It has been 40 years since Queen released their definitive masterwork A Night at the Opera, and the world of rock has never looked quite the same. With the album reaching its 40th anniversary last week, I decided it would be a great time to dive into what is arguably my personal favorite rock album of all time.
The album opens on a viciously cathartic note with “Death on Two Legs,” allegedly lead singer Freddie Mercury’s hate letter toward Queen’s ex-manager. It could also just be seen as a really nasty ode to an ex-friend or lover (the male references throughout would even be keeping in line with Mercury’s homosexuality). Musically, it’s about as epic an opening as you could ask for. The melding of the piano with electronic beeps shows off the blend of old and new the band proved so adept at. Mercury’s voice drops in with an angry growl and doesn’t let up. And check out some of these lyric lines: “now you can kiss my ass goodbye.” “You’re a sewer rat encased in a cesspool of pride.” It’s a brutally efficient little number.
“Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon” provides an immediate and jarring tonal shift, but don’t let the frivolous nature of the subject matter fool you—this is one brilliant little one-minute track. I love Mercury’s deliberately British-sounding vocals and Brian May’s lean guitar solo.
“I’m in Love with My Car” is the album’s most traditional-sounding rock song, with drummer Roger Taylor on vocals. His voice is raspier and more in line with a rock star than Mercury’s more theatrical sensibilities, and it’s a nice change of pace. Of course, the always on-point background harmonies still remind us that this is very much a Queen sound. The title obviously implies the content of the song, but I like the clever rhymes in lines like “Tell my girl I’ve got to forget her/I’d rather buy me a new carburetor.”
One of the most well-known and affecting songs from the album is “You’re my Best Friend,” Mercury’s sweet, sincere song about commitment. It’s an awesome feel-good song, one that reminds us to appreciate the loved ones we have in our own lives. Of course, there are some truly great vocal harmonies on display, and Mercury’s smooth, whispered “ohs” at the end of the track are simply infectious.
A song like ’39 begins to display the album’s epic tones as well as Queen’s penchant for grandiosity. The lyrics, sung by Brian May, are apparently about space travel. A group of astronauts embark on a year-long journey but return to find out 100 years have passed on earth time. The acoustic guitar work in the song is unique, and the lyrics invite contemplation. “Don’t you hear my call, though you’re many years away/Don’t you hear me calling you?”
“Sweet Lady” is the song that best shows off the band’s instrumental mastery. It features an incredible variety of rhythm and sound, starting in ¾ meter before switching to a lightning-fast 4/4. It really rocks, and what’s even more impressive is how effortless it all feels.
“Seaside Rendezvous” offers a switch back to Queen’s operatic mode, and the result is just insanely good. Taylor and Mercury’s vocals imitate instruments including a trumpet, clarinet, tuba and kazoo. It’s pretty mind-blowing stuff, and honestly sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard. It’s a tough one to describe, but it’s easily an album highlight.
It may be hard to imagine, but there is a song on A Night at the Opera that rivals “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “The Prophet’s Song” is it. It’s a candidate for most epic rock song ever recorded, as well as for my personal favorite. It’s a dark, long (over 8 minutes) and challenging work, speaking of dreams and prophecies and doom. “Oh, flee for your life/Deceive you not the fires of hell will take you/Should death await you.” The vocal round in the middle of the song is the true highlight, combined with an echo effect that is one of the coolest vocal tricks I’ve ever heard. It’s positively goosebump-inducing. The harmonic layering here is indescribably perfect. Thankfully, May’s guitar still has some room to wail here as well. The song ends on a more hopeful refrain (“Love is still the answer take my hand”) before its subtle and haunting denouement. If there’s such a thing as a perfect song, this is it.
*Note: Below is a really weird live recording that sounds totally different but is still pretty awesome.
“Love of my Life” is much softer but no less effective. Mercury’s beautiful, haunting, melancholic voice breaks with emotion. Bolstered by a melodic theatrical piano background, he strikes that brilliant and tricky balance between vulnerable and powerful as he sings about a love scorned, yet one he hopes to restore. It’s the kind of song Adele makes today. She certainly owes a debt of gratitude to songs like this.
“Good Company” is a clever song that recreates the sound of a Dixieland-style jazz band. May sings and plays ukulele. The odd lyrics seem to describe a man who comes across various people in his life but in the end discovers they were all imaginary. Songs like this once again show off the band’s immense variety and range.
And now we reach the granddaddy of all rock songs. What more is there to say about “Bohemian Rhapsody” that hasn’t already been said? Sometimes I wonder if the song has been spoiled by its perennial overplayed status on radio stations across the globe. Somehow, the answer to that question is always “no.” One does not simply tire of this song, ever. The song follows a man’s rumination on death row after having committed murder. The man expresses intense remorse as he sings to his mother. “life had just begun/but now I’ve gone and thrown it all away.” As he comforts her, he seems at first to accept his fate, but the chorus intercedes; some ask for mercy from the judge, while others condemn him. This one song contains more variety and emotion than 100 entire modern pop albums. There’s the chaotic call-and-response that echoes the narrator’s steadily decreasing sanity (“Mama mia let me go!”). He then turns to rage as the song kicks into rock mode with May’s legendary guitar solo. “So you think you can love me and leave me to die?” The narrator’s inner turmoil and back-and-forth emotional state is absolutely thrilling, but his bleak conclusion is still the same. “Nothing really matters, anyone can see/Nothing really matters to me.”
Oddly, the song ends with an efficient, short guitar interlude of “God Save the Queen.” It’s a nice, quiet ending to an album that is anything but.
A Night at the Opera is one of the most thrilling albums ever crafted. To call it Queen’s best work is to imply that there’s a runner-up somewhere in the vicinity. But this bad boy is in a league all its own. Iconic, both grandly ambitious and achingly intimate, it’s at obviously overblown and self-aggrandizing work. Queen was smart enough to only announce they were the best in the business if it were actually true. This album is proof enough that they most certainly were.
Sam Mendes is no stranger to risks. The veteran filmmaker took a huge gamble directing Skyfall, a bold revisionist take on Ian Flemings’ ever-popular spy character James Bond. That film, the third in the long-running franchise to feature star Daniel Craig, proved that risks can pay off. It was easily one of the most critically acclaimed and financially successful films in the history of the Bond franchise.
Skyfall is an integral part of the discussion surrounding the new 007 film Spectre, which reunites Mendes with star Craig and screenwriters John Logan and Neil Purvis. With a few exceptions, the 26th outing of the british spy takes an almost completely opposite approach. This is a very traditional Bond film, one that features numerous callbacks to the franchise’s past while doing practically nothing to ensure its future or carve out an identity of its own. The result is severely underwhelming.
In a stunning extended-shot opening sequence, we find Bond in Mexico City during a large Day of the Dead celebration. It initially appears he’s there for revelry, but, as usual, there’s a large plan afoot. He ditches his typically beautiful arm candy to hunt down a Mexican drug lord he believes is part of a shadowy organization called Spectre, which appears to be responsible for a series of terrorist attacks across the globe. After promptly disposing of the baddie, he infiltrates the organization in an attempt to gain access to its leader, the mysterious Franz Oberhauser (Christoph Waltz).
Meanwhile, Bond’s MI6 cohorts back in Britain are facing bureaucratic struggles. The newly appointed M (Ralph Finnes) butts heads with his new superior, the hard-headed C (Andrew Scott), who seeks to demolish the antiquated 007 program and replace it with a more computerized, futuristic version of spy technology. Returning MI6 members Moneypenny (Naomie Harris) and Q (Ben Whishaw) are forced to support Bond’s globetrotting antics in secret, under the nose of their boss.
The returning characters are all a delight; it certainly helps that they’re played by wonderful actors, and actually given something to do. Harris in particular is my favorite version of Moneypenny; she’s strong, independent, and written to be so much more than eye candy. The new characters are intriguing but ultimately less satisfying. They include two new Bond girls, one old (Monica Bellucci’s Lucia), one young (Léa Seydoux’s Madeline Swan) and henchman Hinx (Dave Bautista), who recalls many classic burly Bond baddies, most readily the iconic Jaws.
Spectre is a dreary experience that does little to enliven the Bond franchise formula.
In the film’s antiquated gender politics, women like Lucia are tossed aside as sex objects. I’m not really the one to complain about such things in a James Bond film, but when a character is set up as being important to the plot in some form, it’s disappointing when she ends up simply existing for Bond’s momentary pleasure. Swan is thankfully given much more development; she and Bond fall in love, a love they say is true and real. But we’re given so much less to work with than the relationship between Bond and Vesper Lynd in Casino Royale that it’s hard to take seriously. It is refreshing to see Bond truly taking an interest in protecting someone, even at the risk of his own life, rather than using her simply for sex.
Spectre is even more deliberately paced than Skyfall. This movie is slow; I’d go so far as to call it a drag. I certainly don’t need my Bond film to be action-packed; Casino Royale’s extended poker sequence comes to mind. But when everything feels as low-stakes as it does here, the emotional impact of the quieter scenes is weakened. There’s nothing here that gets the heart racing; the action sequences, minus one memorable fight on a train, feel as sleepy and devoid of genuine drama as the rest of the film. Part of the problem may be the film’s cinematography, which features tons of drab beiges and blacks. Roger Deakins’ magnetic presence, which made every scene of Skyfall sing, is sorely missed here. The other issue is the film’s almost slavish devotion to formula: aerial fight sequence, sex scene, car chase, quiet scene of dialogue to give the audience a breather, train fight, other sex scene, torture scene, etc. When we can almost predict every scene, the pacing loses much of its impact.
With a cast and crew this talented, there are bound to be some pros to a film like Spectre. The story is quite good; it brings the Craig era of the franchise full-circle and sets up Spectre as the proper evil organization Bond fans love to hate. The way it manages to tie everything together is satisfying on a plot level.
Thank God for Christoph Waltz. The actor, who has already won two Oscars, can seem to do no wrong. He absolutely steals every scene he’s in; the rapport between him and Bond is absolutely electric. He strikes the perfect balance between charming and menacing that many felt had been missing from recent Bond films. Unfortunately, there’s not nearly enough of him, but he manages to almost single-handedly enliven the final third of the film.
Unfortunately you have to slog through the rest of the film to get to the good stuff. And what a slog it is. Spectre is a dull and dreary experience of interminable length. Nothing is outright bad here, but nothing grips you either. Longtime franchise fans will likely get a lot out of the film’s numerous throwbacks and intriguing story, but everyone else may be scratching their heads wondering where it all went wrong.
A few weeks ago, I got to see indie rock musician Jon Foreman, the front man for the band Switchfoot, in concert. This led me to contemplate the many marvelous albums from my favorite band, and, like I did with U2 earlier this year, I decided to listen to them all and rank them. Switchfoot’s music is the kind that could literally save your life; words can’t adequately describe the impact their music has had on me since I was a kid. It’s the kind of music that makes me want to be a better person, that reminds me of my obligation to God and to others, and that love is the highest law of the land. Not to mention that their music flat-out rocks (and their music video’s are great goofy fun). Jon’s soulful vocals and guitar playing are backed by his brother Tim on bass, Chad Butler on drums and Jerome Fontamillas on keyboard as well as background guitar and vocals. Throughout their nearly 20-year existence, the band has amassed a formidable catalogue of seriously great music. All of it is worth listening to. Without further ado, here is every Switchfoot album, ranked.
Oh! Gravity.
There is no such thing as a bad Switchfoot album, but there is such a thing as a disappointing one. This is it. Made toward the middle of the band’s career, Oh! Gravity finds the band trying to maintain their identity while simultaneously reinventing themselves. The result is a bit of a jumble; the songwriting is murkier than the band’s usual efforts and the themes are less clear and more inconsistent.
The excellent title song asks, “Why can’t we seem to keep it together?” lamenting the difficulty of keeping sane in a chaotic culture. The band’s penchant for scathing cultural critique is in full force with “American Dream,” where “excess is equated with excess.” “I want out of this machine,” Foreman sings. “It doesn’t feel like freedom to me.” The chaos tone of the album continues with “Dirty Second Hands,” which recalls the grungier sound of the band’s earlier work. “Awakening” is one of my favorite Switchfoot songs, a cry out for meaning and purpose. “I wanna wake up kicking and screaming/I wanna know that my heart’s still beating.” “Circles” is a deeper expression of inner chaos that still desires to hold on to truth. “Don’t believe that nothing is true. Don’t believe in this modern machine.”
“Amateur Lovers” describes the disease of “insufficiency of love.” “Faust, Midas and Myself” finds the band at its most metaphorical, which the band normally trades in brilliantly. This feels a bit too artsty though, and the result is unclear and unsatisfying. The same can be said for “In This Life.” I do like “Yesterday,” a softer song that feels like a goodbye song. “Burn out Bright” is another cry to restore passion. “Before I die I wanna burn out bright.” “4:12” is another interesting experiment, a song that is literally 4 minutes and 12 seconds. These kinds of gimmicks don’t make good songs on their own, however. “Let your Love be Strong” is a typical exhortation from Foreman to put love first. “Maybe I’m optimistic…that love could be a verb.”
Oh! Gravity has its share of excellence, but it’s balanced by some more forgettable tracks, and the album as a whole doesn’t come together in the way the band’s best work does.
The Legend of Chin
The band’s debut album only suffers in comparison to their later work. On its own merits, The Legend of Chin is a remarkable debut. Switchfoot’s early sound was much grungier, Foreman’s voice a bit rougher around the edges. Their mastery of creative instrumentation and sonic variety was also more pronounced here than on later records. Even the lyrics were more playful, closer in style to contemporaries like Reliant K, as in the song “Chem 6A.” “I don’t wanna read the book/I’ll watch the movie.” “Underwater” is an emotional song about a girl adrift, perhaps in alcohol, or just apathy. The serious subject matter still makes way for a jazzy piano interlude. “Edge of My Seat” continues the album’s creative sound with trumpet accompaniment. “Home” is an album highlight about finding rest in the hope of heaven while praising the grandness of creation. “Someday I’ll see home.” “Ben Hur” shows off Foreman’s lyrical trickery and pop cultural savviness, but “Concrete Girl” is likely the album’s most affecting song. Foreman’s voice shows its vulnerability as he encourages a girl to find the purpose behind the artifice she sees all around her. “Concrete Girl, don’t fall down/In this broken world around you.”
“3/4 Chant,” perhaps obviously, plays creatively with ¾ time. “You” is about resting in God rather than ourselves and our own abilities. “I find peace when I’m confused/I find hope when I’m let down.” “Ode to Chin” encourages the listener to “doubt your doubts/And believe your beliefs.”
The Legend of Chin is a fun and creative debut album, a signifier of greater things to come from an immensely talented group of musicians.
New Way to Be Human
The theme of New Way to Be Human seems to be transformation, and the album does a remarkable job of echoing that theme through the songs themselves, which display a pretty incredible variety. The great-sounding title track features immensely catchy whistling as Foreman sings about “a new way to be human,” which he later reveals is God. “You’re the only way to be human.” “Incomplete” encourages us to accept our weaknesses and allow God to make us whole. “Sooner or Later” reminds us that “sooner or later you find out there’s a hole in the wall.” We’re perfectly happy with life until something goes wrong, then we wonder what has happened. “Have I lost who I am? I threw it all away.” “Company Car” is one of my favorite Switchfoot song; a great sound featuring trumpet accompaniment is bolstered by a cautionary tale reminding us that man can’t serve two masters. The subject has everything he wants, including money, but he ultimately asks, “Have I won monopoly but forfeit my soul?” “Only Hope” is another of my favorite songs, a beautiful ode to searching, longing, reaching out and ultimately finding rest in God. Foreman’s voice rises along with his journey of discovery. “So I lay my head back down/And I lift my hands and pray to be only yours/I know now you’re my only hope.” “I Turn Everything Over” is similarly about giving things over to God. “Under the Floor” is a haunting closer about listening for God as he whispers in the quiet, intimate spaces of our lives.
New Way to Be Human proved that The Legend of Chin was no fluke. This is a confident, assured follow-up, with emotional, stirring tracks. You can sense a lot of grand, epic themes that would be perfected in later albums, but that doesn’t make what’s here any less great.
Fading West
Fading West is an excellent album, but it suffers in comparison to some of its stellar contemporaries. Still, the album that functioned as a soundtrack to Switchfoot’s must-see surfing documentary of the same title is filled with soulful tracks. “Love Alone is Worth the Fight” establishes the album’s epic tone, and is a perfect encapsulation of the band’s recurring theme that love is the most powerful motivator we have. “Who We Are” is a generational chant featuring a children’s choir, a unique sound for the band. “There’s still time enough to choose who we are.” “When We Come Alive” is another one of my personal favorites, an extremely haunting track about living a life of passion and the way that comes to life in community. “We light the sky when we ignite/When we come alive.” “Say it Like You Mean It” seeks honest words in a politically correct culture. “The World You Want” is another haunting track, featuring tribal drums and Foreman reminding us that the world will be what we make of it. This leads to one of my favorite lyrical refrains that we all have something we worship. “What you say is your religion/How you say it’s your religion/Who you love is your religion/How you love is your religion.”
“Slipping Away” repeats an album theme of reflecting on the past and feeling the past leaving us. “BA55” jolts the album back into harder rock territory with a dark, arresting sound, searching again for that passion, that “fire that can burn me clean.” “Let It Out” is another powerful anthem song about letting things go and not fearing others’ opinions. “All or Nothing At All” encourages us to embrace the whole person—either ourselves or someone else—rather than simply the parts we don’t like, the same way God embraces us. “Salwater Heart” uses the ocean as a metaphor for God’s vastness. “Back to the Beginning Again” ends what is arguably the band’s most hopeful album by seeking a revival and going back to the foundation. “My hope is anchored on the other side/with the colors that live outside of the lines.”
Nothing Is Sound
To call an album like Nothing is Sound ambitious is an understatement. This is Switchfoot embracing their true status as a rock band and claiming that they could tackle grand themes like the vastness of the universe, the afterlife, sex and politics. The most impressive thing about the album is that they were right.
“Lonely Nation” establishes a darker, more epic sound for the band. The song decries the isolation we often feel in an individualistic society. “Stars” may be the band’s single most epic song, contemplating the majesty of God while looking up at the heavens. The singer feels emptiness and loneliness, until he looks at the stars and sees “someone else.” But this someone else deeply affects the singer. “When I look at the stars, I feel like myself.” The song was immensely popular, and it’s easy to see why. A radio-friendly rock song that feels both epic and intimate at once is a very rare thing. “The Shadow Proves the Sunshine” is another one of my favorites, showing how we can often shine when things are darkest. Forman evokes the Psalms when he sings “Oh Lord, why did you forsake me? Or Lord, don’t be far away.” But he doesn’t stay in despair; he asks God to “let my shadows prove the sunshine.” “Easier Than Love” calls out our sex-obsessed culture. Sex is “easier than love,” and we often focus on it to the detriment of love. “The Blues” shows again how vulnerable Foreman’s voice can be; he’s willing to let his voice break. The song is about feeling down, but it cleverly has a bluesy sound as well (Fontamillias’ piano playing is particularly noteworthy here).
“Setting Sun” is a beautiful reflection on the hope of heaven. “Politicians” is another rock out song, not only a scathing critique of the fakery often inherent in politics but also how we all have become politicians, putting on our best face but unwilling to show our true colors to the world. “Fatal Wound” shows off some creative instrumentation with a killer harmonica part. “We Are One Tonight” is a great anthem song about casting aside conflict and coming together. The album ends on an unexpectedly soft note with “Daisy,” a song encouraging a girl to “let it go.” “This fallen world doesn’t hold your interest; it doesn’t hold your soul.”
Nothing is Sound executes that tricky balance of intimate and epic perfectly. It showed that the band could tackle almost any subject and spin gold out of it. The total effect is actually a bit exhausting, which is perhaps the reason why this album doesn’t rank higher. Still, it’s exhilarating stuff.
Learning to Breathe
Switchfoot’s third album was the first I ever heard, at age 10. It holds a special place in my heart, because it had a profound effect on me. It was also the first album to show the band was more than ready for the mainstream.
It’s pretty safe to say that “I Dare You to Move” is the band’s most popular song ever. I doubt few people who turned on a radio station in the early 2000s didn’t hear it at some point (it was also one of several Switchfoot songs featured in the popular film A Walk to Remember). It more than earned its status as a classic song. The lyrics encourage perseverance through hardship and rejecting apathy, and Foreman’s vocals feel particularly haunting here. “Learning to Breathe” is an arresting song about trying to live a life of authenticity, and that such authenticity comes through our day-to-day decisions. “Love is the Movement” is a strong candidate for my favorite Switchfoot song ever. It’s an epic treatise on the transformative power of love, with a gospel chorus accompaniment. Here, love is much more than a feeling, it is something that necessitates action. “Love is the movement/Love is the revolution/This is redemption/We don’t have to slow back down…Get up/Love is moving you now.” “Poparazzi” is a catchy song about the shallowness of celebrity pop culture. The cult of celebrity is driven home through lyrics that conjure religious imagery like “This is a tune for the graven images of Marilyn Monroe.” The ending ends in cacophony, echoing the way our culture often sounds when everyone is trying to speak at once.
“Innocence Again” highlights some great acoustic work, and the brilliant way Foreman matches his voice to the lyrics. When singing the lyrics “Grace is high and low,” his vocals rise and fall accordingly. In “Losers,” Foreman sings about how, in God’s eyes, the losers are the winners. “Economy of Mercy” similarly turns things on its head; in God’s economy, the low are brought high through “the currency of grace.” “Erosion” expresses a desire for revival. “Spirit fall like rain on my thirsty soul.” “Living is Simple” sets up a contrast between living in the body and living in the spirit. “Is this fiction or divine comedy/Where the last of the last is first?”
Learning to Breathe is an important album, an encouragement to live boldly and reject apathy as we seek God and navigate the waters of this world. It’s also just plain fun, with several radio-friendly hits that have some real substance to back up their popularity.
The Beautiful Letdown
Now we’re talking. If Learning to Breathe proved that Switchfoot could play in the big leagues, The Beautiful Letdown showed the world that they were one of the best bands around. It’s an absolute stunner, one that took many of the band’s previous themes and codified them into a near-perfect album. The boys come out of the gate swinging with “Meant to Live,” an anthem song about living a greater purpose. “We want more than this world’s got to offer,” Foreman sings with a new found power he hadn’t shown before. “This is Your Life” asks listeners to examine their own lives. Are we living our greatest purpose now? “This is your life, and today is all you’ve got now/And today is all you’ll ever have.” “More Than Just Okay” continues the theme, emphasizing challenge and growth over stagnation. Chad Butler’s drumming really kicks on “Ammunition,” which calls out our culture of blaming. “Look What a Mess We’ve Made of Love” as a result of the verbal bullets we sling at each other. In “Alive,” Forman sings, “My fears have worn me out.” He seeks life, and finds it in Christ. “His scars are bigger than these doubts of mine.”
“The Beautiful Letdown” features a killer bassline from Tim Foreman, which gives the song a unique, laid back groove. The lyrics discuss embracing failure, for God can use us even at our weakest. I love the line, “The church of the dropouts, the losers, the sinners, the failures and the fools.” “Gone” is another one of my favorites, encouraging the listener to let go of the things of this world. “Where’s your treasure, where’s your hope/If you get the world and lose your soul?” We only have so many days to make an impact, so let’s use them wisely, because “life is a day that doesn’t last for long.” “Fire” is a beautiful song about the passion God can spark in us. “You’re on fire when he’s near you/You’re on fire when he speaks/You’re on fire burning up in these mysteries.” “Adding to the Noise” seeks silence in a noisy world, aka “the symphony of modern man.” “Twenty-Four” is a brilliant closing track about how quickly life can change, capped by the powerful refrain “I am the second man now/When you’re raising the dead in me.” This lyric works on multiple levels. The second man may be referring to putting ourselves second to God, but it could also mean a new man, a born again man. Risen to life in Christ, a new man has taken the old man’s place.
Masterful lyrics like that are all over this album, which doesn’t really miss a beat. One could be forgiven for thinking Switchfoot would never make a better album, which is one of the reasons why what comes next is so extraordinary.
Hello Hurricane
Hello Hurricane is an album that leaves me speechless every time I hear it. It’s a beautiful, soulful meditation on hope in the midst of pain, and a reminder that God can use us even in our weakness. “Needle and Haystack Life” introduces an epic, sophisticated tone that is unlike anything we’ve heard from the band previously. The searching lyrics complement the arresting sound perfectly. The album quickly veers into hard rock territory with the propulsive “Mess of Me,” a song that reminds us that we can’t fix ourselves on our own. “There ain’t no drug that they could sell/There ain’t no drug to make me well…The sickness is myself.” “Love is a Song” is a highlight on an album of highlights. In poetic language, it describes the all-encompassing nature of God’s love as a work of art. “Your love is a symphony/All around me, running through me/Your love is a melody, underneath me, running to me.” “The Sound” is, simply, a kick ass song, one that gives the band plenty of chances to show off. Foreman’s voice has never shown more raw power, and his guitar solo reminds us of his serious axe skills. The lyrics are a generational call, reminding us that “there is no sound louder than love.” We hear the other side of Foreman’s vocal range on “Enough to Let Me Go,” a vulnerable song about, well, knowing when to let someone go. “Free” is a more aggressive song about yearning for freedom from “the prisons of my mind.”
“Hello Hurricane” uses a metaphor of a storm for hardship, and is all about not letting these storms knock us down. “Hello Hurricane, you’re not enough…you can’t silence my love.” “Always” is a passionate song about clinging to hope when everything is falling apart. The epic string accompaniment really drives this one home. “Bullet Soul” is another rock-out song, one I remember being featured in movie trailers after the song came out. It’s all about injecting passion into life. “Love is the one true innovation/Love is the only art.” “Yet” is a moving song about holding onto faith through hardship. “I’m so confused what’s true what’s false/What’s fact or fiction after all…but you haven’t lost me yet.” The song also features one of my favorite lyric lines: “If it doesn’t break your heart it isn’t love.” “Sing it Out” is one of the band’s most haunting songs, asking God to allow our weakness to speak when nothing else can. “Take what is left of me…make it a melody…I need your breath in my lungs tonight.” “Red Eyes” conveys the desperation of looking, exhausted, for something greater. That exhaustion comes from searching for things that don’t ultimately satisfy. The album leaves us with a question: “What are you looking for?”
This is the kind of album that could save lives. I know it has certainly gotten me through tough times. We all need an occasional reminder that our lives are not meaningless, that there’s a higher purpose to our lives and to the universe as a whole. We shouldn’t fear weakness, for it is in our moments of vulnerability or desperation that our true colors can shine, if we allow them to. That’s an important message, and this is an important album, not to mention impeccably crafted and just plain impressive. It’s one of my all-time favorites.
Vice Verses
You would be forgiven for thinking that Switchfoot could never make an album that could surpass Hello Hurricane, but you would be wrong. I know I was. In this case, I’m glad I was. If the band’s previous revolutionary effort was about how to be strong in the middle of our weakness, Vice Verses is a reminder that we don’t have to stay in that space. Life is a truly joyful thing to be celebrated.
That embrace of living a full, purposeful life is driven home on the opening track, “Afterlife.” “I wonder why would I wait ‘til I die to come alive?/I’m ready now, I’m not waiting for the afterlife.” The song really kicks, and reveals the band at their peak maturity and sophistication. “Original” features a different lyrical style for Foreman, closer to a rap or a shout. It would get old if overused, but it works here, especially when the song’s theme is about embracing your uniqueness in a world that wants to homogenize you. “War Inside” is a grungy, electric tune about dealing with inner conflict. “Every fight comes from the fight within.” “Restless” is a moving ode to the singer’s tireless pursuit of God. “I run like the ocean to find your shore, looking for you.” There’s a distinct U2/”Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” vibe here, undoubtedly one of Switchfoot’s major influence. The song earns that comparison; it’s that good. The lyrics of “Blinding Light” encourage an unnamed boy and girl to avoid giving into peer pressure or the temptation to fit into society’s standards of beauty or coolness. “We’re the nation that eats our youth.” The kids are asked to hold onto the hope that transcends those standards. “Still looking for the blinding light/Still looking for the reason why.” “Selling the News” brings back the band’s scathing cultural criticism, this time tackling not only the news media but a culture all too willing to exchange the truth for lies. It sort of like a modern version of Don Henley’s “Dirty Laundry,” but this song is more layered and nuanced. “Opinions are easier to swallow the facts…The fact is fiction/Suspicion is a new religion.”
“Thrive” may actually be my favorite Switchfoot song. A subtle, soothing bassline plays over Foreman’s agonized vocals. Here is a broken man, airing out his demons and desiring to live life to the fullest. There’s a distinct biblical Psalm vibe here, where criticisms directed toward God are leveraged with prayers. “Am I a man when I feel like a ghost?…I know that I’m not right…I wanna thrive, not just survive.” It’s an incredibly powerful encouragement to anyone experiencing a dark valley of the soul. “Dark Horses” is perhaps the band’s most successful anthem song, with a bit of an epic Bon Jovi vibe. The lyrics see the dark horses as those who won’t give up even when society has given up on them. “Hey, you can’t count us out/We’ve been running up against the crowd/Yeah, we are the dark horses.” “Souvenirs” is a song about looking back upon a life and seeing all the little moments that brought the singer to where he is now. It’s an inspiring celebration of life, both the good and the bad. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“Rise Above It” shows off Foreman’s penchant for creative rhyming, with lyrics that talk about lifting ourselves above our circumstances. “Vice Verses” is a self-reflective, acoustic track, featuring only Foreman’s vocals and guitar. This feels closer to his actual solo work, as the singer looks out at the ocean while thinking about perspective. The singer is not an optimist or pessimist, but simply a realist. “You’ve got your babies, I’ve got my hearses/Every blessing comes with a set of curses/I’ve got my vices, got my vice verses.” The singer also asks some very Job-esque questions of God. “Where is God in the city life? Where is God in the earthquake? Where is God in the genocide?…Everything feels rusted over/Tell me that you’re there.” “Where I Belong” closes the album by expressing loss and displacement in a world which is not truly home. “I’m not sentimental/This skin and bones is a rental/And no one makes it out alive.” The singer sees a greater home, “Where the weak are finally strong/Where the righteous right the wrongs.” It’s a moving end to a moving record.
Vice Verses is literally breathtaking. As in, I find myself short of breath after I listen to it through. The songs here run the gamut of human emotions, and always leave me with a desire to live my true purpose. It’s a dark album that tackles heavy issues head-on, but the overall tone is one of hope. With God on the throne, what do we truly have to fear? It’s one of my favorite albums, period.
The life of Apple visionary Steve Jobs appears to be a source of endless fascination for Hollywood. There was an unsuccessful drama starring Aston Kutcher, and this year’s documentary from Alex Gibney. Now, legendary screenwriter Aaron Sorkin and director Danny Boyle have taken a unique stab at the man who changed the history of how we communicate. Sorkin, who wrote the brilliant, acerbic The Social Network about the rise of Facebook, is no stranger to the lives of tech giants. While Steve Jobs is not as successful as that masterwork, it’s still an arresting and original portrait.
The film is driven from a sensational performance by Michael Fassbender, who can seem to do no wrong. He nails the sometimes toxic combination of madness and genius that drove Jobs, the kind that is well-suited to running a company but also leaves his personal life in shambles. Fassbender can express more with his eyes that most actors can with their entire bodies. It’s a difficult performance to pull off well, but he never misses a beat.
Sorkin’s talky screenplay forgoes the typical biopic treatment to focus on three major points in Jobs’ tech career: the 1984 unveiling of the original Macintosh, the 1988 reveal of the Next computer and the 1998 release of the iMac. Each event takes up about a third of the runtime, and updates us on Jobs’ relationship with the key players in his professional and personal life. There’s his “work wife” assistant, Joanna Hoffman (an always-stellar Kate Winslet), his boss, John Sculley (Jeff Daniels), his co-founding partners in crime, Steve Wozniak (Seth Rogen) and Andy Hertzfeld (Michael Stuhlbarg) and his estranged lover and daughter, Chrisann and Lisa Brennan.
The film takes place almost entirely in doors, with tons of backroom meetings, last minute changes and personal revelations. Because each sequence takes place during the minutes leading up to a tech unveiling, everyone is always flustered, snappy and on-edge. Sorkin wisely realizes that it is in these moments where honesty emerges, and people show their true selves. When we’re first introduced to Jobs in 1984, he’s pretty much an unlikable cad who refuses to support his lover with more than the very basic of child support and stringently denies a paternity test that claims Lisa to be his daughter. There’s also his strained relationship with Wozniak, who insists that Jobs acknowledge the original Apple II team during the tech unveiling. With CEO Sculley, his attitude ranges from mildly antagonistic to outwardly hostile. He accosts his co-workers with unreasonable demands, like getting the Macintosh to say “hello” onstage despite everyone saying it’s impossible.
Steve Jobs is an arresting and creative portrait of the legendary tech genius.
Sorkin’s script is certainly a warts-and-all portrait, but it never makes Jobs out as a true villain. What makes the story so brilliant is the way it peels back layers with each sequence, revealing new depth to the man than what was previously shown. When we learn, for example, how hard it was on him never knowing his birth parents, or how deep and complicated his relationship with his daughter really is, we begin to understand the true nature of the man. It’s interesting to note that Sorkin focused on two product launches that were seen as failures before giving us a successful one at the end. Here is a man whose genius was birthed in the fires of failure. It also helps that Sorkin is a master at dialogue as well; the film is wryly observant and funny; it trades cheap jokes for sophisticated pop culture references that really anchor us in the time and place of each sequence.
I was impressed with the visual variety and complexity on display here. It’s tough to make a film that takes place mostly behind stages (we don’t ever see Jobs give a full speech to a crowd) look as good as it does here. Thanks to Boyle’s assured direction, Alwin H. Kuchler’s dizzying camerawork and Guy Hendrix Dyas’ sumptuous production design, the film still manages to put on quite a show. The film experiments with pop-up graphics and text that give us something new to look at without taking us out of the story.
But Steve Jobs is the kind of film where expectations should be managed. Because it is not a full biopic but rather a portrait, we don’t get as comprehensive a view of Jobs’ life as some might like. The film dives deep into the thoughts and moments that defined these three points in his life but, other than a few brief flashbacks, we don’t get much of the scrappy wherewithal of Apple’s early days, or anything related to Jobs’ later-day successes or illness and eventual death. As such, we view his personal life solely through the lens of his career, which gives the film an odd feeling of being both deep and shallow at the same time. I’d love to see the approach given here adapted to some sort of miniseries; there’s a lot more story to tell (you may want to check out Gibney’s Steve Jobs: Man in the Machine to help fill in some of the gaps, or read Walter Isaacson’s excellent biography).
In the end, this desire to learn more about the man behind Apple doesn’t dilute the film too much. Steve Jobs is an absolute must-see, a stirring portrait of a man who had everything and nothing at the same time. It’s one of the most well-made films of the year, and the stellar acting on display from all involved is worth the price of admission alone.
The story of Philippe Petit is pretty incredible, so much so that Hollywood has come calling more than once. The story of the French daredevil (some would say crazy) high wire walker was first told in the Oscar-winning documentary Man on Wire. That film brilliantly documented Petit’s dangerous (and extremely illegal) wire walk across the World Trade Center towers in the 1970s. Now, Robert Zemeckis (Forrest Gump, Cast Away) has crafted an immensely entertaining dramatic telling of the same story. He also continues to show his mastery of technology and the 3-D format in particular.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays Petit, the French acrobat that fell in love with wire walking at a young age. He comes under the tutelage of circus master Papa Rudy (Ben Kingsley), who reluctantly teaches him how to rig lines so he won’t break his neck. Petit is an inexplicably happy, almost unflappable optimist, but it isn’t until he sees an article about the construction of the tallest towers in the world that he finds his purpose in life. We the encouragement of his girlfriend Annie (Charlotte Le Bon), he begins to brush up on his English and steel himself for his greatest challenge.
Of course, breaking into the World Trade Center before it even opens in order to perform a death-defying stunt is more than a little illegal. But that’s not the kind of things that gets in the way of a dreamer like Philippe. He must assemble a crew for the job by bringing together a ragtag group of dreamers including a couple of American stoners, an official photographer and, hilariously, a fellow Frenchman with an extreme case of vertigo.
The first part of the film, which delves into Petit’s upbringing and initial motivation for his walk, is a bit sleepy. It’s charming enough, but it suffers from pacing issues, and the constant narration from Philippe doesn’t help. We hear an awful lot of Gordon-Levitt’s dubious French accent throughout the film, and rarely a scene goes by without his colorful commentary on the situation. The narration is interesting at first but begins to grate as the film goes on.
The Walk is old- fashioned in its storytelling, but its cutting-edge use of 3-D technology is second to none.
This issue is confounded in the film’s second half, which is nonetheless much more interesting. Zemeckis plays it like a straight heist film, even more so that Man on Wire, with lots of smooth talking, disguises and close calls with guards. Alan Silvestri’s score recalls some of the classic in the genre in all the best ways. And yet, we’re frequently taken out of the moment when we cut to Philippe as he dramatically stands atop the Statue of Liberty telling us how he feels in each scene. I don’t mind such narration as a cinematic convention on principle, but less would have definitely been more here.
Zemeckis wisely understands we’re here for the climax, the walk itself, and it does not disappoint. It is one of the most exhilarating set piece moments in movie history. As great as Man on Wire is, we never really got to feel like we were on the wire with Petit. Through breathtaking cinematography and a masterful use of 3-D technology, the film manages to make us feel like we’re experiencing every moment. I can’t applaud the use of 3-D enough here; seeing it in IMAX is not optional. The result is relentlessly intense and visceral. I found myself clutching my head in tension. Of course, we know Petit makes it off the wire, or he wouldn’t be telling us his story, but the realism and intensity of the way the walk is portrayed here makes this a non-issue. Such a ridiculous, bold, completely foolish endeavor has never before been attempted, and never will be again.
This point is brought home by the fact that the Twin Towers no longer exist. The memory of what those towers meant, and what they now mean, to New Yorkers and to America, gives the film and extra layer of bittersweet poignancy. There’s even a scene where a character explains that, before Petit, locals were not fans of the towers and thought them an eyesore. After the Walk, however, New Yorkers felt a newfound sense of pride in their city, one where so many dreams are made.
The Walk is decidedly old-fashioned cinema. Like Petit itself, its bold and brilliant, self-obsessed and a bit cheesy, but ultimately inspiring. If you can forgive some slack pacing and off-putting narration, it may inspire you to dream a little bigger. That healthy dose of optimism is something the movies could use more of.
Sicario is the kind of film that begins with a knife thrust and spends the rest of its running time slowly twisting the handle. There has been a small handful of films made about the border drug wars, but in its own haunting way, Canadian filmmaker Denis Villeneuve’s highly anticipated follow-up to Prisoners and Enemy may be the best.
Emily Blunt continues to show off her brilliance as Kate Macer, a young, naïve FBI agent who is recruited to be part of an inter-agency cartel busting taskforce after she comes across a grisly house of corpses in an Arizona stronghold run by drug kingpin Manuel Diaz. The leader of the taskforce, Matt Graver (Josh Brolin) plays to Kate’s sense of justice, convincing her that the only way to stem the flow of violence on the border between the U.S. and Mexico is to gun for the guy at the top.
Also on the taskforce is the mysterious Alejandro (Benicio Del Toro), a supposed expert on the cartels. Kate is understandably reluctant to trust such a rogue element, but she nonetheless travels with the team between Arizona and Mexico as they attempt to gather information on the cartel and its dangerous leader.
The film is a slow burn, taking plenty of time to set up the conflict and show us why messing with the drug cartels is such dangerous business. This is wisely shown mostly through gorgeous visuals thanks to the typically excellent work of cinematographer Roger Deakins. Deakins shoots most scenes from a variety of creative angles, allowing the audience to feel more like bystanders in the film rather than passive viewers of it. Both the beauty and violence of the harsh desert landscape where most of the film occurs are contrasted beautifully.
Sicario is a gritty portrayal of the border wars that is unafraid to tackle weighty themes.
The masterful camerawork is bolstered by incredibly fine acting all around. Blunt gives perhaps her best performance as a woman torn between her sense of duty and her desire for survival, her dedication and her increasing desperation. Kate is completely unprepared for this work, and Blunt carries it all on her shoulders as her character begins to question why she was chosen for the taskforce to begin with. Del Toro’s work is equally reserved, which makes his character all the more formidable. It’s the kind of role he could have taken way over the top (The Usual Suspects comes to mind), but he instead settles for subtle, sinister and absolutely brilliant. Every scene he shares with Blunt is electric.
But where the film leaves its most lasting mark is its pacing. Villeneuve has proven a modern master at allowing tension to slowly build without granting release. I think of the old adage about the toad in the boiling water. You don’t even know you’re burned until it’s too late. Screenwriter Taylor Sheridan smartly holds back the on-screen violence. It’s blunt and brutal in its realism, but only because there aren’t bullets flying every five minutes. There are only a handful of action scenes, but each one is memorable.
Some might find Sicario’s pacing too slow, anti-climactic or not cathartic. But its refusal to adhere to what we expect from this type of film is what makes it so good. The goal of the filmmakers was to convey one of life’s most challenging concepts: futility. The drug trade is portrayed like the Hydra; for every head you cut off, two grow back in its place. What happens when our sense of ultimate justice doesn’t jibe with the corrupt systems this world has put in place? The film’s bitter frustration over this question hits home during a quietly effective ending that is one of the best I’ve seen in a long while.
Like the brilliant Prisoners,Sicario (hitman in Spanish) has some important questions boiling underneath its gritty realism. How do we destroy the monsters we face in this world? And can we do so without becoming monsters ourselves? The fact that Sicario doesn’t provide an answer is one of the many things that make it one of the best films of the year.
One of the best things about the cinema is its ability to transport us to places we would never imagine visiting in real life. For me, Mount Everest would be near the top of that list. What would it be like to attempt to conquer nature’s most formidable peak? The film Everest, based upon John Krakauer’s book Into Thin Air, does this better than almost any film I’ve ever seen. The film, which was partially shot on the mountain itself, does an incredible job of making us feel like we’re on the mountain, from the frigid temperatures to the icy winds and formidable heights.
The film recounts Krakauer’s true-life account of a 1996 expedition to summit the mountain by a group of explorers that goes terribly wrong. Krakauer (played in the film by Michael Kelly) joins up on an expedition with Adventure Consultants, led by adventuresome Kiwi Rob Hall (Jason Clarke). Hall has spent years guiding intrepid mountaineers up the slopes. This year’s group is especially well-qualified. There’s brash Texan Beck Weathers (Josh Brolin), Yasuko, a Japanese climber who has scaled 6 out of the world’s tallest peaks and aims to make Everest her seventh, and Doug Hansen (John Hawkes), a self-proclaimed everyman who was forced to turn back in a previous scaling attempt, among others. All the climbers have their own reasons for climbing, but they all have an equal determination to make it to the top. But Everest cares little for the hubris of man.
Director Baltasar Kormákur and screenwriters William Nicholson and Simon Beaufoy do a great job of easing into the climb; the film’s first half fills us in on the myriad perils of climbing a 29,000 foot peak. The climbers, who have paid an astronomical sum (about $60,000, the film tells us) for this chance, must first go through 40 days of rigorous training. This includes acclimating their bodies to the thin air, which can result in climbers hacking up blood or even going mad (some poor souls have been known to throw off their clothes, exclaiming that they’re boiling hot even as their bodies succumb to hypothermia). We’re also introduced to the rivalries that exist between competing expedition companies, including Hall’s friendly competition with Scott Fischer (Jake Gyllenhaal). This focus on acclimating both the climbers and the audience to the grandiosity of the climb pays off. We feel everything the climbers have gone through to reach the actual day of the climb, and we feel the dread of knowing that, despite all that preparation, the mountain could still win.
Everest is an engaging and beautifully shot adventure that never quite reaches the thrilling heights of its namesake.
In its almost slavish dedication to telling the true-life story of the expedition and how it went wrong, the film suffers in its abundance of characters. There are literally dozens of characters I’ve failed to mention (all played by very fine actors), all of them based upon real-life people. In the context of a movie, I start to lose focus. It’s hard to care about everyone equally when some are given deep backstories and motivation and others almost none. Throw large snow jackets and headgear on them and the situation becomes even more complicated. I wish the screenwriters had focused on less characters; eliminating a few characters or combining them with others would have worked wonders.
In Everest, the real star is clearly the mountain itself, and it doesn’t disappoint. Salvatore Totino’s cinematography is marvelous, never failing to remind us of both the beauty and the terror of it all. This is a film that is meant to be seen on the largest screen possible. If you’ve ever wanted to know what it actually feels like to be on Everest, this is one to check out.
In attempting to mimic Krakauer’s exhaustive attention to detail, Everest often feels like a documentary. That has its pluses and minuses. The film is so dedicated to realism that it seems to forget that mountain climbing can sometimes be, well, boring, no matter how imposing the mountain may be. Despite the impressive visuals, I was never really on the edge of my seat. Perhaps the right term is workmanlike. This may be how it really feels to climb the mountain, but the cinematic payoff is decidedly underwhelming. The talent both behind of and in front of the camera is off the charts, but Everest never crackles like it should.
Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint what a film doesn’t have, only that it doesn’t have it. Here, it feels like we’ve traveled but we never really arrive. I didn’t walk out of the theater saying “wow,” but I also felt a lot closer to Mt. Everest than I ever thought I would. I admire the craftsmanship of Everest more than the final product. But, as far as craftsmanship goes, it remains an occasionally gripping and mighty impressive spectacle.
The world would be forgiven for not knowing quite what to make of Gorillaz when they were first introduced to the music world in 2001. The collaboration between Blur front man Damon Albarn and Tank Girl artist Jamie Hewlett was an immensely weird and entirely new creation, one where visuals and music melded together in kaleidoscopic brilliance. Hewlett’s iconic music videos featured the exploits of the fictional band at the group’s center: 2D, the band’s zombie-like singer; Murdoc Niccals, the group’s moody bass player; Russell Hobbs, playing drums and frequently carrying around a dead pig; and Noodle (guitar, keyboard, background vocals), an unpredictable young Asian girl.
Gorillaz self-titled debut was a hit, introducing catchy tunes like “Clint Eastwood” and “5/4” to the world. That album featured what would become group staples: repetitive, trance-like beats, nonsensical lyrics, an emphasis on guest artist collaborations and a surprising variety of sounds and styles. And yet, the album feels ultimately inessential, a decided product of its time.
The same can’t be said for Gorillaz highly-anticipated follow-up, 2005’s Demon Days. Ten years later, it’s hard not to look upon this dark, moody masterpiece as anything other than a modern classic. When I first heard Demon Days (specifically, the popular track “Feel Good Inc.,” I instantly fell in love with the band, and the album remains one of my all-time favorites. Delve into the album with me to find out why.
Referencing the Beatles is a bold move for any music artist. Thankfully, the greatness of Demon Days justifies such a decision.
The intro to the album sets the tone; it’s filled with low, subtle bass sounds. The sonic blend casts a hypnotic spell, and then fades away with the epic refrain: “You are now entering the harmonic realm.” The opening beats of “Last Living Souls” take over, as Albarn’s hypnotic voice asks: “Are we the last living souls?” The question sets up the theme of isolation on the album. It’s hard to know if the speaker’s isolation is self-imposed or a result of cultural influences. There’s also the possibility of a post-apocalyptic interpretation (literally, everyone else could be dead). The album seems to tease this possibility throughout, but Albarn respects his audience enough to avoid spoon-feeding us any one interpretation of his cryptic lyrics. Whatever the interpretation, the song establishes Albarn’s panache for taking a grab-bag of instruments and styles and allowing them to gel beautifully. This track alone features keyboard, piano, acoustic guitar and violin accompaniment.
The album slides further into chaos with “Kids With Guns,” which bemoans our culture’s blasé attitude towards violence. But the lyrics take things a step further by analyzing the motivations behind the kids with guns who are “taking over.” “And they’re turning us into monsters/Turning us into fire/Turning us into monsters/It’s all desire, it’s all desire, it’s all desire.” In an anything goes, do-what-you-want culture, one that idolizes the individual and seems to make promises it can never keep, we end up with a generation of “mesmerized skeletons,” walking corpses, if you will. “It won’t be long” before they explode. Such a message is even more relevant today than it was when the album released.
“O Green World” bemoans a different kind of violence, that which humanity is doing to the environment. The haunting background chants express a longing for a world that no longer exists. When I hear this song, I picture some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland. Albarn expresses a desire to return to living a life of oneness with nature. “Oh green world/Don’t desert me now/Made of you and you of me/But, where are we?” It’s one of the album’s most creative and relevant tracks, as Albarn’s initially subdued vocals rise to a cacophonous cry along with the music, which starts and ends the song with utter sonic chaos.
“Dirty Harry” is probably the album’s coolest song, and one of my personal favorites. Continuing hints at a post-apocalyptic wasteland, the lyrics continue the album’s focus on cycles of violence. “I need a gun to keep myself from harm/The poor people are burning in the sun.” Gorillaz’ penchant for collaboration is featured here, with the San Fernando Valley Youth Chorus providing excellent background vocals and Bootie Brown busting out a wicked rap interlude.
There may not be much to say about “Feel Good Inc.” Everyone has heard it; it was the song that sparked my initial interest in the group. I can say that the music video is awesome, and the lyrics make no sense. My guess would be that the flying windmill featured in the video and referenced on the track is the band’s attempt to flee the chaotic violence of the world below, a sort of Noah’s Ark, perhaps. This is all wild interpretation, because the song gives few clues. “Windmill, windmill for the land/Is everybody in?” suggests a desire to fly away and leave everything behind. The creative, iconic rap by De La Soul helps the track maintain its more upbeat vibe. Oh, and did I mention that Jamie Hewlitt is an amazing artist? Seriously, check the video out. It’s good stuff.
The melancholy quickly returns with “El Mañana,” a haunting track that sees the destruction of the windmill of hope from the previous song. Safe to say, the song is a bit of a bummer, but it once again highlights the album’s staggering variety from song to song. I particularly appreciate the gorgeous string accompaniment here.
“Every Planet We Reach is Dead” delves into some much-needed funk, but the lyrics continue their strain of longing. “But God only knows it’s getting hard/To see the sun coming through/I love you…but what are we going to do?” The song is something of a masterwork, with a creative use of guitar, excellent strings and Ike Turner’s kick-ass, bluesy piano solo. It’s certainly an album highlight.
“November Has Come” is a more restrained but equally fun track. It opens with my favorite rap on the album, a subdued, sublimely rhymed poem from MF Doom. But Albarn still makes room for his melancholic questions. “Something has started today/Where did it go? Why you wanted it to be?/ Well, you know November has come when it’s gone away.”
The album’s sense of isolation reaches its apex with the aptly titled “All Alone.” The heavily electronic track is highlighted by a gorgeous, fanciful refrain from guest artist Martina Topley-Bird. “’Cause I don’t believe, when the morning comes/It doesn’t seem to say an awful lot to me.” I love the use of multiple voices to echo the repeated lyric “All Alone!” The staggered vocal effect seems to suggest the sense of isolation that can exist even in a crowd.
That aching feeling attempts to be filled with alcohol in “White Light,” which only contains the lyrics “white light” and “alcohol.” The chaotic, grungy guitar work suggests a descent into inebriated senses to help dull the pain. And, for this track at least, it seems to work; the track is frenetic but I believe purposefully lazy in its attempt to replicate the temporary, fizzy high of inebriation. It’s all style and absolutely no substance, but that seems more like a deliberate thematic choice than a simple case of poor songwriting.
DARE is a straight dance track, and almost prohibitively catchy. It’s tons of fun, with an entertaining vocal from Shaun Ryder. There’s not really much to analyze here, though I do feel like a broken record for reiterating that the music video is beyond amazing and, of course, delightfully weird.
I’ll admit I wasn’t initially much into “Fire Coming out of the Monkey’s Head,” Dennis Hopper’s spoken word feature. But now, it’s probably my favorite track on the album. Hopper tells a complete story, one that highlights the dangers of greed and hubris. It essentially distills all of the album’s major themes into one track: our culture’s obsession with violence (and war in particular), our destruction of the environment and our celebration of the self over all else. Greed is particularly dangerous here, as it results in the destruction of the town where the “Happyfolk” lived. It’s a brilliant and haunting cautionary tale, especially when Albarn’s brief refrain chimes in. “Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes/Waiting for the sunset to come, people going home/Jump out from behind them and shoot them in the head/Now everybody dancing the dance of the dead.”
In my opinion, Demon Day’s final two tracks catapult the record from simple greatness into masterpiece status. The gospel-infused “Don’t Get Lost in Heaven” seems determined to try and find some peace or at least understanding amidst all the chaos the rest of the album dishes out. The London Community Gospel Choir does an incredible job here, as this brief interlude surveys the destruction the rest of the album has wrought. The cautionary lyrics that echo the song’s title are certainly open to interpretation, but seem to suggest a hope that the listener will not stay lost in high-minded thinking while ignoring the very real suffering in the world. That suffering is referred to as the “Demon Days” on the album’s closing track. “In these demon days it’s so cold inside/So hard for a good soul to survive/You can’t even trust the air you breathe/Because mother earth wants us all to leave/When lies become reality, you numb yourself with drugs and T.V.” But thankfully, the inspirational chorus is not content to leave us in the despair. “Pick yourself up it’s a brand new day!/So turn yourself around/Don’t burn yourself, turn yourself/Turn yourself around/To the sun.”
This hopeful ending refrain is incredibly powerful, especially because I’ve read the lyrics spelled as “sun” and “son.” Given the track’s gospel sound, it wouldn’t necessarily surprise me that the “son” referred to is Christ himself. Such an interpretation would echo a sinner’s redemption as he turns himself around to God and denies his old ways. I think “sun” is the more likely spelling, but perhaps Albarn left us to figure this out for ourselves, like he did on much of the rest of the album.
This is one of the many things that make Demon Days one of my all-time favorite albums. Albarn and his incredible team of collaborators are willing to have a ton of silly fun, but the album is at its best when it sometimes abruptly drops deep, meaningful truths. Many of these are open to interpretation, and that’s the way it should be. The group respects its listeners enough to come up with their own interpretations. Some may be more correct than others, but we may never really know. In the meantime, we’ll have to settle for one of the most sonically diverse, thematically daring, original and downright inspired albums to ever grace the ear. That seems like a pretty good deal to me.
In the opening sequence of Rogue Nation, Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt clings to the side of a jet plane as it rises into the air. Talk about putting all your cards on the table. I’m happy to report that this is far from the coolest thing in the movie. The fifth installment in the long-running Mission: Impossible franchise is a sterling example of what I like to call “wow” cinema. I uttered the phrase so many times I lost count. Rogue Nation is almost a textbook definition of how to make a satisfying summer action flick.
Since the events of the previous film, Hunt has been leaping around the world attempting to track the Rogue Nation of the film’s title, a shadowy organization called the Syndicate that Hunt believes is behind a recent string of chaotic events that has incited wars and killed off important world leaders. Assisting him are returning IMF agents Benji (Simon Pegg), William (Jeremy Renner) and Luther (Ving Rhames). But the IMF is stymied by CIA Director Alan Hunley (Alec Baldwin), who is convinced that the government’s off-the-books operations team is too chaotic and destructive to continue. With both their own government and the Syndicate attempting to take them down, Hunt and his team are forced to go into hiding even as they continue to search for the Syndicate’s leader and take him out.
I was not convinced that this installment could live up to the very high bar set by the last MI film, Ghost Protocol. That film rejuvenated the franchise, giving us a great new team, increased humor, improved writing and some truly jaw-dropping set piece action scenes. But Rogue Nation builds on the strengths of all its predecessors, delivering the most entertaining and arguably the best MI film to date.
Rogue Nation’s main strength is that it manages to feel fresh without actually doing anything particularly novel. Writer-director Christopher McQuarrie clearly has a love and respect for the franchise, and it shows, with many homages to previous films. In fact, much of the story and even some of the scenarios here are essentially copies of things from its predecessors. We’ve seen IMF on the run from their own government before, and there’s even a sequence where the team is required to work for the bad guy in order to get what they want. There’s even an epic motorcycle chase (hello, MI2) and the story, as usual, is pretty complicated and nonsensical.
Rogue Nation is a heart-pounding addition to the Mission: Impossible franchise.
But none of that matters, because McQuarrie manages to fill Rogue Nation with so many of the things I want in an MI film. A great MI film needs to have both great action and great espionage, and this one really delivers. The most thrilling scene is the attempt to thwart an assassination inside a Viennese opera theater. Or maybe it’s the nail-biting drop into an underwater hydraulic tunnel. Or maybe it’s the aforementioned bike chase, so fast it may give some audience members whiplash. This movie is obsessed with topping itself, and it does so in nearly every scene.
It helps that the actors are committed to good, old-fashioned stunts. In a summer season often filled with unconvincing CGI, Rogue Nation is so thrilling because we remind ourselves that Tom Cruise is actually flying through the air on the outside of a plane oh my gosh! And, oh wow, it sure looks like he’s holding his breath underwater a long time oh wait, he is. These old-fashioned, do-or-die thrills are all too rare in contemporary action cinema, and it’s something Mission: Impossible always delivers on.
The script also gets the humor just right, relying on the strength of situational comedy rather than going for any cheap laughs. These characters are such a delight to be around: in particular, Simon Pegg is an absolute riot. I’m glad this franchise keeps giving his awesome character so much to do. The strength of the writing also shines in new character Isla Faust (Rebecca Ferguson), a British agent with an agenda of her own. Her arc kept me guessing whose side she was really on, and even when I thought I had it figured out the film managed to throw in some twists I didn’t expect.
The issues in every Mission: Impossible film are still problems here. Sean Harris’ villain is not all that impressive. The plot still remains somewhat convoluted (though I would put its relatively clear plotting about even with Ghost Protocol). And the relentless pace and intensity of the movie’s multiple heart-stopping sequences may be a bit too much of a good thing for some viewers. I also found the climax a big underwhelming compared to what the rest of the film dished out.
Thankfully, Rogue Nation really has it where it counts. McQuarrie really plays to the strengths of this franchise, and this bad boy sings. One of the major reasons I love going to the movies is seeing things I haven’t seen before. Mission: Impossible always showcases something new. Despite its derivative story, Rogue Nation delivers and then some. Like this summer’s Mad Max: Fury Road, it’s willing to show us just how far some filmmakers and stars are willing to risk life and limb for our enjoyment. The raw danger of the cinema has come roaring back, and I hope films like Rogue Nation are the rule, not the exception.
I love Mission: Impossible. It’s one of my favorite action franchises of the last few decades. Across five films, they’ve taken espionage, action and breathtaking stunts to a whole new level. With the fifth entry, Rogue Nation opening this weekend, I watched the other movies in the series for a totally awesome refresher course.
One of the many cool things about Mission: Impossible is that each film has been helmed by a different director, which means that, while they share many cool things in common, they also each have their own distinct personalities and styles. They also share the impressive physicality and grounded presence of Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt. But which MI film is the best? And do they all hold up when compared against each other? I set to find out with my ranking of the first four.
4. Mission: Impossible II
The good news about MI2 is that it’s not as terrible as its reputation suggests. The bad news is that it really feels like a missed opportunity. On paper, action maestro John Woo seems like a potential good fit for the franchise. As he demonstrates here, he really knows how to shoot an action scene, and the film is breathlessly paced and often thrilling. But there’s way too much of a good thing here: the movie is painfully John Woo. The endless gunfights. The overused slow-mo. The gratuitous shots of doves. This movie checks off every box on the Woo trope list and then some. It’s immensely silly and not believable for a second.
The film starts off confusing and doesn’t really get less so. It likes to place Ethan Hunt in crazy situations with little context, before backpedaling to explain the situation. The audience would be much more engaged if we knew why we’re supposed to care about an action scene before it happens. Hunt’s characterization is confusing here: he’s suddenly cocky, and a Bond-like playboy to boot. Nothing in the previous or subsequent films explains this sudden shift in behavior.
The plot concerns former IMF (Impossible Mission Force) agent Sean Ambrose (a pretty bland Dougray Scott) attempting to get his hands on a deadly virus because he wants to be rich! The man to help him is pharmaceutical bigwig John McCloy (Brendan Gleeson, great as always). Hunt attempts to get to Ambrose through old fling Nyah (a young Thandie Newton).
MI2 is fun but a bit too goofy to be taken seriously.
The best way to describe the film is gratuitous. There’s a glamorous car chase just because an MI film is supposed to have one, I guess? It adds nothing to the plot or the characters. There’s a sex scene because all the other action films are doing it. Then there’s the face swapping. In the MI universe, there’s a technology that allows people to wear lifelike masks of other people as disguises. While the later films explain this tech, this one just has someone pulling off a mask every few minutes with no explanation except PLOT TWIST! It’s pretty amazing that this revolutionary stuff is just lying around a seemingly anyone can use it, but the film just treats it as normal.
It’s not all bad, though. Hans Zimmer’s Latin-inspired score is maybe my favorite in any of the films. The climax, a big, epic motorcycle chase, is pretty thrilling, if completely ridiculous. But the movie’s biggest flaw is that it never feels like an MI movie. A well-paced and suspenseful scene involving the handoff of a memory card at a racetrack is the sole exception. Mostly, MI2 is a standard John Woo action film—stylish and cool but breezy and ultimately pretty forgettable.
3. Mission: Impossible
The original Mission: Impossible film, released in 1996, had a pretty impressive lineup of talent backing it up. Auteur director Brian DePalma directing; Tom Cruise, hot off a string of hit roles, as the lead. Not to mention a story and screenplay by Robert Towne (Chinatown), David Koepp (Jurassic Park) and Steve Zaillian (Schindler’s List). The supporting cast included the likes of Ving Rhames, Jon Voight and Jean Reno.
Thankfully, Mission: Impossible was a film that lived up to its promise, starting with a stylish intro and only getting more intriguing from there. We’re introduced to the IMF, an undercover government agency that goes on off-the-books, dangerous assignments. Ethan Hunt’s team, while attempting to secure a list of undercover operatives in Eastern Europe, is brutally murdered, and Hunt is the only survivor. This naturally draws suspicion, and soon Hunt finds himself on the run from the IMF after he’s framed as the mole who betrayed his team.
The original Mission: Impossible is a thrilling introduction to the franchise.
This film gives me everything I like in an MI film; cool gadgets, a focus on espionage over gunfights, and an incredibly simple setup that gets us into the action quickly. I recently discovered that this movie does not contain a single gunfight, a feat remarkable enough in itself. It also introduced us to the massive, dangerous set piece moments the series is known for. The classic vault scene, where Hunt is extended into a top-secret room where even raising the temperature one degree will set off an alarm, is considered a classic for a reason. It’s one of the most expertly paced and suspenseful scenes in cinema history. Even better is the fact that no music is used, ratcheting up the tension even further.
There’s a central twist toward the end of the film that’s pretty obvious, but it works because the acting is so good. I especially like Ving Rhames as a shady hacker that ends up becoming Hunt’s right-hand man.
Mission: Impossible is slower and less flashy than its sequels, but it still hits where it counts. On the whole, it’s pretty nonsensical, but the action and set pieces are thrilling, and I’m still blown away that the filmmakers managed to do so much with relatively little.
2. Mission: Impossible III
The mark-up in quality between MI2 and MI3 is pretty pronounced. From the immensely intense opening, we realize we are playing in a whole different ballpark. That’s mostly thanks to director J.J. Abrams and co-writers Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. I think there is more compelling character development in the first 20 minutes of this movie than in the previous two combined.
This entry finds Ethan desiring to settle down with his fiancé, Julia (Michelle Monaghan). He chats at parties about his boring job at the Department of Transportation, but secretly he has retired from field work in the IMF, instead training new recruits. But he’s soon pulled back in, tasked with taking down a ruthless arms dealer (Philip Seymour Hoffman, killing it as always).
What makes this outing so memorable is the personal stakes involved. We learn from the first scene that Julia is in very real danger, which provokes a more emotional response form Ethan and a more nuanced performance from Cruise. His relationships with both Julia and a particularly close trainee (Keri Russell) is believable thanks to both the dialogue and the great performances. I appreciate the return to the team-based format from the original, something lacking in the second installment. The humor and dynamics between the IMF team is really engaging, particularly thanks to some new faces, including the always brilliant Simon Pegg as a comedic hacker.
MI3 is relentlessly intense and full of memorable set piece moments.
The set piece moments here are pretty insane. One early scene requires the team to break into the Vatican, and things only get crazier from there. The exotic globetrotting takes our IMF team to the likes of Rome, Berlin and Shanghai. A thrilling parachute jump is particularly inspired.
I can’t praise Hoffman’s villain enough. These films are not known for their memorable villains, but this one is definitely an exception. Owen Davian is downright diabolical, and the head games he plays with Hunt are terrifying. The cast as a whole is incredible. We also get great performances from Lawrence Fishburne and Billy Crudup as constantly headbutting IMF agents.
MI3 is almost heart-stoppingly intense. It doesn’t let up for a second, but it doesn’t have to. It’s “cool” without trying too hard, unlike its predecessor. It’s exotic, sexy, and a total blast, but, like a traumatic episode of 24 or The Walking Dead, it’s best to avoid watching it before going to bed.
1. Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol
Ghost Protocol is an absolute marvel and, for my money, one of the best action films of the past decade. It takes all of the good stuff from the first and third films while avoiding all of the bad stuff from the second. It’s pretty much the perfect Mission: Impossible movie.
In stark contrast from the last film, we open on Ethan Hunt attempting to escape from a Russian prison(!). The reasons for his incarceration aren’t revealed until the end of the film, but that’s one of the things that makes this movie so good. It never leaves you hanging. Every plot thread, every mystery is solved eventually, but director Brad Bird and writers Josh Applebaum and Andrew Nemec tease out the reveals slowly, requiring a good deal of patience from the audience.
Thankfully, when everything else is this good, we don’t mind waiting. Ethan’s mission to obtain a stolen set of nuclear launch codes brings him into contact with a new team. Great casting additions include Paula Patton’s Jane and the always great Jeremy Renner as the mysterious Agent Brandt. We also get a thankfully expanded role for Simon Pegg’s Benji. His performance is easily one of the film’s highlights.
Ghost Protocol is the total package, with great action, writing and casting.
The actors work off each other incredibly well, making for easily the funniest movie of the bunch. If there’s a complaint to level at MI3, it’s that it gets a bit too dark. This one remains light on its feet and briskly paced without getting overly frenetic. It’s more cleanly plotted and easy to follow than its predecessors, too. The characters are memorable and given a great deal of depth.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a Mission: Impossible without exotic globetrotting and mind-boggling stunts. This one contains some of the best ever put on screen. This adventure takes IMF to the likes of Berlin and Dubai, and the results are breathtaking. I’ve always been impressed by Tom Cruise’s physicality and his desire to do his own stunts. Here, that reaches levels of pure insanity. When Hunt is required to climb the Burj Khalifa, aka the world’s tallest building, wearing nothing but some technologically fancy adhesive gloves, the danger is palpable. It’s a jaw-dropping sequence, one that eventually leads to a thrilling foot (and later car) chase through a sandstorm. It’s the coolest action sequence in any MI film and one of the coolest I’ve ever seen. Director Bird, a Pixar animation veteran, does wonders with his first live-action film. The action is clearly shot and choreographed, with none of the shaky-cam nonsense many of his contemporaries have fallen prey to. This is also thanks to master cinematographer Robert Elswit, who won an Oscar for There Will Be Blood and shows off his brilliant composition even in a more conventional action film such as this.
Ghost Protocol is the total package. A clean, thrilling story is topped by stellar performances, a sharp and surprisingly hilarious script and some of the coolest action put to screen. There’s nothing not to like here. I feel Rogue Nation will have a hard time topping this one.
