What’s New to Stream on Netflix for April 2021

Crossing the Streams is a series of columns spotlighting all the offerings hitting the big streaming services each month. This time we’re checking out the new Netflix arrivals for April 2021, including a new fantasy series, new movies with Idris Elba and Melissa McCarthy (not together), and more!

Keep reading to see what’s new on Netflix for April 2021!

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Netflix Pick of the Month for April 2021

The quest for new fantasy series capable of taking hold in pop culture continues with the latest entry, Shadow and Bone, premiering April 23rd. The eight-episode series is adapted from Leigh Bardugo’s best-selling debut novel and explores a world divided by an epic “fold” that’s hazardous to pass through. Like an alternate East/West Berlin but infused with magic, war, and all manner of shady characters, the world is centered on a young mapmaker whose untapped powers pose an immense threat to everyone around her. I’m only a few episodes in so far, but it’s a thrilling, lavishly produced fantasy that promises an engaging watch.

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Movies About Unemployed Wives, Apparently

The Time Traveler’s Wife (2009) stars Rachel McAdams, and honestly, that’s all the reason you really need to give it a watch if you’ve yet to see it. Hell, it’s a great reason to rewatch too. Happily, it’s also a pretty lovely romantic drama as McAdams plays a woman who falls in love with a man (Eric Bana) prone to a peculiar ailment — he’s become unstuck in time. The film manages drama, suspense, romance, fantasy, and more and is an affecting tale powered by two strong leads.

The Zookeeper’s Wife (2017) premieres on April 16th and is a bit rougher of a watch. That’s not a knock — it’s just a tough premise as Jessica Chastain stars as a woman tasked with rescuing animals during a Nazi invasion. The story is based in truth and finds courage and heart in the face of despair and carnage, but while inspirational it’s also an understandably sad and heartbreaking experience. It’s worth a watch, but you’ll want to chase it with something lighter.

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New Netflix Films

Concrete Cowboy premieres on April 2nd and stars Idris Elba as a man whose estranged son comes to live with him in the city. The boy’s been having troubles, but he bonds and reconnects with his dad by way of the man’s unlikely persona — he’s an urban cowboy of the horse-riding kind. The community of Black cowboys is small but loyal, and as he’s welcomed into their fold he discovers life lessons and a purpose he never knew existed.

Thunder Force premieres on April 9th and is the fifth feature from Ben Falcone starring Melissa McCarthy. The couple hasn’t had the greatest track record together, and while I’d go to bat for Tammy (2014), I don’t have much in the way of kind words for the other three. That said, I do love that McCarthy continues to work with him because the dude genuinely cracks her up. Their latest collaboration sees McCarthy and Octavia Spencer star as unlikely superheroes hoping to stem the tide of supervillains in the city they call home.

The Soul, aka Ji hun, premieres on April 14th and is a new genre tale from Cheng Wei-hao. The filmmaker’s previous films include the terrific chiller, The Tag-Along (2015), as well as its sequel, and 2017’s engaging slow-burn of a mystery, Who Killed Cock Robin? His latest follows a couple investigating a man’s death, but the truth at the heart of it all threatens to pull them into a supernatural mystery. Cheng is three for three with his feature films so far, so The Soul is one of this month’s most anticipated for me.

Stowaway premieres on April 22nd and is a sci-fi adventure about a mission to Mars with a three-person crew, but trouble arises when mechanical issues and the discovery of a fourth person on board threaten to end the journey early. This is director/co-writer Joe Penna’s follow-up to the excellent Mads Mikkelsen-starring survival thriller, Arctic (2018), and it once again sees him delivering a life or death adventure. The cast includes Daniel Dae Kim, Toni Collette, and Anna Kendrick.

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The Oldest New Arrival on Netflix

It’s an acknowledged truth that Netflix isn’t exactly keen on “older” films as they continue to build their own library instead. They still add feature films each month, but they’re typically from the past thirty years which is why we like to highlight the oldest new arrival as both a celebration and a knock. This month? Netflix reaches back twenty-eight years and finds… Leprechaun (1993). If you’re among the millions still upset that the service dropped Friends, then perhaps you can take solace knowing that Jennifer Aniston fights an evil little bastard from Ireland here and a good time is had by all.

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The Complete Netflix List for March 2021

Release Date	Title	Note
4/1	2012 (2009)
	Cop Out (2010)
	Friends with Benefits (2011)
	Insidious (2010)
	Legally Blonde (2001)
	Leprechaun (1993)
	The Pianist (2002)
	The Possession (2012)
	Prank Encounters: Season Two	Netflix Original
	Secrets of Great British Castles: Season One
	Tersanjung: The Movie	Netflix Film
	The Time Traveler's Wife (2009)
	Tyler Perry's Madea's Big Happy Family (2011)
	White Boy (2017)
	Worn Stories	Netflix Documentary
	Yes Man (2008)
4/2	Concrete Cowboy	Netflix Film
	Just Say Yes	Netflix Film
	Madame Claude	Netflix Film
	The Serpent	Netflix Original
	Sky High	Netflix Film
4/3	Escape from Planet Earth (2012)
4/4	What Lies Below (2020)
4/5	Coded Bias (2020)
	Family Reunions: Part Three	Netflix Family
4/6	The Last Kids on Earth: Happy Apocalypse to You	Netflix Family
4/7	The Big Day: Collection Two	Netflix Original
	Dolly Parton: A MusicCares Tribute	Netflix Documentary
	Snabba Cash	Netflix Original
	This is a Robbery: The World's Biggest Art Heist	Netflix Documentary
	The Wedding Coach	Netflix Original
4/8	The Way of the Househusband	Netflix Anime
4/9	Have You Ever Seen Fireflies?	Netflix Film
	Night in Paradise	Netflix Film
	Thunder Force	Netflix Film
4/10	The Stand In (2020)
4/11	Diana: The Interview that Shook the World
4/12	New Gods: Nezha Reborn	Netflix Film
	Nicky, Ricky, Dicky, and Dawn: Seasons One thru Four
4/13	The Baker and the Beauty: Season One
	Mighty Express: Season Three	Netflix Family
	My Love: Six Stories of True Love	Netflix Documentary
4/14	The Circle: Season Two	Netflix Original
	Dad Stop Embarrassing Me	Netflix Original
	Law School	Netflix Original
	The Soul	Netflix Film
	Why Did You Kill Me?	Netflix Documentary
4/15	Dark City Beneath the Beat (2020)
	The Master (2012)
	Ride or Die	Netflix Film
4/16	Arlo the Alligator Boy	Netflix Family
	Ajeeb Daastaans	Netflix Film
	Barbie & Chelsea: The Lost Birthday
	Crimson Peak (2015)
	Fast & Furious Spy Racers: Season Four - Mexico	Netflix Family
	Into the Beat	Netflix Film
	Rush (2013)
	Synchronic (2019)
	Why Are You Like This?	Netflix Original
	The Zookeeper's Wife (2017)
4/18	Luis Miguel - The Series: Season Two	Netflix Original
4/19	Miss Sloane (2016)
	PJ Masks: Season Three
4/20	Izzy's Koala World: Season Two	Netflix Family
4/21	Zero	Netflix Original
4/22	Life in Color with David Attenborough	Netflix Documentary
	Stowaway	Netflix Film
4/23	Heroes: Silence and Rock & Roll
	Shadow and Bone	Netflix Original
	Tell Me When	Netflix Film
4/27	August: Osage County (2013)
	Battle of Los Angeles (2011)
	Fatma	Netflix Original
	Go! Go! Cory Carson: Season Four	Netflix Family
4/28	Headspace Guide to Sleep	Netflix Documentary
	Sexify	Netflix Original
4/29	Things Heard and Seen	Netflix Film
	Yasuke	Netflix Anime
4/30	The Innocent	Netflix Original
	The Mitchells vs the Machines	Netflix Family
	Pet Stars	Netflix Original
	The Unremarkable Juanquini: Season Two	Netflix Original

Follow all of our monthly streaming guides.

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Does the ‘Godzilla vs. Kong’ Ending Confirm a One Perfect Monster?

Ending Explained is a recurring series in which we explore the finales, secrets, and themes of interesting movies and shows, both new and old. This time, we throw ourselves into the ring with the Godzilla vs Kong ending and consider which Titan came out on top…or, better yet, on the bottom.

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We never expect our Vs. movies to conclude with a definitive answer regarding a superior champion. Whether it’s Batman v Superman or Freddy vs. Jason, the filmmakers dare not ruffle the fanbase’s feathers. Godzilla vs. Kong toes that philosophical/economic line somewhat, but it’s also clear that the big gorilla secures the most screentime, is given the final killer blow against the movie’s ultimate baddie, and he’s crowned the Hollow Earth king in the film’s last shot. If this is the final match between Godzilla and Kong, you gotta give it to Kong, even if Godzilla probably won via a technical decision.

Hong Kong becomes the stage for the climactic brawl. The two titans smash through the city, transforming neon-drenched skyscrapers and the people inside them into dust. Godzilla trounces Kong in the first round, but the 8th Wonder of the World comes back strong in round two thanks to the enormous battle ax he acquired inside the Hollow Earth (more on that in a moment). The beating forces Godzilla to reevaluate his strategy and bring all his might against Kong in round three.

When Mechagodzilla explodes from the Apex Cybernetics laboratory to bring the pain to Godzilla, Kong is lying on the city floor, drifting away to meet his maker. What few structures remain in Hong Kong are obliterated as Mechagodzilla and Godzilla hurl themselves from one end to the other. Alexander Skarsgård‘s Nathan Lind comes to the rescue, hotwiring an Apex HEAVE hover ship into a makeshift defibrillator, firing it off on Kong’s heart. The ape roars to life and tags in for the final fight.

Kong subsequently thrashes Mechagodzilla. Sure, Godzilla softened him up a little, but as the atomic lizard sits crumbled, catching his breath, Kong yanks Mechagodzilla’s head from his shoulders. It’s an “oh damn” moment, but Godzilla doesn’t seem too bothered by Kong claiming that victory. The two share a knowing look between each other and go their separate ways.

With Mechagodzilla scrapped, Nathan Lind and Rebecca Hall‘s Ilene Andrews escort Kong back into the Hollow Earth. This land-of-the-lost concept is an old one, but it was first introduced in this franchise during Kong: Skull Island. As explained in that film, throughout our planet are a series of hollow caverns that connect one side of the globe to the other. In certain sections, these tunnels expand into massive dugouts featuring their own atmosphere and wildlife. Skull Island represents a portal to this network, explaining why so many weird creatures roam its surface.

In Godzilla vs. Kong, to construct their Mechagodzilla, Apex Cybernetics need a tremendous amount of power. They siphon this power from an energy source deep within the Hollow Earth, locating it through Kong’s genetic memory. After Mechagodzilla is destroyed and Kong and Godzilla’s frenemy status is firmly established, Lind and Andrews return Kong to the jungle environment underneath.

Hollow Earth mythology has been around for ages, for nearly as long as the first human campfire stories. Beyond the Christian Hell, the Greek Underworld, and other religious realms relegating the damned, the domain beneath our feet has inspired countless storytellers. Maybe most famously, Jules Verne imagined a Hollow Earth with two binary stars nourishing life in Journey to the Center of the Earth. In the early 1900s, Edgar Rice Burroughs set several novels below us, starting with At the Earth‘s Core. These hidden land tales frequently featured rampaging dinosaurs and belligerent neanderthals.

So, you know, the perfect home for King Kong. As Andrews explains in Godzilla vs. Kong, Godzilla and Kong’s ancestors ruled Hollow Earth. Their family’s war was an ancient one, and as the last remaining Titans (what about Rodan and Mothra, though? They’re conspicuously absent this go-round), their beef is coded into their DNA. In the film, we see a crumbling wasteland where Warbats fight for scraps, and Kong’s clan is merely a memory.

Through sign language, the young Jia (Kaylee Hottle) communicates with Kong. Promising that he might meet some family, she convinced her friend to act as a tour guide for Lind and Apex Cybernetics. All Kong finds in Earth’s basement are bones, a battle-ax that doubles as the energy source’s key and a ginormous throne just waiting for his butt.

Who furnished the Kong family living room? No idea. Maybe ancient worshipers, or maybe Kong’s kin were more industrious than scientists would give them credit. If Kong’s ancestors did have the know-how to construct a Hollow Earth palace, then you can understand why Apex Cybernetics’ head cheese Walter Simmons (Demián Bichir) risked building Mechagodzilla using one of King Ghidorah’s severed heads.

Humanity spread like a virus across the globe, but as long as one stomp-happy Titan is stumbling around, then we will always quiver to their awesome, terrifying majesty. Our survival rests in Jia’s ability to keep Kong and company sedate, joyful even. As we see in Godzilla vs. Kong‘s last shot, Kong prances through the Hollow Earth. Compared to the Skull Island containment base where we found him, Kong is free to roam grand vistas. It’s paradise.

At this time, there are no plans for this MonsterVerse’s continuation. Godzilla: King of the Monsters greatly underperformed at the box office, pulling in $386 million on a reported $177 million budget. Nothing to sneeze at, but when compared to Kong: Skull Island and the 2014 Godzilla relaunch, both of which yanked over $500 million worldwide, Godzilla’s second outing left studio execs crestfallen.

Godzilla vs. Kong‘s pandemic box office will not reign supreme. If Warner Bros. determines it as a mighty subscription boost for HBO Max, then we could see the MonsterVerse screenwriting armada assemble. After all, that was enough to keep Wonder Woman‘s franchise afloat once Wonder Woman 1984 dropped in December.

We have ideas for a sequel, but if Hollywood insists that Godzilla vs. Kong be their ending, then — well, it’s a Hollywood Ending! Godzilla and Kong found their peace. They depart, holding mutual respect for the other’s talent for thrashing. Godzilla surfs the seas, keeping an eye on the troubles above, while Kong commands the kingdom below. They’re happy; we’re happy.

Does the Godzilla vs. Kong ending confirm which Titan is the one perfect monster? No, they both rock, and they both get their realms to rule. Godzilla lets Kong take the head from Mechagodzilla, but Godzilla got all three Ghidorah heads in the last movie. So, they’re even.

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The Oscars’ Bias Against Horror Should Scare Us

Welcome to The Queue — your daily distraction of curated video content sourced from across the web. Today, we’re watching a video essay that investigates why the Oscars don’t take horror movies seriously.

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Let’s get one thing straight: the Oscars have more blind spots than a chihuahua driving a semi-truck.

And to a degree, a blindspot here and there makes sense: like all art, film is subjective. But the range of that subjectivity narrows in troubling ways when the majority of your in-group looks the same. And while Academy voter diversity is starting to change for the better, their long-standing prejudices aren’t about to reverse overnight. And one of their more ingrained aversions (at least when it comes to storytelling) is a categorical dismissal of the horror genre.

In ninety-three years, out of five-hundred-and-fifty nominees, only six horror films have been nominated for Best Picture. And only one of those six (1991’s The Silence of the Lambs) took home the big prize. Indeed, the Academy’s bias against the genre infects all categories. While horror tends to boast some of the most interesting and nuanced performances each year they’re snubbed, time-and-time again. Likewise, versatile directors, used to wins, tend to go home empty-handed when they dabble in the macabre.

Horror has a long and storied history of being swept under the rug. It doesn’t take much imagination to suppose that the Academy would dismiss the genre on the grounds that it might sully the lauded standard the Oscars represent. But as the following video essay suggests, the exclusion of horror can tell us a lot about the Academy’s limitations. Oscar voters often fail to see past the films that promote obvious, earnest messages, especially when it comes to the Best Picture category.

So much of horror’s power lies beyond the literal: in a goopy, grotesque space reserved for allegory and monstrous metaphor. Horror is, by definition, a transgressive form of storytelling: it’s slippery and subversive. And historically, such deviance has proved simply too much for the Academy to handle.

Watch “Why Don’t the Oscars Take Horror Movies Seriously?“:

Who made this?

This video comes courtesy of the fine folks at Little White Lies, a film-obsessed magazine based in the United Kingdom. Leigh Singer wrote and edited this video, and Adam Woodward produced it. You can follow Little White Lies on Twitter here. And you can check out their official website here. You can subscribe to their YouTube account here.

More Videos Like This

• Here’s another taste of Little White Lies: a video that eulogizes the dramatic power of the movie phone booth.
• While we’re watching Little White Lies videos, and while we’re thinking about 2020 in review, here’s just that: a New Year’s Eve supercut to close off the year.
• Here’s their beginner’s guide to the films of Nomadland director Chloé Zhao.
• And another love letter: to the less popular B-movie monsters of the 1950s.
• A montage of every single Matt Damon cameo.
• Here’s their look at how Spanish auteur Pedro Almodóvar uses sound design to construct vibrant, tactile worlds.

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21 Things We Learned from the Movie Crypt Commentary for ‘A Serbian Film’

Welcome to Commentary Commentary, where we sit and listen to filmmakers talk about their work, then share the most interesting parts. In this edition, Rob Hunter revisits his third favorite comedy of 2010, A Serbian Film.

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Some films get a reputation, and even fewer deserve it — A Serbian Film is one of the latter. The film made a splash on the festival circuit back in 2010, and it was immediately a source of controversy for viewers and fun-haters alike. The extremely well-produced movie tells a grim, darkly comedic tale of ambition, regret, and the high price of edgy art. Director/co-writer Srdjan Spasojevic has suggested that the film is a commentary on life in Serbia, saying essentially (and metaphorically) that the country’s government ensures you’re fucked when you’re born, you’re fucked while alive, and you’re fucked when you die. Regardless, the end result is still incredibly entertaining, twisted as hell, and very, very funny.

Okay, I may be alone in finding the film humorous, but there’s no denying to my mind that its ridiculous extremes aren’t meant to be taken so damn seriously. Long unavailable in its truly uncut form — previous Blu-rays have been trimmed by a couple minutes — it’s been re-released by Unearthed Films in all its graphic glory. This time around, one of the extras is a commentary with filmmakers Joe Lynch and Adam Green, and the results are, well, different.

Keep reading to see what I heard on the commentary for A Serbian Film.

A Serbian Film (2010)

Commentators: Joe Lynch (filmmaker/fan), Adam Green (filmmaker/most definitely not a fan)

1. Lynch is a worldly fellow and has actually worked in Serbia more than once, but his ability to fuck up Serbian names is something truly special.

2. Jelena Gavrilovic plays the protagonist’s wife, and she also co-starred in Lynch’s film Everly (2014). He hired her on the spot once he realized she was in this movie. She also voices one of the sisters in Frozen — Disney’s 2013 feature, not Green’s 2010 film — via the local dub.

3. The film premiered at SXSW, and it was intro’d by director Srdjan Spasojevic, Austin’s favorite son Tim League, and five “lucky” audience members, all of whom squeezed lemon juice into their eye before taking a shot to simulate the painful experience of watching the movie.

4. “Family is a huge thing in this film,” says Lynch, adding that rewatching the movie since becoming a father to two kids has changed its effect on him in some ways. Happily, it hasn’t prevented him from enjoying some of the film’s darker sequences.

5. Green seems to suggest around the five-minute mark — via surprised compliments on the look of the film — that this is his first viewing? Oh my. Lynch adds to the praise for the visuals contrasting it to other so-called nasties like I Spit on Your Grave (1978) which has zero artistic merits as far as its cinematography, lighting, production design, etc.

6. It was filmed in sixty-one days and independently funded meaning Spasojevic had complete control, for better or worse.

7. A Serbian Film was originally set to play LA’s Fright Fest in 2010, but they were told to trim several minutes before it would be allowed to screen. The filmmakers instead canceled the screening as they didn’t want to compromise their movie.

8. The director’s favorite shot in the film hits around 30:31 as Milos (Srdjan Todorovic) walks out of his house. It’s inspired by a Sergio Leone film, presumably one featuring a character walking out of their house.

9. Lynch compares the film to both Bowfinger (1999) and The Game (1997) in the space of just two minutes. Bravo.

10. The girl who appears at 33:17 is the director’s daughter. “I’m so curious to talk to Srdjan about this,” says Lynch who’s convinced there must have been split screens or digital effects in play regarding some of the filming involving children. There most definitely was along with camera tricks, sharp editing, prosthetic figures, and more.

11. The festival director for Sitges was arrested on suspicion of child pornography for planning to show A Serbian Film.

12. Lynch saw the film on the big screen shortly before recording this commentary and was reminded how far it is from titillating. “Watching it with a crowd, it’s like my dick crawled up into my fucking intestines.”

13. References keep flowing from Lynch as he mentions both Paul Verhoeven and Pier Paolo Pasolini in how the film approaches sex and nudity. They are known for “using sex, not as titillation, but as conflict between characters” while also acknowledging as filmmakers that sex sells tickets. A Serbian Film takes a similar approach as while it’s filled with nudity you’d be hard-pressed to call it sexy.

14. Lynch mentions that Spasojevic has been unable to find directing work since his debut feature as it essentially left him blacklisted. “Well, yeah,” responds Green. Per IMDB, Spasojevic has a horror/western in pre-production, so hopefully that’s still on track.

15. Green starts to lose his shit around the 47:00 minute mark — as the teethy oral sex ends — but he quickly recovers. This is his first watch, and despite him having a sense of what’s coming I’m nervously excited for his upcoming reaction.

16. David Gordon Green and Danny McBride announced on April 1st, 2018 that they were remaking A Serbian Film. Odds are some people fell for the April Fool’s Day prank.

17. Lynch stops speaking as one of the film’s most infamous scenes begins and just enjoys Green’s reaction which is essentially this: “Oh my god. This is really gross. I mean, Children of Men did this, to some extent. [sigh] No. No, no, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Come on. Oh my god. No. This is fucking awful. This is so bad. [sound of vomiting].” To be clear, Green is apparently sick during the recording from the flu, but still…

18. Lynch likens the three-day jump in Milos’ experience to the kind of mystery you find in a Christopher Nolan film as a man struggles to remember what’s happened to him, and it’s yet another concept that “elevates this movie above what you’d normally expect from just another exploitation movie.”

19. Lynch recalls working with a prop-maker while working in Serbia, and the man shared with him a bubble-wrapped item from A Serbian Film — “it was the baby.” Side note, that same baby prop went up for auction sometime in 2018, and the odds are pretty good that Lynch bought it on the down low for his private collection.

20. Speaking of props, I have to give a shout out to Lynch’s willingness to comment on the sound design of a certain infant-related scene. It’s a ballsy thought to share aloud, but more than that it’s a legitimate nod towards the craft and detail that went into the film. It leads Green to heave again, and I’m not going to quote it here, but mad respect.

21. Lynch believes the film’s third-act structure, the time jump through the flashbacks, “begs for a repeat viewing.” He sees it as the kind of writing and filmmaking that many would typically ascribe to a higher classed type of cinema, and he adds that it’s all in service of themes that wouldn’t be given a shot in a more traditional and grimy piece of exploitation. “The style of the movie is the sugar that makes the medicine go down.”

Best in Context-Free Commentary

“There’s a child watching this.”

“We’re watching some extreme shit here, and it shouldn’t look good.”

“There are things about cinema in this that are far smarter and intelligently laid out.”

“He’s the P.T. Anderson of porn.”

“Someone put a light meter to that?”

“This guy’s got issues.”

“Adam is vomiting while Arwen is humping the rat.”

“He’s holding his dick hostage.”

“What happens next is as brutal as anything that I’ve seen in a movie, ever.”

“Things are going to be a little complicated at home.”

“I have nothing left to throw up at this point.”

Final Thoughts

I’m not entirely sure if Green’s reactions — his very visceral reactions — are real or staged here, but they’re fitting for a first-time watch of A Serbian Film, and that goes for his dog Arwen’s occasional (and very squeaky) humping of a rubber rat during the recording as well. Either way, though, it’s an entertaining listen as Lynch’s enthusiasm for the film goes beyond a simple appreciation for the exploitative thrills. He talks about the craftsmanship, story intent, color palette, and more, and while he doesn’t see it as the hilarious comedy that I do, he appreciates it in smart, well thought-out ways. The film remains an unforgettable watch, and this commentary, whether or not it’s a bit, is an equally memorable listen.

Read more Commentary Commentary from the archives.

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The Hidden Monsters of ‘The Mist’

The conventional movie monster is a frightening, ravenous, carnivorous beast that devours anything — and everything — in its path. It might have tentacles, or it might drip with putrid slime. It might be thunderous and fast as lightning, or it might creep up on you without a sound and whisk you away into the darkness. One thing is for sure, though: a good movie monster will epitomize your every harrowing fear.

Such is the appeal of Frank Darabont’s The Mist (2007), which is adapted from Stephen King’s novella of the same name. The movie deals with horrifying creatures: giant squealing locusts, towering six-legged beasts, you name it. Essentially, any monster that might inspire a scream of terror makes an appearance. But even more horrifying are the monsters we don’t see — the things lurking just out of sight.

The Mist tells the story of a family whose small town is assailed by a mysterious mist. David (Thomas Jane) and his son Billy (Nathan Gamble) take shelter in their local supermarket and wait for the phenomenon to pass. But everything changes when a frightened and disheveled local man runs into the store claiming that there is also a horrible beast lurking within the mist that took one of his friends.

For much of the first act of the movie, the monsters are unseen. Some people refuse to believe there is anything out there, while others allow their imaginations to run away with them as they concoct the most violent creatures that might await them just beyond the sliding doors. The mist itself is physically and theoretically something of a blank canvas, so it makes sense that characters find a way to project their deepest darkest fears onto it. 

The fear of the unknown metamorphosing into one’s worst nightmares is not an uncommon theme for Stephen King’s stories. In his novel IT, Pennywise the clown feeds off of people’s fears and transforms accordingly to represent them. For one child, he is a werewolf. For another, he is a pool of blood in a sink. And for one boy, Pennywise becomes his father. But there is a reason that the characters refer to Pennywise as “It”: he is not “real” in any conventional sense but is rather an entity that manifests as whatever haunts his victims the most.

The same thing can be said about the monsters in The Mist, albeit in a less obvious way. The monsters start off unseen, allowing people to fester in their own fears and imagine the worst. One character, in particular, Mrs. Carmody (Marcia Gay Harden), imagines that the mist is God’s way of exacting vengeance on the sinners of the town. It reminds her of the great Christian unknown. She preaches to the people in the supermarket that God is slated to put forth a plague on their town, just as he did in Egypt. And this prophecy sort of ends up coming true.

The plagues that God sent down in the Old Testament represent his commitment to teaching Egyptians a lesson on justice. According to the biblical text, when he delivered his wrath, God turned water to blood, sent down storms of frogs, lice, and flies, afflicted the livestock with pestilence, burdened the people with festering boils, delivered hailstorms, locusts, and darkness, and killed firstborn children.

A number of these punishments are realized in The Mist. Blood is shed in massive quantities when a grocery bagger attempts to leave the store. Then, giant, vicious locusts appear at the windows and bore their way inside. The darkness prophecy is also fulfilled, as the monsters only come at night. Most troubling of all, though, is the death of the firstborn child: David shoots his own son to save him from the rapacious monsters. 

But it is fear itself, rather than the monsters, that causes many of the characters in The Mist to meet their bitter end. As far as Mrs. Carmody is concerned, she decides to turn her devotion to God into a fearful, rather than joyous, experience. Another character points out that Carmody’s version of God is different from his own. Hers is a vicious beast who calls for flesh sacrifices, while his God is loving and patient.

Mrs. Carmody manages to convince a number of the supermarket dwellers to believe her preachings. Most of the people hiding from the mist are fearful, and she manages to give that fear a digestible form. What’s more, some of those who are not afraid wind up surviving, which suggests that monsters may not have been lurking in the ether at all. When the mist begins to descend, a woman announces that she’s going to brave the unknown to go be with her children. People try to urge her not to leave, but she’s already made up her mind. At the end of the film, David sees her with her children, alive and intact. Perhaps she never had to face the demons because she did not fear them. Perhaps there never were demons — not outside of people’s heads, anyway.

The Mist concludes with a confirmation that the whole thing was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Fear feeds fear, and so making it out of the mist is near impossible. David kills his son and his friends because none of them can bear what lies beyond, only for David to discover that help was not far away. Ultimately, fear is the most menacing hidden killer: it is more terrifying and lethal than any oozing monster could possibly be.

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Max Borenstein on the Rules of Writing ‘Godzilla vs. Kong’

Max Borenstein is one of the leading voices behind Legendary’s MonsterVerse. He has been involved with the franchise since day one as the sole credited screenwriter on Gareth Edwards’ 2014 Godzilla reboot, a movie about experiencing the true fear and destruction of monsters turning a major city into their own personal playground. He went on to co-write the most stylized entry in the series, Kong: Skull Island, which introduces a new King Kong at a scale that audiences had never seen before. Next, Borenstein worked on Godzilla: King of the Monsters, expanding upon the world and its mythology.

With all that groundwork and set up completed, Borenstein, co-screenwriter Eric Pearson, and director Adam Wingard, along with their titular Titans, go wild with the culmination of the MonsterVerse film series: Godzilla vs. Kong. The main monster characters are freer than ever to take the spotlight and have their fun, knocking over skyscrapers like toothpicks — resulting in a death toll that would probably take years to add up. Godzilla and Kong are unrestrained and front and center this time while the humans, as Borenstein puts it, are “along for the ride.”

Ahead of the release of Godzilla vs. Kong, which sees the end of the MonsterVerse, we talked to the screenwriter about his more than eight years of work on the franchise. Here is our conversation in full:

Obviously, Godzilla vs. Kong is a two-hander, but Kong is very much the protagonist. Was that an early decision?

Yeah. The reason that’s the case is Kong is the most amphotropic of the two. Kong is a primate, and because he’s a primate and we’re primates, we can connect with Kong. Kong’s story is always the story that connects with individual people. He’s not just stomping cities. From Fay Wray on, he’s always connected with individuals. There’s an inherent empathetic quality to that character being misunderstood, the last survivor, and the anti-hero. As he’s swatting the planes out of the sky in the original, you are rooting for him. We shouldn’t be taking advantage of him, so he has that empathetic quality.

A part of the beauty of Godzilla is the mystery. He’s a force of nature. I mean, you can call him a lizard or dinosaur or whatever, but really, he’s unlike anything on Earth. He’s not a primate. As a character, his intentions over the course of many films have gone back and forth and up and down. In our conception, he’s more neutral and less understandable from our perspective. There are flashes of emotion, like when two animals are having a battle, but it’s not an emotion that means understanding. There is intelligence, but it’s not intelligence and consciousness in the way we comprehend.

As for Kong, he can connect with a child. In a natural way, Kong is going to be the empathy and engagement point, but Godzilla and his mystery, there are moments that I love with him realizing he’s not always the heavy. These two have a grudging, possible respect for each other, and that’s one of my favorite emotional achievements of the film.

Do you have rules for yourself when you write these characters? In your mind, is there anything that would be out of character?

When it comes to rules, I think it’s great to think about them not caring really about people. That’s a rule, right? Rules are meant to be broken. From the very first film with Gareth Edwards, we asked, “How can we conceive of a Godzilla that’s ours and new but of a part of the larger, multi-faceted franchise?” In our mind, Godzilla was a force of nature, almost like a natural disaster. An actual disaster we actually have today, like a superstorm because of bad decisions and mistakes made by the human population. They’re not entirely natural, so disasters that are so far beyond our ability to control. And that’s what Godzilla represents.

Yes, there is a consciousness and personality of sorts, but it’s almost as if he’s walking over a bunch of ants in a yard. It’s like when you’re walking in a backyard. You might decide against stepping on them if you see them, and that’s the rule of Godzilla in my mind. Now, in that same way, Godzilla can recognize a human not as an ant biting its leg.

The rule of Kong for me, in his engagement in humanity, is he connects with people the way primates do, sometimes with ambivalence. Kong has the capacity to love, though. He can engage and sacrifice himself that feels human. For Godzilla, it’s always a bit more antihero.

Gareth Edwards showed the horror of having your life and city destroyed, but Adam Wingard makes the destruction fun and very tongue-in-cheek. How did the tone of these movies evolve in your view? 

I think that’s one thing that’s fun about this franchise, the MonsterVerse. There’s always a tremendous amount of thought and love from all the filmmakers and executives at Legendary, but the choice they made at Legendary that I really admire is, they decided to let every different filmmaker impose their lens on each of the characters. While they exist in the same world, they’re not overly determined like Marvel with a real brilliant showrunner brain behind it. They all feel of a piece. These are of a piece, but Legendary is going to hand the keys to an artist to envision it, so the tone can shift.

I think Gareth wanted the grounded prism, seeing what the human experience would be. Jordan with Kong, it was a bit more pop, video game influences, and cultural and musical influences with Vietnam movies and Apocalypse Now. With Michael Dougherty, it was a bit of a horror aesthetic. With Adam, a poppy, bright and, not just visually, but like you say, less grounded. Without sacrificing emotion or character, it’s seeking out a specific tone and owning it. It’s a franchise that uniquely reinvents itself every time. It’s fun to reinvent. My job is to craft the stories but ultimately work with these directors to realize their tonal vision.

Now, I’ve been involved in these films in different ways. With Godzilla, I came in and built it up from the ground up and stayed with the film, on and off, throughout production. With Kong, I was the first writer but then came back right before production. There are different points of influence with each movie. With Godzilla: King of the Monsters, I had written an earlier draft, but I was less involved.

In this case, it was cool, because I was involved initially in building the mythology to allow this to happen. Initially, [former Legendary CEO] Thomas Tull told me he wanted all of these movies to lead to Godzilla vs. Kong. It was the brainchild from the beginning, so it was always the aim. I was involved very early on in that. With this, I was involved before production, during production, and post. It’s been really fun, as a writer and craftsperson, to retain my involvement throughout this franchise in a bunch of different ways.

Speaking of craft, how do you depict the level of scale on the page for the final battle in Godzilla vs. Kong?

I love writing action. It’s especially fun when you write the action to laugh. You’re thinking about beats, setups, and payoffs, even if there’s no dialogue. Dialogue is similar to action, in that a cutting line or retort is a give and take similar to the action. There’s so much that goes into making those set-pieces with Adam’s ideas and concept artists’ ideas. Writing it, you’re taking those things, refining, and finding the beats that are advancing the narrative. I mean, you think about Spielberg’s action, it’s intense, additive, and you don’t need any dialogue. The dialogue is maybe a moment of levity that creates a breath. Really, though, you could watch it on mute and it’ll be brilliant and taut. We try to do the same thing. It’s not just “they fight and buildings come down.” Without directing it on the page, you’re trying to guide the audience on what it feels like to watch this and experience it. It’s one of the cool parts of the trade.

Always a tricky part of kaiju movies is writing human characters as entertaining to watch as the creatures. What have you learned over the course of these movies about balancing the humans and the creatures?

In a way, I think what I’ve learned is Godzilla and Kong are the stars of the film. They are the movie stars, so you cast around the movie stars. You don’t cast movie stars; you cast character actors. I mean, they are movie stars, but the way you write them, they are characters. One of the reasons why I think John C. Reilly in Kong: Skull Island is so wonderful is because he’s the consummate, brilliant character actor of our time. He’s embodying this charming, unique, and eccentric, almost Walter Huston kind of character. He’s a perfect compliment to Kong. He’s trying to be a human man leading hero, but he’s never going to be the hero with Kong as the hero. In writing these, I think it’s interesting to think about it that way.

What I learned is you want personalities to carry you through these stories. Whether they’re hateful or humorous, they should be character actor roles for the stars of the films. I think when these movies really acknowledge the stars of the movie are the monsters — and that’s why their names are on the billboard — then they never feel like they’re short-thrifting the people. The people will be in service of the monsters, and that’s cool.

This is why I appreciate that Demián Bichir’s performance is as big as Kong in this movie.

[Laughs] Totally. He’s a wonderful performer, but they should have fun with it. You can feel it. There’s no embarrassment about it. Everyone is along for the ride. They’re trying to have a great time and not looking down on it, but they’re also not taking themselves so seriously. They can be fun.

Godzilla vs. Kong arrives in theaters and on HBO Max on March 31st.

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The Experiences that Helped Jennifer Lopez Become ‘Selena’

Acting is an art form, and behind every iconic character is an artist expressing themselves. Welcome to The Great Performances, a bi-weekly column exploring the art behind some of cinema’s best roles. In this entry, we look at Jennifer Lopez’s Golden Globe-nominated performance in Selena.

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If you grew up in southern Texas during the early 1990s, you probably have a strong memory of where you were when the news broke that Selena Quintanilla, the “Queen of Tejano music,” had been murdered. I remember sitting in front of the television before school, seeing throngs of fans already in mourning as it was revealed that the president of her fan club, Yolanda Saldivar, was responsible for her death. With her actions, Saldivar tethered herself to Selena’s life in a way that threatened to hijack our memory of the late singer.

But Selena, whose music helped bring the Tejano subgenre to a huge audience, was so much more than how her life ended. She was on the precipice of global stardom, and her father, Abraham Quintanilla, wanted to make sure that her memory would live on. As he saw numerous unauthorized biographies go into production following Selena’s death, he became proactive in retaining control over his daughter’s legacy and quickly began producing an official biopic of her life. He wanted to show the world who the real Selena was, behind her performances: an effervescent young woman, with a passion for music, life, and family, who was tragically taken from the world far too soon.

The biggest challenge for the film, simply titled Selena and written and directed by Gregory Nava, would be casting an actress able to fill the multi-talented shoes Selena left behind. Luckily, they found Jennifer Lopez.

Found might be a strong word, though. Selena was Lopez’s star-making turn, but she was far from a fresh face in 1997. Her first career was as a dancer, appearing in regional theatre and world tours before landing a gig as a backup dancer for New Kids on the Block. She got her first major exposure on In Living Color as a Fly Girl, the comedy series’ in-house dance ensemble who’d bust a move between sketches. She was scheduled to go on tour with Janet Jackson when Lopez decided it was time to refocus her career and branch out into acting.

After a few forgettable television shows and movies, Lopez’s first substantial film role was in Nava’s My Family. The role landed her an Independent Spirit Award nomination, but more importantly, it introduced her talents to the director. From there she booked roles in the Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson vehicle Money Train as well as Francis Ford Coppola’s Jack. These gigs helped bring Lopez more national recognition, but they relied mostly on her affability and charm, a far cry from the emotional and physical range she’d show in Selena.

Despite Lopez’s history with Nava, she was still put through a rigorous audition process that required multiple screen tests and had her mastering some of Selena’s trademark songs and dance moves before being offered the role.

It’s difficult to imagine another actress in 1997 being more qualified for this tremendous role, but Lopez’s casting caused major controversy at the time. Understandably, many advocacy groups took offense that Selena, a Mexican-American from South Texas, was being played by an actress of Puerto Rican descent from New York. They felt that the only way to truly honor Selena’s legacy would be by casting an actress who had the same cultural heritage as the late singer.

“After we announced that Jennifer Lopez had been selected to portray Selena, I started getting calls. ‘How dare you pick a Puerto Rican to play our beloved Selena.’ It kind of freaked me out,” Abraham Quintanilla recounts during a retrospective making-of documentary for the film’s DVD release.

This is strikingly similar to an experience the real Selena had when she was first establishing her career in Mexico. Selena wasn’t a native Spanish speaker and had to record her Spanish-language songs phonetically which gave executives at her record label pause as she embarked on her first press tour of Mexico. They were worried that because of her lack of fluency, Selena would be seen as an outsider and rejected by her international audience.

What happened in real life is exactly what you see in the film. Any fears that she wouldn’t be welcomed instantly melted away as the foreign press were utterly charmed by the singer’s down-to-earth magnetism. As Abraham Quintanilla recalls in the liner notes for Selena’s final studio album, Dreaming of You, “We were terrified because Selena didn’t know Spanish that well, and when we came in, there were thirty to thirty-five reporters. Selena came in there and hugged each one of them. By the time she got through, she had them in the palm of her hand.”

Lopez also had to convince audiences that she was the right fit for Selena. As she remembers in the making-of documentary, “The minute I got the part, I had to do this big press conference, which I never had to do for any part that I had ever gotten. There was tons of controversy over the fact that I wasn’t Mexican. I just knew that it was going to be about proving that I was the right person to do it.”

Like Selena before her, Lopez was able to effortlessly charm the press with her winning charisma. “The Mexican press was going to be difficult, we knew this,” says casting director Roger Mussenden in the making-of documentary. “When Jennifer went to the press conference in Mexico…she won them over exactly like Selena did.”

Lopez did extensive preparation to become Selena, but it’s arguably this experience that helped her truly transcend into the character. Unlike many other actors portraying public figures, Lopez had the unique opportunity to experience something Selena had, first-hand. She funneled Selena’s resilient spirit directly into her captivating performance.

She was also supported by having access to Selena’s family, who helped her better understand the relationship the singer had with her siblings. As Lopez remembers, “The dynamic of who she was was so shaped by her family and the fact that they were very close. They shared so many intimate things with me, like albums, and video tapes, her make-up box, how she smells. There was something about my spirit and her spirit that were similar.”

This experience of getting to truly know the Quintanilla family is a major reason Lopez’s Selena feels so lived-in and realistic. She was able to uniquely understand what Selena meant to the people who shaped her life, which she could then use to inform a performance that honored those relationships.

Even though Lopez put in the work to accurately depict Selena, to her family, it was as if she had always been destined to play the singer. As Selena’s sister Suzette remembers in the making-of documentary, “I felt like she was a lot like my sister. I had a sectional, and Selena would always come in and prop her feet up a certain way, and I had to throw her a little blanket and she had to cover herself. I freaked out because Jennifer did the same thing.”

Lopez’s experience with Selena’s family allowed her to inhabit a deeper level of authenticity that we rarely see in a posthumous biopic. That she was able to make such a profound impact on Selena’s family is proof to the power of her performance.

While Lopez’s experience spending time with Selena’s family allowed her to deeply understand her character, she’s truly at her most alive during the film’s concert scenes. Lopez is able to fall back on her innate strengths as a performer to fully embody Selena’s on-stage presence. From the biggest stadiums to the smallest rodeo stages, Lopez has a vibrant energy that fills whatever space she’s in. As the film’s ending credits intercut real footage of Selena’s concerts, we see how flawlessly Lopez has captured the raw vitality that Selena brought to the stage. These musical moments give Lopez the opportunity to immortalize, on-screen, the full spectrum of Selena’s talents.

And ultimately, that’s all that Abraham Quintanilla wanted to do with Selena. The film was a way for him to immortalize his daughter so that her true legacy could live on. But through Lopez’s performance, he got something even more special: the chance to see his daughter perform one more time. Jennifer Lopez was nominated for a Golden Globe for her performance as Selena, but even if she hadn’t been lauded for the role, it wouldn’t have mattered. Selena’s family was proud of the work she did. And that’s the best award any actor could ask for.

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Navigating Sexuality and Utility in ‘Ghost in the Shell’

According to the science fiction genre, the future will be full of female androids — mechanical beings with an idealized sexual body carefully constructed by men to embody their fantasies. However, there is a full-body cyborg that stands in stark construct to the typical female robot, one for which nudity is utilitarian instead of being associated with sex: Major Motoko Kusanagi of Mamoru Oshii’s 1995 anime cyberpunk film Ghost in the Shell.

In futuristic Japan, the human body is enhanced or even completely replaced with cybernetic technology that augments physical abilities. Superstrength, built-in night vision, invisibility — the possibilities are endless. Major Kusanagi is the leader of an assault team in Public Security Section 9, which is completely made up of cyborgs. She is on the hunt for the notorious hacker The Puppet Master, and during her journey, she questions what it means to be human as the physical body is increasingly modified using metal parts and wires.

A crucial point of Kusanagi’s navigation of her own humanity is the representation of her nude body and its lack of sexuality, which is established immediately in the film’s opening scene. She is perched on top of a skyscraper, listening to the world around her and scanning for her target. As soon as she pinpoints his location, she unbuttons her jacket and reveals her entire naked body. It is that idealized female form with large breasts and a flat stomach, which sets an expectation of sexuality. Yet, this is not a sexual moment; she is actually preparing to perform her job. Nudity is necessary for thermo-optic camouflage, which renders her essentially invisible.

Not once in the entire film is Kusanagi shown engaging in sexual activity or using her sexuality as a weapon. Her consciousness doesn’t contain carnal desire. That opening scene quickly establishes a tension between her body as a tool of the state within the film’s diegesis and her body as a tool of sexuality to the viewer. Within that tension lies an examination of female nudity on screen and how the female body is so quick to be perceived as sexual.

In the subsequent opening credit sequence, the viewer is shown Kusanagi’s construction, which involves close-ups of her body, particularly her buttocks and breasts. Here, she is a spectacle to behold as she is shown as a literal product being pieced together. But the male gaze is still very present as she is viewed in parts of a whole, both in her cybernetics and in her body. A close-up on her nipple doesn’t offer any examination or questioning of that gaze, but it does offer that spectacle and fan service expected in anime.

Again, there arises that tension between sexuality and utility. The male gaze is sexualizing the body but is also examining it with fascination as these plastic parts that make up Kusanagi’s body appear so realistic. Spectacle is being used here to make the viewer consider who decides what is a sexual object and how nudity does not always play a role in that construction.

In contrast, in one of the film’s final scenes, Kusanagi’s nude body — once again exposed for the purpose of camouflage — fluctuates between feminine and masculine as her body essentially explodes during the climactic fight. She crouches on top of a tank and tries to rip it apart. But there is no moment of full front nudity exposing her ideal body. This time, Kusanagi’s body openly defies its feminine coding.

As she exerts herself, her technologically advanced muscles start to bulge, and her body shifts into the image of the stereotypical man in anime with a ridiculously exaggerated musculature including perfect abs and massive biceps. The nude female cyborg body, which the viewer is accustomed to, rapidly changes before their eyes, again working to shift the perception of Kusanagi’s body as a tool rather than a sexual object.

Even when Kusanagi is not connected to maintenance machines, she bears marks of cybernetics, such as the four plugs in the back of her neck. Ghost in the Machine never wants to hide the obvious constructed-ness of Kusanagi and the rest of humanity — when everyone has a technologically improved body, there is no shock. This is another way that Mamoru Oshii wants the viewer to contemplate what it means to be a human. As flesh, organs, and muscles are replaced with wires, does that diminish one’s humanity?

In Ghost in the Shell, the subconscious that carries memories, desires, and opinions is called the ghost while the shell is the physical body in which the ghost is contained. Kusanagi’s seemingly sexualized shell is never discussed or perceived as anything but practical. Yet there is no denying that her exposed body is viewed through an intrusive male gaze and with a sense of wonderment. Within this tension of the body as a tool versus the body as an object, Ghost in the Shell complicates the perception of these constructed bodies on screen. 

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‘Godzilla vs. Kong’ Finds the Balance Between Monster and Human

The primary critical argument against the three previous films in the MonsterVerse franchise — Godzilla (2014), Kong: Skull Island (2017), and Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019) — has been focused almost exclusively on the human element. Basically, the human characters and storylines in those three films long overstay their welcome, and the issue is exacerbated by idiocy, convoluted details, and more. The counter has always been that you don’t watch a giant monster movie for the humans, but while that’s true, their ubiquitous presence has always been hard to shake. King of the Monsters came close, but it’s the fourth film in the franchise that’s finally gotten the balance right as Godzilla vs. Kong focuses on the big brutes and leaves the people to fight for scraps of attention at their feet.

It’s been five years since Godzilla declared himself king of the monsters, and these days he only pops up periodically to destroy high-tech laboratories. King Kong, meanwhile, is living a far more sheltered life as Monarch — the shadowy organization overseeing titan activity — has erected a dome over Skull Island to keep Kong in and Godzilla out. It can’t last forever, though, so when an ex-scientist named Nathan Lind (Alexander Skarsgård) comes asking if Kong can come out to play his keepers say yes. Nathan needs the great ape to help them find an ancient power source in the earth’s hollow core, and Ilene Andrews (Rebecca Hall) needs a new home for the big lug, so it’s a win-win. Well, in theory, as the two titans seem inexorably drawn towards each other, and both have bloodlust in their eyes.

Godzilla vs. Kong succeeds because it understands the very first rule of a giant monster movie is to focus on the damn giant monsters. There are plenty of humans scrambling around including a couple of returning characters — Mark Russell (Kyle Chandler) and his daughter Madison (Millie Bobby Brown) — and several new ones, but they’re thankfully and blissfully kept to a relative minimum in favor of Kong and Godzilla. Director Adam Wingard does fine work with his first blockbuster (and you just know he’s to credit for the Lethal Weapon 2 nod), but it’s the CG spectacle, monster mayhem, and epic carnage that rule the screen.

While there are attractive visuals throughout, primarily in the hollow earth and Hong Kong, the film’s not quite the showcase for gorgeous shots that the two previous movies managed to be. It’s still a movie best watched loudly and on the biggest screen at your disposal, though, as both Godzilla and Kong are beautifully rendered — as is the destruction left in their wake. Cybernetic factories in Florida and Hong Kong are leveled, monstrous threats lurk in the hollow earth, and a face-off out at sea plays havoc with a naval fleet. It’s thrilling stuff, and the action remains clear throughout keeping everything in understandable geography.

The one hiccup on that front, though, is an inconsistent scale between the two titans of Godzilla vs. Kong. It’s acknowledged that Kong has grown since we last saw him, but ships and aircraft seem to give a fluctuating sense of size between the two as sometimes the ape looks smaller than Godzilla while they appear evenly matched elsewhere. It’s far from a deal-breaker as the action and spectacle hold focus.

The script, by Eric Pearson and Max Borenstein, still manages plenty of the expected human silliness, but either through restraint or post-production editing, it’s never overwhelming or enough to drag down the film’s momentum. Fighter pilots still fly within arm’s reach of the giant beasts, there’s still a weird bond between titans and little girls, and brilliant scientists capable of reaching the earth’s hollow-core inexplicably need Kong to find them a very obvious magic mountain for them, but the monsters take precedence. The desire to ensure human characters play a pivotal role does become laughable once or twice as the writers throw them a bone for a brief heroic moment or feeling of continuity — seriously, remove both Madison and her father and not a single element would have played out differently here — but Godzilla vs. Kong belongs to big guys.

This is the shortest of the four films, and the action and momentum keep things moving at a strong pace. Junkie XL‘s score adds to the adrenalized feeling, and the personable nature of the cast helps ensure an easy watch. The body count is high, like tens of thousands high, but the overwhelming majority are off-screen or as unseen specks within the CG devastation. We get the expected themes — greed and a hunger for power are bad; working together is good; people are endlessly stupid — but we also get an energetic action film featuring big, messy brawls, giant monsters, Kong scratching his bare ass on his way to the shower, and more. Honestly, what more could you want in a MonsterVerse movie? Now go see Godzilla vs. Kong so they’ll make another one and we can finally get Godzilla’s adopted son, Minilla, back on the big screen where he belongs.

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And It Was All Yellow: The Color Theory of TV Graphics

Welcome to The Queue — your daily distraction of curated video content sourced from across the web. Today, we’re watching a video essay about why the color yellow dominates TV graphics.

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One of the finer comforts in life is settling in to binge-watch some old sitcoms. Maybe you’ve got some tea. Maybe you’re panini-pressed under a weighted blanket. But one thing’s for sure (or at least, it’s very likely): the title card of your binge-du-jour is probably yellow. Gilligan’s Island? Yellow. Taxi? Yellow. Laverne & Shirley? Cheers? M*A*S*H? All yellow, baby.

So why was pale golden yellow so common in the graphics of older television shows? Well, the short answer is that, at the time, “cable yellow” was the most legible color for overlay text. Which definitely explains why, when I close my eyes, all I see is the golden-colored opening title cards from Columbo. Okay, that might be a different problem. But suffice to say: for a significant period of television history, when it came to making your text easy to read, yellow was your best bet.

That said, as the following video essay explains, the nitty-gritty details of yellow’s textual power are far more complex. Turns out, “legibility” is just the tip of a very technical iceberg that draws on everything from the limitations of broadcast signals to the critical difference between luminance and contrast.

Legibility serves a practical purpose. But laterally, so does the psychological effect of how cable yellow makes the viewer feel. And while the color itself may not boast the strongest color temperature, emotionally, cable yellow feels warm. It has a natural association with coziness. It’s like an open flame. And we, the viewers, are just moths…moths settling in for the fifth consecutive episode of Columbo.

Watch “Why Yellow Is So Common for TV Graphics“:

Who made this?

Filmmaker IQ is a YouTube channel disseminating all manner of film history and know-how. Their videos range from the highly technical (what to do if your green screen footage has something green in it) to the opinionated (are superhero movies destroying cinema?). Site-creator and director John P. Hess is our narrator. You can subscribe to Filmmaker IQ on YouTube here. And you can follow them on Twitter here.

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Adam Wingard on Shooting ‘Godzilla vs. Kong’ as an Immersive 800 MPH Brawl

Check the Gate is a column where we go one-on-one with directors in an effort to uncover the reasoning behind their creative decisions. Why that subject? Why that shot? In this edition, we chat with Adam Wingard and discuss how you shoot a title match as epic as Godzilla vs. Kong.

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There can be only one…perfect monster. In anticipation of Godzilla vs. Kong, it’s a debate we’ve been having around the FSR offices for the last several weeks. We’ve taken the conversation to you, the loyal reader, with our Bigger Than a Barn monster bracket. Everybody has their favorites, and it’s fun to root for the underdog (go get ’em, Gamera!), but it’s also obvious that our society has dubbed Godzilla and Kong the top two contenders.

These two titans started it all. King Kong originally stomped into theaters in 1933, but it was the financially stunning 1952 re-release that inspired Godzilla producer Tomoyuki Tanaka to plunge into the monster business. Born from atomic terror, the titular lizard kaiju seized the public’s attention, and sequels flooded the market. However, it only took two films before the franchise brought the icons together with King Kong vs. Godzilla in 1962.

That title bout is an absolute blast once the two rubber suits start smashing on each other, but there are also far too many sequences involving droning, dull humans. A flaw director Adam Wingard most definitely did not want to replicate once he became the referee stuck between the raging brawlers. His Godzilla vs. Kong is a breakneck contest of champions. Coming in at one-hundred-and-thirteen minutes, the latest (and possibly last) MonsterVerse entry supplies only the bare minimum when it comes to people. No disrespect toward Millie Bobby Brown, Alexander Skarsgård, or Rebecca Hall, but Godzilla and Kong are the stars. No puny human can, or should, take their spotlight.

When considering our One Perfect Monster bracket, Wingard has nothing but admiration for the competitors below Godzilla and Kong. The Rancor is cool, no doubt. Who would deny The Blob’s repulsive might? Every Ray Harryhausen creation demands deference and awe.

“If you asked me when I was a kid,” says Wingard, “Stay Puft Marshmallow Man would probably have been really far up on that list. But I don’t know. There’s something about the idea of Godzilla vs. Kong that has always felt like the ultimate endgame for monsters. Maybe it’s the simplicity of the fact that Godzilla represents the East and Kong somehow represents the West. It feels somehow like the Democrats versus the Republicans. The red versus the blue. There’s just something immediate about that.”

Godzilla vs. Kong taps into our primate nature. The desperate clash for survival rests in us all, and selecting a champion speaks to our belief. We want to come out on top. We want dominion on this planet. We have to pick our colossus carefully.

“Maybe it’s because Kong is so very human-like,” he continues. “He’s got opposable thumbs. There’s something about us like him. Godzilla represents more of a cold, reptilian thing. They’re polar opposites — warm-blooded, cold-blooded. And as the director, honestly, that’s what made it so fun to direct them. Their fighting styles are so drastically different.”

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When you look at the Godzilla franchise as a whole, the character frequently swings from bad to good to bad again. Within the MonsterVerse, Godzilla has mostly been used as a good guy or as a global defender protecting humanity from eradication. With Kong in play, the decision was made to place Godzilla back into a more antagonistic role.

“I always saw Godzilla as the heel of the movie,” says Wingard. “He’s Undertaker, and Kong is Mankind Mick Foley. Whenever you have that sort of opposition, the heel has to be more mysterious. He’s blowing stuff up, and there are obviously characters trying to figure out why that is. But at the end of the day, that creates this protagonist kind of thing with Kong.”

In Godzilla vs. Kong, Godzilla takes the backseat to Kong. We spend most of our time with the Skull Island citizen. The ape’s command over screentime doesn’t hint at Wingard’s preference. It’s merely a story necessity.

“Kong is also the underdog,” he says. “He’s at a severe disadvantage in terms of this fight. Nobody wants to watch Rocky and have it be about Apollo Creed because he’s already ahead. What even is that movie? It’s just [Apollo] relaxing, having fun, being confident. Then he fights this guy at the end of the movie, and he’s kind of surprised that the guy’s pretty good? You want to follow the character that has the most to prove and has the most odds stacked against them.”

Kong is the heart of the movie. He’s the emotional character. With a hero in place, Godzilla is free to rampage. Our cities have never been so fragile, nor the devastation so eagerly pornographic. Godzilla turns a rage we never knew he had against us. It’s a nightmare to behold.

“I wanted to really get you right in there,” says Wingard. “I think this is the first film in these Godzilla movies where we have a lot of POVs from the monsters as well. Even though you’re trying to be dynamic as possible, you want to try to ground the camera work. But we do some things that are just totally impossible for cameras to do. If you put a speedometer to it, the camera’s moving eight-hundred miles per hour for some of these shots. We tried to think, ‘If you were actually filming this, there would be a helicopter over there and we’d attach a camera to Godzilla’s fins.'”

Wingard’s mission was to make Godzilla vs. Kong as immersive as possible without betraying the viewer’s brain. Too often, the director has felt a film lose itself when the digital cinematography takes over. Even the best films, especially during CGI’s early days, fumble their reality during these particular and peculiar transitions.

“I love Peter Jackson,” he says. “I love The Lord of the Rings and all that stuff. But the one thing that always irked me when I saw those films was like, ‘Okay, we’re going to cut to a castle or something like that. And the camera’s going to zoom all around it.’ Well, why is the camera, all of a sudden, spinning around this stuff? It’s not doing that around the normal characters and everything. I always try to be conscious about that, even though that’s not a great example, because that’s a great movie, but it’s where the origin of my thought process kicked into gear.”

Wingard marathoned the Godzilla franchise before stepping behind the camera. He picked his favorite battles and his favorite arenas. When Godzilla and Kong finally put the “vs.” between them, the climactic rumble must stand apart from everything previously conceived. A challenge Wingard delighted in conceptualizing.

“I wanted to see Godzilla and King Kong in environments that I hadn’t seen them in before,” says Wingard. “I have a natural inclination toward colorful tones. I wanted to know what neon would look like reflecting off Godzilla’s scales and off Kong’s fur. These characters have been in so many movies. We’ve seen them do so many things in different environments, but we hadn’t really seen them like this before. And obviously, when you’re making a Godzilla film, you have to have a big city fight. You got to go there.”

With Hong Kong serving as the ring, Godzilla and Kong go the full twelve rounds. As they tear through skyscrapers and pound their weight upon each other, it’s easy to see the child who became the man puppeteering this calamity. Godzilla vs. Kong is Wingard’s shot at fulfilling a lifetime’s worth of fantasy. He doesn’t want to fail anyone in the crowd, including himself, but most importantly, he wants to land a K.O. for the playground posse.

“I wanted it to feel heightened,” he says. “When kids watch this film, I want them to imagine these as being big toys in a really cool-looking city and they’re playing with them.”

Does Wingard prefer one titan over the other? He still won’t say. He made Godzilla vs. Kong his answer. All he knows is that the One Perfect Monster is not Stay Puft Marshmellow Man. Godzilla and Kong would pass his roasted corpse between each other as they enjoyed a timeout during their mythic battle.

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Godzilla vs. Kong smashes into select theaters and onto HBO Max on March 31st.

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An Ode to the Diner Scene in Michael Mann’s ‘Thief’

Michael Mann‘s 1981 crime thriller Thief is commonly considered to be one of the strongest directorial debuts of all time. And just because that’s hyperbolic doesn’t mean it’s not true. The heist movie stars James Caan as Frank, a master jewel thief and ex-con who has his sights set on a different life, one he wants to share with Jessie (Tuesday Weld) and their child. First, Frank has to pull off one last big score, but being under the thumb of a Chicago mob boss complicates the matter.

The film’s heart-pounding action and mesmerizing style laid the foundation upon which Mann has built a career. The icy palette and neon-noir aesthetics, in particular, are quintessential Mann. But even beyond the visuals, Thief is thematically rich, deftly paced, and perfectly illustrates what makes Mann’s confidence as a filmmaker so unique.

As one might expect from a film titled Thief (and one based on the exploits of a real burglar), the action sequences here are extraordinary. With the help of a pulsing Tangerine Dream score, Mann expertly racks up the tension in these moments. This is the work of a director who, to put it simply, knows exactly what he’s doing.

And yet, as exciting as it is when the film goes big, it’s even better when it goes small. A case in point is the thrillingly lowkey dinner scene that bridges the first and second acts. After showing up late to a date with Jessie, Frank takes her to an all-night diner for coffee. The next ten minutes play out as a simple conversation. It’s minor, but it’s where we find the heart of the film.

The two start out slightly abrasive. She’s still bitter about feeling stood up, and he’s learning how to be honest after so many years of duplicity. Each calls the other out for not using their indoor voice. But then they start talking. She explains her rocky past spent drifting with an ex and her present appreciation for a life that is boring and ordinary.

Then it’s his turn. He tells her things his ex-wife didn’t know: his work as a thief, his time spent in prison, and the mentality he developed to survive. Mann apparently did his research here, utilizing stories he’d heard from real former inmates. This attention to detail shows. Frank tells her about how time loses meaning. He relates how he feared for his life and how he fought, only to learn of the serenity that comes with not caring anymore. It’s terrifying and saddening, delivered with the kind of honesty that indicates Frank understands how he survived the eleven years in prison, but there’s no way he’s truly processed it.

Caan here, it should be noted, is excellent. Frank is a mess of emotions — he’s aggressive and sad, cagey and nonchalant, brave and frightened. Physically, he plays Frank as someone operating on muscle memory. When his lighter doesn’t work, Frank still holds the unlit cigarette for a few minutes, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands otherwise.

On the other side of the table, Weld is equally strong as Jessie. She teases out a playful attitude in the character. When Frank makes a joke about the death of an inmate, there’s a not-very-well stifled laugh from her. A standout moment comes when — in the same breath as if it was all the same casual question — Jessie asks Frank, “Where were you in prison; would you pass the cream please?”

All the while, the scene is imbued with an electric quality. The diner itself is a florescent oasis amidst the dark black of the night outside. Cars roar in the background as a freeway is framed between the couple and seen through the wall of windows. The lights are all blurry as they twinkle faintly in the distance like manmade stars. The space and the world around it are nondescript and anonymous. It almost feels like the diner is suspended in the air, hovering over the nightscape. It’s a location where there’s a hum in the air and it’s unclear if it’s from the world outside vibrating against the glass or the sizzle of a grill that runs 24/7. It is at once the least romantic place in the world and the most romantic place in the world.

Indeed, it’s exactly the anonymity of this space that feeds into the magical sense of hope that binds Frank and Jessie. They’re in a space where no one else knows them. They could be anyone, and they can imagine being anyone else. As their conversation continues, Frank shares with her his vision board: a patchwork collage, in which he’s compiled the things that mean most to him. He has a picture of his mentor and father figure who informed his past and images of a wife and children that he strives to exist in his future. He asks her to be part of this dream.

As the conversation carries on, the synth score begins to pulse. It’s a tremor that swells as Jessie sputters with her initial fear. It then builds into a melodic wave as Frank speaks openly — with a pain that tells us he hasn’t been this honest in a long time — and tells her he believes they can make something of this. She tears up, and he looks like he’s about to as well. Finally, the two clasp hands in a hopeful promise.

This last shot of the scene, their two hands joined together, is one that Mann lingers on to emphasize the weight of this moment without being overwrought. Indeed, this scene is a masterful showcase of his subtle camerawork. The scene begins with a two-shot and then gradually the camera becomes closer to each subject, medium-long shots become medium shots that become close-ups. We’re being pulled into their world and, with each frame, becoming more heavily invested.

Michael Mann has spent the last forty years thrilling audiences with breathtaking heist sequences and action scenes that rival the best of the best. But the pugnacious spirits of many of his characters and the cycles of violence they find themselves in are always tinged with sadness. They are men who, as it’s later put in 1995’s Heat, don’t know how to do anything else. As bleak as it is, however, there are sometimes dashes of hope. Lights at the end of the tunnel. Tiny florescent lights, framing two nighthawks caught in a liminal space, believing they can make something special out of it all.

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