Monday, May 28, 2018

Solo: a review


Interesting. There's an argument from Ann Douglas in her "Terrible Honesty," that something akin to crude male swagger gave life to the 1920s, freeing a generation from the dreaded smothering Victorian Titanness. In this movie, arguably, male swagger comes across in a feminine form, as being free from "the burden" of greater knowledge. With who is really in the know at the end, one feels that the capacity to hold oneself back in informed, partial restrain, while admiring the simple boys who are all innocent and do not know, belongs to the enwisened woman, who is more mature in years than her mate, and more really for the helm. There's something of "White men can't jump" about this film; the foregrounding of greater female awareness and maturity, and life as an outlaw, as meaning taking pleasure in how preening as a rebel, makes one boyish, harmless, and intensely likeable. This is not a movie about establishing your own space, but in taking a partial step in that direction... and pausing until people who might weigh in the negative, give in and approve. The authority isn't in you, but in the one who ultimately can't help themselves but agree... that you are indeed scruffily loveable, despite your initial, cloying, impertinence. The triumph of the outlaw was more, say, "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" (or perhaps "Skyfall") where the femme-fetale is second-fiddle, not overarching. Here he seems the boy who comes to his mate ostensibly a man, only to find she in his absence surpassed him, so what he brings to her belongs only in a land of nostaligic toys. If he chastised her out of this state, he'd be the outlaw with authority; but in taking the space afforded him to in his innocence adventure, he is outlaw as pulled-back from adulthood; as adolescence, not as great man.

Zacharek attends to Ron Howard as good with actors. I think if people want to give due to how the film does not work in a Trumpian direction, they could draw on how Howard has his actors relate in an easy-going fashion. They're not all on tippy-toes, but relaxed, which is not exactly Trumpian.

The Kessel Run becomes in this film not a race-track or a straight line, but a giant swallowing vortex with a gigantic placenta-beast near its centre. The first great villain of the film, is a large worm-snake female, in the middle of her own murky pond. The great beast Han must fight, is a tall, solo creature, centred in an arena of mud. A psychoanalysist would read these as regressive fears of being swallowed back into a pre-Oedipal matrix. All the attention to clothing, nice cloth, which threatens to draw one away from the action so to take a look at something that isn't a McGuffin or whatever, a generality that one could g*ve two sh*ts if it looks just like the real thing because the real thing isn't distinctly defined, but something imagined precisely... also maternal allegiance; memories of mamma and her intriguing closet. Some more important and intriguing territory is being withheld, though we are allowed intriguing glimpses.

The great feat in this film, what distinguishes Solo's excellence as a pilot, is moving through a narrowing gap by translating the vehicle he is in into a accommodating sliver. Vagina Dente encloses, and he gets through by being stretched and wafer-thin... by being accomodating, not by barging through, not by rape. This is the psychology behind the eating disorder, anorexia, in action, starving yourself so there's nothing there to grasp; the maw snaps at you, but grabs plain air! It fits too that this Han is a short actor. If he loomed, like Harrison Ford can loom, in prowess, people would be more able to take a piece out of him, and he'd have to able to see if he could withstand their efforts. Instead he's small, which doesn't presume much, and accomodates, so he can slip through.

Deadpool 2: a review



The movie is about protecting youth, yet "youthfulness," being vulnerable and showing unabashed enthusiasm -- making fully evident your needfulness -- is set up for gross punishment in this film, by our hero. The group of individuals that are degraded by having to go through an audition where two enthroned nerds (one of whom was already telling a hopeful young man that heroism comes in being servile to tasks which, in actually delivering on doing them, by common parlance means accepting you exist for nothing further than, as only ever to be degraded) gauge your applicability for what proves a show-group -- the longest trial involves a young woman, being perhaps encouraged to surrender her pride and resort to begging, for ostensibly possessing no talent at all (she succeeds owing to "luck," which in showbusiness is usually synonymous for a good-looking but otherwise undistinguished talent succeeding through the homophone of "luck," "f*ck"ing... she's the protected good lay) -- are "accidently" each mutilated, reduced to gore, before they've had a chance to perform at all. Show you have the desire and/or the right to be recognized, and bad things happen to you. The incident where an assembled and hopeful team gets destroyed before doing anything comes from MacGruber, and in a movie where so many movie referents are explicitly recognized we notice that the one film that actually had some deserving moments but which has never had acclaim, is encouraged to continue to know the shame. Though the substance for the key comedic part of the film, no recogniton... Deadpool 2 claims for itself all the prize-bits, but is glad that some will notice, and hopefully be discouraged by, the blatant stealing and shortchanging we have all agreed not to notice and indeed deem impossible to occur, in a movie so evidently unpretentious, un-making claims for itself, it's encyclopedic in its acknowledging its every inspiration. We also notice that Terry Crews, the actor who tried but failed to open up the #MeToo movement so that it delineated crimes against men as well, is further left hanging here, as he's the "superhero" who emerges into a new aerial atmosphere with pride, only for purposes of suffering quite a terrible and traumatic crash-landing down to earth, the only moment in the film where you're likely to genuinely flinch... continue to further know the shame, earthbound b*itch. (The novelist Juan Diaz seemed to be up to the same thing about a month ago with his NewYorker reveal of past abuse, but has become more someone who only made a play there against accusations against him as himself a predator that he knew were forthcoming, seemingly by society a safer spot to be in for a man, the preferred position to be "caught out" in, than to admit some man made sexual use of you and just have it stand... at that. Being ALSO a bit of a Weinstein, is the only way to administer, to re-cast, your only now being a Terry Crews, because with the addition of that somehow your masculinity still stands, is where society seems to be at.)

Finding yourself amongst those who actually want to be nice to you, that would take you into an environment different from what you've ever known, where adults would be alert to you, all your subterfuges, but also accepting and kind, is completely closed off in this film: the film wants you to swim amongst people who MIGHT be kind, but might not be... these are the people to work out your troubles with. Being within this area is almost like being in a squalid form of "safe zone" where no one who can be made to seem natural to this environment, as not seemingly naturally extraneous to it, is not put in the position where they have any real right to hold anyone to any certain standards... they're never the child who wouldn't to some extent buckle to the authority who told you you didn't actually see, feel, think something. Deadpool can kill someone simply because he looks like a sexual predator, and it's because this particular individual seems natural to this environment where the temerity to insist that rules apply to all, does not exist. Colossus ultimately fails to leave this "universe" and belong to the one next door, the X-Men one, that he seemingly could wholly belong to, in his reproach and rejection of Deadpool over this, because Colossus, too, has been adjudged of insufficient stature to qualify as a person belonging outside this frame; probably his desire to be so interested in helping Deadpool reform himself, as it seems an over-investment in something his subject never needs subject himself to -- a comic, blasphemous ignorance of the environment in which he is making his appeal in -- seals his fate as not-past-the-threshold... a child would know what you do not (Professor X would have sized the situation up and said, no, I will entangle myself with you only on different turf, and would have vanished and never returned until Deadpool was in a X-Men movie.)

If you like the Deadpool universe you are admitting to the world that if an authoritarian regime came in, you would agree to miss where the real crimes are being committed, and therefore execute your performance of heroic fidelity for the weak and vulnerable only in venues where it wouldn't challenge the crimes of the state, where crimes of this sort are occurring in abundance, only keep the public thinking of themselves in the way we've decided everyone good must... God, we all hate child molesters oh so much.

The brown taxi-cab driver who's developing a taste for blood, using his car to run over people, as well as the brown boy, who's becoming his own version of Saddam Hussein, someone who's only a step or two away from drinking the blood of his victims as everything around him becomes an emulsified hump of, to-him, glorious red gore, are not safe in this movie from being mentally switched from "our side" to "wrong side." In appearance, accentuating a good representation, but perhaps only to deepen and extend associations of the non-good we already hold. The taxi-driver is further compromised in the sense that his killing the headmaster reveals a mindset that is so mostly intent on acquiring approval, so dead-focused on this, that any sensitivity for whether actually being the one who deals out the death would put you in the category of the "unclean" yourself, is disarmed. The heroes had gained equipoise, a removed, stately, settled status, in dispatching off of him and letting him live, and here "you're" still in eager-beaver, rage-lust mode, and fully on top of him. In movies that showcase this compromised posturing, usually it's your fate to share your victims', as all that can be categorized as ongoing dirty-business when the main protagonists have resolved themselves as done-with-that and unto other affairs, is cleaned off. Not quite directly applicable in this case, but it's resonance is: You're the one who actually involved himself in killing the king, not simply doing the sordid business of perhaps agreeing to its necessity... their dirt has spread onto you, and so you too must go.

The headmaster is short and beakish, and commands an army of homosexual pedophiles. This is Hollywood, as the alt-right sees it... I'm not sure we only saw the Catholic hierarchy, as the movie pretends it only meant to represent, that is, an innocuous, accepted category of "villain," that if still political at all tips a hat only to progressive concerns/causes, not new, fresh and more dangerous ones, that the alt-right has as an industry been putting together in a fervour.

Friday, May 25, 2018

Jordan Peterson


I was Jordan Peterson’s strongest supporter. Now I think he’s dangerous (Bernard Schiff)



No real introspection on his (Schiff's) part on why he was once so enthralled by Peterson. What he offers, shows him as being admirably and properly open to new ideas and energy, not as having some part of himself linked to a "call for the wild" he may not be so regretful to have helped cultivate, legitimize and unleash to the world, as he makes it seem here. It's not an apology, but a salute to himself, and a diminishment of the "real" opponents to verile creativity within the university, who would have seen nothing about Peterson, from the start, that would drive them to inculcate him at U of T and count him a friend. There remain a couple years here where you can mock professionals who don't end up caging their thinking within acceptable protocals... those who become youtube stars, pop psychologists... who have problems with peer reviews. I think he's taking advantage of this window to pretend a permanent distance from the Peterson phenomena that he may not feel a couple years from now, when our current era of academia is accepted by all (not me) as about social activism, not truth, as about keeping all legitimate efforts to delineate social reality in frustrated knots so to keep the illusory but elite-serving fictions at the helm, and where if you mock the pretence that we have been spoiled and that there isn't something of mythical resonance to our forgotten mother countries, Canada, the flag, our precious borders, you resist the obvious.

The alt-right, angry young men aren't the problem... the numbers aren't enough. What I'm watching over are those like Schiff who still won't admit that they had known Peterson early on and unconsciously liked him for the wrath he would eventually unleash. Indeed, Schiff exaggerates, enhances, some of the harm Peterson has enacted upon women, as if to take advantage of a situation where he can be thought by all to be merely expressing his own distaste to actually participate vigorously in pouncing on them himself. This is not well-expressed, I know, but I saw the debate between Peterson and Newman and Newman was not humiliated and left speechless... essentially raped, as Schiff describes. She was taken aback, but nevertheless stood, throughout, much better than that, and overall showed she enjoyed their conversation; she had humour, and bearing, and respect and generosity -- it was not a bad moment, for either of them. This way of digesting what went on -- Schiff's way, that is -- is the same version as the alt-right one, which is about having drives that so need expression you superimpose them on the merely adequately serving. It's about pretend fidelity to women, as cover for engaging in, personally, exactly the kind of activity that would do most harm to women. I sense this too in his, "I discovered while writing this essay a shocking climate of fear among women writers..." Really, somebody this connected to the public pulse was caught off guard by women in retreat? This is about self-representation, not reality; he is further the innocent and hopeful, surprised at what men-can-do, furnishing a narrative that has women, who are in this fight, and who have fight, are showing these days how much fight they have, as already beaten into hiding. Suspiciously, he does no favours for those he is ostensibly speaking up for.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Film Reviews, Updated

Avengers: Infinity War

You're Not Really Here

Ready Player One

Unsane

Isle of Dogs

Black Panther

15:17 to Paris

Downsizing

Star Wars: the Last Jedi

Thor: Ragnorok

The Snowman




Beguiled (discussion)


Dunkirk (further discussion)

Dunkirk (discussion)












Beauty and the Beast (second of two essays)

Beauty and the Beast (one of two essays)

































The Hobbit (book review --2014)


American Sniper (from American Sniper to Triumph of the Will?)

American Sniper (Eastwood's comfort zone)

















12 Years a Slave (it might not have been worth it, Lupita)

Oscars (too late -- we saw your boobs)

Gravity and 12 Years a Slave (out of the frying pan and into the fire)



Wolf of Wall Street (fork in the road)

Wolf of Wall Street (part two)

Wolf of Wall Street (part one)


















This is the End (and summer self-surrender)












Thursday, May 3, 2018

Review of Avengers: Infinity War



"Avengers: Infinity War" brings to bear a connivance – our willingly accepting a purge; our warranting that we've earned it – we ourselves may bring to the fore, in real life, as an alternative to a worse fate we sense could be upcoming on our horizon. 

The plot seems similar to "X-Men: Apocalypse" in that a grand tyrant appears in view with plans to cull huge portions of humanity, but not all: one batch of living souls will live, the other, perish. In that film, we note, the tyrant, too, believes his cause justified, but the film itself never gives him beyond partial support – his wiping out of humanity rests on his belief that humanity is bad, and the film shows him, with its showcasing of humanity's nuclear arsenal, as having a bit of a case there, but also because they are "false gods," i.e., weak, which is evidently Hitleresque. 

In "Infinity War," the tyrant, Thanos, is never undermined as not possessing a deeper sense of what the universe, of what humanity, actually really may need. He argues that unless he culls half the living creatures from the universe, each civilization will proceed past its peak into a very horrible, very cruel, decrepitude and oblivion. It's what happened to his planet. A society at total peak, and then on to total fail. We also notice, with so many of his opponents having their chance to deface him as nothing more than a homicidal maniac, that they almost seem to be using what is readily available to them – that you don't have to consider an opponent, at all, when their methods are of a certain kind... "we don't negotiate with terrorists" – to not ever show him up as wrong in his conjecture of what awaits us unless he acts, now. What we are, the film suggests, are people who have an arsenal of ways of removing anything out of the way with plans to interrupt our everyday pleasures; everything that bespeaks possible interference with how we're accommodating ourselves, the worldview that sustains us, profits us, works for us, is racist, sexist, deplorable... tyrannical, and pluck!, authoritatively out of the way as never needing be considered. 

However, the film sets up considering our lambasting of him within a framework in which we do, do in fact consider the possible righteousness of his goal, that is. Endless lambasting of an opponent as cruel and unloving becomes suspect when the receiver of the abuse is "parental" and the launcher of them, "adolescent." James F. Masterson proclaimed that the once universally accepted conception of adolescence as inevitably involving combat with one's parents, was not actually inevitably true to life at all, but the film presumes that most of us are still prepared to locate ourselves as if we accept it as if it had never known a counter. To be adolescent, is to be like the character Groot, the tree-like alien, who is an adolescent, and who petulantly won't stop playing his games even when his "parents" rightly are admonishing him to, for something really quite serious may lay ahead. To be adolescent in this film, is to be like GamoraThanos's daughter, and proclaim that one's parent had displayed through their confused and frustrating reaction to them that they surely had no love for them at all, surely didn’t really love anybody, actually. And to be a parent in this film, is to be Thanos, who reveals through his tears that he never forgets how hurt he was to be confronted by a daughter who never ceased to tell him how much she hated the home he had brought her back to, how much she despised him, and to be confirmed by a neutral, all-seeing judge, that he had in fact never loved and prized anyone more than he ever-did her. 

Within this framework, the adolescent who continues to hate their parent is misjudged, wrong, and Masterson argues that unless they acknowledge their error, somehow show as they "mature" that their parents were right and farseeing and they, actually proven to having been ignorant and shortsighted... to having been, however innocently, very, very cruel, they'll face abandonment fears, suspicion of total loss of parental love, which will crush them. They must put the blame upon themselves, or their parents, whose love they still covet, will reject them. And so as soon as we recognize the parent-adolescent paradigm in play, that the film presumes that we share it / have “succumbed” to it, we know Thanos will be allowed all latitudes, possibly to win in his goal, and it's an end which we'll implicitly digest as something we’re not about to be eager to contest. Without exactly knowing it, this is what we may have wanted, we sense. The exactly right finish, however appalling, however truly unacceptable to us, even just a year or two ago. 

Thanos isn’t shown to even be a tyrant. He is sincere when he says that once he’s accomplished his grand cull he’ll depart out of view, not into the sunset, but close: to spend his days at a lakeside cabin, melancholically enjoying observing one. He’s not interested in lording over anyone; everyone who remains, he actually hopes thrives and profits: Thanos is ever-seeing much that is commendable in the people trying to kill him. Not with Loki, perhaps, but certainly yes so with Tony Stark, and certainly yes so with Peter Quill – good lads these, he decrees. That is, he hopes for them that they continue doing what they were doing, if they wish -- it wasn’t their growth that bothered him, the prosperity, their interest in expanding their known reach... having babies, making new commitments, having/being girlfriends/boyfriends... even to his own daughter, only the fact of too much overall accrued growth itself, for it tips the scales, you see. 

So presumably what he’d have for them is that they do as they were, have the sweet niceties – acquiring for their own countries their own "Starbucks" chains, as some hope for; having tasty "Ben and Jerry" ice-cream flavors named after them, as some have already received – as well as the more substantial things, saved even the need to hide what in fact it doesn't take much of a detective to sleuth out, really probably is a huge deal to them. Tony Stark, who always loved/lived for his toys, wouldn’t ostensibly have to camouflage his next subsequent toy that is the same scale of awesome as his newly developed nanotech suit is, as just an accessory to filling out a more important thing: the serious adult conversation he is having with his wife Pepper about whether maybe he's ready now for a child. Thor wouldn’t have to camouflage his acquiring an update of his previous epic weapon, one to better fit his morphing self-image into the "rugged," more "alt-ish" figure he is becoming, and one at least as powerful, and seemingly more so, than his mighty hammer, with it only existing as, not a permanent accompaniment, but the only thing in the universe which could kill Thanos... some kind of single-purpose, one-time-only deal. He also wouldn’t have to camouflage that one of the things that was supposed to permanently scar him but that he gained status from, a sign of un-takeawayable maturity – his loss of his eye – is quickly, conveniently (Rocket just had to have one in his pocket?...), replaced by another eye, posing as mere device, mere means, where a fox-captain, where Rocket, can maturely effect his role as captain and make some attempt to console his shipmate’s many losses through a kindly given gift: not an example of having it all, but ostensibly of duty, care, and selflessness. Peter Parker wouldn’t have to camouflage his acquiring the mighty Avenger-status by having it done to him without any lead-up, where he didn't have to show it was on his mind at all as something he much, brass-tacks, cared about/wanted, above just being decent and immediately prepared to help and serve, but rather the way it was put forward previously in the series, as something that would mark such a huge realization of self "you" might find ways to hold "yourself" back from it because "you’re" not sure if it’s even allowed: "Masterson’s" "spider-sensing" the due abandonment depression, in its presumably marking his leaving his Aunt May-existence completely for the adult world of the Avengers, it might bring. They could have the wonderful pads they all seem to have – we don't see any not-cool places they are forced to inhabit, only posh castle-homes, posh apartments... posh futuristic cities, and leisurely, perfectly re-cooperative, countryside farming dwellings, complemented in this case with ample authoritative humps of quieting hay – without summoning at least a reminder that some of them had spent the last few years in, as the Falcon delineates for us, "not exactly five-star hotels." 

Yes, half of them would be in the midst of pursuing this and then, poof, gone out of existence for them, with nothing of their reaching, extending hopes realized at all, only their dangling out there as suddenly-caught-off-guard-terminated-hope-stumps's... and there would be no way to check in advance if you'd be amongst these or not; completely random. But I think when this is presented to us at the finish we're actually ready to accept this, for ourselves, even as it's a terrible updating of our previous measure of keeping our equilibrium amongst the strain of knowing that in many ways, the world ever-progresses, ever-moves, beyond restraints, which was that, because we've allowed ourselves to size up some other group – the "deplorables" -- as those who are directed to serve as the suffering, the only suffering, which won't spill out into us because they're the only ones truly deserving, we might be amongst the ones who are always accommodating ourselves to/enjoying the fruits rather feeling left out. But we know we have to bring it home now, suffer the possibility that we could be plucked from the world of relevance too: as we go further-on into our trepidatiously ever-accruing lives, internal "judges," parental alters... actually mostly MATERNAL alters, embedded in our brains' right hemispheres, are looking with every more scrutiny, and are demanding we accept higher stakes or be revealed as not being genuine in our willingness to be subject to pain/loss – to maybe being pretend-alongs the whole time, like all the multitudes of ostensible heavy trauma-sufferers we see in the film, whose listing of abuses have become nothing more than a neutral platform everyone shares and presumes upon which real experience – inevitably rich, new, promising and exciting: a lot of new friends and interesting interminglings of identities are undertaken in this film – is built upon, no more suggestive of anything itself deep than a floor mat is for its "launch," the life of vibrant gymnastic performances. 

We've already taken upon ourselves, willingly, this scourge. #MeToo is simply about redemption for victims and societal progress for many, but amongst the many who don't rejoice in it, who are scared by it, not all of them wish it would disappear off the planet, not all of them identify it as a wholly unwelcome witch-hunt. Many of them identity it, like Thanos's cause, like his willingness to undertake a lonely knight's quest which will involve his being committed to sacrificing the only thing he loves, as something old-school in its seriousness, in its being densely concentrated in its identity as only about restoration of a long-tilted scale back to some semblance of balance. In this case, in our case, a long-tilted scale which we know had allowed abusers to pretty much go about lives afterword as if no universal power actually had any problem at all with endless, unrebutted, murderous fun: the point of life could successfully be for some, to use, abuse, gorge – and boy oh boy, to very much enjoy! All without drawback. We need to see it be shown that we know ourselves to be suspect enough that this is a plague we'd have actually have welcomed in, even if progressives weren't around to make is seem all-theirs for the tremendous power and angry righteous fight behind their push. We do this in judging that if tomorrow #MeToo took us in, pointed its "finger" at us, as we were enjoying the peak of our lives, we'd judge it, fair cop, and succumb. 

Without accepting "Thanos," or as he's being applied – there will be other forms – currently through our own real universe with #MeToo, the alternative would be for us that we would lose our selves, a terrible and complete giving in, on our part. We would allow ourselves no means to justify our continuing on in making our future something open, genuinely, if not anywhere near max-inspiring level, to the new, and morph into those who see all that is new as evil, and all that stops it, our welcome friend. In a nutshell, we'd all become Kanye and come to see Trump as our Captain America, and think he's opening us up to the new and exciting, the revelatory... old grandeur returned but in spangling new form. This is what we fear, what Kanye horribly is presenting us with right now -- someone who was totally with us, part of us, and then, completely not so -- and this would not mark our being an agent of any true individuality, only that we've had to finally kill that part of ourselves that strove for it for the only existence now being being a component of expanding wrath: count ourselves subsumed, part of the angry parental entity returned, part of our returning mother, so we're not absolutely destroyed in being borne down as its target. Better than not existing at all? Something only in our biology is telling us that. 

Last thing, three of the four baddies in this film, baddies who unlike Thanos are simply ALL bad, are dispatched to some extent through some other agency. Cold space is what really kills the first villain; being hefted into the air to be dispatched by a Kawanda energy field, which we're happy to call of our side but which we'd never presume total ownership over as if it was OUR tool, is what kills the second; and being lifted into the air and so squashed by a titanic military machine of the enemy's that's just arrived, is how the third gets dispatched. The Avengers facilitate the menace belonging to some other grand other (we're not awesome; THAT THING is); as much as they try and fail to puncture-wound Thanos to death, only once do they actually spear or blast or smash any of their key foes to their defeat. The overall effect of being so fleet-of-foot in how they dispatch their foes, so dance-around, so alley-oopish, so modest, is to subliminally lend a sense that the Avengers are of a mood to, at the finish, be agreeable to downplay here, to accumulate, yes, but then also starkly tail off... even to lose, is my sense.* None of these particular foes were Thanos. Perhaps with the Wizard, Thanos's most powerful child, there was some reason to make him normally unstoppable without being enterprising in how one engages with him, but, really, none of them were that alpha, that outside the range of the Avengers' powers -- it wouldn't have been laughable had Iron Man's new blasters actually served to bring down the Wizard, or for Banner in the Hulk-matching Iron Man suit to take down another, or for the two elite woman warriors to have speared the last one through, as she had to navigate her way through two opponents easily as battle-competent as she, but the grand finishing-offs were lent elsewhere, to where REAL might was located. To me, this is not a coincidence but an indicator of film, of our, mood... manifest by our obvious turnabout into the suddenly abundantly generous, that maybe something like guilt for genuinely indecorous things about our past, who've we've been, what we've done... what we're still doing, is determining how we present ourselves to the world now. 

* They activate a lot in this film, come into their own. Peter Parker going from earthbound Avenger-want-a-be to space-aloft, full-on, viciously effective Avenger, accommodating new abilities on the fly, and very ably at that, is literally a young person reaching through into the space of the new. Thor, letting the power of a full sun bear down on him, seems to go beyond being a great Asgardian towards being more a Celestial, a primordial power. Bruce Banner, in not utilizing the anger of the Hulk but his own courage and innovativeness to make do without him, in HULK'S OWN arena of expertise, is in no sense the scientist he was in the first Avengers' film, where he could handle slums but flinched on board military ships, a fish out of water. All mighty acts of activation, but nonetheless, each performing them noticeably desist in claiming to themselves, total ownership of glory. 





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