Monday, May 20, 2013


Hello! In the tenor of the infamous voice in Seinfeld, of course. Less than a week since my last post. I reckon we have a record, for the year anyway. I'd like to start off by expressing my manic anticipation for a certain parcel: Dan Brown's most recent Robert Langdon adventure, Inferno. Now, what makes me so edgy in expectation is that I pre-ordered the book in February, and Amazon promised that I would have the book in my possession on the day of  its release. It has been two days and still no parcel. If anyone has received Inferno, in addition to the pleasure of having it and hopefully reading it, please do not brag about your fortune. Onto the show.

Se7en. I rather like the way the title is written. Ever since I've become cognizant of the film's existence and therefore its content, I have been eager to watch a film that has a theme surrounding the seven deadly sins. I'm not one for religion, but those deadly sins are quite intriguing. Especially when one psychotic individual takes the word of God as a guideline and carries out his work. There has been controversy over this idea that John Doe murdered in the name of God, for obvious reasons. It was my first though anyway--why else would an individual dedicate their lives to such a deed if not for religion? It is the most provocative catalyst for violence and a total lack of reason. In my eyes, it lacks reason in itself. The criminal's apartment explains it all: a sparse living space compiled with relics of his murders as well as religious icons such as the Bible--his guidelines. Basically, John Doe is a sort of "angel", or "demon", who is somewhat of an angel in disguise. Be appalled by my words if you must, I say what I learn from Dan Brown and other eclectic sources. John Doe follows the text of the Bible to the extreme, which serves as a (faulty) foundation for the film only to be rescued by a certain actor's superb performance. In other words, this John Doe character murders seven hapless victims in a manner that reflects their sin. Shall I explain the methods of execution? Sure, why not.

Gluttony: A grossly obese man is found, face-down in a bowl of spaghetti, with his arms and legs tied up, indicating that he was forcefully fed. A bucket of the man's vomit is found underneath his seat, which the savvy detectives deduce came on account of being forcefully fed. It is later discovered that John Doe actually went to buy more groceries to continue his torture. Lesson: Manage your weight.

Greed: A lawyer is found in his office with his hands tied and his face planted on a stack of law books. He has bled to death, with his blood scattered across the office; on the floor, they spell GREED, and they also circle the eyes of his wife. Also, a pound of his flesh is placed on a scale--exactly one pound. I don't really understand this murder's relevance to greed. Perhaps John Doe is punishing him by taking things from him because he has too much? Perhaps, indeed. Lesson: Know when something is rightfully yours and when something could be shared with others.

Sloth: A drug dealer is found, mummified, in his apartment with an IV attached to his arm. Scattered with pulpy veins, the corpse takes a desperate breath when the officers are investigating, proving that he is still alive. It is discovered by the savvy detectives that he has been left like this--tied down to his bed, being fed and "cared for"--for a year. Apparently, you can die from lack of activity, though I do not agree with laziness being a sin. Doesn't everyone suffer a bit of procrastination and boredom to do anything on occasion? You know I do. Lesson: Keep yourself busy.

Lust: A prostitute is found (but not shown on screen) with a hysterical customer beside her. The customer describes a strange man--our John Doe--intruding on their good time; the criminal, then, forces the customer, at gunpoint, to "enter" the prostitute. This was their original plan, yet the customer did not plan on wearing an elaborate strap, fashioned with a knife where the organ would be. A murder so gruesome that the film could not depict it. However, this death seems to be merely the idea of John Doe, for he did not physically perpetrate it. I am not pardoning him in any way, but nevertheless. Also, how is the prostitute the victim of lust? Should not the customer suffer the penalty, as he is the one who sought sexual adventure? It's a deadly sin, not a warning. Lesson: Find someone special and form a long-lasting, real relationship.

Vanity: A model is found mutilated in her lavish bedroom, where her self-portrait is adorned over her bed. Her face is wrapped as if she had plastic surgery, and, when revealed, her face has been ripped off her face. The sin is referred to as "pride", which is written in the model's blood over her bed. I think this is a fallacious term because being proud is a good thing, it shows something to be admired. Vanity, the act of being vain, however, is an appropriate word to describe the sin. And vanity has a nicer ring to it, just as sloth sounds better than laziness. No additional elaboration in the crime here, other than it marks the approach of the film's climax--when John Doe emerges from the shadows. Lesson: Be humble.

Envy: The final two murders occur almost simultaneously, if I am correct in my reading of the film. In the conclusion, John Doe shares his jealousy for the life of Detective Mills--how he visited his home to "play husband", and his wife did not appreciate the charade. John Doe, because of his vile sin of envy, punishes Mrs. Mills by cutting off her "pretty little head"--a souvenir, he calls it. Again, as with lust, I feel the murder was misdirected. Why did Mrs. Mills have to die? Just to prove that John Doe is envious? Then shouldn't he, the sinner, die for the deadly sin? I suppose this is just another fault in the script. Lesson: Enjoy your own life.

Wrath: This murder is executed quickly, though with much suspense prior. Detective Mills, struck with agony and rage at the news of his wife's murder, paces back and forth before shooting a satisfied John Doe several times. A deliverer of wrath. Again, he is responsible for the murder while he, himself, having committed the sin. While John Doe rightfully died of envy, based on his doctrines, Detective Mills lives and his wife does not. And the flaws continue to surface. Lesson: Control yourself. That's more of a lesson for every sin, actually.

Quite a nifty spoiler, in case you were wondering what just happened. Though why would you? You're not drunk, nor should you be when reading my blog. Damn. I promised myself I would not refer to this publication as "my" blog. So possessive. Those are simply the giveaways to the execution of the murders, which are, in a nutshell, the basis and only (and I emphasize that only) reason for watching the film. When there are no gruesome crime scenes on screen, Se7en is excruciatingly, and rather disappointingly, dull. Four little letters (no, three little letters) describe the movie Se7en, which can determine an opinion prior to watching the film for a very first time. In addition to being dull, the style in which the movie was filmed was overly pretentious and, quite frankly, weird. Allow me to elaborate.

The major characters in the film are two stereotypical characters in cop-dramas. Furthermore, the dialogue shared between these characters are common among the fictional precinct-slash-cop-car setting: the conversation that concerns the case they're working on, yet relates to their own lives. That intellectually stimulating banter the partners engage in that, really, bores viewers such as myself. The detectives in this production are William Somerset (played by Morgan Freeman) and David Mills (played by Brad Pitt). Each of the impressive actors' performances are, shamefully, less than pristine, which makes the movie that much more difficult to endure, but we'll get to that. Detective Lieutenant Somerset is just about to retire, and feels it is his rite to finish this final case involving John Doe before his expiration. David Mills is fresh out of graduating the academy (or whatever) and is ripe with enthusiasm and self-assurance, with a load of aggression that will make him a fine candidate for the criminal he is chasing to abuse. Both police officers are prime stereotypes in such a cop-drama laced with suspense and pseudo-intrigue. Again, the film would, and should, such an element of intrigue since the seven deadly sins are concerned, but, unfortunately, does not on account of, perhaps, rotten directing? I don't know. Depending on the following retelling (sans spoilers), you can decide.

Throughout the film, a disturbing rustling accompanies every scene. At first, I thought it was a fault in my own sound system (I have several high-definition speakers, if you'd care to be informed) yet I discovered this was not the case when the noise intermittently appeared in every other scene. It was not rain either. Basically, the director thought it a fancy idea if he add an ominous ambiance to the film, which, he certainly felt, would add an awe-inspiring element of suspense and intrigue. For me, however, the cacophonous melody ruined any chance of enjoyment I had--pretentious, and not at all profound. There's a word to describe the director's intention. Beyond the sound, there is the plot. An extraordinary idea, indeed: a psychotic carries out "the word of God" by murdering seven individuals based on their sin. Ingenious idea, in my opinion. This is the very reason why I wanted to watch the movie, and the fact that it was a beloved cinematic relic among(st) those who appreciated films of the golden nineties. In my case, I did not receive the retribution I expected; apparently, the writer was not talented to the extent of forming a fantastic picture. Oh well. Without a decently orchestrated plot, therefore, the flaws of Se7en were much more striking, focusing primarily on the two key characters.
Detective Lieutenant William Somerset, as previously stated, is just about to retire, suggesting that he has seen everything there is to see on the job and should not be appalled by any particular case. This particular case, involving John Doe's mission from God, clearly, disrupted Somerset's sanity enough to will him to stay employed just a tad longer, until the maniac was captured. Before tangibly accepting the case, Somerset refused to get involved, while including his rookie partner in that declaration, then he put himself and Detective Mills on the case. Rather indecisive for a police officer, but that is how he is programmed. This being his first role in the crime-drama genre, Morgan Freeman is noticeably fresh here in a sense that makes him completely unrealistic and, consequently, not to be taken seriously. During the film, I had to chastise my dad from making mocking comments at his expense, though I did so with a beaming grin and bursting with laughter. His character is just so ridiculous and typical for those just-retired, wise black men (sorry, police officers) who have not a shred of indecency in their bloodstream. One scene, in particular, when Somerset is conversing with Mills's wife, marks my ridicule: She calls him to confide about a certain marital issue, to which Somerset responds with his own lovely story about getting married too young. Mills's wife--whose name is Tracy-- replies with graciousness and a heart-filled "thank you". If you were not as affected as I, then you may have to watch the scene for yourself to endure the cringing tartness of the display. Throughout the film, Morgan Freeman expresses blankness to such an extremity that I truly thought he had slipped into a snooze. It's hilarious, actually, and inclined my entertainment of the film, in a manner the director did not intend.
Detective David Mills, a rookie on the force, is, just that--a rookie. Shining star he is now, Brad Pitt was not that great an actor when he was just budding the the cinematic stratosphere. Amped with excitement on the idea of starring in a box-office hit of a suspense, Brad Pitt, evidently, was too giddy to apply whatever lessons he learned in acting school to the screen. His character, as aggressive and short-tempered as he was written to be, was accentuated to the extreme by Mr. Pitt. As David Mills, he appeared to have significant anger issues, far too prominent to be enlisted as a detective; moreover, he gave off the vibe of being an abusive husband, on account of them not being able to conceive and their poor living situation. Whenever Brad Pitt shared the screen with his then-fiancee, Gwyneth Paltrow, I had such a vivid instinct that he would strike her. The inherent feeling was heightened by the fact that I knew, beforehand, that Mills was the perpetrator of the sin wrath. Spoiler alert. Never fear, ladies, he never once hit her; in fact, he loved her very deeply, to the brink of killing for her. Suggestive spoiler. Brad Pitt certainly was not "born with talent", as seen here. He was constantly brimming with ecstasy, whether it was about the case or he discovered a lead or he was playing with his dogs, he was overflowing with energy. This contrasted the sage blankness of Morgan Freeman's veteran, as one can imagine. While the latter pondered over the case or fell into a day-sleep, Brad Pitt bounced with unstoppable vivacity in a way that made the average moviegoer cringe. You really feel embarrassed for him here. For both of them, really. Here is a pure example of Hollywood ripeness. Of course, each actor improved and blossomed along the way. Morgan Freeman continued to star in such crime-dramas as this, though in a much better lighting and much better movie; Brad Pitt enhanced his craft by appearing in more comedies, where he shines, as well as in reality as Brad Pitt. In Se7en, neither are remarkably impressive as some usually are "in their prime". At all.

Now for the one truly magnificent element of the film: John Doe. And who could portray the sadistic villain other than Kevin Spacey? Really, who could? He is utterly brilliant in this role. Period. That same year, he assumed the role of also-crippled Verbal Quint in The Usual Suspects, though I do not recall him being quite this magnificent. He appears, for a very transient period of time, near the end, when the film begins as it should have in the beginning. As he explains the logic behind each murder and how they relate to the sin the victim suffered for, one becomes entranced by the actor's deliberate intonation and hypnotic delivery. I can't say I was not convinced by his reasoning--but I did realize he was, indeed, insane. What Kevin Spacey accomplished here was embodying the rare psychotic sociopath. Psychopaths oppose sociopaths in a very subtle way, in that the former is typically more violent and impulsive and the latter has a grasp on reality and the world around them. With this brief analysis, John Doe is an ideal patient for both psychotic and sociopathic behavior, and Kevin Spacey demonstrates this distinction with such eloquence and skill that it becomes a marvelous feat. There is a reason that he was not credited in the opening, which would ruin the audience's anticipation of the question of "who is John Doe?". The impact of Kevin Spacey's performance is remarkably enthralling. Which gives you a considerable rationale to watch the film, if not just the final twenty minutes.

I was just searching for pictures of Kevin Spacey in the film and found a few images of Heath Ledger's travesty of the Joker. This, to me, implies that John Doe and Ledger's Joker are compatible. Don't you dare place this remarkable villain in the same category as that repulsive cretin of a comic-book menace. There is a great difference between the two, the key factor of which involves the talent of one and the absolute absence of talent in the other. Heath Ledger provided the world with an abhorrent performance that will, hopefully, be recognized as one in the years to come. I do not care if the actor has passed. He should not be honored as a relic solely because of that.

Although the film had an excellent foundation, the director or writer or combination of both prevented Se7en from being the profound film it could have been. Instead, viewers such as myself received a half-hearted, inadequate display of trite detective-banter, a simple storyline, and a two-hour long exposition. Rather than beginning in the first ten minutes, the movie finally became interesting during the conclusion, which does not make for a very good or positively memorable film. As for the suspense leading up to the revelation of the criminal and his logic behind his crimes, there is really nothing there other than pointless drivel between Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt. They try to connect their lives with the crime afoot, yet fall dreadfully short of the attempt. Neither of their characters are smart enough to connect the dots fast enough to keep the viewer on their toes, so to speak, which causes the film to become a lackluster attempt at an impeccably ingenious premise. While Kevin Spacey spares much of the film's shortcomings, the overall film receives a sour review from me. Focusing on the last twenty minutes, however, and you have yourself a fantastic picture, albeit a concise one.

P.S. I finally purchased Dan Brown's Inferno and am currently and rapturously reading it. Enjoy the rest of your week. I sure will.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Iron Man 3

Hello. To those who still have faith in me as a writer, welcome. I realize that it has been a significant pause between this and my previous post, and for that I lament in my absence. Yes, nearly a month without my beloved insight on film, and I, too, am desiccated from the lack of words and wit. There is no suitable explanation as to why I have been dormant all this time, other than the fact that I am putatively suffering from an eating disorder. Apparently, I haven't been eating enough for my physical proportions and age, therefore both my mind and body are affected by the supposed "malnutrition". Don't you despise terms like that? Malnutrition, unhealthy, anorexic. These are just a few words that have been attributed to me in the past month, which allow me to blame my absence for these very "afflictions". If you are beginning to get worried about my well-being, don't. I am perfectly fine. Why, just today I skipped a day on the elliptical, opting for a slice of homemade banana cheesecake instead. Evidently, I need it. I made that tasty cheesecake myself, in honor of Mother's Day. Anyway, aside from my pseudo-eating disorder, I've been watching several movies, ranging from suspense to familiar delights. Also, I finally finished LOST, something that happened a while ago actually, and I regret that I have not written a "desperate" post in dedication to it. Oh well. Since it has been such a long time, I will simply write about one film in particular: the latest in the Iron Man franchise. I just shaved my legs this morning, and already new stems have blossomed on my kneecaps. The woes of femininity.

As far as the latest trilogies or sagas or, as they are collectively known, "sequentials" go, pleasing dedicated audiences does not fall under their key objective. Apparently. Otherwise, I would have said something that flatters sagas, but I did not, so the fact remains that they, for lack of a better word, are disgraceful testaments to the admiration of viewers. Is it me, or was that utter gibberish? It's been a while. Forgive my creaky sentence structure. From comedies that have grown stale to action franchises that really serve no purpose anymore and should just stop, sequentials are not doing so well in market value. No, that is completely false: They are doing extraordinarily in the market, producing exponential box-office receipts on account of faithful viewership. What they lack is the love they should have towards their audience because what, other than sheer laziness and indifference to viewers' reactions, can justify the fresh rotten-quality of films following the outstanding originals. Case and point: The Hangover. What was an ingenious comedy degraded into a trite, uninteresting series of stale gags, led by the unfunny Zach Galifunkikis. Now, with the third (and hopefully final) part of the "epic" trilogy, I have absolutely no sincere desire to see it. This scenario, furthermore, is not uncommon within the cinematic stratosphere, for nearly every part-two I find myself anticipating has fallen drastically short of what I expected. Which brings me to this evening's topic of analysis, as well as the conclusion of yet another introduction, and that is Iron Man 3.

I really did not expect much from the third film, considering my stance on sequentials, so it came as no disappointment that the end result was blank entertainment. By blank entertainment, I mean that, while I was enthralled by the adrenaline-rush scenes, I was unimpressed as a whole. Usually, I would simply leave it at that--the enjoyment of scenery above story--but the multitude of critics out there have expressed their immense admiration of the film, citing that the storyline of the film's title character, Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man, both astounded and made viewers "think". I'm paraphrasing, of course. It perplexes me that educated critics actually found something tangible and even insightful in any aspect of the movie's predictable plot. Most superhero pictures are, in nature, predictable, surmounting to the ultimate theme of good-triumphs-over-evi, and there is nothing wrong with that. I am all for cringing corniness and virtuous heroes and bad villains, but to delve beyond that--consequently into nothing--and call this a meaningful picture that means more than it presents itself on the surface? Well, that's just ridiculous. Iron Man 3 is as simple and two-dimensional as any Marvel epic can get, proving to be just that much less than the original Marvel Universe initiator.

Let's back up and scrutinize the surface. Robert Downey Jr. returns to the role of Tony Stark, the notorious playboy-genius-philanthropist he prides himself on supposedly being (always in that order). Perhaps I'm alone in this along with my dad, but I have grown averse to arrogant Tony Stark, and Robert Downey Jr. himself for that matter. His self-assured, pompous attitude has really become obnoxious after the second Iron Man and The Avengers, yet here he culminates into an utter arse. Oh, and his rapid, fast-talking demeanor has officially become incoherent psychobabble, and by psychobabble I mean he is a mentally unstable person who cannot speak. (Don't you detest when people use the word "officially" in a phrase like that? By whose regulations has that statement become official?) Throughout the third Iron Man, Robert Downey Jr. has assumed the inarguable right to act as important as he wishes, sauntering around with a smug swagger that makes me want to place my palm in front of his face so he can no longer walk. (Yes, I am alluding to the idea that I am taller than him, and am therefore able to stop him in his tracks in such a juvenile manner.)
As the frontrunner in the Avengers assembly, he (both Tony Stark and Robert Downey Jr., since I am fairly certain that they are identical in personality) takes himself seriously in a cool, mocking sort of way. While he has a self-important aura around his grotesque ego, he plays off that intellectual persona by making jokes and acting oh-so cool as a cucumber. (It's a saying, and a damned neat one.) Gee, Mr. Stark/Mr. Downey, you seem so professional and wise, yet you are also outgoing and hilarious. Who'd'a thunk it? I am, once again, brought to my prime question: How is this particular Marvel film deeper than the others? Many sources suggest that it is Tony Stark's damaged soul that drives the film; after defeating Loki in The Avengers (because, remember, they are all connected), Tony is exhausted in all aspects. Evidently suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder from his adventures, the concept of battling two more villains here is too much to endure for our conceited hero. From what I could collect, Tony Stark is still a self-important, first-rate douche of a hero. Although he is spiritually and physically damaged, he still has the energy to make smarmy bits of humor. How convenient. It is positively mind-numbing how obnoxious he has become. Or maybe I'm exaggerating on account of my decreased tolerance of society's individuals. Either way, I have grown to find him unbearable. But he still fashions that facial hair pretty damn finely. In a fine manner, that is.

Even when it is a picture of them, it is a picture of him.
Accompanying Tony Stark, in a significantly dimmer shade as to not surpass the mighty Robert Downey Jr., is Hollywood's Most Hated Gwyneth Paltrow as the sharp damsel-in-distress, Pepper Potts. (Alliteration is amusing.) In the previous films, Pepper Potts served as a confidante to Tony Stark's massive ego as well as a feminine touch that lightened the mood. While in the first Iron Man the two characters flirted and love did appear to blossom, nothing actually materialized which, despite what the writers believed, was good. Keeping love as a mere thought in the plot would spice up the flirtatious scenes with the edge-of-your-seat question of "will they or won't they?". Think James Bond and Money Penny or Jerry and Elaine. However, the second film introduced the eye-rolling tete-a-tete between Tony and Pepper, including arguments that resemble those in a marriage and dependence. With Pepper as an emotional asset, Tony Stark finds himself unable to carry out certain responsibilities, or is now easily compromised as the villain abuses his affection as blackmail. The latter situation occurs often in Iron Man 3, as Aldrich Killian threatens the safety of the human race by infecting Pepper, just to torture poor Tony Stark, defenseless in his agony. Dull and, oh yes, predictable. Returning to the thesis of this post, there is nothing wrong with a little damsel-in-distress intensity. In fact, superhero movies demand it. But to praise this film as something more than just a Marvel epic? Please.
There is an alteration in Gwyneth Paltrow's character this time around, as she actually (wait for it) suits up in her sweetheart's armor during an attack on the home. Their home. Seeing her march around in the Iron Man suit was, if this word can apply, annoying, for women do not belong in the superhero line of duty unless they are, indeed, a superhero like Black Widow or Wonder Women. (Black Widow is more of a talented agent than a superhero, but she is an Avenger nonetheless.) I'd also like to point out how Gwyneth Paltrow had no reason in appearing in The Avengers. She did absolutely nothing but share corny conversation with Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most valuable Agent Coulson, who is another product of the predictable Marvel Universe (the friendly agent who is unlike all others). Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, fortunately, rejoice in a blissful conclusion, to those worrying whether they will make it. They do, and Tony makes a considerable sacrifice for the romance that never should have been.

He's here, too. Looks ridiculous, doesn't he?

There are two villains in Iron Man 3, as in the previous installment, which forces me to ponder why such a mistake was made again? Was it successful in Iron Man 2, when Mickey Rourke and Sam Rockwell battled for the spotlight? Similarly, here, there is one villain who is evil in appearance and action, and another who is evil in the sense of mastermind and brilliance. The evil caricature, in this case, is Ben Kingsley as the leader of a terrorist organization who calls himself The Mandarin. (Not very intimidating, considering it's the name of an ethnicity.) Wreaking havoc upon the innocent with questionable demands, the Mandarin is intended to resemble Osama bin Laden in an attempt by the writers to make a connection to the real world. Why else would he be in hiding somewhere in the Middle East? I suppose it's common. Ben Kingsley (who sounds exactly like Geoffrey Rush in this movie alone) sports a spiffy cloak that, along with his scraggly beard, makes him look like a sorcerer from a fairytale. That being said, I don't know who would find this Rastafarian menace to be that massive of a threat. Throughout the movie, all he seems to be doing is sending the government videos from his cave that were recorded by his fellow reggae comrades. (The twist is revealed in the movie. I won't spoil it for you.)
As for the intellectual villain--the man behind the entire evil scheme of the film--is Guy Pearce (in a triumphant return to the big screen) as Aldrich Killian, a wicked geneticist who established Advanced Idea Mechanics as well as devised DNA-altering technology that turns its patients into molten creatures. I really don't understand his machinations, nor do I really know what I saw with those molten-red human-creatures. Apparently, from what I can gather, Aldrich Killian, inspired by Darwin, formulated a method that would prove to be the next step in evolution. Though I do not understand how turning red and spewing fire constitutes being a superior being. What we have here, I believe, is faulty scriptwriting: For a screenplay to be at the very least decent, it must be comprehensible. And when it comes to the villain and his maniacal endeavors, clarity is especially imperative because the villain drives the hero. If we do not know what the villain is after, how can we root for the hero?

The entirety of Iron Man 3 was a premeditated display of destruction, as well as an additional opportunity for Robert Downey Jr. to flaunt his cavalier air of importance and superiority one last time. According to the media, this was the actor's final film in his contract with Marvel, proposing the idea of Tony Stark's absence in the Avengers squad. Never fret, genuine admirers of Iron Man, as that will not happen. Iron Man is, quite frankly, all Robert Downey Jr. has. Sherlock Holmes is a franchise, sadly, that has settled on a short-lived pair. (That was one sequential that was actually good twice-fold.) Besides Iron Man, what has Robert Downey Jr. been up to? Indeed, expect him to return whenever Marvel makes a movie, period. I am sure he will behave in the same, haughty demeanor he has been parading around in every single time. For those who find him endearing, I hope you enjoy yourselves. For those who don't, join the cringe-watching. Despite my acid tongue, Iron Man 3 was, once again, not an awful picture--a typical (not atypical) superhero flick that impresses the eye in terms of action and less in terms of content. What I will not accept is a review of the movie that applauds its complexity, as there is no complexity. It is sheer action with a dollop of corny amusement. Enjoy.

P.S. I'm back!