Ian Thomas Malone

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Thursday

24

February 2022

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Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Written by , Posted in Podcast, Star Wars

Grab your porgs and your blue milk! The Last Jedi is a bit of a polarizing film, to say the least. Rian Johnson brought plenty of fascinating ideas to the sequel trilogy’s middle entry, its best by a mile. Ian talks about what she liked about the film, what she would have changed, and the characterization of Luke Skywalker, diving a bit into Luke’s appearances in The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett.

Ian’s original 2017 review of the film: https://ianthomasmalone.com/2017/12/the-last-jedi-offers-aimless-entertainment/

Ian’s write up of The Phantom Menace that is mentioned in the episode: https://fansided.com/2019/12/16/star-wars-phantom-menace-best-prequel/

 

Wednesday

23

February 2022

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Jackass Forever has a lot to teach film franchises about growing up

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Nostalgia wields more capital in entertainment than ever before. Remakes, reboots, and sequels are concepts that have been around for many decades in Hollywood, but the demands of the content mill hoisted up by the streaming industrial complex force additional burdens on what has always been a fairly risk-averse industry. The question of necessity is irrelevant. Jackass is inevitable.

The beauty of Johnny Knoxville’s world is the way he’s fostered a sense of genuine community within his irreverent band of merry pranksters. More than twenty years have passed since the original Jackass TV series ignited a right-wing culture storm against MTV. Most of the cast wear their age on their faces, except maybe Steve-O, who looks better than ever as he approaches fifty. Jackass has always been more than just the pranks, giving their audience reasons to invest in these characters as people.

Director Jeff Tremaine pulls off an incredible feat in Jackass Forever, a production clearly severely restrained by the COVID-19 pandemic. There are no party boy scenes through crowded Tokyo streets, or elaborate stunts designed to bewilder hordes of unsuspecting civilians. Almost all the pranks take place on closed sets, but the production never feels constrained, not when the cast and crew take such joy in every minute of the film’s 96-minute runtime.

The original nine cast members are down two, following the 2011 death of Ryan Dunn and the more recent dismissal of Bam Margera, who makes a brief appearance in the film. Newcomers Jasper Dolphin, Sean “Poopies” McInerney, Zach Holmes, Rachel Wolfson, and Eric Manaka blend in perfectly with the chemistry of the original crew. The narrative isn’t too concerned with passing the baton, not when Knoxville and Tremaine take such pleasure in torturing Ehren McGhehey, Dave England, and Jason “Wee Man” Acuña through more than a few stunts you’d think would have been pawned off on the rookies.

Jackass Forever harnesses the spirit of the franchise with its eyes set squarely on the present. More than a few major franchises should take note of the way Tremaine and Knoxville navigate their own lore. Chris Pontius at one point notes that the older guys have paid their dues, but all frat houses need to put on a show to get people to come to the party. The Jackass crew keep innovating, refusing to rest on the laurels of nostalgia they’ve crafted over the past twenty years.

There’s a certain beauty in the way that Jackass blends the old with the new. You can theoretically put just about anyone up on a chair to get punched in the nuts by MMA legend Francis Ngannou, but the laughs hit harder from a place of comradery. It might feel a little weird to think of the Jackass crew as a family, but that’s the spirit of the home that Dickhouse Productions built. It feels good to see these guys again, knowing that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Time is catching up to Knoxville and the crew. The mishaps are a bit harder to watch, knowing the mileage that the performers have put on their bodies. More than a decade removed from Jackass 3D, Tremaine understood the necessity of new faces to help recapture the franchise’s spirit that helped define popular culture in the post-9/11 era. You can play around with nostalgia without being stuck in the past. Jackass Forever proves how much gas this series has left in the tank, even as many of the performers would be wise to cut down on hospital visits at their ages.

Friday

18

February 2022

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Law & Order hasn’t changed a bit

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Streaming television barely existed when the original Law & Order wrapped up its first run in 2010. For all the ways the TV landscape has changed in the past twelve years, the broadcast networks have still largely carried on with business as usual. NBC deprived Law & Order of the chance to surpass Gunsmoke as the longest-running live-action series of all time, a milestone later toppled by its own spinoff, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Longevity has become quite common on network television, with many shows within reach of a record that held for more than four decades.

Crime procedurals, a genre older than television itself, remain network television’s bread and butter. Whatever threats streaming posed to lucrative syndication packages haven’t exactly stifled their population, an abundant modern landscape that owes much to Dick Wolf and the format he perfected. Law & Order returns to a television world that’s largely still defined by its legacy.

There have been dozens of reboots, revivals, and sequel series over the past few years, an industry increasingly looking to nostalgia rather than innovation. The rigidity of Law & Order’s format hardly allows the show to spend much time looking inward at its own zeitgeist, not when investigation and prosecution have to share the same single episode. There simply isn’t time for the kind of existential introspection other shows like And Just Like That are forced to confront.

Dick Wolf assembled a pretty impressive cast for his revival. Longtime TV veterans Camryn Manheim, Hugh Dancy, and Jeffrey Donovan join L&O veterans Sam Waterston and Anthony Anderson. The main cast is rounded out by Odelya Halevi, the sole relative unknown performer, an unusual dynamic for a series with a format so recognizable that it’s hardly in need of star power.

There is much to enjoy in seeing so many TV stars play within the rigid confines of Law & Order’s meticulous structure. The pacing is a bit off, particularly with the detectives, whose scenes feel quite rushed. The original L&O has never cared much for character development, especially compared to SVU or entries in Wolf’s related Chicago franchise, putting strain on efforts to define Donovan’s Detective Frank Cosgrove as a shady cop willing to skirt professional lines to nail a suspect.

Efforts to comment on police brutality and racial injustice largely land with a thud. No one should be surprised that Law & Order remains unabashedly pro-cop, albeit from a position of increased self-awareness. The awkward balancing act between the blue line and the show’s penchant for “ripped from the headlines” social issues is most apparent through Anderson and Donovan’s awkward chemistry, the latter channeling his Burn Notice flair a bit too often when everyone else seems to have understood the assignment.

Dancy is the real standout of the twenty-first season. As ADA Nolan Price, Dancy has a bit more space to explore the philosophy of justice than the detectives, a far meatier role than what’s tolerated for Manheim, Anderson, and Donovan. Waterston predictably hasn’t lost a beat as McCoy, enjoying the backseat role of DA that he assumed in the original one’s final few years.

Resisting evolution at all costs, Law & Order’s top-notch cast gives viewers more than enough reason to tune in for the revival. It is the exact same show it’s always been, perhaps armed with too impressive an arsenal of performers for a bare-boned procedural. The actors bring their A-game in service to largely one-dimensional characters.

The show nailed its one mandatory objective for a revival. This feels exactly like old-school Law & Order. The cast is way more stacked than it needs to be, but that’s also part of the beauty. TV doesn’t need more Law & Order the same way it doesn’t need more seasons of SVU, NCIS, Grey’s Anatomy, or any other show that’s gone on way too long. Necessity doesn’t factor into this equation.

It’s not perfect, but it is very fun. Law & Order reminds its viewers of the simple pleasure of sitting down in front of your TV for an hour of predictable, satisfying entertainment. There are better shows out there, but there’s a reason L&O airs a billion times a day. Like a perfect black dress, Dick Wolf reminds us that classic never goes out of style.

Tuesday

15

February 2022

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Transgender Storytime: Breakups

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We’re back! ITM talks about some personal news that rocked her post-Rankin/Bass holiday festivities. Breakups are terrible. Transgender people can go through much of our lives thinking we’re unlovable, which certainly does not reflect reality. ITM offers some reflections that might be useful for trans or cis people in similar boats. There’s always a new adventure on the horizon, as long as you keep throwing yourself out there.

Episode image is a picture taken two days after the bombshell news. 

Wednesday

26

January 2022

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Sundance Review: Blood

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Grief is a challenging subject to depict on film. The confines of a feature-length runtime can rarely capture the grating, all-encompassing dread that feels like it can go on forever. Films cannot go on forever, a notion that the movie Blood seems desperate to challenge.

Chloe (Carla Juri) is a recently widowed photographer living in Japan for a job. An old friend Toshi (Takashi Ueno), a musician, offers a quiet of companionship as Chloe slowly works her way through her grief. Despite the language barrier, Chloe finds connections in her growing community, often through a dance class or conversations with friends, even when the whole party can’t necessarily understand every word.

Director Bradley Rust Gray marches to the beat of his own drum through the narrative, loose strands of plot that only loosely come together to form a cohesive story. The slice-of-life format has a few plot lines throughout the 111-minute runtime, but Gray is mostly concerned with the quiet moments in Chloe’s journey. Life doesn’t fit neatly into boxes.

Blood is singularly focused in its purpose. Gray’s style is bound to rub people the wrong way, but there is plenty of beauty in his confident work. In some cases, he’s a bit overconfident, particularly toward the third act, which revisits many of his earlier themes without bringing anything new to the table.

There are several points where it’s easy to get frustrated by the glacier-slow pacing dragged out by an indulgent runtime. Blood is often quite boring. When you’re trying to move on in life, sometimes boring is just what you need.

It’s not perfectly true to say that Gray’s ends justify the means. The film should definitely cut at least fifteen minutes to fix the pacing issues, but the drawn-out sequences do enhance the special moments, capturing the subtle power of recovery in action or the power of human nature to connect in spite of whatever barriers stand in the way. There’s no formula to grief, certainly no a-ha moment where all the pain goes away.

There is, however, a day where things feel better than the last. Gray’s narrative understands that simple truth. Blood isn’t going to be for everyone. It’s a beautifully shot film that shines with its themes. Juri and Ueno are so sweet together, with an effortless sense of chemistry. The film isn’t the easiest experience in the world, but the performances and the cinematography serve the themes in such a way that makes you glad you put in the effort to sit through it.

Tuesday

25

January 2022

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Sundance Review: Am I OK?

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Thirty used to represent some kind of milestone, however arbitrary, for the time in life when you’re sort of supposed to have your affairs mildly figured out, least in theory. The real world doesn’t really work that way. There’s no timer that starts buzzing if you find yourself growing old without a semblance of stability. The film Am I Ok? spends its runtime floating around this orbit, trying to make sense of a world that never has any easy answers.

Lucy (Dakota Johnson) works as a receptionist at a spa, a thirty-two-year-old who approaches life with the cautious reservation of someone just out of college. Lucy struggles to open up to anyone other than her best friend Jane (Sonoya Mizuno), who’s got a steady boyfriend and a cozy marketing job. Jane tries to help Lucy break out of her shell, particularly with regard to her sexuality. Jane’s company offers her an enticing opportunity across the pond in her native London, threatening to upend the most important relationship in either woman’s life.

Most of the narrative focuses on Lucy’s sexual exploration. She bonds with a flirty coworker Britt (Kiersey Clemons), the kind of bubbly type A personality that makes for a perfect crush. Despite Johnson and Mizuno’s new-perfect chemistry, directors Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne keep the two separated for much of the narrative, perhaps a necessary decision for Lucy’s growth that unfortunately blunts a bit of the film’s abundant charm.

LGBTQ audiences deserve material that advances our storytelling beyond the rudimentary mechanics of coming out narratives, which have been grossly over-represented in film. It’s not completely fair to label Am I OK? as a coming-out film, belonging more to the broader coming-of-age genre. From a plot perspective, Notaro and Allynne offer up little to distinguish their film from countless other quirky indie stories we’ve all seen before.

Johnson ensures that whatever Am I OK? lacks in originality is made up for with the film’s abundant heart. Notaro and Allyne approach their story with such love and care that the breezy 86-minute runtime flies by. This film is not destined to blow many people away, but it’s bound to charm its audience through its rock-solid execution.

Notaro is one of the most gifted minds currently crafting comedy, a thoughtful, welcoming voice in this often-jaded modern landscape. The writing in Am I OK? lacks any real substantive on what it means to rediscover your sexuality in your thirties, a shame considering the talent behind the camera. Perhaps fitting given its title, the film never really strives to be more than just okay. A charming experience, if not a bit of a shame.

Tuesday

25

January 2022

0

COMMENTS

Sundance Review: Palm Trees and Power Lines

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It can be really easy to look at a toxic relationship, one of your own or maybe a friend’s, in hindsight and wonder how the hell any of that mess came to exist in the first place. The world is full of manipulative men with keen understandings of the mechanics of grooming. The film Palm Trees and Power Lines takes its audience on a step-by-step journey through these ugly, all-too-common scenarios.

Lea (Lily McInerny) is a quiet seventeen-year-old living in a boring coastal town in Southern California. The weather is great, leaving tanning and swimming as the sole bits of respite from the anxieties that often define one’s teenage years. Lea’s friend group is pretty unspectacular, especially the boys, who can’t even make it through a diner meal without reminding the world of their glaring immaturity.

One night, after being stuck with the diner tab after the boys ran out, Lea meets Tom (Jonathan Tucker), who offers her a ride home. Despite being double her age, Tom takes an interest in Lea, a courtship full of predictable red flags. The inherent creepiness of the situation never quite disappears from the screen, but Tom is charming enough to kind of set himself apart in a town with literally nothing else to offer.

Director Jamie Dack focuses her narrative on the banality of evil. Tom is a quiet sort of monster, a kind face that masks a graduate degree in gaslighting. Tucker pours his heart and soul into the role, keeping an undercurrent of tension flowing through Dack’s glacier-paced film.

Making her feature film debut, McInerny delivers a powerfully reserved performance that’s absolutely perfect for the narrative. Lea is an extremely frustrating character, full of bad decisions that make you want to yell at the TV, yet McInerny always sells the inherent plausibility of this train wreck of a relationship.

Dack seems to have set out with the singular goal of answering the age-old questions that always seem to pop up after these disasters unfold. “How could you not have known?” The 110-minute runtime uses practically every second to take the audience step-by-step into precisely how someone falls under the spell of an absolute monster.

Painfully effective in its messaging, Dack undercuts her feature with a bloated runtime that diminishes her leads’ incredible performances. Palm Trees and Power Lines accomplishes its goals in a way that eludes most features that set out to educate rather than entertain. It is a tremendous piece of filmmaking that would land a let better with twenty minutes shaved off its second half. Dack never quite knows when she’s already achieved her points.

In many ways, Palm Trees and Power Lines dares to be hated. Lea receives almost no character development, a dynamic hardly helped by a half-baked subplot involving her mother (Gretchen Mol). The narrative doesn’t exactly need to work hard to sell its seventeen-year-old grooming victim to the audience, but Dack’s feature is also a bit too bare-bones for its length, growing tedious when it should be moving.

Dack’s work finds itself belonging to the category of moving films you’d never want to watch a second time. The flawed execution can make it pretty hard to watch a first as well, but McInerny and Tucker find ample opportunities to reward the audience’s patience. Dack has such a firm grasp on her intentions, an impressive piece of filmmaking. Palm Trees and Power Lines won’t be for everyone, but the arduous journey does come with its payoffs.

Monday

24

January 2022

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Sundance Review: Brian and Charles

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The worst part of feeling lonely is when you’re so eager to connect with people, only lacking the opportunities to find like-minded individuals. The pandemic has cut a lot of people from their social settings, a dynamic that’s bound to grate on anyone, regardless of how much they’d prefer for that not to be the case. Oddballs need their communities too.

The film Brian and Charles centers its narrative on a charming, eccentric man who’s probably lived alone too long for his own good in a remote village in Wales. Brian (David Earl) loves making inventions, weird semi-functional objects that brighten up life more than they necessarily improve anything. The pairing of a mannequin and a washing machine brings to life Brian’s greatest invention.

Charles (Chris Hayward) is an absolutely ridiculous robot, not believable in any sense of the word. He’s also quite endearing, a childlike innocence hiding behind a healthy layer of sarcasm. The perfect companion for Brian’s wide-eyed optimism, the two quickly become friends, united by a common sense of silliness in a world where’s that in quite short supply.

Based on the 2017 short of the same name, director Jim Archer takes a mostly hands-off approach, letting Earl and Hayward, who authored the screenplay together, have their absurdist fun. Earl gives such a welcoming lead performance that you can’t help but root for Brian as he appreciates the quiet joys in life.

The film absolutely nails how hard it is to be a weird person in a small community, a warm soul desperate to connect. Brimming with heart, Brian and Charles is a perfect feel-good comedy for this modern landscape where so many are bound to identify with the titular characters. There are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, but also scenes that simply leave you with a smile on your face.

While the film largely coasts on the relationship between Brian and Charles, there are a few subplots to help get the quiet narrative through its 90-minute runtime. Brian connects with Hazel (Louise Brealey), a similarly odd character in need of companionship. The film does a great job including Hazel into the mix without losing any of the comedic timing between the main duo.

Where the film falls a bit short is in its third act. Forced to inject some drama into the equation, local bully Eddie (Jamie Michie) and his similarly tedious daughters give Brian a hard time. While Archer sticks the landing eventually, the entire conflict feels a bit forced, scraping a bit of individuality off of the otherwise quirky comedy.

Brian and Charles is a confident film that wears its heart on its sleeve. Brian has a lot of depth as a character, a lonely soul who would probably be happier elsewhere if his soul could bear the thought of leaving home. Backed by the absurdity of Hayward’s wild performance, Archer’s work is welcoming to those desperately looking for something wholesome to brighten up their day.

Monday

24

January 2022

1

COMMENTS

Sundance Review: Sharp Stick

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Sexual liberation is a difficult nut to crack. The world is full of repression, judgment, and plenty of people with bad intentions. It’s tough enough to muster the courage to even want to figure out who you are as a sexual being without the avalanche of obstacles life never stops throwing at you.

Writer/director Lena Dunham spends most of Sharp Stick exploring the life of an intensely sexually repressed adult. Sarah Jo (Kristine Froseth) is twenty-six, though her personality has a tendency to make her feel like a fourteen-year-old. She lives with her older sister Treina (Taylour Paige), an aspiring social media influencer, and mother Marilyn (Jennifer Jason Leigh), an aging hippy whose own free-love attitude certainly hasn’t rubbed off on her younger daughter.

Sarah Jo endured a radical hysterectomy when she was fifteen, leaving stomach scars that make her quite self-conscious. The procedure left her with conflicted feelings toward her sexuality, remaining a virgin. Working as a caregiver for Heather (Lena Dunham) and Josh (Jon Bernthal), Sarah Jo decides one day that the laundry room is as good a place as any for her first time. The mild-mannered Josh initially rebuffs her, quickly succumbing to Sarah Jo’s wistful proposition.

Most of the film follows Sarah Jo’s efforts to learn more about sexuality, namely by trying every single activity under the sun. Bordering on sex addiction, her newfound hobby does little to diminish her otherwise innocent and naïve demeanor. Porn in particular provides an outlet for discovery that would be hard to find with married men or random bar patrons, finding a suitable muse in Vance Leroy (Scott Speedman).

Dunham doesn’t devote a lot of screen time toward developing her protagonist as a character, but Froseth delivers a welcoming performance that makes Sarah interesting enough to follow. The script is a disaster, full of pseudo-intellectual nonsense interlaced with Dunham’s penchant for shock value. The cringy dialogue leaves most of the actors with nothing to work with. Speedman is the only character who really hits a home run with Dunham’s writing.

The film is thematically all over the place, an 86-minute runtime that’s far too brief to really explore any of the many ideas on Dunham’s mind. There is some interesting commentary on the importance of self-exploration and body positivity, but the fleeting sincerity is often suffocated by scenes that don’t really add anything to the narrative. The story would probably work better as a limited series, but the characters aren’t really compelling enough to take on expanded arcs.

Sharp Stick has pieces of a good movie, the strong cast let down by a lackluster screenplay. Dunham’s technical work behind the camera has substantially improved in the twelve years since her last film. Froseth was the perfect actor for this film, but she just wasn’t given enough support to craft a satisfying experience.

Sunday

23

January 2022

0

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Sundance Review: Dual

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Advances in technology may not necessarily allow humanity to cheat death, but maybe help mitigate the circumstances. Cloning strikes at the heart of the nature vs. nurture debate, a person with identical genetic makeup, begging the question of when DNA stops and when individuality begins. The film Dual sorts of centers its narrative around these kinds of themes, never quite sure of what it wants to say.

Sarah (Karen Gillan) is a young woman with a seemingly terminal illness. Set in a future-lite world where cloning is a relatively affordable mass-market commodity, Sarah is supposed to treat her replacement self as a sort of understudy for her remaining days alive in order to make a relatively seamless transition. The clone (also played by Gillan) is supposed to learn what Sarah likes so that she can provide comfort to her loved ones once she dies.

Trouble is, Sarah’s illness goes into remission. Clone Sarah quickly takes on a personality of her own, becoming the preferred Sarah in the eyes of her mother (Maija Paunio) and partner Peter (Beulah Koale). While clones are supposed to be decommissioned in the event of their source material’s survival, the U.S. government apparently ratified the 28th Amendment giving clones the right to opt to challenge their originals to a trial-by-combat style duel on a football field to remain alive.

Director Riley Stearns’ third feature bears the marking of his previous films, namely drab aesthetics and dry, deadpan dialogue. Gillan is a perfect match for Stearns, able to bring both Sarahs to life in the sort of lifeless fashion that has become his trademark. There’s a novelty aspect to Dual’s worldbuilding that works really well, for a while at least.

Despite Gillan’s best efforts, Dual perpetually feels like a half-baked production, a script that gives its cast little to chew on. Sarah is a painfully underdeveloped character, apathetic to such an extent that you can’t help but wonder why she’d even go through the effort of cloning herself at all. That’s not a question that Stearns necessarily needed to answer, but the characters aren’t interesting enough to cover up the broader questions bound to be on the audience’s mind.

There is some charm in Stearns’ minimalist world-building, an uncommon atheistic for a sci-fi premise. One can forgive an intimate indie film for not wanting to deal with the broader geopolitics of cloning. Suspension of disbelief can certainly get the audience through the absolutely clownish idea that America would ever ratify an amendment sanctioning trial by combat for everyday citizens.

The film largely ignores the subject of the morality of the duel, a dynamic that works until a scene in the third act where Sarah suddenly confronts the brutal nature of taking a life, as if she’s just pondering this concept for the first time. In an America that’s divided on every single political issue under the sun, it’s absolutely outlandish that there’s no group around fighting like hell to stop this barbaric sense of justice. This wouldn’t be a problem if Stearns had simply chosen to leave morality out of the equation entirely, allowing his feature to exist in the alternate-America he crafted. Instead, he just looks sloppy for his brief feint toward an idea bound to be on plenty of his audience’s minds.

Some of the film’s best sequences feature original Sarah training with her dueling coach Trent (Aaron Paul), doing their best to transform her into a killer. Stearns struggles to tie his whole feature together in a way that doesn’t leave Sarah and Trent’s time together feeling like charming filler. The obvious comparisons to work displayed in his last feature The Art of Self-Defense hardly helps the situation either.

Dual is never boring across its 94-minute runtime, but the end result leaves a pretty empty experience. Stearns is clearly more concerned with exploring themes than providing answers, but he doesn’t do a good job showing his work to the audience. It’s hard to walk away from this one not feeling disappointed for what might have been if the script had spent a bit more time on the drawing board.