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.

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.

Sponge-Odd Thomas

(Odd Thomas Review By Neamo)

Last night whilst attempting to soothe the raw nerve exposed in my Need For Speed Review, I received a film recommendation from a person whom I hold in some esteem. I had before that point never heard of the name Odd Thomas, I had seen nothing in cinematic trailers which now act as more of a budgetary sounding board than anything else, never heard of the title mentioned on the websites I frequent or indeed heard anyone mention anything of the strange and whimsical title in any context. This warranted further investigation! Donning both deerstalker and pipe I quickly found that pressing legal suites and unfavorable reviews had buried this movie before it had left the metaphorical nest, and as such it has been left unseen and generally unmentioned to all who do not follow Dean Koontz. It was intriguing but I must admit that when it comes to films, the hype behind them often reveals much of the inherent value within, and while that isn't always the case, the fact of the matter is until that moment I had heard nothing, either positive of negative of this unusually titled piece. Choosing to ignore my instincts to flee to the grounds of comfort, and still melancholic from my newly unbound suppressed memories of a film that makes my inner child wretch, I decided to abandon reason and delve into a film I was sure would be a straight to DVD monstrosity. I'm glad I did watch it, however, while reviewing this film I can find myself making a conscious effort to substitute the description odd for others, and considering it's a title that by and large fits it's name exceptionally well, you can consider this review an enormous pain in the ass. Not to the flaying depths of Need For Speed of course, but it's irritating none the less.

Odd Thomas revolves around it's titular character, Odd Thomas. While there is a brief and banal description within the film to try and explain how a boy can be rightly given the name Odd, it still seems a near act of infanticide on the remaining parents part to allow a child with that name to go to a public school. We learn within the space of less than a minute that Odd had been raised with his highly psychotic and abusive mother, his father leaving the fray for better things, and that Odd's mother has the same gift as he. When I say we learn this of course, I mean only in the sense that we are given one or two rather peppy but otherwise concise sentences on the issue, a psychiatric flip book of images, and it is never raised again. Odd is respected the town over, as being a twenty year old fry cook, Sponge-Odd knows everyone within the hick and small town of California. I'm sorry, that was facetious of me, within the small town of Pico Mundo, a town otherwise cut off from the main cities of California. With a girlfriend called Stormy whose name is given no dose of explanation, only that she's a rebel ice cream vendor with blue streaked hair, we see them frolic and playfully flirt as soul devouring aliens from the void pour into this world through the nexus of all evil, that Sponge-Odd can see lurking around every corner. I would call them ghosts or demonic spirits, but the fact of the matter is there is something rather strange and alien about the whole affair, not only in looks but in their actions, so I shall call it as I see it. With apocalyptic events brewing and no suspicion attached to his name throughout the entirety of the movie, Sponge-Odd battles with a harbinger known as the fungus man for his oddly colored hair, and is aided by his devout believers, his girlfriend and the chief of police, Wyatt. Slowly piecing the puzzle together that leads to the death of his loved one and the salvation of a mall, it's a journey of friends, fry cooks and forensic ineptitude that will leave you questioning why you enjoyed it so much.

I have to admit I do tend to overly despoil and otherwise mar a plot that I find laughable. If there are numerous holes, it is an exercise in restraint not to pull at them and otherwise stretch them to tearing point immediately, and I often do as is made evident by this summation, don't have the will power to hold myself back. We see almost nothing of Odd's troubles before these events, and aside from a few placid cut scenes, one involving a fortune telling machine and the other involving his mothers psychiatric incarceration we learn little of our protagonist. Strange, well mannered, witty and ultimately kind, he lacks any form of an edge to his character, portrayed as a flawless fry cook who aside from being considered weird by his peers acts as a shining beacon of what a person should be. While that would appeal to many, for me and my personal love of the Byronic hero, his every man protagonist attempt at trying to appease all tastes fills me with utter disdain. His gift and the plot suggestions within hint that he is a man who has not only seen death, he has grown so used to it that it holds none of the macabre sway, and he is constantly plagued by these horrors. While one could argue that time would cause you to grow numb to them, he seems naive if only for the sake of the plot. It begs the question, how has he survived this long?

The acting is okay. It's not awful, and in that same vein it deserves no awards or accolades either. It would seem in poor taste of me to say it was of a television mini drama quality considering that I've seen some exceptional mini drama's recently, but it certainly strode leagues above the crippled husk of the film I had reviewed prior. Dafoe's performance ultimately remained my focus of interest, and Dafoe remained Dafoe. I was certainly appeased to a greater extent. The acting is not however the saving grace of this film. While I have mentioned it was a pleasant experience for me, until this point you've seen no praise, and the praise shall come in the place of the scripted dialogue and direction. I am not going to mention music or set pieces, I simply can't remember them, nor do I remember much else from the film. What I do remember is the feeling of enjoyment. It felt smooth, with a production value that seemed to exceed the meager budget I rightly assumed it had been given. Fluid camera movements, eased transitions and an overall great direction held the piece in a higher esteem, giving it a true vehicle for it's script. Funny, well written, witty and occasionally biting, the lines for the most part save a few horrifying attempts at romanticism gave an authenticity I hadn't expected.

While I could lazily pluck at my gripes and niggles in this film, the general lack of forensic knowledge, the special effects seemingly ripped from an alien versus predator installment, or even something plot destroying like the fact he can kiss his intangible spirit lover, I won't. I'll not go to the effort of plucking away every shred, as it gave me some genuine laughter and a little feeling toward the end. Instead, I will talk of what I would have changed. I would have liked to have seen a film far removed from the one I had done, the plot stripped away in order to make room for a plot anew. A darker feel than the bright and pastille color palate used, a little more psychological interplay and more focus on his crazy mother might have given the film a dualistic edge, is he crazy, did he kill Fungus? It would certainly have appealed to me at a more personal level.

Another day, another review. This like the former took time as, having recently watched it, thoughts and opinions still were forming and settling into place. The film is a good and lighthearted romp, with a shaky plot but witty protagonist. If you are looking for something deep and soulful, this won't be for you, but if you feel the need to kick back and relax, there are certainly worse films you could be watching. Oh, and as I've enjoyed writing it during the review... Sponge-Odd.

Praising Mr. Banks

 

 (Saving Mr. Banks Review By Neamo)

Looking back over my recent articles, namely the only articles I have in fact written, I would feel remiss if I didn't try to impress upon you that I'm not the pedantic asshole I'm portraying myself as. I do in fact garner an enormous amount of enjoyment from movies, television and the entertainment industry at large, and while the soul of an angst riddled pessimist lurks deep in the hollow edifice of my chest, there are things I actually do enjoy. I'll be the first to admit I'm overtly critical of flaws, and part of the enjoyment in of a film for me is the ability to find fault, which is easy as perfection is rare to non existent and movies are numerous. I enjoy critiquing good movies and in a similar although far more venomous facet, ripping meaty chunks from things I detest. It's a nice way to while away my evening hours, and if nothing else it provides me with an outlet for the building toxins and bile that would otherwise take a team of trained Swiss physicians years to drain from my various bloated orifices. I'll be the first to admit, it's easier to criticize than glorify and in many ways it's more fun to write, which is handy as perpetual fawning is the mark of a fanboy, and no one likes a fanboy. In light of that, I thought I would review something I enjoyed to change pace, and perhaps so that I can sleep easier tonight knowing that I'm picky, not pretentious.

Saving Mr. Banks is the true story of how P.L.Travers, a haughty relic of the prim and proper days before modern indulgence, falls upon hard times financially and agrees to sell a characteristically charismatic Walt Disney the rights to her book Mary Poppins, with a set of otherwise impossible proviso's that ultimately aren't adhered to. That's one way to look at the film's story, and it isn't an incorrect one, the events surmised are the events that take place and ultimately as a premise for a film in of itself, it isn't the most captivating plot. There are no grand chase scenes, no great sweeping romances or life altering events, so if that is what you are looking for, this Disney film is not for you. Instead through flash backs during her time with Disney we see the fairly traumatic back history of a woman subdued and embittered by a deeply rooted father complex that has dictated much of her life today. A gambler, a drunk, a dreamer and an idol, his fall from grace into the depths of alcoholism destroyed much of her family and left a road map of emotional scars in her otherwise damaged psyche. In her interactions with Walt and her driver, we see the dreamer suppressed rise once more, and while the change is gradual it renders heart and soul in her development and bloom. That being said, take this all with an oceanic pinch of salt as, being a Disney true story, the emotional story and change of perception within are conjecture to ease the film into the realm of the sentimental. My prior assessment is truer to the actual events as they transpired in life.

The acting of the film is pretty phenomenal. Whilst I could rightly say it's driven by sentiment and implicitly sickly sweet in portion, which it is I'll grant you as this is a Disney movie, the character portrayals stand far and above the shallow portrayal I had dubiously expected when embarking upon it. I'm not casting aspersions on the actors or indeed the company at large, but the trailer footage and general air of promotion around this film suggested a heart warming family tale, and that often leads down a slippery slope greased with Hollywood butter and sweetener. It wasn't that. With a performance of clear and honed conviction as P.L.Travers, Emma Thompson reminded me quickly of her acting credentials which had been forgotten prior in a slew of film for paycheck releases that had left little to flatter. She is an incredible actress, as evident by works I shall no doubt review at another time, and she acted much as a supporting pillar for this film with her sharp candor and depth of dry wit. It was a true performance, and it made the development though gradual of her emotional journey all the more poignant in an ending scene that gave a genuine tug at the heart strings. Tom Hanks in the same breath provided a perfect foil as the faintly sardonic but irrepressibly charming Walt Disney. There is something innately likeable about Tom Hanks that I'm frankly perplexed by, an innate charm to his on screen performances that is difficult to emulate and impossible to describe, and he brings the same undeniable presence to Disney that attracted audiences to the lovable thespian in many of his other roles. While as a critic I find it irritating to settle with the description charming, it is the best suited word for his performance. Paul Giamatti will go down in the annuls of history as being one of the most underrated actors of this generation, and his performance likewise was warm and heartening without giving an air of falsehood, and the supporting cast including the talented B.J. Novak, Jason Schwartzman and the sobering Colin Farrell all play their part in a fantastic way.

The setting was certainly fine, though to say more of it would be a little facetious as it was set almost entirely within an office or in the flash backs of Travers Australian home. Fine is the appropriate word, as I didn't feel myself awed by the setting or scenery, and I don't believe I should have. It was intended to be real to life, and the majestic realm of Disney theatrics would have only distracted from the main cast. The musical score was a joy to behold as, although it consists of songs that are essentially the clones of those from Mary Poppins, they are used to aid in the dynamics of the story itself which is no mean feat. Giving a sense of lyrical exploration, each word takes meaning beyond the childhood jingles of old, and we are left with a sense of deep rediscovery that both warms and heartens.

It's difficult to critique, and it's possible I'm avoiding it for the sheer pleasure the film brought me. While there are hairline faults if examined closely, I shall on this occasion leave them without highlight as I am pleased if nothing else to talk of it's merits without hindrance. A special film, with a special place in my heart. I would advise watching it. 

The Overrated Dead

(A Walking Dead Review By Neamo)

While it may be poor taste to discuss and lament a series a week after it's seasonal finish, this blog didn't exist at a time where posting for it would have been appropriate. I could shamble for a film to talk of or advise you to watch something meaningful and poignant, but frankly I'm in the mood to talk of zombies, and I can think of no better way to do so than to air my frustrations with the Walking Dead. While it is of a split verdict if critical polls are to be believed, I know many who happily and blindly trudge through it's myriad of hammed character portrayals and over easy drama as if it were a shining beacon of good television, and I'm left feeling dour and rather ill over the whole affair.

I'd like to start this rant with two assurances, the first of which is that I am not slathering hatred or disdain upon the comic. It's in poor taste to judge something I haven't put a lot of research or interest into, and while I'm certain that criticisms I raise may stem from it's source material, I have no desire to follow it up. I've been told, rather reliably that the comic is superior, and I am happy believing it to be, but I am by and large not a comic book reader and shall avoid it with the same leisure that I do the marvel offerings and so on. In that sense, consider my critique based upon the show. My second assurance is that this will not be done in bullet point form. I adore bullet points, but it's good to mix the pot once in a while. With that all said and done, let's proceed.

There are many flaws and holes I could pick at in this show, and I will I assure you, but if we are to start anywhere we must begin with the plot. Rick Grimes and his son Carl ( Pronounced Corl or Cooorl if the slurred rasp is to be followed. ) try to survive in a zombie infested world. An outbreak occurred infecting all and sundry and after the various trials and tribulations presented, we're left with a handful of characters banded together toward a common goal and care, attempting to forge a new future from the crumbling ruins of the past. As a premise, that sounds entirely justified. Gruff and weather worn older male attempting to survive with their youngster and a rag tag band of born again survivalists? It's a plot device that, although a little trite, resounds with the general mass. We are then introduced to a cheating scandal by Rick's wife Lorrie, who we'll refer to hereafter as prison food, and Shane, Rick's best friend who goes a tad dark side. You'll understand my frank and enthused summation soon I'm sure. We then proceed to the prison, where the group has changed somewhat, and over the course of several episodes all but the core cast and fan favorites are picked off in situations brought about by casual thoughtlessness from the same group that survived a food-less winter of hell. The thing you quickly begin to grasp is zombies and the hordes of the dead no longer pose a real threat, stupidity is the reaper within this show. In any case, we see the group make contact with and promptly get beneath the skin of the nouveau cyclopean Governor, a title that holds less meaning as he proceeds to butcher every able hand at his disposal. More members of the group are lost through ignorance, and the Governor makes a frankly rather unwanted return to kill off a fan favorite, destroying the cozy confines of their dilapidated prison and forcing the main characters to split up and flee in a scene that left much wanting. They regroup over time, as apparently America is a small place and every man among them has forgotten the hot wiring skills we've become so accustomed to, and make their way to Terminus, a steak house that specializes in soylent greens. I believe that's the recap in a nutshell?

Well, to pick holes in the plot seems an effort of futility, not because it's impossible but because... Well... Look at it. Take a breath and glance over it. To call it a pile of shit would be an insult to mounds of effluence everywhere, it is an abomination. What we're looking at, and what teenage boys everywhere have been lamenting, is a laughable Days Of Our Lives soap opera with shambling corpses drifting casually through the setting pieces. Make no mistake when I say, if you do not remain focused upon the zombie element, the entire series feels like a love letter to the Kardashians or the OC. Over wrought and over emphasized, even it's supposed surprises feel like bland repetition as I struggle to find any who were surprised by the reveal of Terminus's barbeque cook book, and frankly that's more than a little depressing. It feels rehashed. I realize that it is the 'first of it's kind', a television show revolving around the zombie apocalypse, and I understand that it's supposed to be treading new ground, but when I can predict every action and nuance, when I am left with no surprise or sense of danger, what I'm left with is the feeling of wasted potential. How do I mean? Well, this is a show that has fronted old territory to a new medium, and I understand the appeal of that within it's beginning phases, a sense of whimsey and familiarity drawing the veteran fans of the genre close whilst being open enough to appeal to the new. It worked, and snared many including myself in it's opening season, leaving me with a feeling of open expectation. It didn't deliver.

Aside from the brief if laughable introduction and then removal of 'plague zombies', the dynamic hasn't shifted and instead we've simply seen the group become too hardened to the natural threat for it to pose any form of harm outside of human intervention, and so we return to my prior point. If you are fronting a survival show where survival is no longer the issue or premise, it is a vehicle of stagnation. What we've entered is a rather shaky premise for a drama. At each interval, the plot has added nothing dynamic and we are as clueless of the situation as we were at the beginning. The only thing driving this train now is the idea of popular culture references and introducing new groups of humans to occasionally pick off a show favorite. This is not good television. What would I have done? Possibly an evolving sickness, we've seen infected humans and yet the animals are by and large fine, the zombies unintelligent and shambling. From the little we know it reawakens the brain on a basic level. Why not add to it? Why not throw in a little nightmare fuel and, from the top of my head allow the zombies to cry out after being turned in human like calls, perhaps give a faint semblance of residual memory? Necrosis among the living from eating food that has lain in the infected soil? Calcifying zombies? Runners? It seems facetious but that's the gist. The core plot element, the undead, are no longer threatening. Why not do a quick scan of creepy pasta and once more horrify and terrorize?

The acting is sub par, frankly. I'm not saying this out of spite or a bitter vendetta, but the truth of it is that for a show that attempts to explore the nature and emotion of it's cast we are often left wanting with lackluster portrayals that merely serve to highlight the lack of dimension to them. Good and bad has no bridge with this show, and while there are faint flickers of redemption and skill, it's smothered by hammy villain pieces and gruff tough love. Madness for instance, within Rick and others is explored as either a deep rooted hallucinatory delusion which leads to a three episode sob story, or an explosive burst of balls to the wall crazy that has no remission. Subtle nuances of depression? Influential character change? It's sad to say that it doesn't exist. I'm sure everyone is a little depressed and that is why we don't explore it at length, at least, at a length more than an episodic character arc, but it simply comes across as dour. I never feel like I'm at risk from losing compatriots to suicide, which frankly would be a nice change of pace. Instead, it's grizzled and wizened men and bitter or oblivious women in swathes. I'm not going to point out any actors in particular, though from my writing you can probably surmise a few of the greater peeved performances, instead I'm just going to boldly state that by and large the show has neither depth nor emotional warmth. It's amusing that the actors fighting the corpses are so proficient at flat-lining.

The props are decent enough. A location is scouted and secured, and we then see a series of rifles and pillaged goods. It's reasonable enough to say there's little wrong with that in of itself. The special effects of the zombies are to a fairly high standard likewise, and it feels hauntingly like the budget for the scripts has been re-invested within it. There's little else I can fault. If I had another gripe I could truly pick at, it would be over all dissatisfaction with the indolence. I don't profess to be a horror buff, nor do I think my idea's are entirely original, but for the love of god, why is it that the only armor I've seen in this damned show is riot gear? I understand that would lessen the already waned threat as a plot device, but we are entering the realms of the delusional if not one has the common sense to put on a few sweaters, or grab a little PVC pipe and fashion something. A zombie's bite is only proportional to the strength a human jaw can exert before breaking, so why does everyone insist on wearing clothes that might as well have the consistency of tissue paper? The walls were breaking down and zombies are unable to smell human flesh past their own fetid remains as shown within, so why not plug the wall and build with the corpses of freshly slain? Michonne entered the fray with a pair of zombies that we discover will not attack when disarmed of limbs and jaws, and act as both wards to other zombies and pack beasts. Why was this promptly glossed over, and not used and abused by our merry troop? Minor gripes I'll grant you, but there are thousands within this show and they quickly stack up.

To surmise, the Walking Dead whilst initially holding promise remains as lackluster as the fetid corpses it promises. Stripped of any real sense of danger and relying on cheap tricks, we're left with a show riding the wave of it's own pomp and ignorance in sickly sweet soap opera territory. While I would love for the show to be cancelled and it's funding distributed elsewhere, I have a feeling none shall pry the money from it's cold dead hands. I shall keep abreast of it however as I have been, if only to sate my need for bitterness.