Well, that’s not NOT what I expected a Zack Snyder Wonder Woman to look like.
Here’s a piece from Scott Mendelson that gets at some of the key points: “Batman v. Superman will sink or swim on Wonder Woman.”
I remain firm in my belief that Snyder’s life would have been a much happier one if he had just been a costume designer or art director, and stopped mucking around with the particularities of “stories” and “ethics” and “making people talk.”
Also, can we take a moment for Henry Cavill, who is now arguably playing third banana (in terms of audience interest) in the sequel to his own movie. I hope one day, Brandon Routh sits him down and buys him a drink.
The Alpha-3 Nimbus-class V-wing starfighter, often simply known as the V-wing starfighter or Nimbus fighter, was a short-ranged starfighter deployed late in the Clone Wars by the Galactic Republic. V-wings were later succeeded by the Imperial TIE Fighter and the Rebel A-wing interceptor, all of which incorporated aspects of the V-wing into their designs.
When I was a child, the A-Wing starfighter was my favourite. No real idea why - the X-Wing was more central to the heroes of the trilogy, and the B-Wing, let’s face it, is far and away the more badass design. But A-Wings just made a kind of weird sense to me - squat, purposeful, and an A-Wing kamikaze strike took out the Super Star Destroyer - and in the prequel era I spent a lot of time (and money, of course) tracing the A-Wing design back down through its design DNA, to the Republic era.Read more
From the tederick.com archives: "Countdown"
I made this 1-minute film (like, actual film!) as an exercise in my second year at York… no idea what the assignment was but it probably had something to do with making dinner. The shattering of the space-time continuum was all me.
"In Boyhood we’re always ‘here now,’ with no moody dissolves or title cards to dog-ear the pages of the book. Thiths is boyhood, and this, I think, is the point."
In which I contemplate being, time, filmmaking, and being in the moment, by way of Richard Linklater’s masterpiece Boyhood. Read more
“I don’t know who that woman was, but she was definitely not his mother.”
This flatly ridiculous episode casts Deanna in a bizarre reimagining of The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which Deanna herself is the picture. (In case you miss any of the obviousness, the alien race that delivers Ambassador Alcar to the Enterprise is called the Dorians.) “Man of the People” is proof of two things: one, Deanna really, really shouldn’t ever date; and two, perhaps directly related to one, the Next Gen writing staff really can’t write for Deanna.Read more
8:49 a.m. The air cooled significantly overnight and I woke to a morning grey and placid. Last night I killed a monstrous spider who had made the verandah his home and was systematically coating it in thick, stringy webs; webs so thick they pulled against you, and made their crinkling noise, and snapped in your hand like birthday ribbons. I doused the spider – fat, arrogant, bottle-brown – in RAID and watched him scurry away before tearing down all his cathedrals. This morning, I climbed the steps to the cottage to find the verandah overrun – by mayflies, mosquitoes, and all other things. The king of the spiders was dead. A new king had set up shop on the tent house, as I found when I emerged, entombing the door in his traps, and shrinkwrapping the rest in arch after arch of his finest filigree. I haven’t found him yet.Read more
"I don’t think blockbusters are particularly fun anymore. This summer, certainly not. Dawn of the Planet of the Apes augurs a more brittle world, where the power balance of intelligent life on Earth isn’t upside-down, but parallel: two distinct societies, human and ape, living uneasily side by side (for the time being)."
In which photorealism, doomsaying, and the innate violence of man all make for a gloomier summer in Planet of the Apes, Part 8. Read more
Something I worked up last week when Team Sam & Gabe hit the road with some gifts for our honouree kids. The part where we were stuffed into the car and drowning in balloons was my favourite. I love my job!
OK, so define a “good” show. I know, I know, we don’t truck with that kind of talk around here. But even in the annals of subjectivity and whimsical pleasures and not needing movies to be good, Hemlock Grove is a bad fucking show. Like, really bad. Like super awful holy-shit-was-this-written-by-12-year-olds bad.
And yet. And yet.
I guess I don’t need TV shows to be good, either. Hemlock Grove's first season really does feel like it was written in crayon on the back of an 8th-grader's paper bag lunch, and is so slapdash in its execution that if you told me a bunch of film students made it on a weekend in Thunder Bay with whatever they had lying around, I'd believe you. (There is a key wig in the last three episodes that looks, without hyperbole, like it was bought at Shoppers Drug Mart four days after Hallowe'en.)Read more
Everything begins with a title, or at least, it does for me; while I certainly can draft something without a title in place, it never feels right, like climbing through the kitchen window when I’ve locked my keys in the house. Sometimes the practice gets away from me. I’ve thought up some hum-dinger titles for Destroy All Monsters over the past year and have discovered (usually about exactly an hour past too-late on the night before the column is due) that there’s no “there” there, when I’ve gone to try and write the thing. (And this, probably, after a week or two of thinking to myself, “don’t worry about the column, I’ve got the column,” thanks to my too-clever title.)Read more