I was really absorbed in this thriller for the first third or so. It masterfully creates the feeling of what’s going on here? and deploys its characters through excellent performances, especially by Dave Bautista. But, once the premise is fully revealed, I found myself getting impatient. The story doesn’t give any new information, and we’re just waiting for the characters’ final decision. Once they make it, I said to myself, “Yeah, that’s what I would do too, and that’s what they should have done all along.” It feels inevitable and predictable. Director M. Night Shyamalan is criticized for relying on twists too often, but I felt like this movie could have benefitted from one.
It’s been a while since I dove into a big series. I don’t think I’ve ever tackled a series of this length. After the first entry, I would say it’s not a home run, but it’s intriguing enough to continue. The plotting and action kept me hooked (except for a short detour into zombie territory that almost made me quit—I’m just really not into zombie stuff), but the characters were a bit bland. There are two point-of-view characters with alternating chapters, and when their paths inevitably cross, I had a hard time distinguishing the two.
I could only read short sections of this book at a time, because the account of life in a concentration camp is so harrowing. Frankl’s background as a psychiatrist allows him to effectively explain the psychology of incarceration and trauma, but I’m not sure what to make of logotherapy, the system of therapy that he invented. The second part of the book is a somewhat vague and jargon-y explanation of his theory. The core concept, that humans are motivated by finding meaning in their lives, seems almost tautological to me. Meaning is purpose, and purpose is motivation. Do we really need a formal theory to say that we’re motivated by motivation?
Watching this show means almost always being on the verge of happy tears. Every character does exactly what you want them to, but it still feels like a surprise, because people just aren’t that nice in real life. I acknowledge that the third season lost its way, but I still enjoyed it, and I don’t want to let it take away from the perfection of the first two seasons.
Just the sheer quantity of grunting and screaming in this movie is enough to spike my blood with a level of testosterone that I didn’t think I possessed. I’m thinking about playing the score next time I clean the house to turn the chore into a battle in my mind.
I’m split on the opening in medias res shot: we see the three main characters in a crucial moment, and we hear voices speculating on the question, “Who are they to each other?” I like the concept of the scene because I’ve played this game when people-watching in public spaces. On the other hand, the movie telegraphs itself, and I spent the first part of the movie impatient to get to the part which I knew was coming. But once it gets there… wow. It’s a masterclass of emotional tension, reminiscent of Moonlight’s diner scene.
Jiro’s son Yoshikazu talks about wanting to be a race-car driver before bowing to the pressure of family expectations and joining his father as a sushi chef. By all accounts, we are all glad that he didn’t follow his dreams, as he’s considered to be among the best sushi chefs in the world. Would he have been the best race-car driver in the world, because he has the ability to become the best at anything he does? Or could he only become the best at sushi, because that’s the ability he was “assigned” at birth? Does everyone only get one thing that they can be the best at? What if the thing that you’re assigned doesn’t match your life circumstances? What if the person who would become the best sushi chef is born in the middle of the desert where there are no fish?
Does anyone really think that profiting off landmines and hand grenades is not immoral? Because the anti-capitalist messaging in Triangle of Sadness can be so unsubtle, it had a “preaching to the choir” vibe for me. But I enjoyed the comedic absurdity that permeates the film, especially the gross-out “Captain’s Dinner” scene. Special shout-out to Charlbi Dean’s magnetic performance. RIP.
What I liked was how the portrait of David Starr Jordan progressed, from hero to villain, leading to the final posthumous dispensation of justice that leads to the title of this book. The weaker parts for me were the personal philosophical musings about how to place yourself in a nihilistic universe. The attempts to link Jordan’s disturbing worldview with the author’s relationship troubles were muddy, and felt like a stretch. But I still enjoyed the breezy writing style and murder-mystery-like structure, the latter of which might remind some of podcasts, which makes sense considering the Lulu Miller’s Radiolab credentials.
