Talking 'Beef,' 'Baby J' and why I'm not excited about 'The Flash'
Welcome back, everyone!
Thanks for hanging on during my brief hiatus, everyone.
The last few weeks have been a bit crazy. Work was jam-packed and I was finishing up a lengthy final research paper for class, so I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to sit down and write or podcast. I still have a vacation coming at the end of next week that will take me away, but I thought I’d jump back in and write about a few things on my mind. Next week, I’m hoping to have some thoughts on a few different new releases and, potentially, a Franchise Friday. We’ll see how things shake out.
But let’s talk about a few random things to kick off this weekend.
‘Beef’ is a tense and beautiful work of empathy
I almost bailed on Netflix’s Beef three episodes in, a response I also had to last year’s Hulu series, The Bear (which, ironically, could have also been titled Beef), and for similar reasons. Although I appreciated the craft on display, both shows nearly drove me to panic attacks while watching them.
But like The Bear, I’m glad I stuck it out for all 10 episodes of Netflix’s series, which might be the best show of the year. It’s a funny but also deeply intense ride that also may be one of the most insightful and compassionate commentaries on our rage-addicted, image-obsessed culture.
Steven Yeun and Ali Wong play two people at different ends of the class ladder – he’s a handyman toiling away to build his parents a home and she’s the owner of a small business about to be acquired by a multimillion-dollar conglomerate. They have a road rage incident that quickly escalates into a fast-paced chase and then all-out war, with collateral damage being inflicted on their friends, families and businesses.
Yeun and Wong are fantastic, playing characters consumed with rage that masks their deeper frustrations, fears and insecurities, and gives them depth and richness without requiring them to become “likable” in a way that few shows are capable of (in some cases, it’s reminiscent of The Sopranos’ ability to create monsters who retain their humanity). Their conflict escalates to absurd lengths, with each episode ending on a jaw-dropping “how much crazier can this show get” climax.
But Beef is not just about craziness for craziness’ sake. Creator Lee Sung Jin has his finger on the pulse of our culture of rage as well as the way it’s fueled by anxiety, depression, jealousy and insecurity. It’s a human show that is just as willing to take moments to breathe and allow its characters moments of peace and hope – this is one of the first shows I’ve seen to accurately convey the emotional power of evangelical worship services – as it is to bring them to their depths of depravity and unlikability. Yeun and Wong give brave performances; throughout; both characters commit actions that render them deeply unsympathetic and seem unforgivable, and yet they never lose sight of their humanity. The final batch of episodes move with an intensity and pace akin to Breaking Bad’s best episodes, but laced with a bit more humor. The finale, however, is a slower and more meditative (but no less funny) denouement and one of the most beautiful works of empathetic imagination I’ve seen. I believe the creators are planning for more seasons, but the final shot of Beef moved me so much that I wouldn’t be opposed if the story just stopped there.
I should also note that co-star David Choe is the source of controversy regarding some horrendous comments he made on a podcast years ago, and that the cast and crew haven’t exactly stepped it up in calling him out. That’s deeply unfortunate. Choe’s comments are abhorrent and cast a pall on a conversation about a show that is otherwise a masterpiece.
John Mulaney goes sober in ‘Baby J’
I’ve been a fan of John Mulaney’s standup for awhile. I think his Netflix special Kid Gorgeous is a perfectly composed and performed bit of comedy; I was just telling someone a few days ago that his writing and delivery are so precise that it actually makes me angry. His last special, John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch, was one of the strangest and funniest things of that year, and I’ve gone back to rewatch Oh, Hello, his Broadway show with Nick Kroll, several times.
Mulaney’s back with a new Netflix special, Baby J, after a few years in the spotlight for some deeply unfunny reasons, namely drug addiction, a stint in rehab, and a divorce that angered some of his fans.
This all makes up the bulk of Baby J, in which Mulaney details his star-studded intervention, his frustrations with not being recognized in rehab, and the depths to which he sank to get money to buy drugs. The comedian, who has previously confessed his need for everyone to like him, looks downright scummy in some portions here, and he leans into it.
That doesn’t mean this is an intimate or deeply ruminative special. The one-hour-and-20-minute special is often very funny, and Mulaey’s approach is less introspective and more anthropological, treating his drug-addicted self almost as another character. There’s a bit of a tension there – sometimes it feels like we’re laughing at things that should be taken a bit more seriously – and in moments, Mulaney chuckles at himself as he realizes the absurdity of what he’s willing to reveal. But I’m not one to tell him how to process his past, and the special has the hallmark fondness for language that I like best about his work. It might lack some of the energy and pep of his previous specials (and, as Mulaney notes early on, the content of this provides some context for that), but it’s still an enjoyable routine.
My lack of emotion toward the ‘Flash’ and ‘Little Mermaid’ trailers
I really wish I shared the excitement other superhero movie fans do about this June’s The Flash, which releases from Warner Brothers this June. I know that this week’s CinemaCon screening left attendees with their jaws on the floor, but I trust an elated CinemaCon reaction about as much as I trust a rock star’s proclamation that my city is the best one they’ve ever played.
I get why people are excited – and it’s not because of the titular character. It’s the return of Michael Keaton’s Batman. Sure, that’s cool. Michael Keaton was my Batman growing up – once my parents allowed me to see Tim Burton’s 1989 film. And I enjoyed it when Marvel brought back previous Spider-Men for No Way Home a few years ago.
And the latest trailer doesn’t look bad. It might be fun. I know James Gunn’s high on it; but then again, when is a studio head not going to try to convince people the product from his studio is good – especially when star Ezra Miller’s personal issues made it seem like this project might never get off the ground. I have a lot of dislike for Zack Snyder’s take on the DC Universe, so seeing it lean into the Zod of it all does nothing for me. But I was really hoping that with this second trailer, we’d get more of Keaton’s Batman in a way that made me excited for this.
But…we don’t. I mean, we get plenty of Keaton. He even says “You wanna get nuts? Let’s get nuts.” Just like in 1989! (Well, not just like in 1989; this lacks anything resembling energy or edge. But he says the thing, I guess?).
But here’s the thing? I didn’t like Keaton’s Batman simply because Keaton was a good Bruce Wayne or Batman. The thing that sells those movies – which, I’ll admit, I’m not as high on as others – is the Burton of it all. Keaton’s a perfect fit for the director’s gloomy, gothic, weird universe, one that feels more handmade and personal than we get in today’s superhero universes, which have to be as visually indistinct as possible to allow various franchises to collide. The Flash, based on what we can see from the trailers, doesn’t seem to incorporate Burton’s flourishes, and part of what made Keaton’s performance work was that he was a counterpoint to that aesthetic. Here, he’s just plopped into another hero’s film, and the overall attitude seems to be “Keaton’s back doing his thing.”
It’s proof of the cynical approach studios take to these character returns. They think all that’s needed is for the IP to return and audiences will be satisfied, aesthetic and creativity be damned. And, to be fair, The Flash will likely be a hit because mainstream audiences likely will flock to see Keaton again – and many will wonder why it didn’t hit just the same way as it did in Burton’s movie. And the reason? The things that made that performance pop so much in Burton’s universe are absent here. But by then, the movie will have made its bank and it won’t matter much to WB.
After all, it’s worked for Disney, right? Their entire philosophy when it comes to remaking their animated classics seems to be: “Just do what worked last time, but make it longer and uglier.”
That’s exactly the thinking that made Beauty and the Beast a sludge-colored slog and The Lion King a National Geographic special lacking the charm and soul of its inspiration. And it looks like exactly what Rob Marshall is gearing up to deliver next month with The Little Mermaid, which runs nearly an hour longer than the original and appears to have followed the path of its cohorts by taking the colorful, friendly designs from the original and turning it into something muted and bland. And maybe I’m wrong. Halle Bailey seems to be a fantastic Ariel and I’m curious to hear her sing those iconic tunes. And maybe there’s some charm there that we’re missing in the trailers. But right now, I have a sinking feeling.
But hey, The Flash and Little Mermaid will both easily make $1 billion, proving that my critical kvetching just proves I’m out of touch. Who cares about artistry and creativity? Just get the people to do the thing and feed the nostalgia machine, right?
Dodgeball 2: Why not?
In this age of reboots, remakes and legacy sequels, it feels almost quaint that they’re doing a straight-on sequel to Dodgeball, albeit 20 years later. What’s surprising isn’t that really that a sequel is coming, but rather that one hadn’t been done before.
I have no real thoughts on this except that I really just wanted to write about this because it allows me to write a bit about the original, which debuted shortly before I began writing about film in any capacity. Not that I have any deep thoughts about Dodgeball, which is a shaggy, silly but sometimes really funny little sports comedy that got eclipsed that summer by Anchorman in the comedy wars.
But I caught up with this again a few years back and was surprised how much I still enjoyed it. It’s one of my favorite Ben Stiller performances – it’s basically his Heavyweights character, but perfected. Rip Torn is completely unhinged (“you’re about as useless as a poop-flavored lollipop” made me cackle). And Justin Long and Vince Vaughn are both really solid. It’s not a great movie, but it’s not aspiring for greatness. It’s just a funny, weird little comedy that works pretty well.
So, sure. Why not do a Dodgeball 2? I’d be happy to Dodge, Dip, Duck, Dive and Dodge again.
Final Thoughts
Finally, I wanted to remark on the death this week of Jerry Springer, just to set the record straight on some historical/critical revision I’ve seen in the last day.
Springer, the longtime host of his self-titled TV talk show, died Thursday at the age of 79. He hosted The Jerry Springer Show for about 30 years, following a lengthy career in politics. He was at one time the mayor of Cincinnati.
I don’t know much about Springer’s personal life, and for all I know, he was a decent person. I wish his family comfort during this time.
But I’ve seen some remarks going around that Springer’s show was a progressive haven for marginalized people, giving them a space to speak about their experiences years before these issues became mainstream.
And, I’m sorry. But as someone who was around during the Jerry Springer Show’s heyday – and, sigh, watched more than a few episodes – that’s total B.S.
The Jerry Springer Show was an exploitive freak show that garnered ratings from exploiting people and then amping up the anger and noise. It was Twitter before Twitter, a place to point and laugh at people who were different and then encourage them to dial up their worst impulses, anger and hate. It was Trumpian long before Donald Trump set foot on his golden escalator, it came out of the can curdled, and it was one of our great cultural embarrassments. Springer did yeoman’s work pretending to be the voice of reason, but he was the ringmaster of it all (he also starred in a very thinly veiled movie about the show with the title Ringmaster). When you see the worst of social media, politics, culture and reality TV, remember, it’s rooted in what his show started.
Again, Springer may have been a great guy; I hope he was. But his show was a fetid, deranged celebration of trashy behavior, and I’m kind of confused at its current reappraisal. I wish he’d had a better contribution to our culture.
And those are today’s final thoughts.