prospectus_capricornium

Patty Jenkins' 'Wonder Woman' movie begins with a rocky, uneven start. But this very flawed pace allows the origin story of the amazonian warrior mature in a compelling build- up, and eventually navigate towards the rest of her story in a riveting seismic progression. It gathers an affectionate sentimentality that sustains its potency even amidst the imposing explosive sequences that often triumph to take the audience's attention away from the oddly satisfying distraction, that is Gal Gadot. There are these resonating anthems that remain ablaze throughout the film's 140-minute duration: love and peace, sacrifice and courage, and while it gets extremely preachy sometimes, the narrative rarely gets boring. Jenkins' take on the genre doesn't abandon the idea of terror, and mass destruction, but it singularly escapes the confines of superhero clichés that eliminate its players' moral form. In 'Wonder Woman', Diana Prince's humanity is held by Gadot's portrayal with a bracing commitment, something she never loses even when confronted with the deceptive appeal of evil and darkness. Her heroic verve gets an unexpected reinforcement from Chris Pine's Steve Trevor, with whom she shares a surprisingly inherent chemistry. This is the first DC film in a very long time, to ever sustain such visceral distinction, a visual extravaganza brimming with heart and reason.

Diana Prince's story takes us to a mysterious island known as Themyscira, hidden by Zeus in a protective dome of dim and mist, far from the grasp of humanity. She grows to believe that it is her sacred duty to protect her world, not knowing such 'world' will include what is beyond the clouds. But when the first man arrives in a suspicious water- crash landing, she expands her understanding and begins to welcome the idea of defending whoever needs help in the other side. But this eagerness barely entirely rests on a moral responsibility; she believes that Ares, the God of War, and her inevitable nemesis, is what causing the war waged by humans, and she needs to kill him in order to restore peace to both worlds. In one spine-chilling moment within her breathtakingly choreographed fight sequence with Ares, Diana rises from a fall, and virtually carries out her meteoric ascent, a symbolic assumption of her superhero status.

But in spite of the amount of physical tension and visual explosion, Jenkins balances the flavor by injecting humor and romance, utilizing them even in places where gripping action sequences are imminent. Chris Pine shines in his own moments, a remarkable feat for a character in a saga that seems to underscore women empowerment. There is a powerful moment where he grapples for words to ask for Diana's help to win the war; he practically breaks down, a stirring and moving scene to behold. Part of the film's colossal allure is its heart--it never loses it, doesn't intend to, and it grows to more awe-inspiring forms as it reaches a resonating, albeit predictable, resolution.

It is ironic to think that Diana Prince isn't human, but appears to be the most one, when compared with her colleagues in the looming 'Justice League' film. In the end, 'Wonder Woman' isn't a film free of blemishes as it still stumbles upon political truths it rarely gets justified, and minor expositions it doesn't seem interested to shed light on. But it has soul, humor, and wonder-- a narrative spectacle one seldom finds in a film of its sort.

A sequel to 'Revenge of the Sith', a prequel to 'A New Hope', 'Rogue One' is essentially a bridge that resembles to a colossal effort to accomplish three functions: explain the past, predict the future, create a tangible link between them, the last of which, this Gareth Edwards-helmed sci-fi giant is able to pull off with a brimming sense of nostalgic sentimentality. Often dark and brooding, there is an appealing force that emerges from its layers, continuously drawing us into the depths of 'Star Wars' cosmic saga that started to storm the box office, four decades ago. The 'force' persists in its riveting presence all throughout the film's visceral development, a monumental feat that itsTony Gilroy and Chris Weitz-written screenplay is able to preserve, even in the absence of the Jedi and Ewoks, Jar Jar Binks and the iconic opening crawl. In effect, the stand alone film manages to break down barriers, provide solutions to old puzzles, while practically presenting new ones that even non-religious spectators would be engaged to solve. That its motives is primarily enforced by the breathtaking visual renders of the film's explosive sequences, is out of the question, but the singular element that propels the film into action, is the story's protagonist, herself, and what she represents.

Driven by a female hero at its reins like last year's 'The Force Awakens', this 'Star Wars' story revolves around petty criminal Jyn (Felicity Jones) and the band of misfits she gathered- -one that includes rebel spy, Cassian (Diego Luna), a reprogrammed imperial droid named KS2O, who shares the biggest chunk of the film's comic effort, and a blind monk whose martial arts-adroitness seemingly dares to put Matt Murdock's echolocation expertise to shame--to steal the plans to the 'Death Star', a deadly weapon, so powerful it can obliterate an entire planet. The emotional weight of the narrative is gathered across the length of Jyn's ambitious mission, which the film's primal campaign itself, labeled as a 'rebellion built on hope', a screaming hint to the looming much bigger movement led by Princess Leia, that sets the whole course for the original trilogy.

Faithful to the tradition of female- centric narratives, Jyn's motivations is largely fueled by the traumatic childhood she endured: she saw her mother died at the mercy of an imperial superior, and the capture of his father who was forcefully recruited to engineer the empire's deadliest weapon--the Death Star. In the absence of an initiative, she courageously leads a highly-volatile expedition of recovering the plan to the Death Star, whose small but utterly significant flaw--one that could help the Rebel Alliance stop its cataclysmic power--is revealed by her father.

Save for Jyn's uninspiring fight- for-freedom speech, only because it sounds monotonous, the whole run of 'Rogue One', is a glaring testament of what a mere hope can muster in the wake of a ruling authoritarian regime. The film then becomes a picture of a political atmosphere, infested with injustice and oppression, that bears a striking recognition. 'Trust the force', says Jyn's mother, in a tone that almost makes us believe that a movement always remains smoldering, only waiting to be ignited by small but resilient flames in the hands of courageous beings, awakened to rise by the screaming social malignance and political malfunction around them.

The first of 'Star Wars' stand-alone films, 'Rogue One' is bold and moving with its lingering sense of humanity, nostalgic in its almost flawless integration with the saga's established structure, and ingeniously innovative in creating a whole new sci-fi space-war narrative that isn't devoid of the familiar 'the- force-is-with-me' sentiment. At its final moments, the film practically inserts a missing piece between the end and the beginning of the second and first trilogies, ending with a powerful one-second scene that can potentially make a voice in every spectator's head chant "I am with the force; the force is with me".

It would be hard to hold back the tears, once 'Me Before You' moves along the emotionally-charged course of its unevenly laid-out entirety. Imbued with charismatic flair and some ravishing sentiments, the Emilia Clarke and Sam Clafflin starrer, is every hopeless romantic dream. It is bound to recreate the familiar 'heaven and earth' trope, with all its utter predictabilities and tiring cheesy clichés, but here, the tears are mostly rightfully earned.

Clarke's Lou, emerges as the brightest asset of this manipulative drama, her buoyant demeanor creates an affectionate atmosphere for this whole fairytale-ish attempt whose often leaning towards emotional tragedy is ever screaming at every turn of the proceedings. Her sprightly charm makes an indispensible compensation for the largely stale performance pulled by Clafflin who plays here, a quadriplegic near real-life prince, who enlisted the service of Clarke's caregiver character. But together they conjure magic, enough to sprinkle their often predictable storyline with heart-crippling charm.

The biggest flaw of this film, perhaps, is how it seemed written to manipulate. That is not to say it isn't effective, because in fact it often works, but you would still think, and wonder, how more beautiful it would have become, had it been written with pure authenticity. Be that as it may, you've got to give it to those at its helm for molding an extremely poignant drama, that even if its often undermined by its easily recognizable motives, isn't devoid of wit, humor, and charm, and jaw-dropping glamor from two of the most beautiful faces to ever star in such romantic tragedy.