Minions Movie Review

Minions Poster

My wife and I saw Minions this weekend and we were both a little disappointed.

We both liked the first two movies, but the series is suffering from sequelitis where each new movie is a little worse than the one before.

Part of that problem is honestly a stronger focus on the minions with each new movie.

They’re good as sidekick characters, but a mute slapstick comedic lead hasn’t worked since Buster Keaton. People just expect more out of their movies now.

The plot of the movie is summed up pretty well in the trailers if you’ve seen those. Three minions try to find a villain to serve. They find Scarlet Overkill who tells them to steal the Queen of England’s crown. Hijinks ensue and Scarlet Overkill ends up wanting to kill the minions.

The trailer used most of the funnier bits of the movie in it, so there weren’t many surprises left to see.

The best part that was left out of the trailers was the Nelson family, a group of bankrobber fans of Scarlet Overkill.

They’re just a happy loving family that also happens to rob banks and idolize super villains.

Back to the general point, why didn’t the movie work for me? Because none of the characters were interesting (besides the Nelsons).

The minions are cute and funny, but they don’t speak. They literally cannot deliver punchlines to jokes.

There are basically only two other characters in the movie besides the minions, Scarlet Overkill and her dopey husband, Herb.

Scarlet is the embodiment of rage. She rages really well and Sandra Bullock was a great cast to play that character, but is she funny? NOPE! I don’t go to the movies to see people get mad over petty things. I don’t got anywhere for that sort of thing.

And Herb… He’s newspaper comic level funny. I can literally read the jokes he does every single day in the comics section. It’s just weak stuff.

My wife and I are fans of the series, so we’d be the most likely group of people to enjoy this movie, but we just didn’t. I wouldn’t recommend it to other adults who liked the first two Despicable Me movies. Maybe for kids, but not adults.

Another thing my wife and I had heard the movie was sexist before going to it. Gotta say, that was entirely wrong.

Minions has the same problem every other movie has with a lack of female characters. There’s Scarlet and the Queen. That’s it.

The Queen is barely present, so most of the sexist accusations would have to revolve around Scarlet’s portrayal or just the general absence of female characters. Since nearly every movie is missing female characters I assume what we’d heard was directed towards how Scarlet was portrayed.

And it just wasn’t sexist. She’s a powerful woman with a husband who is the “power behind the throne.” Basic role reversal already.

At one point she’s getting put into a corset-type dress which one could claim is sexist, until the dress turns into a giant rocket 2 minutes later in the movie.

You could also claim her desire to be pretty was imposing society’s values of what women should be, but that just feels like a stretch.

The final issue might be Scarlet’s life long dream to be Queen of England. You could see that as her wanting to be a princess or you could see it as her wanting to be the ruler of a country.

The sexism just wasn’t there (besides the no female characters thing).

Anyways, most of the people who read this blog are adults, so I recommend that you don’t see this movie. Even if you are a fan of Despicable Me. Just watch the trailer again. It’s pretty much the same and will save you a lot of time and money.

-GoCorral

Disney World Crowds

While  at Disney World we were constantly comparing the resort to Disneyland.

The layout of the Magic Kingdom at Disney World is slightly different. Different ride, different amounts of open space, and different general organization.

The fact that there are differences isn’t that surprising. The amount of space and the working conditions were different in 1970’s Florida than 1950’s California so the parks ended up being different. And now you’re thinking, “How many times can this man squeeze the word different into this post?”

What’s surprising is how different the park guests are.

In Disneyland most of the people are Caucasian, Asian, or Latino in race and mostly American in culture.

Definitely not the case in Disney World.

The people are a lot more diverse and they come from all over the world! Makes sense given the name of the resort, but I’m still surprised.

There are people from Scandinavian countries, Germanic countries, Asian countries, South/Central America, and India. I’m less than specific because I can’t recognize the other guests nationality easily from hearing a language I can’t understand, but I can get close.

One of the larger groups of people in Disney World are the high school Brazilian tour groups.

image
Thousands of Brazilians. Millions of Brazilians!

Groups of about a hundred are all over the resort.

They’re super excited too. They sing songs while in line and occasionally run between rides so they can catch more fun before going back home.

Another highlight in my memory of foreigners in Disney World was when my wife and I were in line for the Snow White and the Seven Dwarves Mine Train ride in front of an English family.

A father was taking his tween son and daughter on vacation and the son just couldn’t handle the Florida weather.

“It’s awful hot, Dad. They don’t have weather like this in England do they, Dad?”
“No we have the four seasons there. They don’t have so many here.”
“But it sure is hot.”

And some continuing variation on that between the son and his sister or his dad in English accents for the hour and a half we were in line.

At one point my wife and I looked at each other and couldn’t help laughing at how ridiculous the son was being. The father definitely noticed our reaction and he was definitely embarrassed.

His children remained oblivious.

-GoCorral

The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro

People should post books they read on Instagram instead of food they eat.
People should post books they read on Instagram instead of food they eat.

I finished reading a book called The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro that my step-mom had gotten me. I’m going to be delivering some spoilers about the book in this post, so be forewarned. If you’re interested in Kazuo Ishiguro’s writing or King Arthur stuff I’d recommend you finish the book on your own before reading this post.

The book is set a generation or so after King Arthur, when all his knights are getting old or dead.

The book follows the journey of a married couple, Axl and Beatrice, who are traveling to their son’s village.

A mist covers England clouding people’s memories. People forget things after the simplest of distractions. Old memories are difficult or impossible to recall. And the problem affects everyone.

The memory mist springs from a dragon and it becomes the quest of Axl, Beatrice, and a few people they meet on their journey to slay the dragon.

The dragon slaying is all fine and good and I loved reading those parts. It may not be a traditional King Arthur tale, but I love reading new takes on old things and it hit a home run in being a King Arthur story.

What bothered me about the book is what has bothered me about a lot of books, the ending is sad.

I remember a conversation I had with my dad when I was in high school. I asked him, “Why do modern stories have bad endings? Ancient stories always have the good guys killing the bad guys and everyone living happily ever after. Like King Arthur.”

My dad said something along the lines of, “Modern stories have bad endings because they’re more real. Fairy tales like King Arthur are fine for kids, but grownups like stories that are real, that they can relate to. It’s cathartic.”

That answer was good enough for me back then, but I’ve done some more thinking on it since.

First, bad endings are not solely the province of modern stories. Oedipus Rex is a perfect example of an ancient story with a horrible ending. Romeo and Juliet is based off the Greek myth of Pyramus and Thisbe. The Iliad has a powerful ending, but no one really gets what they want. Hector is still dead and Achilles still feels empty.

The second thing I realized is that it isn’t so much the sadness that makes stories feel real. You can’t just have something bad happen to someone and expect people to start feeling empathy for that character.

No. What makes stories real is having characters on both sides of a conflict who could both be described as good.

The Greek myths are perfect examples once again. Achilles is the hero of the Iliad, but so is Hector. They’re both great admirable people (at least to the Greeks. I don’t think someone with the epithet, “the Mankiller,” would be very popular today),

They’re both heroes in the story, but they have antithetical goals. One must die for the story to reach resolution. And that’s what makes it sad.

The conflict doesn’t always need to end in death and the characters don’t always need to be diametrically opposed, but ultimately the “villain” of an adult story must have real motivations for what they are doing. And most real motivations are fundamentally good. People do things to help themselves or the people they care about, not because they want to hurt other people (sadists are exempt).

An easier separation between what I’ve called good and bad endings in the past would be children’s stories and adult stories.

Stories need to be simplified for children which can mean having a villain who is just villainous for no good reason (Jafar, The Star Wars Emperor, Mordred from King Arthur, etc.).

But back to The Buried Giant!

Early on in the book Axl and Beatrice encounter a woman who tells them about a mysterious island that is clearly some sort of allegory for Heaven.

It’s said that you can live on the island and never see the other people living there.

Only a couple that is truly in love will be able to interact with each other on the island.

A couple’s truly in love status is tested by the boatman who brings people to the island. He asks couples a series of individual questions before permitting them to travel together.

The woman that Axl and Beatrice meet describes that happening to her and her husband. They answered the questions and then the boatman said the water was too rough to bring them to the island at the same time.

Thinking she would get to see her husband on the next boat, she said, “Fine,” and her husband went first.

When the boatman came back he informed the wife that she had failed the questions and that she would not be seeing her husband on the island. She left in a rage and wandered England before eventually telling her story to Axl and Beatrice.

Our protagonist couple talk about the island constantly. They are concerned that they won’t be able to answer questions about their love for each other if the dragon’s memory mist prevents them from remembering why they originally fell in love.

In the final chapter of the book they talk to the boatman. The boatman talks to Beatrice first and then to Axl. We only hear Axl’s conversation.

The boatman is very casual and brings up a fight that Axl had with Beatrice once. Axl explains the fight, but is suspicious that he and Beatrice will be denied joint entrance to “Island Heaven” if he tells the whle truth (the reader never learns the whole truth).

The boatman agrees to take them both to the island. Axl hops in the boat with Beatrice.

And then the boatman says, “I can’t take you both at the same time. The weather is too bad.”

Axl’s face darkens. He knows he failed the questions, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to his wife. He stays in the boat.

Beatrice tells Axl she’ll be fine. They can just meet when the boatman brings the next boat.

Not wanting to upset his wife, Axl gets out of the boat and trudges towards shore.

And the book freaking ends there.

I understand that sad endings are sometimes more realistic, but this felt more like the author screwing with me.

Couldn’t they have been allowed to go together? Couldn’t we have learned a few more specifics about what Axl and Beatrice fought about long ago?

Nope! Ishiguro does the smart thing. If you have questions that don’t need answering in a story, then don’t answer them. People will come up with their own answers and those will always satisfy the readers more than anything you can come up with.

So does the boatman come back and take Axl to be with Beatrice? It’s possible, but my own answer to that question was, “No.”

And that’s a sad ending.

-GoCorral

The True Colors: Chapter One

Here’s the first chapter of the Hornblower story I’m writing. The name of the story is The True Colors. The first Hornblower book was called Flying Colours so the title is a callback to that. Here it is!

-Mister Ed

Chapter One: The Return of Bush

The carriage rocked along the dirt road to Gillingham as Hornblower considered the letter he’d received a week before. The contents of the letter had been hard for him to believe, even if he had hoped for such a message over the last ten years. Bush was alive! Hornblower hadn’t considered it possible. He’d ordered many searches of the Seine River after the powder explosion presumably killed his best friend. He had even searched it himself after Allied Powers exiled the dictator to Elba and France was safe for decent Englishmen to travel in once more. He’d found no trace of Captain Bush, not even a splinter from his wooden leg.

But now a letter had arrived claiming to be from his old friend. The letter read:

Dear Admiral Horatio Hornblower,

It has been ten years since our last meeting. I am sorry that I could not see you or correspond with you in the meantime, but other matters of the utmost importance held my attention. I feared that the slightest contact with those I cared about might endanger them or their loved ones. I apologize and beg your forgiveness for my long abstinence from our friendship. Hopefully you will see in time that my choice was the right one.

I fear I have need of your help Hornblower, now more than ever. On the evening of the 21st of September I will be at the Pickled Keg on the eastern end of the Gillingham Docks just three doors down from the Tower and Keep where you once played whist to supplement your lieutenant’s half-pay. I hope that you can meet me there. There is much we must discuss of personal matters and those more grave that have occupied me this last decade. I hope that you will come, my old friend. It shall not be the same without you.

Sincerely,

Captain William Bush

*

The end of the letter bore a seal unfamiliar to Hornblower. A red shield with a chevron bore a cross pattée in the upper left, a crown in the upper right, and three upward pointing swords upon the bottom. Atop the shield rested a helm with a griffon rising out of the helm itself. Surrounding the shield and helm were the typical vines of nobility that Hornblower never truly understood the appeal of.

At first, Hornblower had been unsure of the authenticity of the letter. He’d been so certain of Bush’s death. He’d attended the funeral. He’d sought out Bush’s family in the hopes of honoring one of his sons or brothers with knighthood in the Order of Bath. Hornblower had previously avoided meeting Bush’s family for fear that entanglement with them might interfere with his duties as a naval officer. Hornblower had offered Bush’s mother and sisters his condolences along with ensuring that half of Bush’s pay would continue to be collected by them for their support. He was, however, unsuccessful in finding any male relatives of his friend. Regardless, for the last ten years Hornblower had been utterly convinced of Bush’s death.

And now a letter arrived claiming that Captain William Bush was still alive. Hornblower could scarcely believe it. He had lied to his wife Barbara, saying that he was going to meet the German Prince Paul from his voyages aboard the HMS Atropos, visiting from Paris. When she asked why Prince Paul was not calling at the estate, Hornblower had stuttered and said it was a business matter not a social call. Barbara had graciously left it at that, but he knew he’d have to tell her the truth upon his return. He only hoped there would be more to tell then.

The wobbling of the carriage wheels made him sick as it bounced over the cobblestone road into Gillingham. They slowly pulled through the town as dusk fell. Flames flickered in the streetlights and Hornblower could smell the ocean breeze. If he cocked his ear just right he could hear the waves washing against the wood of the ships at port. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound.

The driver pulled up to the middle of the port as instructed. Hornblower felt the carriage creak as the driver got down from his seat and moved to open the door. Hornblower stiffly pulled on his gloves. The driver opened the door and as he did so, Hornblower had a thought to leave Bush’s letter behind in case this meeting was not with Bush. It was more likely a ruse and Lady Barbara should know where he had gone if he did not return due to any foul play. He cursed and pulled off his right glove to retrieve the letter from his inside coat pocket. While looking at the step down from the carriage Hornblower spoke to the driver, “Wait for me until tomorrow at this spot. If I should not return, give this letter to Lady Barbara.” He indicated the letter as he set it down on the cabin seat.

“As ye’ say, milord.”

As Hornblower got out of the carriage and pulled his coat tight around him he added, “And make sure the horses are well groomed and fed.”

“O’ course, milord.”

Hornblower donned his right glove once more and shivered in the cold. He hadn’t missed this part of the sea. He shoved his hands into his outer coat pockets as he walked away from the sun to the eastern side of the docks.

What would Hornblower find at the Pickled Keg? Was it really Bush who had sent the letter? If it wasn’t, why would someone concoct such a ridiculous lie? Why had he believed it? Were they trying to kidnap him to blackmail Lady Barbara? If that was true, then Hornblower was quite glad he had brought his pistol on a holster inside his coat.

But what if it was Bush who had sent the letter? How had he survived the explosion? If he had survived, why hadn’t he been found afterwards? Why had he waited ten years before contacting Hornblower or anyone else? Had he spoken to his bereaved family? What were the grave matters that had occupied him in the mean time?

Hornblower sighed and resigned himself to finding out within the next few minutes. He walked on past the docks, past the Tower and Keep, and up to the front of the Pickled Keg. He pushed in the door and walked inside.

The room inside was decently sized for a tavern. Several long tables lined the middle of the room with a bar at the far end from the door. Booths were on the right side of the room and a roaring fire on the left side. A good crop of people were eating the daily soup, playing cards, and drinking a sour smelling liquid with a smell that permeated the air. Peanut shells crunched under his feet as Hornblower entered the room looking for his old friend.

There! At the last booth furthest from the door he saw a wooden leg poking out from the seat. That must be Bush. Hornblower slowly walked over, still cautious. He felt inside his coat and was reassured by the feel of his pistol. He turned the corner around the tables and felt beads of sweat appear on his forehead and under his armpits. He hadn’t realized how hot it was in here, even opposite the fireplace. He approached the booth at the end and looked down.

“Good God, it really is you.”

It was Bush. The same squat body and the same face like a slightly rotten tomato. The same moustache and haircut. Bush smiled and Hornblower even recognized the slight angles of each and every tooth in his old friend’s mouth. Bush hefted himself up out of the booth onto his one good leg. Offering his hand he said, “It’s good to see you old friend.”

Hornblower looked at his face and the offered hand. Should he hug him instead? Should he just take his hand or refuse it? After all, Bush had refused to contact him for over ten years! He decided the middle road was best and took Bush’s hand. He gave it a firm grip while Bush moved his hand up and down. Hornblower felt Bush letting go and quickly placed his left hand to lengthen the long forgotten contact with his old friend. If he let go, would this ghost disappear?

Bush extricated himself, but did not disappear. He made a solid thunk as he half sat half fell back into the booth. “Why don’t you take a seat and join me? We have a lot to talk about.”

Hornblower spoke as he took a seat, “You’re damn right we do. You’ve been gone for over ten years and you appear out of the blue looking the-”

Bush interrupted what he felt was a growing tidal wave of abuse, “Stop!” Bush held up his hand and repeated more calmly, “Stop. I have something very important to tell you.”

“Fine. What is it you have to say Captain Bush?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte is back, Hornblower.”

“Back from Elba? Yes I know. He’s come and gone. Died on St. Helena a few years back I believe. I’ve just come back from an expedition where I-”

Bush interrupted again, “No Hornblower, not back from Elba or St. Helena. Napoleon Bonaparte, Grand Emperor of Frogs, is back from the dead.”