• documentaries

    Documentary Review: The Greatest Love Story Never Told (2024) **

    Have you ever wished you could see J.Lo trying to pick the mud she likes better, and conclude that she wants to choose the drier mud but make it wetter?

    Have you ever wished to feel much better about your own marriage by seeing a couple communicate through sarcasm, disdain, and eye-rolling?

    Have you wished that you knew what it was like to be a fifty-year-old woman with so much insecurity and so much money that you can surround yourself entirely with sycophants, bullying anyone who isn’t willing to support your bubble of delusion?

    Have you ever wondered what it might be like to show up for the Olympics without doing any training beforehand and being bummed out when you can’t perform at Olympics level?

    Twenty years after J.Lo released her last album, this woman really thought she should jump into an absolutely massive three-part project (album, movie, documentary) without having spent the intervening years cracking on any of the related crafts. She can’t name any projects that remind her of her own project except for “Purple Rain” by Prince, and somehow everyone has the tact not to start listing things like Rhythm Nation, Moonwalker, and Lemonade.

    She doesn’t know what gels are. She scoffs at Ben Affleck being excited by the expensive movie equipment, while Ben Affleck is incredulous that cheating on her before their wedding was emotionally devastating (their breakup “was mutual!” he says, while she disassociates on camera).

    Meanwhile, Ben Affleck is horrified and humiliated that she shared all their personal correspondence with a bunch of strangers in a professional setting. He was not asked first. Or even notified.

    The documentary is clearly edited by someone who hates J.Lo and cut in a lot of moments that mock her by demonstration: for instance, J.Lo insisting “you forgot I can dance!” and then cutting to a really low-energy rehearsal of the worst number in the movie. Or when she calls someone “like a sister” and then they show her acting annoyed and eye-rolling at her sister-colleague.

    A lot of celebrities refuse to be in the movie. J.Lo says they’re afraid. Nobody challenges her on that, either.

    She may have demanded Derek Hough cancel his appearance at an IRL wedding to marry her in a fake wedding!

    The celebrities who agree promptly show up and start shit-talking the project.

    Sadhguru arrives and she greets him mimicking his accent.

    At some point, I whited out and lost track of existence.

    I’m so supportive of J.Lo’s vanity project. I maintain that I would rather watch *all* *of* *this* before sitting through a single viewing of any Avatar movie, James Cameron’s vanity projects. I genuinely like a couple of the songs in a normal pop music way, and I think her more visually ambitious sequences have a delirious appeal. But I am genuinely concerned that J.Lo is not okay, even a little bit, and that the whole “learning to love herself” narrative is actual total denial. Because this woman obviously does not love herself. She may have identified the problem (and she’s right!) but she is not healing, and she’s not in an environment where that is possible.

    It’s actually overtly alarming to see her reenacting abuse from past relationships when she’s so very much NOT OKAY. No wonder she’s so miserable and snappy about the mud. She must have been in a constant haze of PTSD flashbacks doing this to herself. I actually think Ben Affleck’s attempts to talk her up without any clear-eyed evaluation of her capabilities may have been more harmful than a loving husband thing.

    If you’re like me (the living embodiment of the Marie Kondo ilovemess.gif) then you can’t miss this, but it’s…alarming. It hates its own subject matter. It’s BANANAS to the point of being painful.

    This entire trifecta project is 10/10 but also somehow 1-2 stars.

  • image credit: A24
    movie reviews

    Movie Review: Priscilla (2023) ***

    “Priscilla” is a movie following the courtship and marriage of its titular character to Elvis Presley, beginning as a hazy teenage dream of romance with a pop star and ending with disillusionment and divorce.

    This is my first Sophia Coppola movie, but most everything I have to say about “Priscilla” seems to be normal for her films. As a claustrophobic, shallow confectionary, “Priscilla” is as much aesthetic as plot. Interiority is inferred rather than explicit. We are tightly limited to Priscilla’s perspective, and as the one who is left behind at Graceland while Elvis lives his life, there is little opportunity to guess at greater context unless you know what’s going on.

    I’m not an Elvis fan. I’m too young to have any opinion about his legacy outside of the weird fact he’s a major element of Lilo & Stitch. I couldn’t even get through the first few minutes of Baz Luhrmann’s “Elvis.” So I’m coming at this with virtually nothing.

    I expect that people with more cultural context will find more meaning in the film. As a standalone, Priscilla really doesn’t have a lot going on outside of its aesthetic.

    The beginning of the movie immerses us with 14-year-old Priscilla as she becomes immersed in a world-famous man with enormous influence who is a decade her senior. We can make guesses about why a famous pop star would want her specifically (versus any other fawning teenage girl), but there is so little context on Priscilla as a person that I initially assumed it was a weird sex thing.

    Except Elvis declines to have sex with Priscilla until she is older; it appears that he mostly wants a cute little “pure” doll who will do whatever he wants, and that tarnishing her would make him lose interest. They have a playful sexual relationship for a period of time but he is distracted by older, more experienced women. In a typical virgin/whore dichotomy, Elvis again loses sexual interest in Priscilla once she bears their child.

    Ultimately it feels that Elvis mostly wants a staff member who will put up with his shit while fulfilling his idealized role of girlfriend; reaching the point where he “must” marry and procreate isn’t really what he wanted, but life is moving on, and Priscilla is growing up.

    Once Coppola has made her point about Elvis’s initially predatory relationship to Priscilla, Coppola seems to lose interest in the subject matter, too. As Priscilla becomes more of an individual with agency, the movie speeds along at a faster clip, and it’s hard to escape the feeling that Coppola doesn’t care all that much about Priscilla once she’s no longer a more easily manipulated teenager.

    As such, this feels like a really aesthetic way of saying “your hero was a shitty human,” without putting all that much work into the main character whose long-lashed eyes we are always looking through. While searching around for more context on the movie, feeling like I was missing important details to make it more meaningful, I was struck by how powerful Priscilla-the-human seemed to be — how willful and intentional she must have been in order to live the life she has lead. We get glimpses of this from Cailee Spaeny’s performance, but Coppola doesn’t want to hang out with a Priscilla who is breaking free of her cage.

    The fact so many people are in denial about Elvis’s abusive, controlling behaviors toward Priscilla makes me *want* to five-star this in a bite-my-thumb-at-you type maneuver. People are offended by the bare facts involved because facts make Elvis look bad. As the “Priscilla” movie is based on her autobiography “Elvis & Me,” it’s wholly fair for her to be frank about the conditions of a relationship where she was groomed and dehumanized, even when she also seems to have sympathy for the man himself.

    This movie gave me the clear impression of a cosseted man whose flaws were never challenged or given the attention needed to heal; he just turned toward addiction and sycophants, like many people with power do.

    I don’t even mean Elvis levels of power. This is far from the only imbalanced relationship in the world, and it’s pretty normal for people who have done well at something to find themselves trapped in the amber of their own success, paralyzed by enablers. What I’m saying is that it’s completely human to demand exactly what you want and become ruined when you get it. It’s extremely easy to believe this portrayal when it’s extremely common for women to get smacked around by a man who doesn’t know any coping mechanism outside the veneer of control.

    There’s no reason to think Elvis was worse than this, either. Priscilla and Elvis apparently remained good friends until the end of his life, and Elvis seemed to need genuine friends. He’s an icon of stunted man-child nonsense that generations of women have indulged.

    I wish that Sophia Coppola had cared more about Priscilla the human outside the time of her life where she was most confined. I wanted to jump through the screen and pummel the adults allowing Priscilla to be obviously groomed for the first half of the movie, but I kinda wanted to ask Coppola “what the fuck?” at her evident disinterest in the complicated adult who developed from those circumstances.

    It’s a good movie, though – based on my standards of good movie, where a creator sets out to tell a particular story, and I believe Coppola accomplished her intent. It’s skillful and beautiful and kinda boring. After a quick read about Coppola’s other movies, and what has become defined as her style, I almost wonder if Coppola herself isn’t trapped by her successes too, incapable of moving beyond one type of heroine in one type of setting. Most creators have a particular story they want to tell. This one could have used bolstering from someone with more of an interest in the entirety of the woman.

    (image credit: A24)

  • credit: 20th Century Studios
    movie reviews

    Movie Review – Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014) – *****

    In Kingsman 1, a hot young chav gets Eliza Doolittle’d by the sexy older daddy figure who grooms him to become Twink James Bond.

    There’s other movie going on here, but that’s the part I care about.

    From what I can discern, Matthew Vaughn cares about the part where he says, “What if xyz unexpected person got to be James Bond?” His idea for Kingsman is “lower class young guy becomes gentleman spy,” in much the way his idea for Argylle is “hot redhead author with a dump truck and a cat is a spy.” (I haven’t seen Argylle yet but the movie is just a Matthew Vaughn take on Romancing the Stone.)

    Of all Vaughn’s movies I’ve seen, Kingsman is most effective. It’s a genuinely good action-spy movie that also satirizes the genre. A lot of the cartoonish silliness that puts people off Kingsman 2 and (from what I hear) Argylle is deployed under tight control for this first outing. It’s the perfect balance of exciting stakes and laugh-out-loud goofiness. Vaughn wanted to make a Bond movie, and he was doing it as sincerely as he is capable.

    To enjoy Kingsman, you’ve got to have a high tolerance for violence, however cartoony; there is one church scene that is somewhat less cartoonish and much bloodier. Killing off the ruling class is done in a fashion that is absolutely meant to draw a laugh. They also expect you to laugh at people pointing guns at cute dogs at least once. (All dogs in this movie are safe; the only dead dog is one that died at 11-years-old of natural causes and is taxidermied). Mostly Kingsman leans on irreverent shock-humor intended to please teenage boys, Matthew Vaughn, and other people with a teenage boy’s sense of humor (me).

    It’s sort of funny-huh if not funny-ha-ha seeing a movie with 2014 liberal sentiments (the church is filled with bigots whose killings are justified by their use of slurs before the shoe drops) that also makes its villain what was, at the time, regarded as a liberal-leaning figure (a tech billionaire who wants to save the world).

    On that note, Samuel L. Jackson plays a cooler version of Flan Musk: a tech billionaire who wants to save the world, but he wants to be the only one who can save it, and he wants full control. There’s a bunch of sci-fi magic handwavium about SIM cards and slightly less (?) handwavium about brain chips akin to Neuralink + exploding heads. Considering Star Trek was still name-dropping Musk as some positive historic figure paving the way toward the Federation at the time, it’s almost…prescient? Or just maybe had its head up its butt less than Paramount.

    Taron Egerton is adorably convincing as Twink Bond simping for Colin Firth, who is the hottest, gayest mass-murdering gentleman spy on the planet. I think Colin Firth enjoyed playing a gay daddy so much in Mamma Mia! that he was like, “I’m gonna do this four times as hard in the spy thing.” I’ve seen him in enough movies to know the difference between Gay Firth and Straight Firth. I mean, go look at Bridget Jones. Way less of a hinged wrist in that one.

    I wouldn’t actually give this movie five stars nowadays if not for the fact it bounces on my fetish buttons. I don’t mind the objectification of the Swedish princess so much; I’m enough of a dirtbag to recognize someone else’s fetish and there are multiple non-stereotyped woman characters elsewhere. I just don’t get much a laugh out of generalizing about anyone needing to die. Funny coming from someone who is uniformly opposed to the very existence of a ruling class, I know; obviously I disagree with the church bigots on everything too. I just don’t care for stylization that involves dehumanizing any group of people. The world is actually too terrible for that. Leftist idealogues are just as dangerous as right wing ones and if we pretend *anyone* deserves to die en masse (like working class henchmen) then we’re on a slippery slope. Plus, Kingsman 3 totally undermines any radical message Kingsman 1 may have allowed in its interpretations.

    But then again, we have Daddy Firth taking home his twink to teach him how to be a real man, and my Clitoris Activation Process also disabled the Rational Thinky Brain part of me, and all I can say is “that’s my fetish.gif” so of course it’s five stars. Taron Egerton spends a lot of time avenging his hot daddyfigure, like. So hot. Silly, homoerotic, unserious, great action scenes, smart satirization of a genre – this is peak Vaughn, and I have fun rewatching it every time.

    Throw this one on the pile of “best examples of a franchise that aren’t part of the franchise” movies with Galaxy Quest and Willy’s Wonderland.

    (image credit: 20th Century Studios)

  • movie reviews

    Movie Review: This Is Me…Now (2024) ****

    One day, Jennifer Lopez woke up and looked at herself in the mirror. She gripped the sink in both hands and leaned forward, slowly, to look herself dead in the eye, and say: “Nobody will even remember Beyonce’s Lemonade after me.”

    Then she spent twenty million dollars, and she told herself, “I’m Gene Kelly. I’m Janet Jackson in Rhythm Nation. I am a giant mechanical hummingbird. I am a lesbian heart factory. I am a visionary.”

    And Ben Affleck replied, “I will support you in this if we never make eye contact again and I can wear Donald Trump face paint.”

    For an hour, Jennifer Lopez goes to therapy.

    Fat Joe listens to her attentively. So does the Zodiac Counsel. For some reason Sadhguru is Pisces. Sadhguru is an actual irl guru and also he is standing beside Sophia Vergara who says “sometimes I eat my own hair.”

    “Solipsism? I was going to include her, but her agent said she was too busy for the shoot,” JLo says with enormous doe eyes and a fake-AI version of her face.


    I’m so supportive of a delusional milf wasting her money on self-aggrandizing nonsense.

    Every minute of “This is Me…Now” that is over-stylized chaotic nonsense is perfection. You should know I just gave five stars to Chopping Mall. That’s where I come from when I say this is perfection.

    Lots of this is boring. About seven hours into the sixty-minute film, I got very tired of JLo, innocent victim of love addiction. Then I reached the final number and I wished it was boring again because someone who cannot dance should never, ever evoke Gene Kelly in a professional setting. I support her delusional bad-dancing in most scenarios, i.e. bad-dancing in the kitchen while making cookies. Twenty million dollars of delusional bad-dancing in Gene Kelly style is asking a lot. Even from me. Who mostly wanted to motorboat her.

    “I can fix her,” I whispered at the TV, a lot. JLo is so beautiful. I think? We didn’t really see her face at any point. The Snapchat filters were almost as busy as the autotune in this. Also I was very distracted by the heart wedding dress that aaaalmost flashed her JLussy at us.

    AI-generated JLo looks incredible in every single incarnation, whether she’s Heart Maintenance Dyke or if she’s Flying Off a Motorcycle or if she’s Watching Sadhguru Marry Her Friends or if she’s in Abusive Boyfriend Bondage Gear or–

    Oh, the intro of this twenty million dollar video is absolutely AI-generated. Can you imagine? Twenty million dollars and she mostly spent it hiring Kim Petras to be Virgo, the virgin. (I’m sure Kim Petras finds this as funny as I do.)


    James Cameron is not a milf and he spends many more millions (billions) of dollars on racist, self-aggrandizing nonsense, inflicting upon the world a franchise which is deeply derivative and forces us to attempt to take CGI teenage alien Sigourney Weaver seriously.

    Darren Aronofsky makes the most solipsistic, self-indulgent crap like mother! and then he gets Oscars for a spectacularly fat-hating movie.

    Someone gave Zack Snyder a lot of money to make Rebel Moon. On purpose.

    Not a one of them is an extremely hot milf that I want to motorboat. They might as well shove their bloated budgets up their bungholes for all I care.

    Let Jennifer Lopez be delusional. Let her make a terrible auto-tuned album about how she’s learned she needs to love her Thanos-snapped-flower-petal child version of herself burn in an all-women heart reactor in the Love Factory. Let the lady dance badly!

    I would have given this steaming load of nonsense five stars if the intro and credits aren’t AI-generated. I believe in Women’s Wrongs. I’d much rather have a fully authentic-to-self, batshit insane, completely off-the-wall music video that is boring for a solid 30 minutes and ridiculous for the other 30 than another mother!. That said, forcing me to listen to Neil deGrasse Tyson should actually be a war crime, and I hope her next project is in a women’s prison to atone for her sins. I’ll be waiting for her there. (I can fix her.)

  • credit: Concorde Pictures
    movie reviews

    Movie Review: Chopping Mall (1986) *****

    In Chopping Mall, a 1980s shopping mall buys a three-robot police force to protect capital from ~thieves~. A lightning strike makes the robots go on an overnight killing spree. A bunch of horny young people who stayed in a furniture store for an orgy and excessive use of hairspray get targeted by the killbots, and only the least-horny ones survive.

    If that paragraph sounds good to you, then this is a five-star movie. If it doesn’t sound good, there is nothing in the movie you will enjoy. Nothing.

    Director Jim Wynorski has never met a boner that didn’t turn into a film pitch. This is the man behind 2016’s “Sharkansas Women’s Prison Massacre,” which is like a less-horny version of his pitch for unmade cinema classic “Prison Planet,” all about naked prisoner women fighting mutant alien naked women. He had the idea for Sharkansas in the shower. Yeah, he was definitely doing what we all think, and then he was like “I’m going to find a producer for this!” after hosing his Jimshot off the wall.

    So when I tell you this man boner’d his way through 80s slasher horror, you can imagine how many shots of boobies the movie features. A *significant* portion of the movie is horny hooligans in a furniture store. If he can think of any excuse for the women (and the men too, to be fair) to be partially nude, entirely nude, showing boobies, or showing butt, then HE WILL DO IT.

    Everything about Chopping Mall is perfect.

    Here are some snippets of dialogue to prove my thesis:

    “I guess I’m just not used to being chased around a mall by killer robots in the middle of the night.”

    Guy: You smell like pepperoni.
    Girl: Well if THAT is how you feel–
    Guy, more sexily: I like pepperoni.
    Girl: In that case… (she gets her boobies out)

    “You know Brennan, you’re becoming a real candidate for prickhood.”

    Guy: Jesus! What’s that?
    Another guy: Robot blood.

    The character Allison Parks is literally named after a porn star. Whose name was Alison Parks.

    As horny as Wynorski was for Allison Parks (and her actress, explicitly cast because Wynorski wanted to bone her, according to IMDB trivia), Chopping Mall nonetheless follow horror movie rules. There is a final girl, and she’s the one who doesn’t whip out her titties. I think she’s supposed to be ugly, fat, and smart? I’m never sure when the 80s intend for me to regard a character as fat and ugly because I think everyone’s hot. But she’s got cheeks and keeps her shirt on, AND she’s forced to date the nerd guy, so I’m pretty sure she’s fat and ugly.

    The reason that Chopping Mall is ideal as a Valentine’s Day movie is because the final girl also gets her final boyfriend to survive at the very end. Isn’t that so cute and wholesome?

    My absolute favorite moment in the movie is when a girl falls down holding a gas can, and her friends watch with extremely mild concern as a robot laser-blasts the gas can. The girl immediately turns into a flaming stuntman (quite burly) wearing a blonde wig while her screams play over his thrashing. I’m convinced the only reason that this character ever put on clothes was for this moment. Wynorski didn’t want to see the stuntman naked. Gross!

    If reading this review didn’t convince you that Chopping Mall is great, then it won’t be. But I’m telling you this is CINEMA. REAL CINEMA.

    (image credit: Concorde Pictures)

  • image credit: Universal Pictures
    movie reviews

    Movie Review: Marry Me (2022) ****

    In Marry Me, a pair of characters best compared to IRL Jennifer Lopez and Bad Bunny agree to get married on stage during a concert, but the dude popstar turns out to be a cheater, so Character JLo marries an audience member on a whim because he’s holding a “Marry Me” sign. Much to her benefit, this audience member turns out to be Owen Wilson, who is very good at “I’m in love with this woman”-face.

    As it turns out, Owen Wilson is a humble single dad math teacher. He respects the hell out of JLo’s character. He’s one of the nicest romcom heroes, and I just always love nice dad heroes. The match-up between a fabulous globe-trotting pop star and the Extremely Common Dude creates plenty of insecurity between them. Of course it all works out nicely.

    That said, I was not terribly impressed the first time I watched Marry Me. I’d have probably given it a knee-jerk two stars of “what is this crap?” This was my first rewatch since release two years ago, and I loved it a lot more.

    In the intervening years, I’ve watched a ton of romcoms, high and low budget. I also watched a movie with a similar hero/heroine duo, but at Christmastime, and with Freddie Prinze Junior: Christmas With You. I gave that one five stars because I was in *such* a Christmas romcom mood and it made me so happy. Marry Me isn’t quite as much of a happy-glow vibe for me, but it’s also way better than two stars now that I can compare it to many more flicks in the genre.

    Where Marry Me works, it works very well. I like JLo romcoms because she puts her whole doe-eyed heart into them. She has outstanding chemistry with Owen Wilson (kachow!). I believe that both of them have reasonable motivations to make a sincere effort to have a successful marriage with a stranger from disparate life circumstances.

    This movie also features young Chloe Coleman as Lou, the daughter. You might recognize her from Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves as Chris Pine’s adorable daughter. This lass has enormous talent, and she’s been exercising it since she started in 2013, locking in thirty roles on IMDB. Can you imagine a career starting on Glee and crossing through “daughter of Captain Kirk and Lightning McQueen” before you’re an adult? Although I *always* worry about kids working so much, I’m also impressed when kid actors are good enough to meet (possibly exceed) the abilities of the adults surrounding them.

    The casting in general is notable for a romcom that feels a bit Hallmarky. Sarah Silverman gets to be the chaotic lesbian best friend, Samwell from Westeros is the manager guy for JLo, Maluma played Bad Bunny* (*not really), and Jameela Jamil even shows up for a minute with hardly a single pomp OR a circumstance. I was just looking at the casting for JLo’s upcoming music video movie, and it’s got an even more stacked cast list, so I’m thinking JLo has a lot of famous friends?

    On a less glowing note, the setup stretched credulity a *little* too far. The whole wedding flipperoo early on still just feels extremely contrived to put these people together. I wouldn’t mind if the movie’s energy went a little harder in general–more stylized, more silly, more *something*. Matching the extreme sincerity of JLo’s interest in the “I still have hope for love” narrative (which is charming) with this concert wedding that suddenly involves a total stranger just doesn’t quite work for me personally. But I bet that’s the element that makes this a perfect fantasy for someone.

    The soundtrack is solid if you like pop music, the chemistry and performances are worth the price of admission, and I genuinely enjoy every single look JLo’s character wears in Marry Me. I’m glad I spent eight bucks to buy this one because I know I’m going to keep rewatching it when my brain doesn’t want to brain and I just want to say “Wowwwww, kachow!” every time Owen Wilson is on screen.

    Okay, but now let’s imagine that the “Hansel” theme played when Owen Wilson went on stage to marry JLo. That would have made this a six star movie, bare minimum.

    (image credit: Universal Pictures)

  • image credit: Disney
    movie reviews

    Movie Review: The Marvels (2023) ****

    Hey, I didn’t hate this one!

    Long before I started forming (only slightly) more cogent movie opinions, my rule for answering “Is this movie any good?” was based upon whether or not it bores me. If I wasn’t bored watching a movie, it was Good Enough.

    By 35-year-old Sara standards, The Marvels wasn’t really any good. The story was nigh incoherent. The stakes were flimsy. The movie did not take its own central drama seriously.

    But I was Not Bored in a very pleasant way for most of The Marvels after the first twenty minutes or so, which means there is a solid hourish of watchable movie there. You can’t have any expectations for Actual Plot because, again, flimsy and incoherent. Let me tell you a little secret about American cape comics though: The writing is almost never the strong suit anyway. I don’t really care when Marvel movies are badly written. I’m willing to meet them on their level, like The Eternals.

    What I hope to get is gonzo, Golden Age nonsense, and The Marvels delivered with alien kittens devouring people. Why is there a planet where people have to sing to understand each other? Who freakin cares. Did you notice that Kamala is dancing the whole time? It’s adorable. I want Captain Marvel’s dress. The graphics are pretty. Teyonah Parris. There’s just so much to speak for it.

    Really, I’m mostly here for Baby Lesbian Kamala, who surely leaves The Marvels with a whole lotta brand-new confusing fetishes for violent mommies. I have never seen more of a Flop-Sweat Lesbian Panic than the moment where Kamala realizes that Captain Marvel was actually in her bedroom. That’s how I would feel if Brie Larson showed up in my house too. Kamala has so many fan-drawings of herself hugging/helping/living a beautiful life with Captain Marvel, and I relate so strongly.

    There’s no heterosexual explanation for anything happening with Captain Marvel. She doesn’t have to grapple the generic hot mommy villain so intimately, but she does, and bless her heart for it. There’s no denying Captain Marvel is Monica’s lesbian mommy and they can’t reconcile missing Captain Marvel’s wife. You just can’t!

    Only a lesbian would look at the prince of the magical singing ocean planet and think, “Yeah, let’s make this a marriage of convenience rather than hanging out to rail this hot guy wearing this beautiful dress.”

    Only a lesbian would have this much of her hero arc based upon the activity of an orange cat. If you read that sentence and thought, “But I’m not a lesbian and I’d have a hero arc based on an orange cat?” then you’re a lesbian. I don’t make the rules.

    Baby Lesbian Kamala’s family is also a very sparkling highlight of the movie, much with the family in Blue Beetle, and I was happy to see them even if they got better writing on Kamala’s show. I also really enjoyed Samuel L. Jackson’s commitment to enjoying himself throughout the film. This man is tired of taking life seriously, and I enjoyed the haze of compersion from watching Nick Fury ham it up alongside kittens, family, and my sweet flaw-free niece Kamala.

    This whole thing is really a rollicking good time for families, if you ask me. I rewound the scene with the kittens eating people twice to show my kids. I’ll probably make my spouse watch this later because I think he’ll also love Kamala and kittens. Kamala, kittens, and “this one is for the girls and gays” as an overwhelming priority makes this one of the most tolerable MCU entries I’ve watched since the Kamala show.

    (image credit: Disney)