YELLOWJACKETS Season 1 (November 2021)

YELLOWJACKETS Season 1

(November 2021)

“Something's coming.”

Now here’s a recipe:

 
Take a couple of chunks of Lost; the first, a plane crash; the second, a narrative timeline sliced into two, where we toggle back and forth between the crash and the mysteries and horrors of its direct aftermath, and 25 years later, where we see the survivors still dealing with all their shared, secret trauma.
Oh, and maybe grab some handsful of possibly supernatural craziness from Lost as well, and sprinkle that all over.
 
Then take a chunk of Lord of the Flies, and gender-reverse it, as we witness the trials and terrors of a girls’ high school soccer team who spend over a year and a half(!) out there in the wilderness doing shuddery, unimaginable things in order to survive.
 
Take a number of stand-out established actresses (Tawny Cypress, Melanie Lynskey, Juliette Lewis, and Christina Ricci) and cast them as the adult survivors, then take a number of young and very capable up-and-comers--among them Jasmin Savoy Brown (The Leftovers and the current Scream) and Liv Hewson (Santa Clarita Diet)--to fill out the teen roles, some of which are of course, the younger versions of the aforementioned established actresses.
 
Then take a whole bunch of suh-weet needle drops and sprinkle those around too, and what you get, is Yellowjackets.
 
“Of course that’s how it ends. That’s all we are the whole time. It doesn’t matter; we’re just shells with nothing inside.”
 
The feeling has gone, only you and I
It means nothing to me
This means nothing to me
Oh, Vienna
--“Vienna”
     Ultravox
 
So yeah, on the way to Nationals, the Wiskayok Yellowjackets’ plane crashes in the depths of the Canadian wilderness, the inciting incident of this compelling and compulsive series, which, thanks to that dual timeline, is both a brutal and twisted coming-of-age tale, and an examination of women creeping up on middle age whose lives’ trajectories were forever altered all those years ago, out in those deep, dark woods.
 
And, just to assure you, lest you start to think this is all doom and gloom, let the records show that Yellowjackets has a sense of humor.
Sometimes dark and bleak and black, other times absurd yet somehow still emotionally resonant.
So yes, there are laughs, in betwixt the secrets and the mysteries, the blackmail and the blood and the… ummm… disturbing diet these girls may have had to resort to in order to survive.
And, speaking of surviving, that’s one of the key mysteries that drives the narrative: who exactly survived long enough to get rescued, and what exactly did they have to do to make it out of there.
 
“We won’t be hungry much longer.”
 
And if you bore me,
You lose your soul to me…
--“Gepetto”
     Belly
 
And did I mention the needle drops?
Aside from the ones that get quoted here, you can also savor tracks by Liz Phair, Kim Wilde, The Prodigy, Portishead, and Dinosaur Jr.
Yum!
 
And that theme song!
“No Return” indeed!
Brought to us by Craig Wedren and Anna Waronker (who also score the show), and wedded to that disturbo found footage credits sequence!
Chef’s kiss!
 
“I know what I saw. I don’t know what it meant… but I know I saw something. Something was out there with us.”
 
I think it’s strange you never knew…
--“Fade into You”
    Mazzy Star
 
So if all that smells enticing, then hey, you’re cordially invited to this scrumptious mystery box feast, with the Pilot episode directed by Karyn Kusama, and the season finale by Eduardo Sánchez, both names that have graced the ¡Qué Horror! Archives.
Kusama gave us The Invitation, while Sánchez was at the helm of ¡Qué horror! 2010 title Seventh Moon, 2012’s Lovely Molly, and the pre-online ¡Qué horror! Altered.
 
And don’t worry, ‘cause the show’s been renewed for a second season, so we’re at least assured of still more hijinx beyond the kookoo bananas craziness of this wondrously glorious first season.
Goooooo, Yellowjackets!
 
“What? There’s no book club?!”
 
Oh help me Jesus,
get through the storm.
I had to lose her –
to do her harm.
I heard her holler.
I heard her moan.
My lovely daughter –
I took her home.
--“Down by the Water”
     PJ Harvey
 
Parting Shot:
Yellowjackets has just received two nominations at this year’s Writers’ Guild Awards, for Drama Series and New Series.
Competition is stiff in both categories, so we’ll just have to see how things turn out on March 20, when the winners are announced.
 
Yellowjackets also gobbled up two nominations at this year’s Critics Choice Awards, one for Best Drama Series, and the second for Best Drama Actress (Lynskey).
Competition is likewise stiff over there, so we shall see on March 14 how the Critics Choice Association vote…
 
For what it’s worth, once more: Goooooooo, Yellowjackets!
 
“What if the truth is just that we’re all f*cked in the head from what happened to us?”
 
(Yellowjackets key art courtesy of amazon.com.)

SPEED RACER
(Review)

For the purposes of placing this review in a larger context…

My Cinematic History with the Wachowskis:
When Bound was released, I found it to be an agreeable, if not necessarily mind-blowing piece of entertainment. Beyond the lesbian twist, it didn’t really leave me with anything particularly fresh and rave-worthy.
So when news first surfaced of their next project, some sci-fi vehicle with Keanu in it, I was curious in that I wanted to see whether the brothers could handle science fiction, given that Bound wasn’t anywhere near that sort of territory.
It was in that neutral air of close-to-zero expectation that The Matrix blasted against my retinas and imprinted itself on my completely flabbergasted cortex.
It wasn’t perfect, but this was clearly something vital and new, blowing wide the gates of the film medium, even as the third millennium rapidly approached.
Fittingly enough, The Matrix proved to be a harbinger for post-millennial cinema, single-handedly establishing the new action film paradigm (ironically enough, by co-opting and sprucing up wire fu, which had already been going on for decades while the mainstream pointedly looked elsewhere).
As impressed as I was with The Matrix though, the Wachowskis were still on my probation list. I wanted them to kick my a$$ with a film that was removed from The Matrix, something low-key maybe.
Of course, they opted to return with the Matrix sequels, films I felt weren’t particularly needed. The Matrix was one of those very singular films that should have been left standing alone.
And when 2003 came around and Reloaded and Revolutions hit the screens within six months of each other, the whole bullet train completely derailed. (I am extremely grateful we had The Animatrix that same year, which thankfully more than negated the very bad taste the sequels left in me…)
Not only did the sequels suffer under the terrible weight of expectation, but the Wachowskis seemed to have approached the entire enterprise from the wrong angle. Sick to death of The Matrix’s bullet-time having been appropriated and parodied by all and sundry, they conceived of effects sequences so complex, no one could copy them.
That just seemed arrogant and presumptious. And the philobabble just got a bit much…
So I was back to waiting. Waiting for the Wachowskis to kick my a$$ all over again.

And they’ve done it.

With Speed Racer.

The titular hero (played with an earnest sense of idealistic confidence by Emile Hirsch) is a young man who lives for the rush, who can’t really slow down. There, behind the wheel, careening down the race track at improbable velocities, is one of the few places Speed feels at home.
He knows, deep in his heart, in the very fibre of his being, that this is not just the only thing he knows how to do, but also, the principal thing he was meant to do.
And though he has an amazing support system in his extended family (which includes his girlfriend Trixie, played by Christina Ricci), Speed also has some ghosts he must come to terms with, in particular, the disgrace and apparent subsequent death of his older brother Rex (Friday Night Lights’ Scott Porter).
Rex is the brother he idolized, the brother who taught him everything, who taught him to listen, to understand and acknowledge that a car isn’t just metal and oil, but rather, a living, breathing organism.
And here, in the coming-of-age adventure that we see play out in Speed Racer, young Speed is about to discover why Rex came to that tragic end, and the terrible darkness that lies at the heart of the World Racing League, and the sport he so dearly loves.

Beyond the kaleidoscopic, day-glo aesthetic of this hyper-real, hyper-kinetic world, what most strikes me about Speed Racer is the fact that there is some genuine emotion that underpins the astounding visual flourishes.
From the strong filial bonds on display (helped along tremendously by the performances of senior cast members, Susan Sarandon and John Goodman, as Mom and Pops Racer); the obvious hero worship Speed still holds for his brother; the brooding, tragic, and tangibly physical presence of Racer X (a terrific and terribly effective Matthew Fox); and the struggle young Speed experiences in trying to keep his idealism intact in the crushing, cruel face of high-stakes business, Speed Racer certainly has a heart that beats with a genuine rhythm, a humanizing counterpoint to the adrenalized, pedal-to-the-metal action.
For every neon-laced, anime-inspired set piece, there’s a small character moment that balances it out, and somehow, the Wachowskis manage to pace all of the film’s bits in such a way that a 2 hour 15 minute running time feels far less. (There were honestly only a couple of sections where a minute, perhaps even half, could have been shaved off each, to make the goofy goings-on a tad less strained. Unlike last year’s Transformers or Spider-Man 3, where the kiddy bits were simultaneously condescending, atrocious, and horribly frivolous padding.)
It zips by, this one. But not without leaving its marks. Much like the squiggly trails of coloured light scrawled on the air by the whizzing racing cars during the Maltese Ice Caves sequence, Speed Racer leaves after-images in its wake, both visual and emotional.

As clearly bowled over as I am with it though, I will admit, this isn’t for everyone.
Some will see the frenetic racing sequences and quickly switch off, under the mistaken belief that all Speed Racer is is high velocity eye candy devoid of any genuine human warmth.
Speed Racer also isn’t really built for extremely young kids. (Thus, the PG rating, as some of the young 'uns may need older family members to patiently explain odd bits here and there.) The first protracted racing sequence alone, which shifts the narrative back and forth from the present, to different sections of the past (much as a speeding car rapidly shifts its gears), may lose some of the less-attentive of the kiddie brigade in its non-linear, top-heavy exposition.
I, for one, loved this sequence, enthralled by the poignant idea of “race track as continuum,” capped off by Speed racing the phantom of Rex to the finish line. But then again, that’s just me.
The final moments of the climactic race are also executed via a device that is so tried-and-tested, it’s cliché. Somehow though, the Wachowskis pull it off, orchestrating the emotions the film’s narrative engine runs on to a tee.
And to leave us with the thought that anything—no matter how seemingly trivial—can be an art; that money does not have to—and more importantly, should not—be at the heart of everything; that a cohesive family unit is key; and that it isn’t really about what you can do, but how you can do good while doing what you do, that matters…
Certainly all that must count for something.

At this point, I’d like to underscore the fact that I’ve never really been a fan of Tatsuo Yoshida’s original animated Mach Go Go Go (Speed Racer in its American incarnation). I’ve seen snippets of some episodes of course, just enough to know that the tone of the series wasn’t really for me.
Despite never having gotten into it though, I was aware of the characters—Chim-Chim, Racer X, Trixie, et al—and their basic relationships with each other; I was aware of the visual signatures; I was aware of the song.*
So I really had no vested interest in whether the film would be any good, beyond the fact that I was hoping it could redeem the Wachowskis in my eyes.
I’m so glad it did. I’m thrilled that the Wachowskis could give a non-fan like myself a grand, rousing time at the cinema.
I’m glad that they could give me a film that has decidedly more humanity than The Matrix, that has a readily apparent soul that informs the technical and visual virtuosity that they are so clearly wizards of.
And I’m glad they proved they hadn’t completely lost their game.

Set in a world that is arguably more visually vibrant and stimulating than the Matrix, Speed Racer is a cinematic experience that fires on all of its cylinders, more than making up for the Matrix sequels.
It may not end up as seismic a pop culture event as The Matrix was, and it may not be the low-key piece I was looking for, but it certainly showcases the Wachowskis’ visual strengths in a package infused with humour, warmth, and emotion.
And granted, it isn’t for everyone, but for those of you who dig stylized storytelling, who can appreciate the paradox of obvious artifice and earnest emotion playing off each other and fusing under the elusive alchemy of skilled filmmaking, I think Speed Racer’s just the ride for you.

* Dang, the film version of the theme song (by Ali Dee and the Deekompressors) is a particularly dangerous—and terribly fun—meme…

(Speed Racer OS’s courtesy of impawards.com [design by Concept Arts]; images courtesy of speedracerthemovie.warnerbros.com.)

reVIEW (6)
CURSED

Spurred by Wes Craven’s recent turn as a guest judge on On The Lot, I thought to resurrect this review of Cursed (a review which began life answering to the name, “Bad Moon Rising”; go ahead, you can call it that. I’m sure it won’t mind).

Saddled with such a sadly appropriate title, it’s a small wonder that Cursed actually got completed and managed to lope its way into theatres. Of course, once you get to see it, you may just wish it had been shot in the head with a silver bullet while it was still unfinished.
Brought to you by the Scream team, director Wes Craven and writer Kevin Williamson, Cursed has had a tortured existence, laboring under its own version of the Mark of the Beast: delays, rewrites, and re-shoots.
Apparently, much like Exorcist: The Beginning, Cursed was practically re-shot in its entirety, much of the original cast (who were no longer available due to other film commitments) replaced, for the version unleashed upon us hapless movie-goers. Reportedly, one of the major changes was shifting it from an R-rating to a PG-13, effectively neutering whatever bite it may have initially had.

Ostensibly, the film is a horror thriller which purports to show us the travails of brother and sister Jimmy (Jesse Eisenberg) and Ellie (Christina Ricci), who’ve both been infected by a werewolf. In actuality, it’s a flat and tiresome experience that is a definite low point for both Craven and Williamson.
Not that either is a stranger to low points, mind you. Since making an impact with the infamous The Last House on the Left in 1972, Craven‘s career has been checkered with soaring highs (A Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream/Scream 2) and abysmal lows (Deadly Friend). Williamson, meanwhile, exploded onto the scene with Scream, and delivered a brilliant sequel in Scream 2, but spiraled ever downwards, passing on the way to the bottom such disappointing sights as The Faculty, Dawson’s Creek, the again appropriately-titled Wasteland, and the horrific (in the worst sense of the word) Teaching Mrs. Tingle.
So… low points? These gentlemen both know low points. I suppose I was just holding out the hope that whatever elusive spark, whatever strange alchemy they managed to tap into with Scream and Scream 2, they would find a third time.
No such luck.
It’s almost as if both suddenly developed creative amnesia, and whatever they seemed to know about suspense and horror, on display so elegantly in the first two Scream installments, evaporated into thin air.

Nowhere in the entire running time of Cursed do we find even a smidgen of the taut suspense Craven and Williamson managed to pack into Scream’s now-familiar opening sequence involving Drew Barrymore, a phone, and some popcorn. What we have here is 96 minutes of ho-hum that isn’t even remotely entertaining.
And since Ellie and Jimmy need to kill the werewolf who is the source of the infection in order to return to normality, it actually gets to a point where you start praying for a RAW Smackdown with Real Actual Werewolves just slapping each other around in some mindless popcorn horror fashion, just to ease the tedium. Tragically, even that doesn’t come to pass.
Like I said. Ho-hum.

And anyone who’s seen Scream will tag Cursed’s opening for what it is: a sequence which introduces us to cannon fodder, in this case, American Pie’s Shannon Elizabeth and singer Mya, the former delivering a particularly hilarious performance as Becky, the werewolf’s first on-screen victim.
Hijacked for the miserable ride are Dawson’s Creek’s Pacey, Joshua Jackson, Smallville’s Lex, Michael Rosenbaum, Gilmore Girls’ Jess, Milo Ventimiglia, Judy Greer (Jawbreaker, The Village), and Scott Baio—playing himself (!) in an ultimately pointless subplot—presumably to pad the suspect list with a gaggle of red herrings, in a vain attempt to confuse the issue, never once fooling us as to the identity of the mystery master werewolf.
It should be noted at this point that in the process of the unmasking, there is a rupture in the film’s logic (or perhaps it was just me slipping into semi-catatonia for a few seconds, thus missing a vital plot point—though I doubt it), not that that’s such a big deal, considering logic is seemingly just as much of a rarity in Cursed as actual thrills.

The thing is, the field was wide open with werewolf films. I certainly wasn’t expecting another An American Werewolf in London, John Landis’ ultimate word in werewolf cinema, but they could have tried. They could have made some kind of positive mark. As it is, Cursed could have fallen smack dab in the middle of Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf and the seventh installment of this sad and sorry franchise, Howling: New Moon Rising, and I wouldn’t have blinked an eye.

The saddest part, I suppose, is that this terrible miscarriage masquerading as a movie was the result of the collaboration of two individuals who know the game: these aren’t neophytes here, not even sophomores. These are individuals with Masters at horror*, and yet managed to produce not a sleek, sly, and cunning beast, but a whining, mangy cur with its legs all wobbly, its tail between its legs, and its teeth all fallen out.

* Well, maybe in Williamson’s case, a Magna Cum Laude.

Parting shot: Ventimiglia has, of course, gone on to the phenomenal Heroes. (You can tell this is an old review, as I didn’t describe him as “Heroes’ Peter.”)

(Cursed OS courtesy of impawards.com.)