HBO’s explosive WATCHMEN series (2019) is an amazing chronological and thematic continuation of Alan Moore’s classic graphic novel, a bizarre mishmash of odd events and odder characters that all fit together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle to expose the complete picture. I fell in love with its audacity, larger than life characters, action, mundane weirdness, and commentary on masked heroes.

It’s about 35 years after the events of WATCHMEN. In Tulsa, OK, the police have been fighting a white supremacist group called the Seventh Cavalry, a terrorist organization inspired by Rorschach’s journal. In the original WATCHMEN, Rorschach embodied the inherently fascist tendency of the superhero, a creature unflinching in his devotion to an absolute moral code with only one right and wrong, but also trapped and tortured by it. Opposing them are the police, which after a devastating terrorist attack have been forced to wear masks to hide their identities, with the detectives taking on full costumes and personas. One of these detectives is Sister Knight, who leads a double life until the arrival of her grandfather, which changes everything and becomes part of multiple story lines converging on the city.

This is a bold continuation of the WATCHMEN universe, hitting all the right notes. First, there are hard-hitting ideas about race relations without being preachy, starting with the horrific Tulsa Massacre of the 1920s, a real event that isn’t taught in American History at school. Second is pulling in just enough elements of the original comic, such as Rorschach masks, America winning the Vietnam War, the return of several characters (now older), and numerous quirks and Easter eggs. Third is a mosaic story that could be interpreted as multiple characters being the main hero. And lastly, this being WATCHMEN, there’s a philosophical take on superheroes: how the mask hides a deep trauma driving the hero to fight (and in some cases is used as a vehicle for narcissism), how the mask means you can’t tell who the good and the bad guys are, and how the masks and persona don’t do much more than average policing than mythologize vigilantes.

In short, I loved it, from its grand vision neatly tying together a huge number of plot elements to its constant weirdness that is always later revealed to make perfect sense. No word yet as far as I can tell on a second season, which I’d definitely watch. Highly recommended.

Quentin Tarantino’s ninth film, ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD (2019) is charming and entertaining as it sends a love letter to late 60s Hollywood and then reinvents a small slice of history. I enjoyed it, though the last act, where everything has been headed and comes together on one fateful night, appears grafted on, resulting in a film that feels both sprawling and disjointed.

As a movie buff, I have a love/irritation thing with Tarantino. I love his pulpy action, fearless penchant for bringing a large cast together into a third-act bloodbath, and charming, flawed, and for the most part likeable characters. Every film I’ve seen has at least once scene that for me was surprising and cathartic. On the flip side, I find the dripping cool he forces on his characters annoying and his long stretches of dialogue self-indulgent. ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD tones all this down while playing to Tarantino’s quirky strengths, resulting in his best film in years.

The story focuses on several people whose lives appear headed to a fateful collision on the night of the Manson Family murders in 1969. Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a 50s TV star whose career is in a trough, and his stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) is his easy-going pal who helps keep his life in order. We also follow Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), an actress married to director Roman Polanski, who doesn’t do much other than be cute, smile a lot, and enjoy her carefree life. There isn’t much of a plot, but basically, Rick finds the strength to be the best actor he can be and reclaim his flailing career, and in the end, men who pretended to be heroes for a living get a chance to become the real kind. DiCaprio is fantastic in the role, though Pitt steals the show with an understated performance for the easy-going but tough Cliff, whose stuntman bonafides are taken to an extreme where he can do almost anything physical.

The setting is at the fore in this film, a nostalgic postcard of late-60s Hollywood heavily laced with billboards, radio ads, TV shows, and of course, this being a Tarantino film, music. True to the title, Tarantino doesn’t examine anything about the 60s other than to render it in colorful nostalgia as a fairy tale world, and show that everybody is happy and go-lucky except the hippies are dirtying the place up. As for the story, it’s engaging except again the last act, with its abrupt zoom to the future, heavy narration, and on-the-clock plot, heavy-handedly and seemingly randomly brings everything together around the Manson Family attack for an ending that is supposed to be gonzo but for me fell kind of flat, as again it seemed grafted on as a Tarantino device.

For me, the overall result was visually stimulating, charming, and, well, fine, as it had its pleasures but was too disjointed and pandering for me to call it great.