Movie Review: ‘Star Trek Into Darkness’

Director J.J. Abrams’ frenetic and highly entertaining “Star Trek Into Darkness” (that’s right, no colon) may just be the quintessential Hollywood blockbuster. Take that however you like. Though it doesn’t have the operatic gravitas of Christopher Nolan’s action movies (The Dark Knight, Inception), it’s got just about everything else: spectacle, likable leads, a great villain almost worthy of our empathy, and enough human drama to keep you attached. That’s not to say the movie is perfect. Many of the characters can never quite seem to transcend their archetypes, there is not one strong female presence, and the conclusion is the epitome of deus ex machina. But, in the end, it provides enough entertainment to make up for its shortcomings.

“Into Darkness” opens with a sensational action sequence that is the entire movie in miniature, setting the tone for two hours of romping through space at warp speed, witty (but never quite clever) dialogue, some serious bromance, a bit of contrived plotting, and questionable stakes. The scene features the crew of the USS Enterprise surveying an alien planet for scientific purposes, as well as to prevent a soon-to-erupt volcano from destroying the planet’s primitive, yet burgeoning civilization. The mission is to be one of stealth. The indigenous people must not be alerted to the presence of other civilizations in the universe because such an event could intervene with their natural evolutionary trajectory. But Captain James Tiberius Kirk—the movie’s hero played by Chris Pine with determination and a boyish idealism—has never been a man of subtlety. Prone to recklessness and a delightful disregard for authority, Captain Kirk violates the “prime directive” of the mission when First Officer Spock’s (Zachary Quinto) life is in danger. If Kirk wants to save Spock’s life, he has no choice but to expose the Enterprise to the civilization. Tension ensues (as do the tears of Spock’s love interest, Uhura) between Kirk and Spock. Spock argues that his death is necessary for the mission while Kirk does everything in his power to save his friend regardless of the main objective.

It’s a question that pervades the entire movie: What is worth dying for? Or as this movie’s truly menacing villain, John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch), phrases it, “What would you not do for your family?” hoping to tap into Kirk’s vulnerabilities as a way to execute a terrorist plot. Harrison’s motivations are quite local and human, but his terrorism manifests itself on a global scale, drawing a link between the film’s human element and its obvious parallels to 9/11. Just like the latest “Iron Man,” this movie exploits 9/11 but never quite engages with it. For example, Harrison’s terrorist attacks are used by a military official to justify starting a war on an unrelated, unsuspecting civilization. And that’s about as much as “Into Darkness” explores American foreign policy. (Oh yeah, there are some space torpedos involved that vaguely resemble drones in both form and function.)

Though “Into Darkness” lacks sophisticated political commentary, it has style in abundance, a great cast, and a plot that moves so fast you sometimes forget how simple it all actually is. The film is full of fast cuts and frantic camera movements that reflect the crazy speed at which the characters have to make decisions. To be granted entrance onto the USS Enterprise, you have to think fast and talk even faster, for at any moment you could be facing a catastrophic threat from a hostile civilization or from just one man. One would think that a film with such a premise would be lacking in the type of interpersonal drama necessary for character development, but that’s not the case here. Though the movie’s plot is constantly advancing—it’s full of satisfying narrative clicks, a revelation here, some spectacle there—it somehow finds time for the expression of raw human emotion via direct conversations. Almost all of the stakes in “Into Darkness” are somehow bound up in the banter between Spock and Kirk. If the two ever resolve their differences completely, the “Star Trek” franchise will be in deep trouble. Some of that dialogue might be wasted on annoying, inconsequential resignations and ephemeral crew changes, but most of the time, it’s all in good fun and essential to the plot—a testament to Abrams’ mastery of cinematic economy and pace, the way he balances spectacle and drama at breakneck speed.

A note on the format: Go see “Star Trek Into Darkness” in IMAX 3D if you can. The 3D is a bit annoying at times. Very few of the shots last long enough for the extra dimension to truly be effective, but the vast IMAX canvas sucks you in nonetheless.

Movie Review: ‘Iron Man 3′

A version of this review originally appeared on May 9, 2013 in the Lock Haven Eagle Eye, Lock Haven University’s student newspaper.

The “Iron Man” movies have always been prone to whimsy, distinguishing themselves from the macho brouhaha of “Thor” and the annoyingly sincere patriotism of “Captain America,” but the latest installment in the franchise finds itself bordering on the absurd with tonal changes so abrupt and a disregard for some key characters that it never quite finds a balance, a central conflict on which all its disparate parts can converge. The movie is even episodic at times: one moment Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) is his usual quick-witted arrogant self, cracking jokes after a spectacular rescue, and the next he is in a hardware store hundreds of miles away filling up multiple shopping carts with ingredients for some makeshift weaponry.

But maybe such disparities and randomness reflect the undercurrent of existential disorientation that one of the movie’s conflicts implies: How do we live in a post-9/11 world? But of course, we’re talking about an alternate universe here. The Marvel version of 9/11 was depicted in last year’s “The Avengers” which featured a New York City decimated by an alien invasion. “Nothing’s been the same since New York,” Stark tells his great love Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow), expressing his struggle with enduring world-saving traumatic experiences. In short, Tony Stark has post-Avengers stress disorder. He suffers from occasional anxiety attacks and even becomes a danger to his loved ones as he tries to figure out what kind of man he is.

Who is Tony Stark and who is Iron Man? the movie constantly asks. Are they one and the same? Is one subservient to the other? Who is Tony Stark without the armor?

The movie has an answer to these questions but whether or not it earns such certainty is up for debate. Nonetheless, Stark’s struggle with PTSD reflects our own culture’s struggle with defining ourselves in a post-9/11 world—a weighty theme for a comic book movie, but then again the “Iron Man” films have always been much more ambitious than the rest in the Marvel universe.

In fact, “Iron Man 3” might just be the most thematically ambitious Marvel movie since the franchise’s debut, at least on an elementary level. The movie depicts—but doesn’t quite explore—the depths of political corruption, the dangers of powerful corporations, and even some daddy issues when Stark finds himself mentoring a precocious youngster in probably the most entertaining segment of the film.

Despite its thematic ambition, “Iron Man 3” is ultimately a folly, a movie too concerned with spectacle than character. Although, there’s not much in the way of jaw-dropping spectacle either, except for one scene in which some important political figures free fall from a plane to their imminent deaths unless Iron Man can devise a clever way to rescue them. To say that he does is not spoiling anything. He is Iron Man after all, and he’s the property of Disney.

There are simply no stakes in “Iron Man 3.” Its target audience doesn’t allow for the kind of trauma or maturity of character worthy of investing one’s emotions. In short, we’ve seen it all before. After audiences have been bombarded with excessive explosions and near-deaths in the last two entries, compounded by the excesses of this movie, distinguishing between their plots is a difficult task.

The plot of “Iron Man 3” is easily forgettable. The story revolves around an Osama bin Laden-esque terrorist named the Mandarin (an endearing Ben Kingsley), and Tony Stark’s attempts to prevent the Mandarin from executing more terrorist attacks. There’s a bit more to it than that, including a few clever twists—some of which are inconsequential considering we aren’t ever given a good reason to care in the first place.

In the end, “Iron Man 3” is exactly what is to be expected of an “Iron Man” movie. It’s even a little bit better than its predecessor, but only a little. Though “Iron Man 3” tries to justify its absurdity, its fragmented aesthetic, with some self-aware dialogue and Tony’s fragile emotional state—”I’m a hot mess,” he stresses to Potts in one of the few powerful scenes—it never quite hits the mark, becoming just another routine summer blockbuster whose profits will no doubt guarantee a sequel.

Movie Review: ‘Django Unchained’

Quentin Tarantino is perhaps the only filmmaker alive capable of making ridiculously entertaining movies about disgusting moral transgressions. In his World War II epic, “Inglourious Basterds,” Mr. Tarantino gave us an alternate version of history in which a group of Jewish-American soldiers successfully put an end to Hitler and his top officials at a movie screening. In “Django Unchained,” the writer/director’s latest, and perhaps best film, the audience is given another dose of historical justice in the vein of a spaghetti western. “Django Unchained” uses the western genre to justify raucous scenarios, implausible shootouts, and mounting suspense—all of which aid the movie in becoming a masterpiece of sheer thrills, a treatise on cinematic violence, and an indictment of slavery.

Set in the antebellum South, the movie exposes and exploits the atrocities of slavery and racism through the story of Django (a subtle and satisfying Jamie Foxx), a freed slave turned bounty hunter in an attempt to buy his wife’s freedom from Candyland, a notorious slave plantation run by Monsieur Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio at his boyishly sinister best).

The movie opens with shackled slaves trudging across expansive mountainous terrain when a smooth-talking German bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (the great Christoph Waltz), attempts to buy Django’s freedom so he can help identify two brothers Schultz is trying to hunt down and kill. What Schultz hopes to be a simple business transaction turns bloody when Django’s owners refuse to sell him, setting the tone for an excessively violent movie that will make you squirm in your seat, gasp, laugh, cheer, and may even tempt you to leave the theater.

Mr. Tarantino is known for his graphic movies, but “Django” reaches a pinnacle of blood and guts never before seen in the history of cinema (the movie is so graphic I don’t feel I need to have seen every movie ever made to make this claim). Many will find the violence inappropriate and gratuitous, but Mr. Tarantino’s trademark style serves a lofty purpose that transcends his previous masterpieces. The violence in his “Kill Bill” films was a homage to Asian martial arts movies, a love song to their acrobatic style of action. In “Inglourious Basterds,” the violence served no other purpose than sheer gratifying vengeance. In “Django Unchained,” the violence is troubling but quite necessary for the movie’s goal of reaching an astonishingly successful balance between moral outrage and pure moviegoing fun. However uncomfortable the movie makes us feel, it is nothing compared to the tortuous reality of slavery. Mr. Tarantino’s exaggerated and hyperactive style of action is an acknowledgement that every depiction of slavery, however earnest it may be, can never capture the full truth of America’s greatest sin.

With its relentless onslaught of racism’s barbarities, the movie often makes you sick to your stomach. In one scene, a slave is eaten alive by ravenous dogs because he refuses to take part in “mandingo fighting”—a repugnant “sport” in which two slaves are pit against each other to the death for the amusement of morally bankrupt individuals like Calvin Candie. Candie justifies his business by invoking phrenology, an outdated pseudoscience that claimed a person’s intelligence and overall character traits are defined by physical configurations of the skull. It’s at Candie’s estate where Mr. Tarantino’s mastery of cinematic suspense is on tantalizing display.

Posing as businessmen looking for the best mandingo fighters Candie has to offer, Django and Schultz infiltrate Candie’s estate to rescue Django’s wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington). During dinner, the tension builds and churns into a scene of rising dread as one character slowly becomes wise to our heroes’ ruse. The scene is a commensurate setup for an outrageous shootout that leaves the mansion no longer just a moral tomb, but a very literal blood-stained grave in which evil is laid to rest by the black hand of justice.

Much like Mr. Tarantino’s previous films, “Django” lacks any kind of moral ambiguity, any kind of grey area in which we might find ourselves sympathizing with a villain. For Mr. Tarantino, the perpetuators of slavery are evil, and bloody revenge is the only path to true justice. And, through the course of the film, we always agree with him. There are good guys and there are bad guys in Mr. Tarantino’s movies, and we’re never confused about which side we’re on. “How do you like the bounty hunting business?” Schultz asks Django, to which he replies, “Kill white folks and they pay you for it—what’s not to like?” It’s a sentiment the audience shares: we cheer when racist white men die, and we’re horrified when their wickedness is triumphant.

The movie’s deft ability to manipulate its audience to a certain, predetermined moral viewpoint is risky, but it is nonetheless a testament to Mr. Tarantino’s skill as a storyteller. He is a master of point of view and authorial control. We see exactly what he wants us to see, and we leave the theater feeling exactly as he has intended us to feel.

Movie Review: ‘The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey’

Director Peter Jackson’s “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey,”—the first chapter in a prequel trilogy to “The Lord of the Rings”—is a lighthearted fantasy adventure about the homebody Bilbo Baggins (played brilliantly by Martin Freeman) whose quiet, idyllic home is invaded by thirteen dwarves looking for a burglar to help them reclaim their homeland—the great dwarf kingdom of Erebor—from the dragon Smaug. Not fond of adventures, or anything at all except his books, maps, and garden, Bilbo is initially reluctant to leave his home and set off for a journey that will either claim his life, or change him forever, but will most certainly make him “late for dinner”—Bilbo’s first concern when the wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen) approaches him, “looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

But the adventure doesn’t begin until after a lengthy exposition, a few dwarf songs, and a hearty meal that leaves poor Bilbo’s pantry the most desolate locale in a movie filled with more jokes, snot gags, and pleasant vistas than the entirety of “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy. “An Unexpected Journey” has a much lighter tone than its predecessors, which ultimately makes the movie something quite easy to marvel and laugh at, as opposed to being a story in which we can truly be emotionally invested. Peacetime in Middle-earth doesn’t allow for the apocalyptic portents of doom that made the “Rings” trilogy so compelling. Instead, this movie lacks any sense of urgency or suspense, taking its time with expansive shots of its characters walking atop a snow-capped mountain at a leisurely pace as the main musical theme pounds in the background, doing its best to convince the audience that great and terrible feats are ahead.

In “An Unexpected Journey” the only notable stakes seem to be Bilbo’s childhood fancies, his repressed longing for greater things beyond his safe, comfortable home, and the pride of the very serious dwarf leader Thorin Oakenshield (a brooding Richard Armitage), whose intense glare disguises a deep pain and vulnerability. Only between Bilbo and Thorin is there any kind of interpersonal tension amongst a colorful company of fifteen. Not until after a great deal of time and some courageous deeds do Bilbo and Thorin resolve their differences, a resolution that never feels earned and is altogether introductory from the perspective of character development. Despite the fact that we sometimes share Thorin’s oppressive pride and feel just as defeated as he does when he’s thrown down in battle at the hands of his great enemy, the pervasive introductory feel of much of the movie doesn’t allow for much emotional resonance.

The movie seems to use underdeveloped musical themes, an underdeveloped plot, and underdeveloped characters to hint at greater things to come. That may seem appropriate considering this is only the first part of a trilogy, but it nonetheless hinders the movie from being wholly successful on its own. The one aspect that doesn’t feel underdeveloped is the mythology of Middle-earth.

Sometimes it seems as if the movie is more interested in its own lore than engaging its audience. “An Unexpected Journey” never misses a moment to draw attention to the name of some famous blade or recount the evil history of an old, abandoned fortress. It is so encyclopaedic that it becomes a much more fantastical experience than the “Rings” trilogy. There’s constant talk of witchcraft, the five wizards of Middle-earth, racial tensions between dwarves and elves, and the threat of a nameless necromancer. We even see Gandalf dabble in his own blend of magic turning honeycombs into wizard grenades in a climactic battle against a fearsome orc chief who sometimes goes by the name of Azog the Defiler, but is just as often referred to as The Pale Orc. Many audience members will revel in this extensive appreciation of the mythos, while others may be mystified and put off because there is no emotional weight supporting the references.

Though “An Unexpected Journey” is full of shortcomings, it’s still an enjoyable adventure and quite an achievement when it comes to sheer spectacle, the way it uses its mythology to reach visual heights only possible in Middle-earth. But even the most thrilling set pieces feel a little underwhelming. Because of the movie’s overall lack of urgency, the scenes of great spectacle—mere consequences of Middle-earth’s inherent majesty—seem to have been approached from an indifferent perspective. Many of these scenes feel commonplace, as if we shouldn’t expect anything but vulgar, horse-stealing trolls and malevolent goblin kings to cause some problems for our heroes. In one scene, what begins as a treacherous thunderstorm turns even more precarious for Bilbo and the dwarves when colossal mountains turn into anthropomorphised rock giants and battle each other in their own form of hand-to-hand combat. “The legends are true!” exclaims the likable dwarf Bofur, as if he’s forgotten he’s in Middle-earth where just about anything can happen for no particular reason.

Movie Review: ‘Life of Pi’

There is no denying, director Ang Lee’s adventure movie “Life of Pi” is something of a masterpiece—at least, on a technical and visual level. The movie is a wonder of visual effects and a testament to how computer graphics can enhance the moviegoing experience. Its use of 3-D is so elegant that once the adventure sets in, you forget you’re wearing big clunky glasses, even though you’re still conscious of how the 3-D aids in the telling of the story, how the extra dimension draws your gaze to Lee’s often majestic, sometimes harrowing images of nature’s raw beauty. But despite the movie’s visual bravura, it still suffers from a questionable moral message and a tedious first act. In the end, “Life of Pi” ends up being about something entirely different from what it intends to be. This shouldn’t be too discouraging though, considering how wildly entertaining the majority of the movie is.

“Life of Pi” begins with the main character, Pi Patel, and his family in Pondicherry, India. Pi’s family owns a zoo, but due to various circumstances, they are forced to give up their life in Pondicherry and sail for Canada, bringing along with them some of the more valuable animals to sell later on. After a horrifying shipwreck, Pi, the lone human survivor, finds himself sharing a lifeboat with a bengal tiger—humorously named Richard Parker and brought to terrifying life by state-of-the-art visual effects—somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Much of the movie concerns how Pi and Richard Parker sort of learn to live with each other after a series of power plays during which Pi nearly loses his life. The simplicity of Pi’s predicament tests the strength of the human spirit in the face of its own existential insignificance, as seen through the movie’s dazzling images.

In one scene, the Pacific Ocean glows a translucent neon blue, turning the grandeur of the sea into a window that offers an unobstructed view of strange and beautiful creatures at which to gaze in awe. The scene itself starts as nothing more than visual splendor, but it very quickly borders on the transcendent when a gigantic whale emerges from the ocean’s depths into a dive so indifferent to its surroundings that the end result is a haunting sequence representative of nature’s attitude toward humankind. The movie works best during these types of sequences, and not during its overt attempt to arbitrarily attach meaning to itself by way of a narrative framing device through which adult Pi tells his story to a struggling writer.

Pi relates his adventure with a smug and sanctimonious religiosity that is so general yet so pious, it ultimately comes off as a bit preachy. Because of this, when all is said and done, we’re not sure if Pi has survived because of his love for life, or because of his powers of self-delusion. If “Life of Pi” is about anything at all, then it is unintentionally about how easily the right blend of storytelling and traumatic experience can shape our worldview, for good or for ill, despite the fact that the movie is clearly trying to say something else, whatever that may be.

The real feat at the heart of “Life of Pi” is how director Ang Lee finds a balance between pure aesthetic pleasure and the hostility of nature. Not in one scene does the movie vaguely suggest that the wild is a desirable place to be, however visually beautiful it has been rendered.

Movie Review: ‘Skyfall’

A version of this review originally appeared on November 15, 2012 in the Lock Haven Eagle Eye, Lock Haven University’s student newspaper.

In one scene during “Skyfall”—director Sam Mendes’ refreshing take on the 007 mythos—James Bond is asked what his hobby is. “Resurrection,” he answers—a quip that speaks not only to specific plot elements of the movie itself, but also to the franchise as a whole. James Bond is immortal, and this movie knows it.

Though 007 has had his ups and downs over the years, he’s now back, reinvented, resurrected from the campy tropes and certain obligations that had previously defined the franchise. But that’s not to say this isn’t a traditional Bond movie. “Skyfall” has all the recognizable elements—the exotic locales, the beautiful women, the sinister villain—but it deftly manages to respect its predecessors without being nostalgic. This is no small feat, considering the franchise’s devout following. For example, the Aston Martin DB5 made famous by its role in the beloved “Goldfinger” even makes an essential, and ultimately comical appearance.

In “Skyfall” there is a constant juxtaposition of the old and the new, exemplified overtly with the introduction of Bond’s new quartermaster, or Q—a hipster technophile, who, for the first time in franchise history, is younger than 007, something Bond is at first unwilling to accept. “Age is no guarantee of efficiency,” Q tells Bond after seeing his discontent, to which Bond replies, “Youth is not a guarantee of innovation.” No, it’s not, but considering the threat of this movie’s villain, Raoul Silva—played masterfully by Javier Bardem—Bond needs all the help he can get.

And it’s Silva that enables some of the most emotionally resonant scenes in the movie. He becomes a catalyst for deep introspection on the part of the audience and the characters. He exposes Bond’s insecurities and exploits them for his own deep-seated grudges against his former employer, eventually raising the stakes beyond the threat of terrorism, a threat that can’t be contained by intrusive bureaucracies.

MI6 is in trouble, Bond’s ability to do his job effectively is being questioned, and M’s credibility is undermined after the death of multiple agents. The foundations of the franchise are at stake, and the only way to save them is by taking Bond back to his beginnings. What’s most astounding about “Skyfall” is that its main plot strand ends up not being about national security at all, but about personal vendettas and repressed memories. There’s something initially Freudian about “Skyfall” until the film’s climax when Bond goes home, but doesn’t linger there.

“Skyfall” gives us a half-realized picture of Bond’s childhood to great effect. A complete backstory would have been antithetical to this portrait of our favorite spy, whose charm stems from his enigmatic yet dashing character traits. And Daniel Craig as Bond IS dashing, a spectacle all his own who is never overshadowed by this movie’s sensational set pieces. Craig has never looked better in a suit and no actor before him has given Bond such depth. Craig’s 007 is brooding, melancholic, and at times physically debilitated, even disillusioned, but he’s still Bond—witty and forthright, never unconfident and a delightful instigator.

Because of the performances, a nuanced script, and careful direction, “Skyfall” is always grounded in a stark humanity even in the face of some spectacular action sequences which are innovative in their own way. “Skyfall” is by far the most intimate entry in the franchise. There is an austere drama here unparalleled in the action genre, making “Skyfall” less about 007, and much more about James Bond.

Movie Review: ‘Looper’

This review originally appeared on October 11, 2012 in the Lock Haven Eagle Eye, Lock Haven University’s student newspaper.

The plot mechanics of director Rian Johnson’s new time-travel thriller, “Looper,” are highly implausible, but, due to the film’s attention to detail, strong performances, and clever conceit, its overall gestalt is remarkably believable, making “Looper” the smartest and most inventive genre film since “Inception.”

The primary events of the movie take place in the year 2044 in which “time travel has not yet been invented, but thirty years from now, it will have been.” This is key, for an organized crime syndicate from the year 2074 sends people back to the past/present to be killed and disposed of by contract assassins—a clever way of, quite literally, tying up loose ends.

Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is one of these assassins, and the movie’s protagonist. The main tension of the film starts when the older version of Joe (Bruce Willis) is sent back to be killed by his younger self. After a comical physical exchange, Old Joe manages to escape, getting the plot moving.

As with most time travel movies, this one is particularly confounding, but not because of its inherently paradoxical premise, but because it asks tantalizing moral questions about fate, chance, and the harrowing lengths to which one would go in order to prevent terrible events from happening. These terrible events, and the way the filmmaker has handled them, assist “Looper” in appropriately earning its R-rating. The film is never excessively graphic or vulgar; it takes its action and dialogue seriously, creating a realism and a maturity not often depicted in films about something as fanciful as time travel. Realism, though, in a movie about time travel, can only go so far.

The approach “Looper” uses for time travel is both subtle and mesmerizing. It eschews genre conventions with a biting wit by openly acknowledging them, then embracing them altogether in the end. The film is mature in the way it never insults its audience, but respects and trusts it instead, by assuming that moviegoers understand the absurdity of time travel, that they are jaded by the trope just as much as the movie’s characters. At one point, a character remarks, “This time-travel crap just fries your brain like an egg,” as if he himself is sick of pondering the logic of botched time-travel movies.

While “Looper” plays with our expectations of time-travel mechanics, it also plays with our expectations of the future. Throughout the years, moviegoers have seen countless interpretations of the future on the big screen, but “Looper” gets it just right, by making the future exciting, yet eerily recognizable. The future is a bleak, gritty place for some, and for others, it’s a thing of fancy, a place of hovering vehicles and sleek technology. In one scene, a man pulls out of his coat some futuristic communication device. The device, initially the size of a cell phone and as thin as a credit card, folds out into something larger, but, despite its aesthetic ingenuity, still struggles to find a strong signal in the countryside. This honest depiction of the obstacle-laden transition to the future is just another mark of “Looper”’s believability.

“Looper” is a very good movie. Its action is blunt and comprehensible, its characters multidimensional, its plot intriguing, its moral implications weighty and troubling. There is always something new happening in “Looper,” something unexpected—particularly its climax, which may or may not have real consequences. “Looper” is full of wonderful, strange things, except answers.