Warning! Spoilers for Kill Bill: Vol. 1, Kill Bill: Vol. 2, and Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair below. If you haven’t already seen Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, please do yourself a favor and fix that.

Kill Bill: Vol. 1 & Vol. 2 (2003 & 2004) follow The Bride (Uma Thurman), a former assassin who awakens from a four year coma after her jealous ex-lover, Bill (David Carradine), attempts to have her murdered during her wedding rehearsal. We watch as she seeks to extract revenge against all those who wronged her, her husband to-be, and her unborn daughter. Both volumes are generally highly regarded for their slick editing and “jukebox” style – remixing the films, genres, songs, and tropes that Tarantino holds oh so dear. The pair are a true film nerd’s love letter to the medium.

With that said, the one major compromise Tarantino had to make when releasing the originals, is that he never wanted them to be separate works in the first place. He always envisioned them as one project, yet allowed himself to be (rightfully) convinced that a nearly five hour long film would not be commercially well-received. The Whole Bloody Affair is Kill Bill the way it was originally meant to be seen.

Not only does The Whole Bloody Affair stitch together the two original films along with an additional intermission, it completely re-frames Vol. 2. I personally always preferred Vol. 1, and at the risk of embarrassing myself, found Vol. 2 just a bit too slow, a little too down tempo… almost like it was the second, concluding half of a much more boisterous and indulgent affair (wink wink). With The Whole Bloody Affair removing Vol. 1’s cliffhanger reveal of The Bride’s child surviving the incident, and allowing us to go on that emotional journey with her, the entirety of Vol. 2 feels that much more coherent and impactful. Seemingly small changes made to connect these two films end up truly elevating the entire experience.

In addition to the obvious stitching together of Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, The Whole Bloody Affair also includes the iconic Crazy 88 fight scene in color. It’s fun and plenty bloody, but honestly the black and white version found in the original release is already a chic stylistic choice. So that change is a wash. In this latest version, you also get to see The Bride chop off Sofie Fatale’s (Julie Dreyfus) second arm, which again is neat, but doesn’t exactly add a whole new layer to the narrative. It’s an interesting addition that aids with continuity, but not much beyond that.

The largest source of new content actually comes in the form of an extended anime backstory for O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu). If you’re a sucker for badass 2D animation, this sequence delivers in spades. It might throw off the original film’s incredibly hard hitting timing just a smidge, but fans of the original definitely won’t mind spending a few extra minutes in this beautifully drawn flashback.

There’s also a… Fortnite tie-in after the credits? The Lost Chapter: Yuki’s Revenge animates an additional scene that Tarantino was never able to bring into the films, and feature’s Uma Thurman vocally reprising her role as The Bride. It depicts Gogo Yubari’s (Chiaki Kuriyama) twin sister, Yuki (Miyu Ishidate Roberts), seeking revenge on The Bride in Los Angeles for killing Gogo. It’s not particularly worth watching, and a number of in-universe Fortnite gags heavily weigh it down, but Tarantino clearly positions it as a thing unto itself and it isn’t worth getting up in arms over.

Overall, while the new scenes (both long and short) are welcome additions for long-time fans, the true value of Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair is in what it does to elevate Vol. 2. No longer does Vol. 2 awkwardly act as the conclusion to a much more “exciting” film you watched either days or years prior. Now, it delivers its emotional punches and twists in real time, elevating the experience across both volumes of content. If you can find a theater to watch this in 70mm film, it only enhances the experience even further. Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair is the definitive way to watch Quentin Tarantino’s love letter to cinema, and should be required viewing for any fans of the originals.

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The Running Man (2025) follows our hero, Ben Richards (Glen Powell), as he competes in the dystopian future’s most popular game show, “The Running Man”, to win the money his sick daughter (Alyssa Benn) and struggling wife (Jayme Lawson) need to escape the thralls of poverty. To do so, Ben must survive for 30 days while both professional assassins and goon squads hunt him down. Regular citizens even get in on the action by reporting his every move for reward money of their own. It’s a fight for survival as the show’s producer (Josh Brolin) progressively raises the stakes all in the name of ratings.

To address the positives first, Glen Powell turns in yet another compelling performance. Powell first showcased his leading man capabilities in 2023’s Hit Man, and he continues to showcase them here. His charisma and screen presence are often the only things holding The Running Man (2025) together, and they manage to do so without much strain. Colman Domingo also turns in a fun performance as Bobby Thompson, the show’s over-the-top, eccentric host who pursues audience engagement over all else. His flexible relationship with ideals like “truth” and “moral obligation” gives the film a sturdy thematic foundation to build off of.

Beyond the performances, there are a few chuckle-worthy gags in the later stages of the hunt, and an admittedly decent stretch in the second act where the film finds its rhythm.

Unfortunately, that’s about it for nice things to say, which brings us to The Running Man (2025)’s long list of issues. The biggest, and perhaps most disappointing, is that the film truly could have been directed by anyone. Edgar Wright’s trademark editing, witty dialogue, and impeccable pacing are all noticeably absent from the very first scene. Instead, the film blitzes through the first act with a clear lack of direction. Nothing is given time to breathe. Within 30 seconds Ben goes from promising to never go on the life threatening show to being fitted for his onscreen uniform, and it definitely doesn’t come across as intentional. The film never even gives us enough time to start caring about Ben’s sick daughter, which is rather problematic as her illness is the catalyst for the entire plot.

To extend an olive branch, The Running Man (2025) does obviously try and lean into the cheesy over-the-top satire the material lends itself to, but it never quite clicks. This then drags down all the other creative choices that were clearly made with that angle in mind. It also sadly gives the studio an excuse to jam in as much product placement as they can, and they certainly take advantage. Monster, anyone? No? How about some Liquid Death instead?

As previously mentioned, the The Running Man (2025) does start to find its stride in the second half, but horrific child acting and cringe-worthy reoccurring characters continually interrupt it. What’s worse, is that some of these awkward gags sneak back into the final moments of the film, robbing it of any opportunity to end on a high note. So what we’re left with is a rushed and messy first act, some passable action in the middle, and a rudely interrupted climax.

With all these structural issues you may be wondering if the film at least has any rich thematic layers to dig into. And deep down, you already know the answer. The Running Man (2025) only offers some very surface-level critiques of the media, and of its role in sowing division within and between social classes. It also, without ever name dropping the technology, gently warns of how AI can further those deceptions. Nothing particularly novel.

Ultimately, The Running Man (2025) falls short on multiple levels without ever crossing the line into being truly awful. Edgar Wright’s fingerprints are conspicuously missing, the pacing is haphazard and breakneck, many performances are downright embarrassing, and the film does its best to sabotage itself when it finally tries to land the plane. Add in the fact that it has shockingly little to say about a country run by a game show producer with roving bands of headhunter goons (bad or good), and I’d say to run far away from this one.

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John Wick: Chapter 4 opens with John Wick (Keanu Reeves) and the Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne) ominously discussing the onset of John’s new counter-offensive. From there John kills some people, other people get increasingly upset and punish his friends to varying degrees, and ultimately John challenges the new big bad, Marchese de Gramont (Bill Skarsgard), to a duel in order to secure his freedom from the High Table. Admittedly, the plot is a bit thin, even if the list of exotic destinations is not. It serves its purpose well enough, acting as the connective tissue for the real reason you’re watching this and even closes on an emotionally touching note. The acting itself is similarly serviceable. Bill Skarsgard dons a truly insane French accent and Keanu’s struggle with the spoken word continues. That’s not to say the performances take away from the film, for the most part they actually work quite well with the overwhelming style emanating from every frame.

Speaking of exotic destinations, oh boy does this film have a lot of them. New York City, Japan, France, and more turn this entry into a globetrotting epic. Only the quality of one of the first locations, Morocco, feels a bit out of place in the grand scheme of things, especially since it houses the inciting incident of the whole story. Watching John chase a handful of men around on horseback in the empty desert before executing a (very important) man who might as well be at a picnic just feels underdeveloped compared to the brilliance of what quickly follows.

And what follows truly is brilliant. Once you get past that one rushed scene, every frame oozes style. Bright, vivid, neon colors paint the screen. The electrifying soundtrack sets the blood racing. Whereas earlier entries had one or two truly standout sequences, along with some filler duds, each and every scenario here impresses. There is no shortage of sexy, loud, and stylish locations for John and friends to cause absolute mayhem in. Demand to see this on the biggest screen with the loudest speakers possible. The only drawback is the often noticeable CGI backgrounds, but again, they mostly melt into the positively overpowering decadence of the scenes- so they work.

Now let’s address the obvious. The real reason you’re watching John Wick: Chapter 4 isn’t the acting, overarching narrative, or (thankfully) non-existent social commentary. You’re here for the stunts and oh my does John Wick deliver. Throughout the entire film, the fight choreography is truly insane and incredibly inventive at every opportunity. Whether the characters on screen are using guns, knives, katanas, nunchucks, suits, dogs, or pencils it all flows so fluidly and shockingly never feels silly. The film consistently one-ups itself when it comes to the creativity of the deaths as well. Shooting arrows through arms to create human pinwheels, scaling men’s backs with knives, and lighting enemies on fire with dragon breath ammunition are just a few examples of what keeps you fully engrossed in the ever changing action. Director Chad Stahelski even manages to blend humor into the fight choreography itself without undermining the overall tone of the film, which deserves a round of applause. Caine (Donnie Yen) is simply the cherry on top. A former friend of John Wick turned enemy, the blind assassin acts as an inspired creative wrinkle to the numerous deadly dances. You have not seen door bells used like this before.

John Wick: Chapter 4 is the culmination of the entire series and represents the perfection of all of the different ideas and concepts that have been toyed with up until now. The film’s lengthy runtime flies by, with every second of it earned. It not only delivers top notch inventive action sequences, a Hotline Miami inspired climax which will leave you mesmerized, and a satisfying payoff to the earlier entries’ elaborate world building, but it accomplishes all that with such visual and auditory style and finesse that it honestly sets a new standard for martial arts films moving forward. John Wick: Chapter 4 is a crowning achievement for the genre.

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Rear Window​ presents Jefferies (James Stewart) as an experienced photographer, thus legitimizing his gaze and letting the audience come to terms with his actions. He still peeps through the window of his often under-dressed neighbor and peruses the others as if he were flipping through channels on a television, but because of his profession his gaze has an added sense of permissibility. The film insists he is not simply spying, he is learning and appreciating. In the end his gaze gains extra justification, as it helps solve a criminal case, and the numerous invasions of privacy are forgotten. ​Rear Window​ presents the male gaze as justified and correct, with the simple caveat that the peeping tom must own a professional camera.

Post-classical films such as ​Blue Velvet​ begin to challenge this notion of a justified gaze. It initially provides the same setup, with Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) sneaking into Dorothy’s (Isabella Rossellini) apartment to potentially solve a mystery. As he looks through the shutters of the closet, his newfound peepshow devolves into a shocking display of fetish and sexual abuse. Soon Jeffrey finds himself whisked away from his quaint notions of the American suburbs and shoved into the reality of their seedy underbellies. Instead of glorifying the outcome of the male gaze, ​Blue Velvet​ shows the horrifying results it can produce. Jeffrey’s gaze ultimately rips away his sheltered life and stomps on his innocence. The world will never be the same for him. All because he wanted to get a quick peek.

Moonlight​ then shatters the traditional notions of the male gaze. Instead of the gaze being provided by a straight and white lead, the main character, Chiron (Alex R. Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and Trevante Rhodes), is gay and black. Unlike Jefferies and Jeffrey, Chiron does not gaze out from a position of power or authority. An innumerable amount of pain and trauma mark his younger years. His home life is nearly nonexistent. He has few real friends in the world. Chiron’s gaze is one of hope and searching for belonging. Not only is ​Moonlight​ different for prominently showcasing a homosexual relationship in a feature film, but also because it depicts a male character using his gaze from a position of incredible weakness.

Since the rules of Classical Hollywood started to be attenuated in the late 1960s, the male gaze has shifted, resulting in a change in how male characters drive stories. How a film presents the gaze to the audience controls how much power a character has. Jefferies’ gaze in ​Rear Window​ presents him as an expert, allowing him to act with impunity. However, Jeffrey’s gaze in ​Blue Velvet​ does not result in the same level of sanitized success, instead offering a tale of how the traditional male power and sexual fantasies can go horribly wrong. And then ​Moonlight uses its gaze to give light to a marginalized group and offer a fresh new perspective. As time has passed, the notion of a male gaze (and others) has obviously persisted due to the medium itself, but it has also been subverted to tell stories from new and inventive perspectives.

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The following essay contains spoilers for The Big Sleep (1946), The Reckless Moment (1949), and The Big Lebowski (1998).

The Big Sleep​ introduces us to Detective Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart) in a scene where Carmen Sternwood (Martha Vickers) almost immediately throws herself at him. Not too much further into the film a woman working at a store follows suit after talking to Marlowe for all of two minutes. As the stoic, powerful, and isolated male detective, Marlowe attracts the attention of nearly every female character in the film. In doing so, ​The Big Sleep​ illustrates the command Marlowe has over the situation at all times. That is in conjunction with his actual investigative abilities, which receive near equal screen time. If he is not flirting, he is probably making an incredible deduction so casually that you can’t help but be impressed. Marlowe’s character is the blueprint for classical film noir detectives, a mentally sharp and silver tongued man, capable of overcoming any obstacle.

The companion to any such character is the femme fatale. In classic noir, the femme fatale is the detective’s other half, and often serves as one of his greatest mental hurdles in solving the case. Although initially mixed in with all of the other women the detective may encounter, the femme fatale quickly stands out. Oftentimes she will be the one doing the seducing and lead the detective astray. She will have a power and strength of her own, but it will only serve the narrative in regard to the main detective. Over time he will learn to conquer her independence and become immune to her poison. In ​The Big Sleep,​ Vivian Rutledge (Lauren Bacall) fulfills this role, and does just as previously described. She seduces Marlowe, leads him into trouble, he overcomes it, and finally they ride off together.

Then comes ​The Reckless Moment,​ a film that begins to challenge the genre’s foundational approach. With her husband off at war, Lucia Harper (Joan Bennett) must play the role of a protective mother and try to rectify the problem her daughter, Beatrice “Bea” Harper (Geraldine Brooks), creates when she accidentally kills a man. The Reckless Moment​ strips much of the agency away from the male characters. The one doing the investigating is a woman who currently has no husband figure in her life to lean on. She does the negotiating on her own behalf, deals with the police, and tries to scrounge up enough money to satisfy an attempt at blackmail. ​The Reckless Moment​ changed the classic noir structure to allow women to be the ones in control of the narrative.

The Big Lebowski​ further dilutes the original noir style and injects its own changes. Now the male detective has lost his motivation and wit, merely stumbling upon the correct answers. Maude (Julianne Moore) controls her father (introduced as a wealthy figure) through an allowance and uses The Dude (Jeff Bridges) to get herself pregnant. She does all of this without serving the plot, only acting as another attraction for The Dude until the film’s conclusion, where nearly no real progress has occurred since the opening scene. In this iteration of the noir, the male detective has lost his edge, the femme fatale only serves herself, and there is no grand reveal or prize at the end of the mystery.

Over the years the Classical Hollywood film noir has undergone many alterations. Once a genre near solely dedicated to showing off impressive male characters and their glory, it has now opened up. Women are detectives, male sleuths are lazy and bumbling, femme fatales are independent from the investigators, and the big reveal at the end takes a back seat to the journey. None of these changes completely replace the original format, but they open the genre up to a wider variety of stories, allowing more voices to shine and for greater artistic flexibility in the way films tell these tales.

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The following essay contains spoilers for The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), American Psycho (2000), and Fight Club (1999).

Martin Scorsese’s ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ showcases the story of real life stockbroker Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio). It illustrates his acquisition of wealth and the subsequent destruction of his empire, quickly followed by him dodging any substantial punishment. Released in 2013, ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ can be read as a direct response to the Great Recession beginning in 2007. With the help of a number of Scorsese’s filmmaking techniques, the film’s visuals directly appeal to the crowd hit hardest by the failing financial systems. Instead of responding to the destruction of Belfort’s life, audiences latch onto Belfort himself due to the spectacle inadvertently replacing the message.

As the film opens and Belfort describes how he,

“…gambles like a degenerate…”, “…drinks like a fish…”, and has “…three different federal agencies looking to indict [him]”,

Scorsese, The Wolf of Wall Street

the audience gets to watch a medium close-up of him doing cocaine off of an attractive woman’s butt. So while the film’s dialogue details a life teetering on the edge, the visual is much more engaging and desirable to a stereotypical male audience. Much like American prescription drug commercials, the potential horrors are audibly listed off while accompanied by eye candy.

Not only are the undesirable portions of Belfort’s life overshadowed, but the desirable pieces are paraded across the screen. When celebrating a week’s earnings, the office transforms into a dazzling house of debauchery. Marching band music plays, the band members march through the halls in their underwear, and then the servers and strippers follow close behind. Quick cuts between medium shots of two groups of strippers charging at each other fill the frame, with a strobe effect turning the whole scene into a dream. A close up of Belfort’s face appears near the end, as he pridefully watches over what he has created. Numerous scenes of this scale appear throughout The Wolf of Wall Street​ and they all end up distracting a sizable segment of viewers from the morally reprehensible nature of Belfort’s business and his looming demise.

The film presents all of this as easily accessible to the audience as well. According to the film Belfort’s only qualification is that he decides to move to Wall Street because of his love for money. He quickly finds himself working up the ladder as a stock broker and when that fails due to circumstances out of his control, he immediately pivots to penny stocks and experiences almost immediate success.

Finally, the film ends with Belfort proclaiming that for a,

“…brief fleeting moment, [he’d] forgotten [he] was rich”.

Scorsese, The Wolf of Wall Street

At this point the film notes that despite all of his crimes, all of those he hurt along the way, and even the destruction of his own personal life, he would not be paying a hefty legal price. It gives audience members the illusion they could experience the three hours worth of hedonistic depravity as well, at little cost. Further driving this point home, the real Jordan Belfort appears in a cameo in the final scene to introduce Leonardo DiCaprio’s character version of himself at a get-rich-quick seminar. Not only did Jordan Belfort dodge consequences for his actions, he now gets to appear in a Hollywood film directed by legendary director Martin Scorsese. In the final seconds of the film, the camera pans over the audience in a medium close-up at eye level, a metaphor for the real audiences’ aspirations to achieve Belfort’s supposed success.

Thomas Salek notes,

“…the film’s cultural reception demonstrates a public ambiguously mesmerized by a wealthy individual and his ‘get rich quick’ philosophy.” Following the Great Recession, “In a 2013 political poll, more than half of U.S. adults said they did not think the government and financial industry had done enough to prevent future financial crises”. Yet, “…they are hesitant to impose any form of regulation on financial markets”. ​

Thomas Salek

The Wolf of Wall Street​ released at a time when many Americans were economically struggling, but also refusing to punish the individuals who put them in that position, possibly out of the hope that one day it may be them on top. ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ showed the disillusioned audiences how that may be possible for them. In the United States where money is so tightly intertwined with power, the men who felt emasculated by the recession now had an outlet of escapism. ​The Wolf of Wall Street ​said by fighting their way out of poverty to reap the rewards of capitalism, men could regain their masculine identity and the rewards that accompany that (mainly women and power). Society will not simply hand out this identity, but instead it will only award it to those willing to struggle against their current socioeconomic condition.

Much like ​The Wolf of Wall Street​, Mary Harron’s ​American Psycho ​found itself released during tumultuous economic times. It reached theaters in the year 2000, with the dot-com bubble having recently burst. ​American Psycho​ follows investment banker Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) as he strives to maintain an impeccable image for his yuppie colleagues, acquaintances, and fiancee. As the film progresses we watch as Bateman lures in and brutally murders numerous women. It concludes with Bateman being denied the condemnation he seeks by his peers, and the other characters merely continuing to focus on their own lives.

Similar to how ​The Wolf of Wall Street​ parodies the excessive lifestyle of Jordan Belfort yet the pure spectacle of it all still carries the audience away, ​American Psycho​ shows the monstrous side of Patrick Bateman but offers no in-universe condemnation of his character. Bateman’s closing monologue over an extreme close-up of his eyes states,

“My punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself”.

Mary Harron, American Psycho

This lack of a clear condemnation from other characters allows the excesses of his life to outshine the horrors for those already looking to ignore them.

As Peter Deakin points out,

“Bateman becomes so fragmented and de-individualized (in addition to being defined) by his insane consumerism and his hyper-yuppie vision that, composed entirely of ‘inauthentic’ commodity-related desires… he ​cannot​… exist as a person.”

Peter Deakin

This explains how the film itself, but not the characters within the film, does condemn Bateman. However, it also describes how his masculinity and monetary goals are interconnected. He sees every financial conquest as a means of increasing his desirability in a world he perceives to be constantly attempting to rip it away. ​American Psycho ​may mock this notion by showing how all of the yuppies mix up each other’s names due to a loss of individuality, but it is this same rampant materialism that allows Bateman to live in a fantastic apartment, make more money than he knows what to do with, sleep with beautiful women, and ultimately face no consequences for his actions. To the men directly hurt by the economic downturn of 2000, Bateman may come with a lot of baggage (the brutal killing of innocent women is no small thing), but he also represents a lost lifestyle that is waiting for reclamation. A lifestyle only available by fighting against the economic forces of the time.

So once again a film presents a conventionally despicable character and depicts his failings, yet the character’s lifestyle causes audiences to use his material possessions as a goal to guide their lives in troubled times (even though the film itself condemns this). For a country that sees,

“Achieving financial prosperity [as] tied to the American dream”,

Thomas Salek

characters that provide a blueprint for that are highly valuable since,

“…most Americans [now] contend that it is harder to become wealthy and there is little chance they will achieve financial prosperity”.

Thomas Salek

Counter to both ​The Wolf of Wall Street and American Psycho​, David Fincher’s ​Fight Club​ released just prior to the dot-com burst, during an economic peak. It depicts its disillusioned narrator (Edward Norton) and Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) as they form the titular Fight Club, a place for aimless men to let loose their growing aggression. Increasingly fed up with a materialistic world, the members set out on a number of vandalism related plots, ultimately culminating in the destruction of numerous buildings housing countless debt records.

Fight Club​ parodies brands and corporations, and men’s increasing tendency to use them to define their lives. Mark Ramey states,

“The film is a powerful critique of a superficial consumer culture and the moral vacuum created by consumers who buy into that superficiality.”

Mark Ramey

Fight Club claims a generation without a war or depression to fight has it too easy and becomes effeminate as a result. It goes on to say men on some level crave violence and to fight and feel pain, feel themselves, and feel masculine. These men must fight to form their individuality and in death they will have a name. Their struggle gives them identity.

Of course much like the preceding two films which either depict their characters’ fall from grace and/or condemn them for their actions, ​Fight Club​ denounces the outright anarchy it depicts for much of its runtime when it has the narrator shoot out the part of his brain responsible for projecting the image of Tyler Durden, thus killing his aimless cravings for anarchy. But by depicting a lifestyle free of needless consumerism prior to this point, ​Fight Club​ offers an explanation to the men who feel like their lives lack purpose when their economic conditions are just too good. ​Fight Club​ tells these men to reject their financial bounties and instead embrace the primal nature of their identities. Toss out the comforts of modern life to get in touch with who you really are and what you truly desire. Those who stand in the way of this progress fail as men and (in the film, quite literally) find themselves castrated. Although this time Hollywood is not telling men to fight to climb the socioeconomic ladder, it is still telling them to fight, just this time to tear it all down.

These films expect men to pursue materialistic goods, but once they have acquired them they have either lost their individuality or have been so thoroughly consumed by their drive they have lost true autonomy. Films then encourage these same men to rebel against the broken system to tear it all down. And then films once again encourage them to strive for greatness because, without anything you are nothing, not desirable nor a real man. Throughout the years this cycle of societal and Hollywood based expectations has endured. A man must always be fighting in one direction or another to maintain his virility. To give in to the system, no matter which end of the spectrum the system is currently leaning, is a loss of decision making, agency, and therefore masculinity as often portrayed by American cinema.

Works Cited

• Deakin, Peter. “‘I Simply Am Not There’: American Psycho, the Turn of the Millennium and the Yuppie as a Killer of the Real.” ​Film International,​ vol. 14, no. 3–4 [77–78], 2016, pp. 85–101. ​EBSCOhost​, doi:10.1386/fiin.14.3-4.85_1.
• Harron, Mary, director. ​American Psycho​. Lions Gate Films, 2000.
• Fincher, David, director. ​Fight Club​. 20th Century Fox, 1999.
• Ramey, Mark. ​Studying Fight Club​. Auteur, 2014. ​EBSCOhost​, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=e000tna&AN=828933&site=eds-live&scope=site.
• Salek, Thomas A. “Money Doesn’t Talk, It Swears: The Wolf of Wall Street as a Homology for America’s Ambivalent Attitude on Financial Excess.” ​Communication Quarterly​, vol. 66, no. 1, Jan. 2018, pp. 1–19. ​EBSCOhost​, doi:10.1080/01463373.2017.1323767.
• Scorsese, Martin, director. ​The Wolf of Wall Street.​ Paramount Pictures, 2013.

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The following essay contains spoilers for Scarface (1932).

To truly kick off the violence, Hawks employs a shot of a firing Tommy gun laid overtop a flipping calendar. The shots are at half opacity, allowing both to be visible at once. They imply a rampage of violence across time in the most stylish of ways. This brutality culminates in the execution of the lineup of rival gangsters. Facing the wall with their hands above their heads, Tony’s (Paul Muni) gang swiftly guns them down from behind. Again, the audience only sees the men’s shadows, distancing us from the savagery. And to show us the rewards of such actions, Scarface gives us the shot of Tony leaving the theater. Once he decides to rise at intermission, the camera begins to pan to follow his exit, and a staggering number of his men stand in unison to follow. Through this shot the audience understands the immense power Tony now wields. For those affected most by the Great Depression, this represented everything they could not have.

With heavily stylized shots and techniques, Scarface became an outlet of escapism for those stuck in the Great Depression. Even though its titular character meets his demise in the end, unable to escape his wrongdoings forever, the grandiose life he managed to live prior to his death seemed worth it to those with no success of their own.

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Click here to watch the video version of this essay.

The scene, and especially the background, has low-key lighting and a multitude of shadows (a staple of film noir). However, when the waitress moves from the foreground to the background to serve another patron, she also turns on a light positioned to appear as if over Marlowe’s head. The newfound light illuminates the background behind the pondering detective, casting away the shadows. Coinciding with the light’s arrival, Marlowe’s search for an idea ends and he heads to the phone to call General Sternwood (Charles Waldron), and winds up conversing with Vivian Rutledge (Lauren Bacall) instead. Hawks follows Marlowe’s movement with a panning shot to show the connection between the idea and the action, and the urgency it demands.

The shift in lighting symbolizes the formation of the thought in Detective Marlowe’s mind, and does it so evidently that it breaks the rules of Classical Hollywood Style. Classical Hollywood Style calls for invisible filmmaking and editing, in the hope audiences forget they are watching a movie. Hawks’ much more stylized approach to lighting in The Big Sleep ignores that convention and helps cement him as a legitimate auteur in the eyes of film critics. Not only do his films spanning many genres carry similar motifs, but they also carry the director’s mark. By breaking both Hollywood and genre conventions, Hawks proves himself to be more than simply another cog in the studio system.

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Much like gorging oneself on a bowl of colorful candy, watching Birds of Prey is mostly enjoyable, but a bit too much at times. The film opens with an animated exposition-focused introduction, and its narration and humor falls a bit too far on the “try-hard” side. Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) narrates this segment, and her narration continues throughout the film. At times this works, especially when setting up for some of the more comical character introductions. However, it also acts as Birds of Prey’s most egregious fault. Similar to the opening sequence, many of the voice-over jokes fall flat and attempt to hit that “so random it’s funny” button. Even for a film as frenetically paced as this one, at points it is just too much.

Genuinely funny moments are present in Birds of Prey, but the most noticeably fantastic segments are the fight sequences. A jailhouse brawl with the sprinklers pouring down, a tremendously creative funhouse climax, and slide-based combat all give Birds of Prey’s action a much-needed sense of originality. The film also ditches the drab color pallet of other comic book movies and goes all in on flashy and vibrant visuals. Putting the cherry on top of all this, Birds of Prey’s soundtrack keeps the energy high throughout. Only one or two of the songs initially come across as obnoxiously poppy, but even they end up blending into the chaos.

Margot Robbie delivers with her performance as Harley Quinn, with all of the trappings that entails. If you love this incarnation of the character, you will love her portrayal, but like other aspects of the film she can be overwhelming at times. Ewan McGregor steals the show with his hammy and over the top rendition of Black Mask. He does a fantastic job of bringing the mentally unstable and incredibly violent character to life. The only actor that sticks out is Ella Jay Basco as Cassandra Cain. Like many child actors, she does not read her lines super fluidly, but nothing too glaring.

One last peculiar scene to note, Birds of Prey features a direct homage to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953). It even packs in a rework of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” While a nice weird little surprise if presented in a vacuum, the wonky editing suggests they had this quite elaborate scene leftover and were trying to find a place to edit it in. It seemed rather sloppy.

Birds of Prey comes in with all guns blazing and does not let up for the entirety of its 1hr 49min runtime. This approach represents both its greatest strength and weakness. The film presents an incredibly vivid and feverish narrative that separates itself from other comic book movies. Simultaneously, that same energy often goes too far and leads to cringeworthy humor and unneeded exposition. Birds of Prey is a fun movie to watch, but also one that comes with a lot of baggage.

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The slow buildup of Daniel Lopatin’s score sets the scene for a film that refuses to slow down. Adam Sandler plays Howard Ratner, a jeweler always in search of the next great bet. Time after time, Howard goes in search of the hit only to fall flat on his face. His constant failures rip apart the remnants of his once cohesive family. Despite all of this, you cannot help but root for him; a testament to Sandler’s tremendous work.

Throughout the 2hr 14min runtime, Howard continuously falls down the pit of despair. You keep waiting for him to hit the bottom, only it never comes. Every time the film appears to be reaching its low point, ready to set up his triumphant return, the hole grows deeper. The Safdie Brothers expertly craft a sense of expanding anxiety, developing at an exponential rate. By the end of Howard’s journey you are angry, scared, excited, and ready to go one more time.

The sheer amount of chaos on screen in any instance might be Uncut Gem’s crowning achievement. NBA star Kevin Garnett screaming, a doctor on speakerphone delivering cancer screening results, a livid girlfriend, and the looting of a safe all live in the same moments. And only one of those threads may matter at a time. And some of them “do not matter” at all.

Again, the Safdie Brothers never let the audience rest. The film revels in its own mayhem. What does and does not matter never troubles Uncut Gems. It only aims to depict the true disorder of Howard’s life, and by extension the true entropy of the world. After all, as Howard points out, you can see the whole goddamn crazy universe in the stone.

As more and more time passes since first viewing Uncut Gems, the more the film shines. The Safdie Brothers give Adam Sandler the platform to deliver a career defining performance, and one of the best of 2019. By the end of Uncut Gems your first instinct is to finally breathe a sigh of relief, but after a few seconds pass… you cannot help but crave just one more bet.

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