I had two conflicting thoughts about Bollywood legend Amitabh Bachchan’s role in the recent sci-fi blockbuster Kalki 2898 AD. My first thought was that it was interesting to see an actor known for embodying the “Angry Young Man” archetype in 1970s Bollywood productions play a wizened, centuries-old warrior opposite a rebellious young man played by Tollywood star Prabhas, like a ceremonial passing of the torch. My second thought was that I have no idea what I’m talking about. I am aware enough of the Angry Young Man trope that Bachchan’s name rattles around in my head while watching his echoes in films as old as the 1982 Saturday Night Fever riff Disco Dancer and as recent as Dev Patel’s 2024 John Wick riff Monkey Man. And yet, it is very likely that Kalki 2898 was the first time I had ever actually seen Bachchan act onscreen. A lot of this is a circumstance of access. I enjoy the ritual of driving out to Elmwood on the weekends to watch 3-hour Indian action films, but those are all new-release titles. I’m missing a century’s worth of cinematic context when I watch these modern mutations of the masala genre. It was fun to see Shah Rukh Khan play two dueling roles in last year’s over-the-top actioner Jawan, for instance, but there are several other examples of him indulging in that one-man special effect from past decades that I’ve entirely missed. Likewise, any glimpse I’ll get of Bachchan this way will be as an older, gentler man than the roles that made him famous.
Thankfully, I did happen to find a quintessential Angry Young Man title from Bachchan’s back catalog on a used DVD at a local Goodwill. 1975’s Deewaar was an early star-making vehicle for Bachchan, the same year he made Sholay. He plays a petty criminal who spends his entire life sinning & hustling so that his younger, gentler brother can be properly educated and afford the opportunities he missed. This dynamic eventually sours when the younger brother (Shashi Kapoor) grows up to become a squeaky-clean cop, assigned by higher-ups to take Bachchan down. The two boys play tug-of-war with their mother’s affections – the cop living a noble life and the criminal bringing shame on the family, just like their absent father. The sly moral trick that Deewaar plays is in praising the cop while glorifying the criminal. Sure, Kapoor gets equal screentime against Bachchan, and all of the film’s songs are cutesy romantic trysts hyping him up as a handsome leading man. It’s Bachchan’s brooding anger as a scrappy fighter who has to work outside the system to thrive that really sells the film’s commercial appeal, though. He smokes. He drinks. He has premarital sex. He enters his first big fight scene reclined in chair, feet kicked up, and ripping cigs while a gang of nameless goons are foolishly looking for him, about to get all their asses kicked by a single opponent. Simply put, he’s cool – a true hero of the people.
Because I don’t often have enough context to understand the bigger picture of Indian action cinema as a standalone industry, I’m often left to compare these movies against their closest Hollywood equivalents. To my uneducated eyes, Kalki 2898 is Prabhas’s Dune; Saaho is Prabhas’s Fast & Furious; Radhe Shyam is Prabhas’s Titanic; etc. My best understanding of Deewaar, then, was as the Indian equivalent of Blacksploitation pictures of the 1970s. Bachchan’s stylish, furious rebellion on the impoverished streets of Mumbai recalled American independent pictures of the time like Coffy, SuperFly, and The Mack. They appear to take inspiration from the same martial arts schlock, if nothing else, and their populist revenge against corrupt elites affords them similar political messaging. In that context, Bachchan’s anger against an unjust world is totally justified, even if Deewaar still feels the need to wag a finger at the immorality of his crimes. When Dev Patel can barely suppress his anger with the corrupt policemen who slaughtered his mother and burned his village to the ground long enough to exact his revenge in Monkey Man, he’s brooding in Bachchan’s shadow. That anger is doubled in S.S. Rajamouli’s recent international hit RRR, in which the unlikely pair of Ram Charan and N.T. Rama Rao Jr. lock biceps to exact revenge on British colonizers, both players struggling to not blow their cover in separate, intertwined Angry Young Men plots. In Gully Boy, Ranveer Singh raps his way through it. When I first saw it in theaters, all I could think about was Eminem’s hero arc in 8 Mile; now I’m imagining what it would be like if Bachchan had to battle-rap his way to glory instead of solving problems with his fists.
One interesting variation on the Angry Young Man is in the recent single-location actioner Kill, in which one lone hero fights off an army of murderous thieves on a moving commuter train. A generic mashup of Snowpiercer & The Raid, Kill‘s entertainment value relies more on the relentless brutality of its violence than on the complexity of its themes. Since Bachchan was already on my mind, though, I couldn’t help but think about how its Indian army commando hero (Lakshya) both falls in line with and defies the basic tropes of the Angry Young Man archetype. On the one hand, you would think that because he’s an army brute who beats up petty criminals the entire runtime, he’d be too entrenched in the ruling-class establishment to qualify as a proper Angry Young Man anti-hero. If anything, the most vicious of the villainous thieves (Raghav Juyal) would’ve filled that role in a better-rounded narrative where he wasn’t such a sadistic psychopath. And yet, because Lakshya is fighting specifically to protect and avenge a fiancée whose wealthy father wouldn’t allow him to marry because he isn’t of the right caste, I’d say that he at least partially qualifies. He’s a character defined entirely by his anger, lashing out at the thieves who’ve taken the train hostage with a ferocity that goes from heroic to monstrous as the violence escalates. At one point, Juyal remarks in wonder that “the commando’s love has dropped on us like a bomb.” It’s like watching Bachchan’s big one-on-many warehouse fight from Deewaar stretched out to a continuous 100-min action sequence, just with less coherent political messaging behind its thousands of bare-knuckle punches.
Frankly, I also saw a lot of the cheapness of Deewaar reflected in the independent production values of Kill. By now, Bachchan is internationally famous and starring in the most expensive Indian film productions of all time, like Kalki 2898. In the 70s, he was still scrappy and hungry, which might mean that the furious brutality of Lakshya’s performance in Kill will lead to bigger roles down the line. In the meantime, I’ll be busying myself trying to pick up the scraps of Bachchan’s back catalog that I can access at home. The only reason I got to see Deewaar with English subtitles is because I happened to pick it up at a West Bank thrift store that has since closed down. Luckily, the more widely remembered Sholay is currently available to stream on Tubi, free with ads. Not having actually seen an early Bachchan film before now has never stopped me from referencing his Angry Young Man persona in the past, though. His impact on the go-to narrative tropes of Indian action cinema are evident to even the greenest newcomers.
Kinds of Kindness is a dense text. A triptych of stories from director Yorgos Lanthimos that are only loosely connected by the appearance of a single minor character (with each of the major billed actors appearing as different characters in each segment), they are nonetheless in conversation with one another, as they are all about the way that kindness can be many things — sincere as well as selfish, sacrificial as well as superficial. The segments, titled “The Death of R.M.F.,” “R.M.F. is Flying,” and “R.M.F. Eats a Sandwich,” each relay a fable in which a character is “kind,” with consequences.
In “The Death,” we first see a man with the initials “R.M.F.” (Yorgos Stefanakos) embroidered on his shirt pocket as he accepts an envelope of cash from a woman we later learn is named Vivian (Margaret Qualley), and watch as a man named Robert Fletcher (Jesse Plemmons) works up the nerve to run a red light and smash his Bronco into R.M.F.’s car, although neither man is seriously injured. The next morning, Robert tells his wife Sarah (Hong Chau) about the incident while she fawns over a piece of sports memorabilia—a broken John McEnroe racquet—that was received that morning from Robert’s employer, Raymond (Willem Dafoe), calling it Raymond’s best gift yet. Once he arrives at the office, we get a better picture of Robert and Raymond’s relationship; Robert is more of a pet or a toy for Raymond than an employee. Every aspect of Robert’s life is dictated by the older man: what clothes he wears, what drinks he orders at the bar, what he eats for every meal, when he sleeps and wakes and has sex with his wife. He even engineered Sarah and Robert’s marriage by having Robert fake an injury at a bar in order to gain her sympathy. But Robert can’t bring himself to kill a stranger in a car “accident,” which leads Raymond to ice him out, setting off a chain of events in which Sarah leaves him and a chance encounter—or is it?—with a woman named Rita Fanning (Emma Stone) make him more and more desperate to get back into Raymond’s good graces.
In “Flying,” Denham Springs police officer Daniel (Plemmons) is dealing with the recent disappearance of his wife, Liz (Emma Stone), along with some other researchers on a ship that went missing, presumably in the gulf. While his partner Neil (Mamoudou Athie) and Neil’s wife Martha (Qualley) attempt to assuage his fears while also remaining realistic about the chances that Liz will be found, Daniel’s erratic behavior, which includes intimately and romantically brushing the hair of a suspect behind their ear, causes concern within the DSPD. When Liz and another survivor are found (flown back in a rescue copter piloted by R.M.F., giving the segment its title), she comes back … different. It was well established that Liz’s hatred of chocolate meant that it was banned from the house, but this newly returned woman devours chocolate cake with gusto. She smokes a cigarette for the first time, feels unconfident in her favorite outfit, and none of her shoes fit her anymore. Daniel becomes more and more suspicious that she is an impostor, but his attempts to explain to others that he thinks his wife is no longer his wife because she doesn’t remember his favorite song make him seem even more unstable than when she was missing. Liz, if this is Liz, seems to live only to please him, and after shooting a man in the hand during a routine traffic stop, he’s placed on suspension, where the two have nothing but time together, and he tests the limits of her emotional and physical generosity.
In “Sandwich,” Andrew (Plemmons) and Emily (Stone) are two members of a cult, run by Omi (Dafoe) and Aka (Chau), that is seeking a woman with the power to heal and even reanimate the dead. Their search is specific; the woman will be about five foot nine, weigh about 130 pounds, and will be the survivor of a pair of twins. Their search brings them close enough to her old home that Emily sneaks away one morning to the house where her husband and daughter are still living and leaves a gift for her, which Andrew notices but promises to keep a secret, although she admits nothing. After a trip back to the commune compound, in which we get to see the cult’s grounds, practices, and yacht (specially designed for the awaited messiah), Andrew and Emily are sent on another expedition to the same town, where a woman named Rebecca approaches them and tells them that her twin sister Ruth (both Qualley) is the woman that they are looking for, but Andrew brushes her off. When another visit to her old house results in Emily being caught by her husband and daughter, he convinces her to have a drink with him, surreptitiously drugging and then sexually assaulting her. When she awakes the next morning, Omi and Aka are waiting for her outside, and for her “contamination” is exiled from the cult, although she hopes that finding Ruth will be her ticket back in.
The first segment is a lot of fun, and there’s a lot of playfulness going on to toy with the audience and their expectations. Although the man with the embroidered initials “R.M.F.” is the first person that we see, this could be a misdirect, as we never learn Raymond’s last name, nor the middle names of Robert Fletcher or Rita Fanning, so any one of them could turn out to be the character who has a date with destiny and death. It also introduces several of the film’s recurring motifs. When a desperate Robert is trying to sell all of the sports memorabilia that he has accumulated as a result of Raymond’s gifts over the years, he’s unable to get a fair deal for it. Even as he repeats what must be Raymond’s words (notably calling out that yellow represented youthfulness on the helmet of a driver who died tragically while wearing it, just before he exchanges his aubergine turtleneck for a mustard one and sets out to try and win back Raymond’s affection), it’s clear that every bit of the older man’s largesse, his “kindness,” was all about control, and that even the gifts thereof are ultimately cheaper than they seem.
That discussion of color symbolism cuts directly to an extreme close up of the yolk of an egg being fried, although Robert finds himself unable to eat it and tosses it out. That ties into a larger motif of appetite that runs throughout all three films. In “Flying,” the first thing that Daniel offers to do for the returned Liz is make her an omelet, which she declines, and the cult in “Sandwich” is particularly averse to eating fish, while Aka and (presumably) Omi’s son’s food intake is monitored, and he’s given conflicting directions from each of his parents. It’s most present in “Flying,” however. Throughout all of the film’s constituent segments, flashbacks and dreams are represented in black-and-white footage, and “Flying” features one such sequence in which Liz is seen resorting to cannibalism while deserted and awaiting rescue. It’s unclear if this is a real memory, a delusion, or even a projection of Daniel’s fears, especially since he seems to be the one most consumed with a desire for flesh; the beef he serves to Neil and Martha wouldn’t even be considered “rare” by most standards, he impulsively licks the wound of the man he shoots on Tulane Ave, and when he starts to test what lengths this “Liz” will go to in order to ingratiate herself to him, he asks her to excise and cook first her thumb and then her liver for him, as a test of her “kindness.”
There’s also an interesting throughline about foot injuries, which I interpret to mean something along the lines of “kindness can shoot you in the foot,” but which also seems to have an undercurrent of dishonesty. In “Death,” Robert first attempts to recreate his meet cute with Sarah by pretending to injure his hand again, but is unsuccessful. Instead, he deliberately injures his foot in the bar bathroom by kicking the wall and breaking a couple of bones, which leads him to meeting Rita, who shows him sympathy and, well, kindness (although an air of mystery is retained regarding how altruistic this is and if it’s yet another one of Raymond’s manipulations). In “Flying,” it’s mentioned that the only other survivor from Liz’s ship has a leg infection that will likely result in the need for amputation, and it happens twice in “Sandwich,” as Emily’s husband lures her back to their old house to drug and assault her by spinning a lie about their daughter having hurt her ankle at ballet class and Emily herself injures a dog’s leg in order to have an excuse to meet with the veterinarian she believes is the savior. Notably, all of these injuries are used manipulatively; whether it’s a self-inflicted wound to get attention, a lie about an injury to get an ex to come over, or a recitation of something bad that happened to someone, they are all used to elicit “kindness.”
Speaking of dogs, they’re present, in one form or another, in every segment. In “Flying,” Liz tells Daniel about a dream that she had when she was on the island (or which was about the island, it’s unclear to her and to us), where she was in a world where people were pets and dogs were the dominant species, and we get to see that world in the credits sequence of that segment. There is the aforementioned dog in “Sandwich,” whom Emily finds on the street and uses as a ticket to see Ruth. There are no animals in “Death,” however, unless one considers that Robert is Raymond’s dog. He fetches, he rolls over, he begs, and he performs for Raymond. Robert is his pet, his doll, he dresses him up and he picks out his food and he controls Robert’s entire environment. At one point, he directs him to go to a specific bar and order a non-alcoholic drink; Robert attempts to order bourbon, but the bartender asks him if he’s sure, and when he orders a Virgin Mary, it’s handed to him in seconds, having been waiting for him, just as a demonstration of just how far and wide the net of power Raymond controls is. It’s even telling that one of the scenes from Liz’s dreamworld of dogs-as-humans involves a dog driving an SUV who swerves to avoid a piece of human roadkill, which ties back thematically to the end of “Death,” which I won’t spoil. There’s a narrative present in all of them about the power that people have over animals; we all love our pets and we all are kind to them, but that kindness doesn’t change the fact that power flows only one way in that relationship, and that this may be true of all relationships.
Before closing out, I want to talk about one particular scene in “Death,” wherein Robert confronts Raymond at his home to tell him that he can’t go through with his vehicular manslaughter plan. Initially, he has Vivian show Robert in, but the “scene” doesn’t feel right, so he has him do it again after sitting down in a chair, then has him take it from the top again and enter to deliver his news standing. When watching a film like this, in which a person takes on the role of “director” in their personal life, one can’t help but assume that the film’s director is also telling us something about themselves, or about the nature of control. I’m not sure that I’ve cracked what that is yet, or what Lanthimos is saying here. I have a feeling that this is one of those texts that only really reveals itself on multiple viewings, and with time. Both of my viewing companions for this screening were much more mixed in their opinions, but I’m feeling positive, and looking forward to what the next screening will reveal.
Welcome to The Not-So-New 52, your digital Swampflix comic book (adaptation) newsstand! Starting in 2007, DC Comics and Warner Premiere entered the direct-to-home-video market with animated features, mostly in the form of adaptations of well-received event comics or notable arcs. This Swampflix feature takes its name from the 2011 DC relaunch event “The New 52,” and since there are (roughly) fifty-two of these animated features as of the start of 2024, Boomeris watching them in order from the beginning with weekly reviews of each. So, get out your longboxes and mylar sleeves and get ready for weekly doses of grousing, praise, befuddlement, recommendations, and occasional onomatopoeia as we get animated for over fifteen years of not-so-new comic cartoons.
If you were on any message board, TV Tropes page, or fan forum that was every even loosely connected to DC Comics during a certain period of time, then you know all about Terra, the earthbending girl whose inevitable betrayal of the Teen Titans caused the first faneurysm (™ me) in an uncountable number of fragile young minds and whose specific betrayal of poor little Beast Boy broke more hearts than the siege of Troy. The hair-pulling, the weeping, the gnashing of teeth – it was all the rage at exactly the same moment that every nerd boy was creaming himself over Summer Glau and the rosy fingers of the dawning of SuperWhoLock were just taking hold of the horizon. It’s so well known that, when Young Justice used the character in its fourth season, they managed to pull out a few unexpected surprised by subverting the same old story. See, back in the 80s, there was a relaunch of an older comic, now rechristened The New Teen Titans, and the most well-remembered storyline from that series’s entire run was entitled “The Judas Contract,” in which fan favorite character Terra turned out to be a plant within the organization, operating under the guidance of Slade “Deathstroke” Wilson. Terra appeared in an unvoiced cameo in the post-credits sequence of Justice League vs. Teen Titans, setting up this film’s narrative.
After a flashback sequence that shows us the meet cute between Dick Grayson (Sean Maher), then still the original Robin, and alien refugee Starfire (Kari Wahlgren), we return to the present, where it has been almost a year since Tara “Terra” Markov (Pumpkin star Christina Ricci, who may not be the biggest “get” these movies have managed to bring on board, but who is perhaps the most exciting to me) joined the team. The team is currently working to bring down an organization known as Hive, which is fronted by a cult leader called Brother Blood (Gregg Henry) and his right-hand woman, Mother Mayhem (Meg Foster!). In between missions, we get insight into their various slices of life. Jaime “Blue Beetle” Reyes (Jake T. Austin) starts volunteering at the local shelter, as it helps him feel connected to the family that he is currently separate from because the alien machine on his back mistrusts Jaime’s father. Raven (Taissa Farmiga) is continuing to work on controlling her powers, and she now has a gem in her forehead in which her demonic father is imprisoned. Dick and Starfire are preparing to move in together, while Garfield “Beast Boy” Logan (Brandon Soo Hoo) is nursing an obvious crush on Terra. All of the team is invested in getting her to open up, but she remains reserved and standoffish. Life gets more complicated when the assumed-dead Slade “Deathstroke” Wilson (Miguel Ferrera, replacing Thomas Gibson) re-emerges working with Brother Blood in pursuit of his vengeance against Damian (Stuart Allan).
As much as I liked JLvTT (with some reservations, especially that horrible emo song), this one is still an improvement on that installment. Unlike the unrepentant psychopath that she is in most versions, this Terra is legitimately conflicted. I’ve always really liked when an ongoing piece of long from media has a “breather” installment in which we get to see a more relaxed side of our characters and learn more about them and what they’re like in their down time. I enjoy a lot of the moments between Starfire and Dick, since we’ve mostly seen him as a tangential character to the various and sundry Batman-focused entries on this list, and Starfire’s playful energy breathes life into the film, especially the teases about their sex life; I appreciate that if there’s one thing we know about these two, it’s that they are Gomez-and-Morticia horny for one another, and you love to see it. There are a few other things that are risque here, including what a horn dog Garfield is for Terra. My personal favorite, though, comes in a scene in which Jaime gets a little too worked up about his fellow volunteer, Traci, and has to hop into the walk-in freezer to try and get his “scarab” to understand that his quickening pulse doesn’t mean he’s in danger. It’s played like an erection joke, including the position that he’s in, hiding his gun arm, when Traci finds him:
It’s notable that this movie is the most successful comedy in this series so far. There have been little touches of humor throughout, which has been hit or miss. Steve Trevor’s “comical” outdated sexism in Wonder Woman didn’t work for me, but the banter in JL: War was fun, and it still mostly worked in JL: Throne of Atlantis. I don’t normally laugh aloud when I’m watching most comedies at home by myself, but this one elicited multiple chuckles from me. I probably shouldn’t have found it so funny, but there’s a scene where Terra asks Garfield if he knows how she became an orphan, and he responds with “Umm … your parents died?” that made me laugh aloud. Later still, when Deathstroke has set various traps for the Titans, Dick escapes and is searching for the others and finds the trap set for Garfield—a big red button labeled “Do Not Press” that, when pressed, shoots tranquilizer darts—his exasperated muttering of “Come on, Gar,” is legitimately hilarious. Screenwriter E.J. Altbacker has mostly done TV series writing, but he has done two previous animated features: previous installment Justice League Dark and, um, Scooby-Doo! & WWE: Curse of the Speed Demon, which I suppose explains his comedy credentials. That kind of crossover energy may also explain why Kevin Smith appears as himself in this one, which was one of the few off-notes in play here, and I say that as someone who doesn’t particularly dislike him like many other critics. Still, once again, even though we’re past the halfway point, I’m still occasionally finding something new to praise in these movies, and even though there have been a few that felt like such a chore to get through that I started to doubt my commitment to Sparkle Motion this project, this renews my vigor.
Which is not to say that this movie is all fun and games. Brother Blood isn’t a character who was created just for this film, obviously, but if you did play Mad Libs to come up with a goofy name for an edgelord, “Brother Blood” has a pretty high likelihood of ending up on the list. His brand of violence is a little ho-hum; it may be more that my brain is broken, but when we find him bathing in a pool of blood, I wasn’t impressed, even when we panned up to see the drained body of a reporter who had tried holding him accountable in an earlier interview. It could be that he’s simply not that scary next to Mayhem, since Foster’s trademark rasp imbues all of her lines with a coldness so lacking in compassion that it’s genuinely unsettling. Even more skin-crawling, however, is a scene that occurs after Terra’s true colors have been revealed and she’s back with Deathstroke, entering his command center with cheeks rouged to hell and back and wearing a little pink shift with one spaghetti strap seductively pulled off of the shoulder. We’re not given an exact age for her, but I’d say she’s probably fifteen but looks younger, and her Alicia-Silverstone-in-The–Crush act toward the much older Deathstroke is effectively gross. It’s clear that he’s not into it, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to promise her that the two of them can be together on some elusive someday, encouraging her ongoing affections but rebuffing her when she acts on them, so that he can continue to manipulate her and use her powers for his own ends. It’s surprisingly dark for a series of movies that have normally equated more adult with more violent, and gives this film a bit more depth than the flicks it shares shelf space with.
I mentioned Young Justice above, and there was a tactic that the animators of that series turned to in seasons three and four to help cut some corners on the budget. Starting in the third season, the episode’s credits would play over a mostly still image (with the occasional shooting star in the night sky, or the repeated motion of an animal’s breathing in their sleep) while characters had conversations with each other. I was a big fan of this, actually, as it broadened the world a bit, followed up on lingering plot threads and in some cases provided closure on characters who were no longer a part of the main storylines. This started to become more obvious in the show proper during the fourth season, when montages of still images became a part of the storytelling, and although it was noticeable, I wouldn’t call it detrimental. That technique is also becoming somewhat more apparent in these films. In the last Teen Titans movie, it was used during the montage of the characters getting to know each other at the carnival (with that aforementioned terrible emo song), and it happens here, too, when the others throw Terra a surprise party to commemorate the anniversary of her joining the team, among other scenes. In Young Justice, I was happy to accept this as part of an ongoing effort to keep costs under control, and whatever got me more Young Justice was just fine with me. Here, it feels a little cheaper. Conversely, I’ve often cited in these reviews that I wish that there was a little more dynamic movement in the action sequences, and this one delivered on that; in particular, there’s a scene in which Dick’s shoulder is dislodged, and he has to fight Deathstroke with one arm hanging limply, and it’s exceptionally animated. You win some, you lose some. And hey, at least for the first time since Superman: Unbound, we made it through a whole movie without Batman in it.
I read online that this one is considered the point where the DCAMU (sigh) really matured and came into its own. I’d grant that, although I think that JLvTT and JL Dark would also be contenders for that title. It feels like a real movie, and its tragic ending evokes the conclusion of my cherished Under the Red Hood, which is always a plus in my book. I hope that’s true, since these have mostly been pretty average so far, and I hope we can only go up from here.
Every month one of us makes the rest of the crew watch a movie they’ve never seen before, and we discuss it afterwards. This month Britnee made Brandon & Boomer watch Baby Cakes (1989).
Britnee: Have you ever believed that you imagined a movie? For years, I had faded images in my mind of a young Ricki Lake eating a bag of Sugar Babies. I had separate memories of a grocery store wedding that felt like something I visualized from a retelling of a family event. I even wrote those images down in various notebooks in my preteen bedroom, just so I wouldn’t forget. When I finally got frequent access to the internet, I plugged in these descriptions on Ask Jeeves, and viola, the answer to these burning mysteries was the 1989 made-for-TV movie Baby Cakes. More recently, I found out it’s a remake of a 1985 German film called Sugarbaby, which I have yet to see but am very interested in watching. Perhaps it’s the reason behind Ricki Lake’s candy of choice?
Grace (Lake) is an overweight mortician living in Queens. When she’s not working, she’s spending time with her incredibly pessimistic friend, Keri, or indulging in snacks while watching horror movies alone in her apartment. She’s very relatable. Her mother has passed, and her father marries a woman who is cold towards Grace, and the couple make frequent disparaging comments about her weight. While Grace and Keri are hanging out at an ice-skating rink, Grace spots “the most beautiful man she’s ever seen” skating his butt off on the ice. He ends up being a subway train conductor, and Grace, who takes the subway every day, starts to stalk him. It’s more like the type of stalking teens do to their crushes than Baby Reindeer stalking, so it’s more cute than creepy.
It turns out that Grace’s crush, Rob (Craig Sheffer), is in an unhappy relationship, and she shoots her shot. He politely brushes her off at first, but he has a couple of drinks and shows up to her apartment for a romantic dinner gone bad. Their relationship starts off with a pity date where she brings him to her parents’ home to show him off (along with her own sassy makeover), ultimately to prove to them that she can have a boyfriend who loves her for who she is. But after she and Rob start to spend time together, their relationship blossoms into genuine romance.
Baby Cakes is a feel-good romcom with a John Waters touch. What I admire about this film is that that it avoids the overweight main actress cliche by not having a segment where Grace tries to lose weight to win over a man. If anything, she leans into her love for food to seduce him. Brandon, other than Grace’s non-changing relationship with food, what are some other unique touches to the film that caught your attention?
Brandon: Like all romcoms, Baby Cakes is entirely defined by its unique touches. We know exactly what’s going to happen to our couple-to-be as soon as Grace forces a meet-cute through some light, adorable stalking, so the joys of the film are entirely to be found in the quirks of its details. That manufactured meet-cute being staged at a Sugar Babies vending machine was a memorable enough quirk to linger in Britnee’s mind for decades, as was the grocery-store wedding, which is so oddly adorable that it’s incredible the idea hasn’t been stolen by a film with a bigger budget. As with all romcoms, our leads both have quirky professions (corpse beautician & subway train conductor) and quirky hobbies (stalking & figure skating) unlikely to be shared by the audience. Then there’s the quirky prop of the awkward family portrait Grace had commissioned of her younger, thinner self and her younger, happier father, which the movie mines for genuine pathos while never losing sight of the fact that it looks ridiculous. Baby Cakes is all quirks all the time, as required by its choice of genre.
Personally, my favorite quirks were the dour personality ticks of Grace’s sidekick, Keri, who absolutely kills her job as the movie’s wet blanket. Mostly, I was just excited to see actor Nada Despotovich in an extended, feature-length role, since her biggest impact on the cinematic artform was a single scene as Chrissy in Moonstruck. It was like getting to hang out with my favorite cryptid for 90 minutes after years of only catching blurry glimpses of her in roles like “Receptionist” (The Boyfriend School), “Bartender” (Castle Rock), and “Mom” (Challengers). Despotovich’s pouting over Nic Cage’s romantic indifference (and her pouty refusal to “get the big knife”) in Moonstruck is Hall of Fame-level romcom quirk, so it’s delightful to watch her pout at length in Baby Cakes as a hypochondriac doomsayer who hates everyone & everything except her equally tragic bestie. There’s some genuine friendship drama shared between the women, too, as Keri predictably becomes frustrated when Grace finds confidence & happiness, since it ruins their miserabilist dynamic.
The audience knows to cheer on Grace’s newfound confidence, though, even if Keri has a point that she’s setting herself up for heartbreak by falling for a man who’s already engaged. The victory of Baby Cakes is more than Grace achieving self-actualization without losing weight; it’s that she consciously stops trying to lose weight and instead learns to love her body as it is. That confidence radiates off of her, making her more attractive to people who usually look right past her. One of the best sequences is a montage of Grace’s neighbors complimenting her “punk” makeover as she runs her daily errands, modeling Desperately Seeking Susan-era Madonna outfits and flipping around a ponytail. The inward search for that confidence being sparked by outside validation from a man who’s initially embarrassed to be seen with her in public is a complicated, queasy issue, but that’s exactly what drags this story out of romcom quirks and into the realm of real-life human behavior. I understand why the early, cutesy stalking sequence invites Baby Reindeer jokes from the overly cynical Letterboxd commentariat, but the modern work this most reminded me of was the Aidy Bryant sitcom Shrill, which still felt progressive for touching on these same body positivity issues decades later (if not only because there are so few other representations in mainstream media that take the inner lives of women seriously if they’re not exceptionally thin).
To me, Grace’s short-lived stint as Rob’s stalker didn’t feel entirely out of line with typical romcom behavior. Her outlandish personal-boundary violations while luring him to her apartment are just as integral to romcoms’ entertainment value as the outlandish personality quirks of the film’s various side characters, to the point where they’d be parodied by Julia Roberts’s “pond scum” protagonist in My Best Friend’s Wedding less than a decade later. The question of a romcom’s success mostly relies on whether an audience can look past the unethical behavior & eccentric personalities and still feel genuine emotion when the couple-to-be finally, inevitably gets together. By that metric, Boomer, was the drama of Baby Cakes successful for you? Did you feel anything for Grace & Rob beyond amusement?
Boomer: I found this dynamic pretty effective, honestly. I don’t know how widespread knowledge about this issue is in the mainstream, but the gay community is a pretty image-focused, fatphobic, and body-fascistic group – especially the most visible community members, who are usually white, cis men. There are historical reasons for this. In the 70s, the biggest sex symbols of the era were slender rock stars with lean bodies and who were playful with gender norms: your Jaggers, your Mercurys, your Bowies, etc. When the AIDS Crisis hit its peak, those things that had defined sexiness in the previous decade were stigmatized by society at large, as the public associated that leanness with illness and queerness with disease. This gave rise, in part, to the action star of the 80s: a he-man with huge biceps. There was large-scale adoption of your Stallones and your Schwarzeneggers as the new blueprint of sexiness affected both straight and queer communities, as gay men all over attempted to emphasize their health through bodybuilding (and steroid use, which—as a needle drug—made the situation worse). Things have swung back the other way in the years since (famously, 2018 was crowned by one writer as the dawning of the age of the twink), and back again at an even faster rate. Widespread use of social media platforms that keep its audience engaged by feeling bad about themselves, the rise of self-marketing on said social media as one of the few (extremely unlikely) bids for class mobility, the propaganda about health and virility that always accompany fascist trends, and pandemic-era social isolation combining into a horrible Voltron of body dysmorphia unlike anything history has ever seen.
I spent a long time at war with my body because of the culture I came of age in, and there’s an existential loneliness that I recognize in Grace from certain points in my life (not that I’m any less single now, but I’m managing). Life can be miserable when there’s something about your physical appearance that you can’t change, that you exhaust yourself trying to change (Grace mentions a half dozen diets that produced no results), and when people not only can’t see past that, but also see your inability to change it as a moral failure of willpower. For Grace, this is further compounded by her father’s negligent absenteeism in her life, and he and her stepmother both pile on her about how her life would improve if she just lost some weight. I felt for Grace, and so her desire to go outside the bounds of acceptable social behavior was understandable, albeit only condonable in a fictional, heightened romcom world. Grand romantic plans of this nature rarely work out in the real world, but it’s fun to watch it play out in a fairy tale fantasy where the girl with the wicked(ish) stepmother finds love with the prince when she wins his heart while breaking him free of a loveless engagement. And then they kiss in a subway!
About twenty years later, this same kind of thing would be tackled again, but less deftly. TV movies of the 90s and the turn of the century were more focused on “in” eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia, and were either fictionalized “ripped from the headlines” scripts or biopics like Dying to be Thin (1996). Starting around 2005, however, there were a lot more films focused on what it was like to be stigmatized as a fat person. To Be Fat Like Me, a 2007 Lifetime original starring Kaley Cuoco who puts on a fat suit to prove to her heavier family members that their experiences of bullying are overstated, only to realize that, nope, people do treat her differently (none of this is made up). A year later, the crown jewel (to some, and crown turd to others), Queen Sized, about an overweight teen girl who becomes her suburban high school’s homecoming queen, also premiered on Lifetime; this one is worth mentioning since the main character was played by Nikki Blonsky, who portrayed Tracy Turnblad (a role originated by Ricki Lake) just a year prior in the 2007 Hairspray. Although films like these are aiming at the same “accept yourself” theme as Baby Cakes, they don’t feel as authentic. They feel manufactured to fulfill a quota or try to cheat some kind of grant out of a “stop bullying” campaign rather than an honest story about a girl whose looks don’t match the current zeitgeist but who is empowered to take the reins of her life by a few passionate weeks with a troubled (but not too troubled) stud. She stands up for herself to her family, she leaves behind her abusive boss and takes the first steps into finding work in the land of the living, and she gets the guy in the end. The big speeches in the Aughts TV movies about this kind of thing are too serious and self-important, while the offbeat surreality of Baby Cakes means that Grace’s monologues can be sweet without being saccharine, sincere but injected with bits of humor that make her feel more like a fully realized person and less like a sock puppet for a workshopped-to-death speech in a basic cable melodrama.
Since we’ve mentioned most of the supporting characters who contributed to the overall atmosphere of the film, I think it would be a missed opportunity not to bring up Grace’s boss at the funeral parlor, who was both hilariously awful and awfully hilarious. He’s clearly a terrible employer, as he attempts to tell Grace she can’t take four weeks off (for her long-term plan to stalk Rob day and night, but he doesn’t know this) because she was late for a cumulative thirteen minutes that month. This tips into funny when he goes on that he needs her – not only because of Keri’s terrible workmanship (we later learn that she tried to fluff up a corpse’s chest with tissue paper, so he’s not incorrect on this point), but also because it’s the holidays, which means it’s their busy season. Later on, he can’t help but play salesman in the middle of a funeral, giving a eulogy in which he mentions the deceased’s desire to one day own a white Cadillac, and that he was “driving one today!”, smacking the casket by his side and declaring it the best that money can buy like he was peddling a 1988 Taurus. Truly wonderful stuff.
Lagniappe
Britnee: Currently, Ricki Lake is getting a lot of media attention for her recent weight loss. If you Google her, you’ll be bombarded with articles about her losing 35 pounds. I’m glad that she’s thriving, but I hate that this latest Ricki Lake revival is focused, yet again, on her body. How long until the general public rediscovers Baby Cakes? Will they reboot a second time to modernize it? My anxiety about this sacred film being tainted with a terrible remake is very real. I just know they’re going to put the new Grace on Ozempic and, God forbid, bring in Ricki Lake for a cameo where she slaps the Sugar Babies out of Grace’s hands.
Brandon: I, of course, had to watch the original 1985 German film Sugarbaby for completion’s sake, and it turns out this made-for-American-TV remake is a shockingly faithful adaptation. A lot of the exact scenes and plot details of Baby Cakes are copied directly from its source text, and everything it adds to flesh out the story is pure romcom quirk: the figure-skating hobby, the goofy painting, the supermarket wedding, the hypochondriac bestie, etc. Sugarbaby is a much sparser, sadder movie as a result, but it’s also incredibly stylish. Every scene is overloaded with enough color-gel crosslighting to make you wonder if it was directed by Dario Argento under a pseudonym, and it’s much more comfortable hanging out in silence with its downer protagonist instead of constantly voicing her internal anxieties in dialogue. It also doesn’t go out of its way to leave the audience feeling clean & upbeat. In Sugarbaby, the subway conductor is married, not engaged, and his affair with the mortician doesn’t necessarily leave either lover in better shape, making for a much more emotionally & morally complicated narrative. It’s almost objectively true that Sugarbaby is smarter, cooler, and prettier than Baby Cakes by every cinematic metric, and yet because it doesn’t have the bubbly star power of a Hairspray-era Ricki Lake (or that incredible elevator-music theme song) it ends up feeling like the inferior film anyway.
Boomer: Sometimes, looking back over the width and breadth of topics that we’ve covered, in print and audio, in brief and perhaps too extensively, I’m fascinated to see how much we’ve grown at Swampflix over a decade, but I also love how each of us has a handful of movies that “feel” like they were made for just one amongst us. I was five minutes into this one and I thought, “This is such a Britnee movie,” and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. Weirdly, another example I thought of as a definitive Britnee movie was Mrs. Winterbourne, so I was surprised when I went back to that one to realize that it was actually nominated by a different contributor. This one shares that only-in-the-80s romcom energy where our lead finds love through fraud, stalking, and seduction with The Boyfriend School, though, which was a Britnee selection. Salud, colleague; you are a woman of distinct and delightful taste.
Welcome to Episode #216 of The Swampflix Podcast. For this episode, Brandon is joined by Nail Club‘s Sara Nicole Storm to discuss the 1997 outsider-artist documentary Sick: The Life and Death of Bob Flanagan, Supermasochist.
Even more so than your Slow Cinema auteur of choice, Steven Soderbergh is the master of the mundane. He consistently makes tight, thrilling, wryly funny dispatches from the florescent-lit hell pits of American tedium. A 70min experiment in early-2000s digi cinematography and purposefully deflated genre payoffs, Bubble is a perfect illustration of that skill. Its vision of America is a complex labyrinth of small-town diners, factory breakrooms, and low-ceiling apartments. The doomed souls who navigate those mundane spaces all work multiple jobs for the privilege of getting paid minimum wage, wondering in their spare time what it might have been like if they had stuck it out for a full high school diploma. When jailed for a violent crime, they complain “It’s horrible in here,” but it’s so oppressively bland everywhere else that it’s questionable whether rotting in a concrete cell is any worse than being free to work their next shift. Even the murder that lands them there is bleakly, purposefully uninteresting.
I suppose there’s some novelty in what type of Midwest factory employs these small-town workers. Bubble was shot in a real, operational doll parts factory in Ohio, which makes for some horrific digital-video footage in early scenes. The mundanity of the world outside the assembly line quickly closes in, though. Loneliness & petty jealousies shared among three of the factory workers leads to one of their murders, with only one clear suspect and no real need to investigate. A deleted scene explains the psychology behind that act of violence like the Freudian denouement of Hitchcock’s Psycho, but Soderbergh removes even that morsel of narrative satisfaction from the final cut. He also undercuts the potential for dramatic excitement or emotion by casting non-actor locals to play the central parts, mumbling their semi-improvised lines through obvious shyness. Even the camera’s movements are pedestrian, often just swiveling on a stationary tri-pod like an oscillating security cam. It’s all very matter of fact, and the facts of the matter are all grim, grey gruel.
Handling the editing & cinematography himself under pseudonyms, Soderbergh seemed to be having fun playing around with the unpretentious tools of the new digital filmmaking era. He even got hands-on in Bubble‘s distribution strategy, striking a deal with the Mark Cuban-owned cable company HDNet to release the film simultaneously in theaters, on-demand, and on physical disc. His pitch was that hopefully audiences would be drawn to see the movie in theaters and, if they liked it, would pick up a physical copy for repeat viewings on the way home. Corporate theater chains were outraged at this disruption to the traditional theatrical window, but that day-and-date release strategy has obviously become more of a standard practice in recent years. Bubble was supposed to be the first of six HDNet releases with the same improvised-drama filming methods and unconventional home distribution schedules, but instead it flopped and mostly fell out of circulation. I had to find my DVD copy second-hand, and it only includes a Spanish-language subtitles track, so it likely traveled far to reach me.
Forever adaptable, Soderbergh has been doing just fine in the two decades since the Bubble debacle. If anything, he’s since moved on to making straight-to-HBO cheapies instead of straight-to-HDNet cheapies, which feels like a minor step up in prestige. He’s also had a few theatrical hits since then and has flirted with the idea of early retirement, only to discover that he’d rather be making movies no matter the scale in production or distribution. Bubble is not his most exciting, imaginative dispatch from the great mediocre American void (that would be Schizopolis), but it might be the most indicative example of his stripped-down, unfussy style. In most other cases where a career-shifting work from a major filmmaker had fallen out of distribution, it would be tempting to petition for a spiffy new digital restoration from a boutique Blu-ray label. In Bubble‘s case, it feels totally appropriate for it to be stuck in time on thrift-store DVDs. The only reason to reissue it, really, would be for a new director’s commentary track looking back on how the industry has changed in the past couple decades, since Soderbergh happens to be the master of those too.
1999 was an incredible year for the high school comedy. It was the year of Drop Dead Gorgeous,10 Things I Hate About You, Drive Me Crazy, Cruel Intentions, Jawbreaker, Election, and the lesbian conversion-therapy satire But I’m a Cheerleader. Only, I didn’t immediately see But I’m a Cheerleader the year it was released, nor did I find a copy at my local video store in the years that followed. Jamie Babbit’s calling-card comedy was just as revered as its better-distributed contemporaries among my friends in the early aughts, but as someone who relied on the limited, sanitized selection of the Meraux branch of Blockbuster Video in those days, it just never made its way into my bedroom VCR. So, But I’m a Cheerleader fell under a distinctly 90s category of movies that I saw for the first time after listening to their CD soundtracks for years. See also: Clueless, Romeo+Juliet, and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert; all bangers. I eventually fell in love with the candy-coated production design and post-John Waters queer irreverence of the film proper when I finally had access to it on DVD in the 2010s, but it already occupied a pastel-painted corner of my mind by then thanks to the familiar sounds of Dressy Bessy, Wanda Jackson, and soundtrack-MVP April March (whose anglicized cover of “Chick Habit” fully conveys the movie’s tone & aesthetic before you’ve made it through the opening credits).
Imagine my shock, then, to recently learn that But I’m a Cheerleader never had an official soundtrack release. To me, its pop music soundscape is just as iconic as any teen movies’ you could name – Fast Times, Breakfast Club, Dirty Dancing, whatever. And yet, there was apparently no legal way to access that soundtrack outside watching the movie start to end, straining to hear the songs past the spoken dialogue and VHS tape hiss. In retrospect, the copy of the soundtrack I owned in high school must have been a burned CD traded with a friend, which was some truly heroic mixtape work that I never fully appreciated until now. Come to think of it, I remember that CD having more April March tracks than the one that’s actually associated with the film, so I’m not even fully sure what was on it anymore. It was a one-of-a-kind bootleg put together by an obsessive fan who was frustrated that they couldn’t access an official release, passed around as an act of public service thanks to the modern miracle of the CD-R drive. It may not have been accurate to the track list of the songs as they were sequenced in the film, but it was accurate enough to the cheeky humor, swooning romance, and cult enthusiasm of But I’m a Cheerleader that it kept the movie fresh in my mind for as long as it took to find it. It’s yet another reminder “bootlegger” is just a dirty word for D.I.Y. archivist.
I didn’t know about this outrageous distribution oversight until a recent screening of But I’m a Cheerleader at a neighborhood bar, hosted by Future Shock Video. A kind of bootleg revival of the vintage video store experience, Future Shock has been screening VHS-era classics around the city in recent months, mostly to promote the opening of their new weekends-only storefront. This particular screening was a special one, though. As a Pride Month event and a fundraiser for the Covenant House homeless shelter, Future Shock not only projected But I’m a Cheerleader for a packed barroom, but they also dubbed a small batch of unofficial But I’m a Cheerleader soundtracks on audio cassette. By now, the movie itself has unquestionably been canonized among the Queer Cinema greats, but I was still delighted that the event was designed as a celebration of its all-timer of a soundtrack in particular. I was also shocked to learn that the practice of distributing that soundtrack has always been a mixtape-only endeavor, when it should have been in just as many record stores as the official tie-in soundtracks for Clueless or Can’t Hardly Wait. It turns out that passing around copies of the But I’m a Cheerleader soundtrack was just as much of a public service in the early 2000s as it is now in the mid-2020s. My Sharpie-labeled CD copy then was not as pretty as the cassette I picked up the other night, though, so I’m including pictures of Future Shock’s version below.
It’s not too late for an official release of the But I’m a Cheerleader soundtrack. If anything, the time is ripe. Not only is the film more widely seen and beloved than ever, but its exclusivity as a first-time release would also play directly into physical media obsessives’ debilitating FOMO. I just watched a bar full of young, queer movie nerds crowd around a humble tripod projector screen to watch this movie with their friends on a Wednesday night; there’s an audience for it. Until that historical wrong is corrected and the soundtrack receives its first official release, all you can really do is make your own mixtape version based on the track list compiled below. That can be a little tricky for the more independent artists on the soundtrack like Tattle Tale, who do not have the same far-reaching distribution as a Wanda Jackson or a RuPaul. Speaking from experience, though, you could probably just sub out a similar-sounding track from the Tattle Tale-adjacent act Bonfire Madigan and no one would really know the difference. Thankfully, Future Shock did not cut any corners in their own unofficial But I’m a Cheerleader soundtrack, but it would have been okay if they did. The off-brand, inaccurate version I had on CD in high school still did the trick.
Sometimes, a movie can be so aggressively derivative that it crosses a threshold into becoming thrillingly unique. Recently, Vera Drew’s copyright-skirting The People’s Joker melted eight decades of Batman comics & movies into a shockingly personal, vulnerable self-portrait. One of this year’s buzziest horror films, In a Violent Nature, is a novelty slasher that simulates the sensation of watching a Friday the 13th sequel on an overdose of cough syrup. Further back, vintage Hong Kong action schlock like The Seventh Curse and The Dragon Lives Again “borrowed” familiar icons from better-funded American productions for their own absurd purposes, theorizing what it might be like if Indiana Jones had to fight off Xenomorphs or if “Bruce Lee” teamed up with “Popeye” to beat up “Dracula” in Hell. Lucio Fulci might not have been doing his most personal, innovative work when making an unsanctioned sequel to George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead, but without Italian producers’ complete disregard for American copyright, we never would have gotten the underwater zombie-on-shark fight scene of Zombi 2. Genuinely transcendent, imaginative art can result from filmmakers being shamelessly derivative, as long as they fully embrace the practice and push it to its extreme. Just call it “post-modern” and all is forgiven.
That’s why I was pleased to discover that the big-budget South Indian sci-fi film Kalki 2828 AD is even more derivative than I initially expected. All of the promotional materials for the film led me to believe it was a mockbuster version of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, distinguished only from a Syfy Channel knockoff of that series by the fact that it boasts the biggest budget of any Indian production to date. It turns out that Kalki 2898 is less of an overly expensive Dune bootleg than it is a more general sampler of any & every big-budget sci-fi property you can name: Dune, Star Wars, Blade Runner, The Matrix, Fury Road, Guardians of the Galaxy, everything. As a result, the movie it ended up reminding me most of was The Fifth Element: a mostly goofy genre derivative with a few genuinely transcendent moments all of its own making. By the time a flashback reveals that its wisecracking anti-hero was trained by his mentor using laser-swords, it’s clear that the movie is uninterested in hiding its artistic debts to pre-existing material. When it climaxes with a giant wizard figure doing Gandalf’s “You shall not pass!” routine during a bridge-fight with said anti-hero in a Transformers-styled mech suit, it’s also clear that those obvious debts do not matter. Kalki 2898 may be derivative, but it’s also deliriously, deliciously entertaining.
Bollywood legend Amitabh Bachchan stars as the Gandalf-like wizard of that bridge fight: a wizened but weary warrior who has been cursed with immortality for a past sin but eventually uses his extended centuries on earth for good. Tollywood action star Prabhas (of Baahubali fame) pilots the smart-car mech suit in that fight as a Han Solo type: a mercenary bad-boy who only does good when it fits his selfish needs. They’re fighting over possession of a pregnant damsel in distress (Deepika Padukone, of last year’s Pathaan), who’s believed to be carrying a reincarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu. There’s, of course, a prophecy going around that her child could be The One: a warrior savior who will bring light to a desert hell planet that has been suffering in greed & darkness. Throw in a fascistic Empire who exploits the labor of the many to pamper the lives of the privileged few, and you’ve got the basic building blocks of a standard Dune or Star Wars knockoff, except maybe one with a concerning amount of attention paid to the Empire’s search for “fertile females.” Kalki 2898 constantly refers to major events of Hindu mythology in flashbacks that can be disorienting for uninformed Western viewers, but so much of its story is borrowed from a universal source of worship (corporate pop-culture IP) that the knowledge gap doesn’t matter all too much.
If there’s any way that Kalki 2898 closely adheres to its Dune inspiration in particular, it’s that it abruptly ends after three hours with only half a story told. One of the final images is a title card promising that the adventure will continue in the “Kalki Cinematic Universe,” and it’s been a while since I was excited instead of annoyed by that serialized approach to cinematic storytelling. That’s not the only hack move it pulls that would’ve annoyed me in most American blockbusters either. It includes many for-their-own sake cameos that wink to an insider audience (including one for Baahubali director S.S. Rajamouli); it follows up its “until next time . . .” title card with a mid-credits post-script that promises an evolution for the big bad villain. Worse, early flashbacks include horrendous de-aging CGI effects for Bachchan that betray the fact that the film was rushed to market before it was fully completed, with production having wrapped only a month before release. None of those usual red flags bothered me here, though, no more than I was bothered by watching it play around with the pre-fabricated action figures of more famous sci-fi properties. Kalki 2898 AD is playful & extreme enough in its scene-to-scene action that any questions of artistic integrity or originality feel beside the point.
Welcome to The Not-So-New 52, your digital Swampflix comic book (adaptation) newsstand! Starting in 2007, DC Comics and Warner Premiere entered the direct-to-home-video market with animated features, mostly in the form of adaptations of well-received event comics or notable arcs. This Swampflix feature takes its name from the 2011 DC relaunch event “The New 52,” and since there are (roughly) fifty-two of these animated features as of the start of 2024, Boomeris watching them in order from the beginning with weekly reviews of each. So, get out your longboxes and mylar sleeves and get ready for weekly doses of grousing, praise, befuddlement, recommendations, and occasional onomatopoeia as we get animated for over fifteen years of not-so-new comic cartoons.
After a semi-successful attempt at horror with Justice League vs. Teen Titans, we return to the ongoing animated cinematic universe with another horror-adjacent picture as well as a revisitation of supernatural themes. Following an opening sequence in which the big three—Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman—each deal with acts of violence instigated by normal civilians seeing other people as monstrous demons, we find DC’s resident occultist, we get our first glimpse of John Constantine (voiced by Matt Ryan, who played the character in live action on his own short-lived live action series that premiered in the 2014 TV season, and was later imported into the CW’s “Arrowverse” proper). He and Jason Blood (Ray Chase), a functionally immortal former medieval knight permanently bonded to a noble demon named Etrigan, are playing poker against some of Hell’s bigwigs. When Constantine wins big, it turns into a magic fight, in which Constantine and Blood/Etrigan emerge victorious. Elsewhere, Batman, who has faced off against magical villains multiple times, remains skeptical about the supernatural elements of his current cases, until he begins to receive messages telling him to seek out Constantine. To do so, he must first reunite with an old flame, the stage magician Zatanna (Camilla Luddington), who supplements her prestidigitation with real sorcery. She reveals that the messages he has been receiving are from Boston “Deadman” Brand (Nicholas Turturro), a former acrobat who was killed mid-act and who is now a roaming spirit with the ability to possess the living in order to fight crime. Once this “Justice League Dark” is assembled, they learn that their fight has something to do with the long presumed-dead villain Destiny, and that reality hangs in the balance.
Personal confession time: Zatanna is one of my favorite comic book characters. I’m revealing my age a little here, but back when I still had a Tumblr, my custom background was a repeating image of Zatanna’s face from Grant Morrison’s Seven Soldiers run, which was one of the first comics that I read and, although it’s not as fondly remembered now as it once was, it was formative for me. I wish that she was in her more traditional magician’s outfit in this instead of the goofy ass New 52 costume that they’ve stuck her in here (it may be purely to make the animation easier, but the fact that they’ve given her detached sleeves here instead of those fishnet gauntlets from the comic book improves this look a solid 10%), but at least we’ll always have Young Justice for that, at least until Max cycles it off to some internet backwater like they’ve done with so much other programming. I also really like Ryan’s take on Constantine, and he’s played the character across so many mediums now that I can’t help but feel like he’s stamped himself onto the character just as much as the late Kevin Conroy did with Batman. There’s something deliciously Kolchak-like about his portrayal; everywhere that Constantine goes, everybody knows him, and they all hate his guts. It’s fun.
As far as the horror elements go, this one is more understated than JLvTT. How scary it is depends on how weirded out you are by the demons that we meet. It’s frontloaded a little bit in that regard, as when we see the points of view of the characters who are enspelled to see demons in the form of those around them, the monsters they are seeing are truly repulsive and nauseating. The ultimate villain of the piece isn’t as imposing or uncannily inhuman as Trigon was, and while the magical fight at the end is cool, it doesn’t have that opening-scene-of-Wishmaster viscerality that made JLvTT stand out. That doesn’t mean it isn’t impressive or interesting, however. In fact, as this one gets to do a big magic battle that doesn’t come down to a big punch-’em-up at the end. Those vary in quality, but I can say that having watched so many of these in quick succession, a lot of them have become an undifferentiated battle sequence in my memories, if I retain any of those parts at all. This could have easily degenerated into a blue-beam-versus-red-beam fight as well, but some real detail went into differentiating the kinds of magic that each character wields and creating a sequence in which they work together and in conflict with each other at certain points. Like I said, it’s just not scary. But it is cool.
Speaking of cool, we have to talk about the omnipresence of Batman in this series. So far, this seventh film is the fourth “Justice League” title, while all three other films have been “Batman” movies, and of the ones that have “Justice League” in the title, he’s been one of the major players in those plots as well, with him being the only member of the League in this movie with more than five minutes of screentime. It’s clear that DC Animation knows that he’s the moneymaker, and they’re not afraid to milk his presence for all that it’s worth, or overutilize him the same way that Marvel did Wolverine in the nineties or Star Wars is still doing with Darth Vader. Those aren’t positive comparisons, but I don’t think that this is as detrimental to the product. I would probably feel differently if this wasn’t following right on the heels of The Killing Joke, so I’m willing to account for viewer saturation fatigue as I remind myself once again that these films were never meant to be watched so shortly after one another. I just felt it was worth noting that the Leaguer most closely associated with the “dark” Justice League of the comics was Wonder Woman, which makes sense as she is a demigoddess and therefore a magical being. It’s Batman here for purely marketing purposes, and although that hasn’t created a negative effect yet, any time that becomes the case, the art itself declines.
Narratively, this one felt a bit like a Clive Barker novel. There’s a sequence in the movie where Constantine and Zatanna have to go into an enspelled victim’s mind, and the villain takes advantage of them being out of play in the physical world to make a move on them there. In order to do so, it creates a monster out of shit by backing up all of the toilets in the hospital where the man lies comatose. I know for sure that there was a shitmonster in Everville, and although I wouldn’t bet money on it, I think that there’s one in Imajica as well (as with these movies, I read those two in too-close proximity to one another and there’s a few things that are blended together in my recollection). That lends this rendition of Constantine a little bit of Barker’s Harry D’Amour character, which mixes well with Constantine’s constant—no pun intended—escapes from the consequences of his actions at the expense of those around him. It really comes back to bite him in the ass in this one, and it’s well-conceived. This one also feels like it can be watched separately from the rest of this series, if you’re just a Constantine (or Zatanna) fan and can’t be arsed with consuming the others. It’s a little more cheaply made than some of the others, but the seams are still pretty intact.
For this lagniappe episode of The Swampflix Podcast, Boomer, Brandon, and Alli discuss Paul Thomas Anderson’s epic Golden Age of Porno drama Boogie Nights (1997).
00:00 Boomer rants
12:04 Winter Kills (1979) 18:39 Dazed and Confused (1993) 24:12 Mars Express (2024) 30:46 Class Action Park (2020) 36:28 The First Omen (2024) 44:54 Kalki 2898 AD (2024) 49:29 The Bikeriders (2024) 52:39 Pandora’s Mirror (1981)
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