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Trevor Pacelli
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My review of #MotherMovie:

A young woman’s eyes stare at us from what appears to be hell, then the image of a man (Javier Bardem) pulls a fire veined crystal out of his burnt home, restoring it back to normal. The restoration brings his wife (Jennifer Lawrence) out of bed, in search for her husband amongst the empty rooms.

Mother! focuses in on a famous writer who locks himself in his writer’s den while his overworked wife repairs the entire house on her own. We see here a presumably distanced, unhealthy marriage, one that by the end should hopefully trigger some good conversation about proper healthy gender roles in a marriage.

The wife’s wardrobe acutely projects her precise emotional state throughout Darren Aronofsky’s (Black Swan) film; she first wears a opaque see-through night gown, then dresses in either all frail-white or all wooly-gray, depending on her inner security. These costumes designed by Danny Glicker (Milk, Up in the Air) contrast her against these satanic visions she has from inside the supposedly inanimate house, as if it knows her true feelings better than she does. Sure enough, we travel deep into her psychological state mostly through close-ups on her unstable face. Nothing about her thoughts is left to the imagination once her husband starts letting these strangers stay in their place.

The octagon-shaped home itself almost seems like a character itself, as it resides far away from civilization in a grain field. The wife never once sets foot out of the boarded wood, almost as if she and he house are one in the same.

Somehow, more and more visitors come to the house’s evil workings. First, a dying man to wants to visit the author who lives there, then his slutty lover moves in too, then their sons start a Cain-and-Abel fight, leaving the wife alone with a pool of blood to mop up. Everything from here violates her space as house fights, raves, demolishment, robberies, and even the SWAT team turn her house into a warzone. They came just to worship her author husband, attention he simply adores despite the deadly chaos. The noise levels become so loud you can barely hear her screams as her petite, silver dress gets gradually distressed. You truly feel sorrow for her while everything over a single evening grows worse to near-cultic levels; none of these terroristic visitors even once acknowledge her as anything more than property.

This entire sequence is both the film’s greatest asset and greatest blow, as it expresses its true distance from reality. These terrorists lack believability as they demolish the home; their behavior could possibly stem from the house’s evil energy, but little was established to authenticate my theory.

The feature’s very last frame leaves the viewer with a reality twist that leaves behind more questions than answers as to everything seen. When I say questions, I mean the kind that leaves you less thinking about the ultimate theme, and more about the “masterful” work of the director.

Other classic horror films depicted evil spirits with “open to fan theory” moments, while also keeping grounded in reality. Ironic, as various plot points here virtually copy both Rosemary’s Baby and The Shining, both of which remained subtle in their interpretive imagery, which Mother! abuses.

What made the message even less effective came from the acting, mainly by Miss Lawrence. She was supposed to appear compassionate compared to everyone else around her, except the Oscar winning actress did nothing with her eyes to evoke sympathy. She even unintentionally cracked me up pretty hard from her blank line deliveries and ear-screeching screams, especially when under really bad burnt makeup effects. I’m serious, any other a-list, b-list, or even c-list actress could have played her part better.

I guess I can understand why she put so little care into her role, as it was written with too much passivity to bring out the independent woman empowerment it clearly intended. It never clarified what exactly she fears; is it the house itself, the strangers, or her husband? While we’re at it, what does she even see in her husband if he disrespects her so often? Even if she fears aloneness, such weakness in character consequently ruins her sympathetic appeal.

It makes you wonder: what if the gender roles swapped? What if the wife played the ungrateful workaholic while her husband did the cleaning? What if the women were played by unattractive actresses by talented unknowns possibly from a different ethnicity? Aronofsky may have addressed the wrong questions, yet with what he does expose us to, it helps to initiate some talking and listening for once.

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My review of #ItMovie:

Clowns look pretty freaky, right? I remember feeling quite unnerved by them in my younger days, yet as I got older, clowns intimidated me less. To be frank, clowns land more along the lines of “creepy” rather than scary, unlike real unmasked people who could hurt you.

It’s familiar opening scene captures that true scariness: an unsupervised small boy takes a paper boat out on a rainy day, which falls down the sewer drain. A clown peers his head up from below the darkness, his appearance throwing the boy off guard. He displays unusual kindness to the boy, returning to him the lost paper boat. Then suddenly, the predator chews the boy’s arm off, and a God’s eye view looks down on his poor defenseless body flowing into the drain, a truly disturbing sight in this otherwise misguided adaptation of Stephen King’s classic novel.

Now, I understand the movie’s current rave, as It now stands at 90% on RottenTomatoes, and YouTube celebrity Chris Stuckmann gave It an A-, but I for one differ from the public opinion.

Although the critical praise does speak some truth; each preteen we meet goes through change in some way. The sewer-bound kid’s stuttering brother, Bill, is shunned by everybody, and his friends each face their personal growing pains too. Eddie is forced against his will to keep taking meds, Richie resents whatever his friends tell him to do, and Stanley refuses to pursue his family’s Jewish beliefs. Other friends they make include a Black farmer boy, Mike, who must kill sheep for his heartless father, Ben, an overweight new kid who needs friends outside of the books, and Beverly, a gorgeous flame-haired drug addict. Her father creates by far the creepiest moments, as he sniffs her hair like some sex offender. The horror should stem from places like here, the common fears every teenager shares.

Instead, the inexperienced director, Andy Muschietti, abused Dutch angles and motion sickness while filming the “scary” moments. He followed the common misconception that low lighting adds to the fright, which in actuality hurt the thrill here since you now cannot tell what is supposed to scare you. Think about some of the most iconic shots in horror: The shower scene in Psycho, the twins in The Shining, Jack Nicholson in the same movie shouting “Here’s Johnny!”, or even in the original It when Pennywise pops out from beneath the pale-tinted shower. Notice a theme? These images are each evenly lit, anything hidden in the shadows contrasting against something else to fear. Truly effective horror fills in the unknown blanks based on what you think you already see. Maybe if Muschietti utilized real fears, such as a community’s religious state, other than clichés, and knew how to stage them, then these scares could leave a longer impression to the extent of The Exorcist.

The scares particularly fail more due to the atrocious casting of the child actors. Whenever the kids were supposed to act afraid, they just stared blankly and walked stiltly. Even outside the scary scenes, the kids either talked too fast or too slow while screaming their lines when supposed to act angry. Based on speculation, these annoying kids obviously achieved their chemistry by following tape marks and cue cards with the direction, “Just say your lines and go home.”
These kids’ stories also lack any structural balance. The brother-to-brother bond initiated right at the start gets forgotten across a large portion, especially at the very last scene; and Stanley’s Jewish struggles loses any footing with little to do compared to the stronger treatment of his friends. As for the bullies, their interesting backstories receive an undeservingly low amount of screen time, instead existing more for lazy predictable scenarios we’ve seen countless times.

Very little fear strikes your nerve in these moments, as you can never empathize with these kids’ foul-mouthed tendencies. Rather than showing the hard reality of growing up, the kids celebrate their hatred against the oppressors. It even attempts to beautify the one female preteen, Beverly, as much as possible, as she jumps into a lake wearing only her underwear, then lets her new boyfriends gawk at her body as she naps in their eyesight. Then in another dialogue played only for laughs, a pharmacist, who she says looks like Clark Kent, comments her back, saying she looks like Lois Lane! Honestly, the whole beautification of her character made me feel pedophilic myself.

I read several reports that the clowning industry has suffered because of It, promoting coulrophobia, I find this hard to believe. It does not feed off coulrophobia, but rather anthropophobia, particularly predatorial parents. No wonder the Alamo Drafthouse theaters in Austin and Brooklyn hosted all-clown screenings, since clearly, we might as well root for the demonic circus act to win!

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My review of #ItMovie:

Clowns look pretty freaky, right? I remember feeling quite unnerved by them in my younger days, yet as I got older, clowns intimidated me less. To be frank, clowns land more along the lines of “creepy” rather than scary, unlike real unmasked people who could hurt you.

It’s familiar opening scene captures that true scariness: an unsupervised small boy takes a paper boat out on a rainy day, which falls down the sewer drain. A clown peers his head up from below the darkness, his appearance throwing the boy off guard. He displays unusual kindness to the boy, returning to him the lost paper boat. Then suddenly, the predator chews the boy’s arm off, and a God’s eye view looks down on his poor defenseless body flowing into the drain, a truly disturbing sight in this otherwise misguided adaptation of Stephen King’s classic novel.

Now, I understand the movie’s current rave, as It now stands at 90% on RottenTomatoes, and YouTube celebrity Chris Stuckmann gave It an A-, but I for one differ from the public opinion.

Although the critical praise does speak some truth; each preteen we meet goes through change in some way. The sewer-bound kid’s stuttering brother, Bill, is shunned by everybody, and his friends each face their personal growing pains too. Eddie is forced against his will to keep taking meds, Richie resents whatever his friends tell him to do, and Stanley refuses to pursue his family’s Jewish beliefs. Other friends they make include a Black farmer boy, Mike, who must kill sheep for his heartless father, Ben, an overweight new kid who needs friends outside of the books, and Beverly, a gorgeous flame-haired drug addict. Her father creates by far the creepiest moments, as he sniffs her hair like some sex offender. The horror should stem from places like here, the common fears every teenager shares.

Instead, the inexperienced director, Andy Muschietti, abused Dutch angles and motion sickness while filming the “scary” moments. He followed the common misconception that low lighting adds to the fright, which in actuality hurt the thrill here since you now cannot tell what is supposed to scare you. Think about some of the most iconic shots in horror: The shower scene in Psycho, the twins in The Shining, Jack Nicholson in the same movie shouting “Here’s Johnny!”, or even in the original It when Pennywise pops out from beneath the pale-tinted shower. Notice a theme? These images are each evenly lit, anything hidden in the shadows contrasting against something else to fear. Truly effective horror fills in the unknown blanks based on what you think you already see. Maybe if Muschietti utilized real fears, such as a community’s religious state, other than clichés, and knew how to stage them, then these scares could leave a longer impression to the extent of The Exorcist.

The scares particularly fail more due to the atrocious casting of the child actors. Whenever the kids were supposed to act afraid, they just stared blankly and walked stiltly. Even outside the scary scenes, the kids either talked too fast or too slow while screaming their lines when supposed to act angry. Based on speculation, these annoying kids obviously achieved their chemistry by following tape marks and cue cards with the direction, “Just say your lines and go home.”
These kids’ stories also lack any structural balance. The brother-to-brother bond initiated right at the start gets forgotten across a large portion, especially at the very last scene; and Stanley’s Jewish struggles loses any footing with little to do compared to the stronger treatment of his friends. As for the bullies, their interesting backstories receive an undeservingly low amount of screen time, instead existing more for lazy predictable scenarios we’ve seen countless times.

Very little fear strikes your nerve in these moments, as you can never empathize with these kids’ foul-mouthed tendencies. Rather than showing the hard reality of growing up, the kids celebrate their hatred against the oppressors. It even attempts to beautify the one female preteen, Beverly, as much as possible, as she jumps into a lake wearing only her underwear, then lets her new boyfriends gawk at her body as she naps in their eyesight. Then in another dialogue played only for laughs, a pharmacist, who she says looks like Clark Kent, comments her back, saying she looks like Lois Lane! Honestly, the whole beautification of her character made me feel pedophilic myself.

I read several reports that the clowning industry has suffered because of It, promoting coulrophobia, I find this hard to believe. It does not feed off coulrophobia, but rather anthropophobia, particularly predatorial parents. No wonder the Alamo Drafthouse theaters in Austin and Brooklyn hosted all-clown screenings, since clearly, we might as well root for the demonic circus act to win!

Post has attachment
I didn’t even get into the whole Pokémon craze until age ten, when Ruby and Sapphire came out. Yes, I was admittedly behind on the trend, but ever since, I became so obsessed by the fantastic designs of the different creatures, I even spent countless childhood hours drawing my own Pokémon, including a region map for them to live, new battle moves, and an Elite Four.

A friend and I even had an activity every recess in fifth and sixth grade: we acted out our own Pokémon adventure, with some cartoon characters as trainers. We thought, “what Pokémon would SpongeBob have? What about the Powerpuff Girls?” Our imaginations explored all possibilities every day at those recesses.

Now after growing up, I still like to occasionally draw my own Pokémon, yet since this blog is called “Trevor’s View on HOLLYWOOD,” I want to combine my love for Pokémon with my love for movies. Then maybe later I will consider sharing my own original Pokémon creations.

So what if some of your favorite movie characters coexisted with Pokémon? Here are 12 movie characters as Pokémon trainers:

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My review of the 1990 Cold War thriller, The Hunt for Red October:

The Hunt for Red October may be a fictionalized account, but the general Cold War era Russian submarine scenario in fact did happen shortly before 1990. A few Google searches proves how this timeless recreation of a supposedly unfilmable wartime predicament respects the real scenario. Today, it still makes a great history lesson to teach teens what the Cold War looked like. Unfortunately, the approach lacks a point, stirring up no interest to learn more about these historical events; the main character also has little to resonate with, as he kills and lies right within his introduction.

Off-putting graphic violence aside, immense humanity churns the motion picture’s steam engine, as every character strives in some way to either find or protect the rogue submarine. Both sides to the issue receive a fair level of screentime, masterfully edited by Dennis Virkler (The Fugitive) and John Wright (Speed), who received a well-deserved Oscar nomination for their hard work.

Perhaps you will most relate to the character portrayed by an unrecognizably young Alec Baldwin (30 Rock, Saturday Night Live) who right away bids his daughter and wife a farewell before leaving to hunt for the sub. His first scene merely amplifies the little benefit it offers, as the women never get mentioned again. Although, considering the widely male target audience, it hardly deserves any complaints…

…as John McTiernan’s (Die Hard, Predator) crisp direction stirs up some strong acting by the ensemble cast. Sean Connery (Dr. No, The Untouchables) gives the most impactful performance; even after committing a cold-blooded murder, he remains calm. He earns your sympathy as the dark exterior matches his interior.

The claustrophobic submarine which cramps you into these men’s journeys offers the right chilling feel inside such a large aquatic weapon. The blood-colored lights set an unforgettable contrast against the murky blue oceanic sequences, utilized by McTiernan with the appropriate sound design accompanied by a heavenly choir. Granting, he should have exploited more culture outside the submarines, as nothing outside the soldiers’ perspective influences their conflict.

In fact, we see a little too much of the submarine battle. The producers failed to understand that their technology wasn’t ready to stage a realistic underwater battle with torpedoes and metal scraps floating away. From the perspective of 2017, the obvious superimposed matte effects damage the experience. The Hunt for Red October could honestly benefit from a current remake to generate better effects.

Yet as a product of the early nineties, McTiernan’s project ultimately pleases men across all ages. Even if the slightly monotonous tone slacks down the heart, boy does it pay off well in the end! It’s perfect for dads who want something intelligent enough to appreciate the thoughtfulness, and it’s perfect for teens who just want simple 1980’s action. For you fathers and sons out there who now consider giving this a watch, maybe afterwards you will be motivated to join (or not to join) the Marines.

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My review of #IngridGoesWest:

I admittedly relate quite a bit to the Ingrid of Ingrid Goes West, I’ve selfishly studied people’s news feeds, publicly cried out when I felt left out, and Facebook frequently made me feel left out, particularly throughout high school. So now the common emotion cranks up to eleven when watching the Instagram obsession of Ingrid. These usually mundane, harsh glowing screens within the larger movie screen prove to us how social media has turned us into layered liars, until an @ symbol in front of our specialized name replaces our flesh-and-bone identity.

Ingrid’s story starts after getting out of rehab for stalking and pepper-spraying the bride of a wedding she didn’t get invited to. Now, she spends significant time revising the way she types laughing in a comment while scrolling through her feed, just like what I too have done before. This lonely main character stalks everybody she wants to mimic, and openly hates them for the public to see. Yet we still understand her predicament, since we are immediately told why. She cries uncontrollably when watching the happier lives through her news feed, mainly because she lost her mother to a heart attack at a young age, her urn resting in the living room.

Then when she starts stalking another young woman in Los Angeles, the fun really begins. The stalking starts normal enough, but you soon grow amazed to see the dangerous and often funny risks she takes to steal and lie her way to friendship. Just when you thought she already reached her limit, she proves you dead wrong.

Since everything passes through a filter nowadays, director and co-writer Matt Spicer matches the common Instagram user’s worldview: sunbeams, drinks served in mason jars, hammered copper cups, Joan Didion novels, and modern “art” sold of social media lingo pasted onto paintings. Even the fashion trends here match the creativity millennials contributed to society, setting a strong contrast between the filtered and unfiltered life. At home, she throws on miserable rags, sweats, and towels. When out in public, she attempts to look confident in her lightweight, costly dress. When she finds the ideal Instagram figure she wants to befriend, she copies her look, including dying her hair blonde in a look which clashes against her dark skintone. The usually gorgeous actress, Aubrey Plaza, (Parks and Recreation, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World) looks unflattering as Ingrid, dissimilar to the girl she idolizes, who flaunts the most Instagram-y hairstyle and wardrobe.

My greatest praise goes to the casting director, stunt choreographers, pyrotechnicians, and visual effects team for creating an intense, valuable production where communication was clearly strong. Although, stylistically speaking, you could tell this was Spicer’s first attempt at a full-length feature. Early on, he sets up a montage of still images in the style of The Big Short, only never to be seen again. For the most part, the camera and lighting decisions look very plain, sometimes even underexposed, especially with the white walls plastered along the set pieces.

If anything else bothered me, besides the characters’ inconsistent motives, it was the unrealistic “fake out” ending like in Birdman or (the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) that communicated a potentially harmful message.

Looking beyond the flaws, the performances turn out better than they needed to be, Aubrey Plaza’s sorely delightful portrayal compels you as she drowns in a pool of her own mascara-drenched tears. Billy Magnussen (Bridge of Spies, Into the Woods) also gives a very disturbing performance as a drug-addicted brother. Plus, Ingrid’s Los Angeles landlord, a vapor-smoking screenwriter, played by O'Shea Jackson Jr. (Straight Outta Compton), sombers you with his backstory about why he loves Batman so much, then delights you when he and his lover engage in Catwoman-themed sex.

So while the visuals may not capture the Los Angeles culture, the people in it certainly do. They trap you in the city by bringing the lighthearted sunny appearance into thriller territory packed with robberies and cocaine. So Ingrid Goes West does do one thing better than La La Land: Communicating the hard truth about the famous city of stars.

Overall, Ingrid Goes West gave me one important takeaway: tell the truth on social media, for we each need that openness to let others know the real us. Once the real us comes out, then the real friends will soon open up to us.

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My review of #LoganLucky:

The ultimate verdict: Logan Lucky achieves both everything and nothing you expect out of a modernized crime/comedy/western.

The story here focuses on Jimmy Logan, a recently divorced construction worker laid off due to his fractured leg. He enlightens his spirits, as well as our own, from his father-daughter bond right in the first frame as he repairs his car, when he tells her a story about his favorite country song. I admit these sweet moments were severely underdone, but not nearly as much as the activity of his gorgeous ex-wife, who creates zero memorability besides wearing a see-through top over a pink bra in front of her eight-year-old daughter. Matters instead revolve more about the men in the community, particularly the somewhat meaningful bond between Jimmy and his brother, a one-armed Iraqi veteran who can mix a martini one-handed.

Yet everything else about this part of the United States falls into stereotypes about the culture, right down to two rednecks competing in a toilet seat ring toss. Those two guys end up being probably the most memorable characters who create the most potential comedy; now I say potential because the “comedy” here just lazily paints authoritative figures as gullible doofuses, especially by the third act when it turns into an unresolved “Crime Scene Investigation” plot from the FBI’s perspective.

Despite the goal toward a crime/comedy, the gags’ staging missed their mark entirely—the timing of the editing never played against the audience’s expectations.

At least they do go a bit into intriguing detail about the robbery’s execution, down to a step-by-step process posted onto the refrigerator. It shows these fun little bits which make you think, “What on earth do they plan to do with those cockroaches coated in nail polish?” Then later you think, “Oh! Ha! Clever!” The details enlighten your attention, like how the number of times a plastic bag is twisted shut matters in making the contents explode.

Although the culture’s creation here does seem a smidgen off. I hadn’t lived there longer than three months, yet I know for certain that African Americans thrive elsewhere beyond the prisons. The fact that one of those crooks, played with a convincing accent by James Bond actor Daniel Craig, escapes jail to help others commit their robbery draws one common conclusion: the US’s most vibrant criminal culture thrives in the Southeast. While true in some regards, we deserve to see some light down there too.

Yes, the worldbuilding basically just got the job done well enough. The same goes to the acting—the best they achieve from their effort is simply sustaining your attention. Yet the smaller performances are really the more effective ones, as Hilary Swank (Boys Don’t Cry, Million Dollar Baby) made the most out of her small part, playing an investigator with her expected authoritative enthusiasm. The director, Steven Soderbergh, (Erin Brockovich, Traffic) proved his strength at casting seventeen years after beating himself at the Oscars, you see each well-known actor only as the character they portray. However, the way Soderbergh organizes the moments of his story is distractingly wrong.

Soderbergh displays lots of detailed love for the East Coast’s racing culture, such as a fiery feud between a rude racer who insults the two disabled leads. It feels truer to the culture than what the financially successful Cars franchise attempted. But I think Soderbergh misunderstands something important: very few people, particularly outside the East Coast, care as much about NASCAR as he does, a distraction at best in the way he flaunts the commercialism.

The bits at the car race, in particular, abuse too many lingering shots on the fans and bumper stickers, like one big NASCAR commercial. They even blare the name of “Fox News” when showing the game’s commentators.

You could honestly tell this was screenwriter Rebecca Blunt’s first ever writing credit, no craft goes into sending out any kind of motivation to anyone besides the two brothers to achieve anything, which hurts the film all the more, particularly with its unresolved established family commitment. Nobody learns anything, they all just exist as catalysts towards material gain.

Even if you lived in the southeast, you will most possibly forget the name Logan Lucky the next day. You’d be better off watching a car race live or watching CSI Miami, both a far more rewarding social experience.

Post has attachment
My review of #LoganLucky:

The ultimate verdict: Logan Lucky achieves both everything and nothing you expect out of a modernized crime/comedy/western.

The story here focuses on Jimmy Logan, a recently divorced construction worker laid off due to his fractured leg. He enlightens his spirits, as well as our own, from his father-daughter bond right in the first frame as he repairs his car, when he tells her a story about his favorite country song. I admit these sweet moments were severely underdone, but not nearly as much as the activity of his gorgeous ex-wife, who creates zero memorability besides wearing a see-through top over a pink bra in front of her eight-year-old daughter. Matters instead revolve more about the men in the community, particularly the somewhat meaningful bond between Jimmy and his brother, a one-armed Iraqi veteran who can mix a martini one-handed.

Yet everything else about this part of the United States falls into stereotypes about the culture, right down to two rednecks competing in a toilet seat ring toss. Those two guys end up being probably the most memorable characters who create the most potential comedy; now I say potential because the “comedy” here just lazily paints authoritative figures as gullible doofuses, especially by the third act when it turns into an unresolved “Crime Scene Investigation” plot from the FBI’s perspective.

Despite the goal toward a crime/comedy, the gags’ staging missed their mark entirely—the timing of the editing never played against the audience’s expectations.

At least they do go a bit into intriguing detail about the robbery’s execution, down to a step-by-step process posted onto the refrigerator. It shows these fun little bits which make you think, “What on earth do they plan to do with those cockroaches coated in nail polish?” Then later you think, “Oh! Ha! Clever!” The details enlighten your attention, like how the number of times a plastic bag is twisted shut matters in making the contents explode.

Although the culture’s creation here does seem a smidgen off. I hadn’t lived there longer than three months, yet I know for certain that African Americans thrive elsewhere beyond the prisons. The fact that one of those crooks, played with a convincing accent by James Bond actor Daniel Craig, escapes jail to help others commit their robbery draws one common conclusion: the US’s most vibrant criminal culture thrives in the Southeast. While true in some regards, we deserve to see some light down there too.

Yes, the worldbuilding basically just got the job done well enough. The same goes to the acting—the best they achieve from their effort is simply sustaining your attention. Yet the smaller performances are really the more effective ones, as Hilary Swank (Boys Don’t Cry, Million Dollar Baby) made the most out of her small part, playing an investigator with her expected authoritative enthusiasm. The director, Steven Soderbergh, (Erin Brockovich, Traffic) proved his strength at casting seventeen years after beating himself at the Oscars, you see each well-known actor only as the character they portray. However, the way Soderbergh organizes the moments of his story is distractingly wrong.

Soderbergh displays lots of detailed love for the East Coast’s racing culture, such as a fiery feud between a rude racer who insults the two disabled leads. It feels truer to the culture than what the financially successful Cars franchise attempted. But I think Soderbergh misunderstands something important: very few people, particularly outside the East Coast, care as much about NASCAR as he does, a distraction at best in the way he flaunts the commercialism.

The bits at the car race, in particular, abuse too many lingering shots on the fans and bumper stickers, like one big NASCAR commercial. They even blare the name of “Fox News” when showing the game’s commentators.

You could honestly tell this was screenwriter Rebecca Blunt’s first ever writing credit, no craft goes into sending out any kind of motivation to anyone besides the two brothers to achieve anything, which hurts the film all the more, particularly with its unresolved established family commitment. Nobody learns anything, they all just exist as catalysts towards material gain.

Even if you lived in the southeast, you will most possibly forget the name Logan Lucky the next day. You’d be better off watching a car race live or watching CSI Miami, both a far more rewarding social experience.

Post has attachment
I didn’t even get into the whole Pokémon craze until age ten, when Ruby and Sapphire came out. Yes, I was admittedly behind on the trend, but ever since, I became so obsessed by the fantastic designs of the different creatures, I even spent countless childhood hours drawing my own Pokémon, including a region map for them to live, new battle moves, and an Elite Four.

A friend and I even had an activity every recess in fifth and sixth grade: we acted out our own Pokémon adventure, with some cartoon characters as trainers. We thought, “what Pokémon would SpongeBob have? What about the Powerpuff Girls?” Our imaginations explored all possibilities every day at those recesses.

Now after growing up, I still like to occasionally draw my own Pokémon, yet since this blog is called “Trevor’s View on HOLLYWOOD,” I want to combine my love for Pokémon with my love for movies. Then maybe later I will consider sharing my own original Pokémon creations.

So what if some of your favorite movie characters coexisted with Pokémon? Here are 12 movie characters as Pokémon trainers:
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