felt it unnecessary, but at the same time it provided nothing that was overtly offensive. You are starting to see my problem. I can list faults, but nothing sticks to mind as being wrong or out of place. I'm not sure whether it's a willingness to defend or a string of weak criticisms, but I can't tout them with real conviction. Well, in saying that, I suppose I could call upon one criticism. That being that a series of idiot executives cancelled it. Yes, that is my gripe.

 
So in summary, it's truly good television, the likes of which the BBC had never seen and now will never see again undoubtedly. I strongly advise you give it a try.

Basil The Great Mouse Retrospective

 (Basil The Great Mouse Detective Review By Neamo)

There are times when, in feeling lethargic and generally infirm, a man or woman craves something beyond the usual comforts of their daily drudge. I myself am one such man. Wallowing in ailments that set a deep craving within me for bed linen and comfort, I returned once more to Disney and cartoons of my childhood. Please take note, as is usually the case whenever I fall ill, that while the review's schedule might be effected, I shall do my best to maintain standards. I'm a people person.

Set in Victorian London, the owner of a local toy shop, Mr Flaversham is abducted by a villainous and faintly racially suspect bat by the name of Fidget, leaving his young daughter Olivia alone and destitute in his wake. Distraught, she seeks out the aid of Basil of baker street with the well meaning but portly Dawson guiding her. Convincing the detective to take up the case after a cold lead on his arch nemesis, the nefarious Ratigan, Basil and crew secure the services of their trained beagle Toby and ride the lovable steed onward as the game is afoot. Tracking Fidget to a human toy store, they find quickly that gears have been stripped and soldiers disrobed, but in their efforts to track the peg legged thief, lose track of Olivia who is kidnapped in turn. Turning to Basil's scientific prowess, they discern that the likely location of schemes is in fact a waterfront pub, and disguise in tow make their way inside in an attempt to infiltrate. Things of course don't exactly go to plan as the bumbling Dawson, becoming drugged, starts a bar fight that leads to a hasty escape. Pursuing Fidget into a sewer pipe, it becomes clear they have been trapped, and Basil's spirit is broken as Ratigan lauds it over them both before securing them to a deviously fashioned device in a move that is both James Bond villain and mouse trap. Realizing the queen is in peril and that they too are soon to be extinguished by a heinous rube goldberg machine of death, Basil foils the machine, saves the queen and has one of the most memorable final showdowns of any cartoon, all atop the tower of Big Ben. All in a days work for our Homes inspired hero.

So, where to begin? The plot of this crime caper might seem a little tired at first glance with the child seeking help from the genius detective to find her missing pater, but in fact it acts more as a love letter to classic Conan Doyle, with many borrowed tropes translated directly within. Though names are changed and much is alluded to, what we are looking at is a watered down Sherlock for children, and that can't be a bad thing. Likewise the pragmatic and magnanimous villain Ratigan seems a far departure from the haphazard villains of Disney culture. Sophisticated and debonair, he portrays himself as an idol of vanity itself, forcing his henchmen to quite literally sing his praises, lauding it over the ailing detective whilst also dispatching of any who would bring into question his standing by calling him a rat. He is a rat of course, but that isn't important. Did you hear a bell? In any case, this megalomaniac reflects well the self centric qualities of Moriarty, in a more lovable package as must be the case, and it certainly helps the film to flow. I could put it down to the voice acting, which was simply superb with his voice provided by Vincent Price, but I'm almost certain that it was too about clever writing. That air of class. That's what I think this film has that allows it to be distinct from other Disney films. We aren't talking of magic and wonders, nor are we talking of emaciated fashionistas and their love of all things gaudy, this is a film about political conquest and keen minds. It shouldn't by rights be as entertaining as it is, but it manages beautifully.

The animation is beautiful, but that's to be expected of a Disney production. I have since learned that it was in fact the saving grace of the company in a time when the Black Cauldron, a then under appreciated classic, had sank the collective budget of the animation department. In this sense, it saved the company and heralded the age of the Disney Renaissance, so it certainly has that going for it. I won't say it's the most beautiful animation I've ever seen, as I've certainly enjoyed the style of other films more so than this, but it has it's own unique charm in that classically undefinable but inherent Disney style. The musical scores weren't the strongest. With most either acting as background or featuring none of the principle cast the music is understated and at times entirely unfocused. The pub scene with Watson though requiring dancers felt over played as the song itself and the singer had no relevance to the film itself, and while it seemed poignant at the time and much like it would build, ultimately it served as little more than a red herring. The dancers could easily have been dancing to the sound of the piano alone, it looked much like an executive had asked for there to be more music for the sake of the audience rather than the film's cohesion.

What gripes do I have to pick with a childhood favorite? It's certainly a struggle, but I'll do my best. While the plot itself seems clever, at times much like the Holmes that had inspired it, the non specific elements of chemistry that lead to the conclusion often feels rushed with little explanation. We hear of soot dust connecting to lamps, of gummed paper and cheap alcohol, and indeed of the paper's origin and dousing in salt water. We hear of this, and as an adult it might be possible to put it together logically or follow, but not as a child. I don't speak for all children when I say this, so pay heed and take note, but for the most part children are stupid. No child is going to follow the path of the deductions in the same way no child would, or should, understand the comparison of bullet rifling that caused Basil anguish earlier in the film. While I praise the idea of a watered down Holmes for children, I feel the film asks for a lot in terms of keeping interest, and it begs the question, who was their real target audience? I was satiated as a child with the humor and cute aesthetic, so while I can now laud the tributes between film and book, they seem a little hollow coming from retrospect. It seems as if at times it attempted more to be clever than it did to appeal to it's audience, and while that isn't specifically a bad thing, it doesn't seem like a clever marketing move.

Overall, I love the film. It has something for everyone, and while children may not understand all it has to offer, it remains special for the reasons listed above.

Pacific Grim

 (Pacific Rim Review And Rant By Neamo)

Complimenting a film when it's good is a fine and noble thing to do. This is a film that inspires no such nobility in me, nor does it's director. Prepare yourselves, it's about to get bitter.

With the world in ruin after the emergence of Kaiju's, Cthulian horrors that if left to their own devices would make a straight and steady beeline for Japan, emerge one after the other from a rift beneath the ocean and wreathe international havoc upon any nation in their path. To combat this new threat, all of the nations of the world unite to produce the most stereotypical and impractical defense form this world has ever seen, mecha's, or to the blissfully ignorant of you, enormous humanoid robots piloted by the young and emotionally damaged. Created in order to manhandle the beasts without conventional bullets for fear of their toxin filled blood seeping into the ocean below, these hulking titans of advanced engineering are powered by on board nuclear reactors, and wade into battle with all the grace and durability of rock-em sock-em robots, a flaw not missed by detractors. When our would be hero, Raleigh Becket boards the ineptly named Gipsy Danger, with his brother who we'll refer to as meat, we see a world far changed from the golden age of hope and prosperity. We also see why. Requiring two pilots in order to balance the strain of the mecha, or jaeger's AI system, it lurches predictably forward, swinging it's fists like a pair of glorified pillows against the armed rapist of it's tentacled foe, and while trickery is engaged, meat is quickly cleaved free from his brother in a scene so predictable and vapid that it could have been penned in crayon. A ladle of angst and a hasty government closure later, we see Raleigh working as a new age navvy on an international coastal wall, soon to be rubble. Can things end here? Of course not. Re-opening the jaeger project, a government official drags Raleigh back into the chair, and finds him an Asian co-pilot who quickly becomes the female love interest of our traumatized hero. With a rebuilt Gipsy Danger ready to breach the shore and take on the abyssal horrors, a plot is devised to nuke the breach, something before untested, and while a smaller sub plot involving a scientist mentally linking himself to the Kaiju appears, it ultimately goes nowhere and panders to nothing. There is a side 'villain' in the aggressive Australian, who dies predictably in a moment of redemption, and ultimately Gipsy Danger must swan dive into the void riding a Kaiju, which it does before detonating it's nuclear reactor. Earth's victory is secured.

What's that? I skipped and skimmed through the plot? Well frankly, I had to. It's a complicated, boring and trite affair that climbs the footholds of classic anime like a drunk baby supported by a guide wire, and while it covers a lot of ground, none of it is new. It's a mess, frankly. Boring for the most part, particularly in the exploratory quest for a Kaiju brain which leads to a half assed Ron Pearlman experiment, the only real joy to be garnered from the spouting nonsense is in the fight scenes, and they themselves make little to no sense. With fists that damage little, these shambling hulks of steel have no agility in water, and the only effective weapon shown is a sword that snaps out at the literal last moment. It begs the question, why not just wield your fucking sword from the offset? Why indulge in this fetishistic foreplay with the minions of the under dark when you have a light saber at your disposal? Why in fact not make the machines to be run by the computers that so clearly bear the reticent bulk of their creation and have them be controlled remotely? If we want to go further, why the hell would we go with mecha's to begin with, in lieu of other more effective methods of disposal, such as a seething cloud of swarming drones? I asked this, and I must refer to an answer stated rather plainly by someone trying to defend the film and it's premise. 'Well, having giant robots fight giant monsters is pretty much the only way to have a movie about giant robots fighting giant monsters.' That's it in a nutshell. That is why I am frankly disinterested in the plot and the premise, and it's a beautiful summation. This was never a film, and for all the plot points it attempts to tout and references to promote, this abortion of cinematic values holds no sway. This film in it's entirely is about Guillermo del Toro attempting to show all and sundry his sketchbook in an act of unintelligent, self serving hedonism that proclaims itself a love letter to something greater. It isn't, it's balderdash.

The acting of this film is difficult to gauge, mainly because there is little to be seen of it anywhere. As such I'm not going to talk of it. I can't find it. There is no believable raw emotion, and every actor who took part in this sham should feel utterly ashamed of themselves for such blatant fan service in the face of actual performance. Instead I'm going to talk of the CGI. The CGI is good, certainly. It wasn't the magnificent leap of engineering I had heard it touted to be, that mark lays firmly with Avatar which to this day remains the most visually impressive computer generated film, though sadly it too is woefully lacking in all other areas. It looks decent enough, the water looked much as water does, the mecha's looked a little like Michael Bay rejects and the monsters like rubbery children's drawings, but they were rendered well, so there's that. The sound track might as well have been non existent to me for the impact it had, and likewise all other assets of the film simply weren't memorable. I know these were things that existed, just as I know there were indeed actors of flesh and bone who drifted lazily on screen, but that is the extent of my care of the matter.

Guillermo Del Toro is a director of whom frankly you should expect more. Able to work well with a lesser budget, he has produced some of the most fascinating films I've ever seen, in their conception and production. I must admit, these are Spanish films that were made on virtual shoestrings, but they are good in of themselves, fantastic to watch and a treat of general magnificence, The Devil's Backbone and Pan's Labyrinth amongst them. While not all of his films are hits, he has the spark of brilliance in him, so to see him direct and write something like this is much akin to seeing a drunken Beethoven shit in his own piano, to raucous applause I'm horrified to say.

If I were given the chance to see this film again, I would choose not to. When I say I would rather be publicly castrated than have to endure it or it's smirking and self satisfied fans, I am not overstating. Watch Pan's Labyrinth or The Devil's Backbone instead.

The Load For Chel Dorado

(The Road To El Dorado Review By Neamo)
 

While the title might imply that this review is a frothy mouthed tirade of cynicism and bitterness, I will assure you that this couldn't be further from the truth. I am if nothing else bitter, twisted and hypercritical of flaws wherever and whenever I find them, and few movies hold innate charm that can openly defy that bitterness. This however is one of those movies. Steeped in nostalgia, the bane of any real critique, this is a film that resonates with my childhood and provides layers of new enjoyment with each watch. While I could easily ramble on into a monolithic paragraph with little cohesion and less direction, I feel now is a perfect time to start the review.

We start our film with the principle cast, Miguel (Kenneth Branagh) and Tulio (Kevin Kline), a pair of bungling but well meaning con artists in a particularly nasty period of Spanish history who secure themselves a map of El Dorado with loaded dice. Hilarity and tribulations ensue as our dynamic duo are chased by guards, countrymen and bull alike onto the ship of the encroaching shadow of death that is Cortes. Imprisoned in the brig and without any real hope, save for a remarkably intelligent horse named Altivo, they disembark into the ocean in a row boat leaving the three stranded and starving on an endless plane of wet desolation. Fortune favors the inept however, and as they breach the sandy shores of salvation, Miguel quickly produces the map, much to Tulio's chagrin. Questing onward through unknown terrain, they bump into an otherwise hidden local, a thief called Chel (Rosie Perez) who unwittingly leads guards from the hidden city to our hapless duo, quickly bringing them to the city in a display of trust that Spain would never see again from any country of the new world. Introduced to the two city chieftains, the festively plump Tannabok and the living embodiment of the devil, Tzekel-Kan, our heroes through luck alone convince the city of their divinity and that they are gods. It is here the plot thickens as we see what starts as a planned heist evolve into a genuine care from our brotagonists. Miguel, euphoric with cultural ecstasy, channels the inner travel guide that had forever longed to peel free and helps to involve himself in the city's culture and heritage, whilst Tulio, immersed in the scheme with the aid of Chel, finds his own euphoria by immersing himself in the buxom female. That isn't a joke. Quickly however things go amiss. After a game of the world's most complicated form of basketball, Tzekel-Kan discovers they are mortals, and not the gods he had wished for in his religious fervor. Distraught but not outdone, he cracks open the peeling text of voodoo for beginners and after displaying a power that frankly should have left him ruling the city like a giant among ants, summons a giant stone jaguar. Now fighting over different goals and women problems, our team put their feelings aside to send Tzekel-Kan to Xibalba, a whirlpool outside of the city gates. Found by Cortes and leading him to the city, Tzekel-Kan looks set to have the last laugh, but in a final act of selflessness and a reparation of our fellowship, Miguel, Tulio, Chel and of course the ever present Altivo work together to foil the plan by sealing the entrance and forsaking the gold. A happy ending for all. Except for the villagers who probably sent parties into the jungle to forage for food, and who all now have Spanish Flu. A happy ending for all who count.

So, where to go from here? I've recapped the plot, and if I am to review it, I could only say I think it is perfection. Filled with witty references that still remain culturally relevant to this day, and in jokes made for parents that otherwise would not have been obvious to watching infants, the breadth of story explored in this film felt spectacular. I will admit, motivations seemed a little shallow, and if I wanted to stab at the heart of the piece I would say Chel was clearly using Tulio as a means to an ends and thus remained a gold digging harlot, but I won't. I don't like using the excuse 'it was made for children', as it implies inherent stupidity is acceptable. What I will say is the complex theme of a romantic story would have had little place in lieu of their core demographic, and also in the face of the light adventure itself. It would have served only to disrupt the ease and fluidity of the story, and that would have been a shame in of itself, so whether hooker or heroine, the plot should have remained the same. It's this freedom to interpret I think that allows for much of the comedic build, the misplaced kiss of Chel during a 'tender' moment with Tulio leaving many who have lost their purity screeching back in revelation, whilst the exploding cigars smoked during the festivities could clearly have been representing marijuana. These little gifts of good writing and careful planning pepper this film and leave it a true joy to behold, with exquisite repeat value. The dialogue too is snappy and well placed, and the general plot ideal opens the stage for raucous fun. More films should take note of this.

The voice acting in this film is superb, with Kevin Kline and Kenneth Branagh providing likable and reasoned performances, expected of veteran actors. Bringing comedic timing with vocals that feel unforced, they truly embody the characters they become. I could talk of other specific examples, but the matter of fact is that all of the vocal performances in this film are stunning in of themselves. If I am going to mention vocals however, I must take a moment to advise the soundtrack of this beautiful film. Elton John's original score is magnificent, and holds well against the test of time and changing tastes. Crisp, husky but at the same time filled with that magnanimous charm that many fans of the singer have come to expect, it never disappoints and remains an unwavering favorite, especially 'The Trail We Blaze' and 'Without Question' for yours truly. The animation too is sumptuous and stylish for it's time. I'm starting to get a little sugar rush from how much praise I'm glazing this movie with, so this may be a good time for me to summarize.

The Road to El Dorado is many things, and all of them good. It defies genre, age group and expectations by being a truly universally entertaining film, and is something everyone should experience at least once. Seriously, I'm not kidding. Yes, you. Right now. El Dorado.

No Shit Sherlock

(Sherlock Critique By Neamo) 

Sherlock has been very difficult to review or critique, and it has taken the better part of a day and some in depth conversations for me to pinpoint why. While I will be the first to praise the virtues of the show and it's production, certain aspects have left me with an inner turmoil that has bled into writers block, and it may show in this summation of thoughts and feelings. I had not expected such difficulty concerning it, especially considering I have in the past professed adoration, but as is often the case, deeper reflection leads to unanswerable questions and rebuttals, and it is this untangled mass of emotional yarn that I shall attempt to pluck apart below. I am using bullet points, partly to help separate my musing rants from the general commotion of cumulative thought, and stop me veering too steeply into tangents otherwise better left unexplored.

•  Acting : The acting of Sherlock is impeccable. With the ever likable but erstwhile sincere Martin Freeman providing a genuinely warm and distinct voice in Watson, it balances well to the sardonically misanthropic edge provided in Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock. I am told, though I haven't indulged myself, that the books are written in much the same manner, with Watson providing the grounding force to Holmes and his eccentricities, and while that would stunt the growth of ordinary characters, what we are rapidly introduced to is the notion that neither character is ordinary. There is an on screen chemistry between the two that I'm assured was written to give a deeper affection to their relationship, and while at times it can verge on the homoerotic, their bromance and the connection within gives the piece deeper meaning. Mark Gatiss too portrays a fine Mycroft, with the subtle nuances of Cumberbatch's performance reflected in his own though with far more reservation, and the rest of the ensemble cast perform well as aides to the central cast, Rupert Graves providing a likable and human Lestrade and Louise Brealey a muted but perfect performance as the queen of the friendzone. I would be remiss however if I did not take a moment to appreciate the staggering performance of Andrew Scott as James Moriarty. Bringing a wild eccentricity to it that had little been expected by critic and viewer alike, his on screen moments are as dauntingly electric as they are unnervingly sinister, stealing the scenes entirely from beneath the nose of the lead, a feat not easily accomplished.

 

•  Writing : The writing of Sherlock isn't something I can shower it with universal acclaim for however. In a point that will ultimately tie in fully with one of my gripes, Sherlock is at it's best sporadic in approach to the quality, as I can easily discern season for season the weaker episodes, episodes that whilst serving and appeasing fans add nothing to the overall canon it attempts to build, and otherwise serve as gentle but meaningless filler. The episode for instance entitled 'The Blind Banker' clearly remained as an attempt to appease, with notes lifted from a Doyle story. Now, I understand fully that when playing with a well established franchise and attempting to bring it into the modern certain structures must be adhered to, but in many places things simply defy translation, and the faintly racist portrayal of the Asian syndicate, followed by the loose but otherwise camped plot and danger within speak volumes. Likewise 'The Hounds of the Baskerville' episode seemed forced, it's explanation and science sitting uneasily as it raised more questions in conclusion than it posed, and while I understand these are meant to build the idea of Holmes and his case repertoire, the open and shut mention of it left little but hollow feelings in it's wake. I'm not saying each episode should continue a thematic plot, or be linked to one central figure as life doesn't work that way, Moriarty couldn't have played a hand in 'Baskerville' anymore than he could have in the Jack the Ripper murders. What I am saying is if an episode begins and ends with no lasting change or effects, we are left in the territory of poor television. That isn't to say all of the writing is poor, the 'The Reichenbach Fall' is an example of both fantastic portrayal and excellent execution, leaving fans both hungry for more and puzzled, and while Season 3 by and large remains disappointing as a following act, this episode and the lead to it over the coarse of two seasons show fantastic skill that is difficult to argue in the face of. A little more consistency would be desirable.

•  General Positives : You can see a pattern here, that I am discussing things I can heap joy upon in this review's forefront in order to save my criticism and bile for the latter, and this is represents the last vestige of compliments. The theme tune and musical score are both complementary and elegant, and certainly help to ease the passage of each episode. I also on another note enjoyed the internal mapping and graphing technique used to show us the unique but tangible analytical thoughts of our lead mastermind, as they skillfully both allow us an inner look but at the same time distance us with the dazzling array of genius, both making him relatable and alienating him at once. It's a skill that frankly leaves me a little jealous in my awe, but remains none the less an impressive piece of direction.

• Gripes :  And here we enter the tangled mass of thoughts otherwise known as my negative thoughts. I spent much time questioning what I didn't like, and why this couldn't be an easy review, and there are several things I could mention to note certainly. I don't, for instance, like the fact that Sherlock has been shown to have total social ineptitude, but that he seems to have slept with most of the men that drift lazily past as Molly's love interests. It seems strange that a man who refuses to go out gets around so much, to be frank and rather blunt about it. Likewise I don't like the concessions made in writing for the fan base, Sherlock's monologue about his revival and indeed the 3rd season in it's entirety seeming more like a series of personally indulgent messages to it's fans than legitimate plot. I could talk of that, and more I'm sure, but my true gripe I feel lays with the fans, and with Steven Moffat. To those who don't know, I am not a fan of Moffat's writing. I've seen it in Dr Who and the influence brought there, and I remain unappreciative and resentful to his abuse of it's canon and auto fellating tropes. While that on the face has no tie to Sherlock, Moffat is credited as co-creator and one of the three writers, and I'm sure has brought something positive to the table, but what he has also brought is a legion of rabid fans, and it is the fans of Sherlock that I take offense to. Comprised of Cumberbitches, a collective of Benedict fetishists, New Whovians, an abhorrent growth of mock sci-fi fans who take themselves too seriously by far, and traditionalist Conan Doyle puritans, the fan base of Sherlock is both frightening and abhorrent. Loud, unintelligible at the best of times and unintelligent at the worst, they represent the worst aspects of a community and show little of it's virtues, and frankly make me like the finished product less by proxy.

 
So, what else can I say of the show? Not a lot if I'm honest. It's good, certainly worth watching and its performances are for the most part inspired, but for gods sake, stay away from the fan base.