(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A group of inept amateur superheroes must try to save the day when a supervillain threatens to destroy a major superhero and the city.”
 
Honestly, I have a vague recollection of seeing Mystery Men in theatres back when it was originally released and not being all that impressed by it.  Sitting down for a rewatch with this all-new 4K Ultra HD release pretty much reconfirmed my estimation of it – that meaning it’s just not very good – but I did probably appreciate a bit more the flick’s understandable aesthetic.  For those uninformed, Men essentially copies the art deco look of the 1930’s and 1940’s so masterfully reintroduced on the silver screen with Tim Burton’s Batman (1989) and truly amped up on television with Batman: The Animated Series.  But … Men was shot and released at a time when superhero films had begun to lag just a bit under curious misdirection by the late Joel Schumacher (of the lesser Batman movies).  As a consequence, it probably failed to gain any legitimate traction in the marketplace, though I’ve been assured through reading that the Ben Stiller headliner has a big, big cult audience.  Stranger things have happened, as they say.
 
Now, I have read some commentary suggesting that – ahem – perhaps Men was in reality “ahead of its time,” implying that screenwriter Neil Cuthbert’s sardonic tone might be embraced more today.  Certainly, the never-ending assault of Marvel Entertainment releases – both on screens big and small – have more properly ‘prepared’ the marketplace for the true creative potential in looking further at spandex-wearing heroes and antiheroes.  As a consequence, shows like HBO/Max’s Doom Patrol and Amazon’s The Boys amply demonstrate that today’s viewers might be more inclined do-gooders not so squeaky clean as those typically pushed by both Marvel and DC’s starting line-up; but I’d argue that Men – also a comics-to-film property – would have a long way to go given its embrace of the purely juvenile antics of regular Joes turns extraordinary.
 
Simply put: if you find farts funny, then Men is a toot … I mean ‘hoot.’
 
Cuthbert’s script – under Kinka Usher’s direction – really goes hot and heavy for juvenile appeal.  While none of its suits are faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, The Spleen (a perfectly cast Paul Reubens) can fill the room with the noxious releases from his colon with the pull of his finger.  The Blue Raja (a curiously miscast Hank Azaria) fights crime with his unique ability of hurling cutlery with deadly results at ne’er-do-wells.  William H. Macy’s ‘The Shoveler’ dispenses his particular brand of justice with the use of – you guessed it – a big shovel.  And filmdom’s favorite prankster Ben Stiller rounds out the fold in the guise of ‘Furious,’ a fellow whose uncharacteristic white male rage apparently gives him the power to … well … it’s never quite clear …
​

In any event, the motley crew of crime-fighting irregulars balance out the duties of crafting their own origins’ picture while besting Champion City’s resident baddie – Casanova Frankenstein (an utterly wasted Geoffrey Rush) – just in the knick of time; and I suppose – on that front – it’s easy to understand Men’s albeit limited appeal.  Much like their colorful founding in print, superhero programs truly flourished on television in the late 1960’s and throughout the 1970’s in cartoon format; and Men rather authentically (perhaps too much so) feels like live-action animation.  Its plots and subplots function on said simplicity – punchlines are easy to see, even for those of us without supervision – and the team fall apart yet come together with the same formulaic consistency afforded each and every thirty-minute adventure with the Super-Friends.  If it’s nuance you want, then that’s in short supply.
 
Where the flick does work best is in both copying and lampooning the aesthetic of those Batman cinema adventures that ultimately inspired its existence.  Were you to watch Batman (1988), Batman Returns (1992), Batman Forever (1995), or even the deserved maligned Batman & Robin (1997) as companion features, it’s inarguably clear that Men’s intent is to both give its predecessors’ an affirming nod as well as the thumbing of its nose back.  It’s saying, “We can do what you can do, but we’re doing it all for laughs and a good time.”
 
No doubt those who loved this one back then and even today still agree.
 
Mystery Men (1999) was produced by Universal Pictures, Golar Productions, Dark Horse Entertainment, Image Comics, and a few other participants.  (If those facts truly interest you, then you’ll find them on IMDB.com.)  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the reliable Kino Lorber.  As for the technical specifications?  Wowza!  Though I’m no trained video expert, I thought the sights and sounds of this brand-new HDR restoration (from the original camera negative) looked and sounded damn fabulous.  If you’re a first-timer, then you’re in for a treat.  If you’re revisiting this one, then you’re really in for a treat as it’s probably not looked and sounded so good … even in its original theatrical run.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features, then buckle up for a director’s commentary, some deleted scenes, the theatrical trailer, and an assortment of behind-the-scenes featurettes that go far to round out this occasionally funny experience.
 
Mildly recommended.
 
If it’s unclear, then let me assure you that – while I’m not a fan of Mystery Men – I can still appreciate what all involved accomplished here.  Where it tries and fails, there’s still an inherent ambition at work throughout the film – most of which are tied up in some very, very good production details, filming, and background detail.  My quibbles are, largely, owed to its incessant predictability as well as the troupe’s demonstrated desire to go for the cheap and easy laughs.  What can I say?  I prefer my satire just a wee bit smarter.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary 4K Ultra HD + Blu-ray copy of Mystery Men (1999) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com citation:
“A scientist, working with genetics, creates a creature that is capable of transforming back and forth between a giant Death Head mother and a beautiful woman.  The creature masquerades as his daughter when she is in human incarnation and feeds on the blood of her victims when she is in moth form.”
 
There’s an unevenness to Peter Bryan’s script for The Blood Beast Terror that could’ve been overcome perhaps with smarter direction from the late Vernon Sewell with some greater time and effort, but – alas – I’m thinking this one just wasn’t quite meant to be.  Others might dismiss the construct as more charming than anything else, but – for me – when you introduce real science to any motion picture then it should be incumbent upon the storyteller to – first and foremost – continue to seek out real world plausibility for the events and circumstances as they unfold.  Alas, Terror eventually goes more in the direction of pure cinematic Fantasy, and I think it’s a weaker picture because of those creative choices.
 
Yes, yes, yes: I hear you shouting from your devices.  “But it’s a monster movie!”  Of course, it is, and – on that front – I supposed it’s comparably as interesting as any other entry from the late 1960’s.  My reservation, however, is that the film’s revered Dr. Mallinger (played by Robert Flemyng) spends a wealth of his scenes involved with the study of insects, giving the story a loose authenticity, which occasionally elevates the narrative beyond the typical flick.  Had a bit more time, thought, and effort been exercised here, then Terror might’ve been a contender – one of those rare instances wherein the end product rises above the more casual attempts – and establishes its own relevance, defies the odds, and maybe even achieves cult status.  But as is?  There’s a whole lot of ‘meh’ in there, folks.
 
While I’ll agree that – for fans of a certain age – it’s always great to watch Peter Cushing do his thing (especially in Horror), his Inspector Quennell never quite evolves to the point wherein the character benefits from Cushing’s pedigree, and that also spoils the picture for me.  Wanda Ventham – perhaps more famous these days for being the biological mother of Benedict Cumberbatch, if the Information Superhighway is any legitimate barometer of fame – has a few good moments, but not even her beauty can help the color-by-numbers production achieve any legitimate momentum.  Dare I suggest that the film is even occasionally a bit of slog with sequences that last more than a few seconds after their usefulness?  Why, it’s almost as if director Sewell and his cast of players set out with the intention of destroying any serviceable pace, and everyone behind the scenes was too frightened to yell ‘cut!’
​

Naturally, what truly matters in a monster movie is the seminal monster.  On that count, Blood Beast still underwhelms as the creature shows up sparingly in the first half – an obvious attempt to create tension rather than heighten it (since none truly exists, sadly).  The second half does give the giant moth a bit more screen time, but at this point the story seems far more committed to a developing an unnecessary subplot involving the inspector’s teenage daughter Meg (Vanessa Howard) and her budding suitor (who just happens to be a butterfly expert, if you care to figure those odds) than it does exploring the standard monster procedural.
 
Sigh.
 
It’s a shame that even in a picture with its name in the title that a monster can’t even score quality screen time.
 
The Blood Beast Terror (1968) was produced by Tigon British Film Productions.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good folks at Kino Lorber.  As for the technical specifications?  Well … though I’m no trained video expert, I had some quibbles with this 2012 2K restoration.  While I found the picture to be quite good consistently, the soundtrack – especially sequences of dialogue throughout the middle – was a bit muddled in places.  Others might not find it as distracting as I did (such is life), but I felt it was definitely worth mentioning.  (Buyer beware.)  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features, the disc boasts an all-new commentary track from critic Kim Newman and writer Stephen Jones.  At best, it’s a ‘polite’ collection but nothing grand.
 
Mildly recommended.  So far as this monster movie junkie is concerned, The Blood Beast Terror (1968) offers up only passable thrills and chills, and that’s mostly owed to Peter Bryan’s half-baked screenplay really only dabbling at establishing the scientific background for this particular filmed universe.  When elements are only half-explained, viewers are left with either filling the blanks on their own (never a good practice) or just ‘going with the flow’ (the more likely scenario), and the end result leaves me with more questions than I ever want to have in digesting a palatable 90 minutes.  That and Vernon Sewell’s uninspired direction make this one, largely, forgettable.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Blood Beast Terror by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

Full disclosure: I honestly think that films centered on religion – or the many aspects of it including grace, goodness, and mercy – rarely give that institution and its men and women a fair shake.
 
I’ve often argued that the way we’re wired – culturally, psychologically, individually, etc. – is to work against the grain of acclimation.  We’re brought up on the ideals of rugged individualism – at least, in the good ol’ United States of America, we are – and every fiber of our being responds favorably to this principle when its instructed properly.  We strive to exceed, and – many times – we learn very young that the bulk of this accomplishment happens when we toil away in private, not with a group.  It’s this pursuit of excellence that varies from person-to-person; while we might take comfort in knowing that others encounter many of the same obstacles we do, we nevertheless work toward distinguishing ourselves from the wider population-at-large when such opportunities present themselves.
 
Where this philosophy meets one of its greatest challenges is melding the ideas of faith with a congregation.  Despite accepting a specific doctrine under which we worship, we’re still likely to find variances about what others ‘believe’ versus our own dogma.  Though church brings us together, we’re still allowed to practice as we wish outside of its doors; and there’s no doubt been a wealth of controversies throughout the decades wherein followers of one doctrine acted contrary to the church’s expressed codes of behavior.  Hell, even priests and preachers have been found guilty straying from the ‘Word of God’ on that front.
 
Drama loves a fallen warrior, and – for this reason – The Leech tries to capitalize first with judgment and then with laughs (or is that vice versa?) in this story of ‘Father David,’ a pious man who turns out to be vastly less so (or does he?) than he would have the dwindling membership of his small church on the edge of Nowhere U.S.A. believe.  It’s yet one more theatrical swipe at those who try-and-fail to live up to expectations Hollywood would tell you haven’t been in vogue since the days of Moses … which is precisely why the film fails to live up to anything more than ‘one more theatrical swipe.’
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com citation:
“A devout priest welcomes a struggling couple into his house at Christmas time.  What begins as a simple act of kindness quickly becomes the ultimate test of faith once the sanctity of his home is jeopardized.”
 
Oy vey.
 
The church has long been the target of some venomous storytelling, and – while I’ll reserve the judgment of whether that’s warranted or not to others – I’ll freely admit I’m rarely a fan of it.  Occasionally, there’s a good bit of yarn woven into a compelling tapestry, but more often than not so much of it feels like our cultural betters getting up on their soapbox for ninety minutes of sermonizing.  Frankly, I see much more of it as lazy and uninspired, especially given the fact that the entertainment industry has both produced and covered up on some rather obvious sex crimes of moguls like Harvey Weinstein, Roman Polanski, and even funnyman Bill Cosby.
 
Setting aside my bias, I’ll admit to the fact that – so far as performances go – The Leech does offer up two interesting portrayals that make its run-time move briskly: Graham Skipper is occasionally inspired as ‘Father David,’ and Jeremy Gardner is equally lascivious as ‘Terry,’ the architect of their depicted moral collapse … not that Terry’s fall was so great.  Essentially, he’s the ultimate bohemian – not so much a man as he is a creature of the flesh – living a raucous lifestyle involving endless gratification, even when that means risking being caught in the act of masturbation while living under a pastor’s roof.  From this clash of regimes, writer/director Eric Pennycoff squeezes out one scene after another laced with some uncomfortable laughs and loose comic proselytizing.
 
If anything, the flaw as I see it with The Leech is two-fold.
 
First, David’s moral ruin was – in my estimation – vastly too easy.
 
Though I don’t consider myself a religious man in any regard (I have my own faith, and that’s that), I have attended a handful of different churches in my life and had the good fortune to speak with an interact with a good number of spiritual leaders.  Taking these men out of the church and repositioning them in their homes – dare I say – really does nothing to remove their respective moral codes.  In The Leech, Pennycoff would have you accept that perhaps the lack of the church’s structure and trappings allow for a once respectable pastor to let down his defenses and be seduced by the – ahem – Dark Side.  My experience has taught me that true men of faith know all too well that it’s these moments of privacy that require an even stronger commitment to faith … so the film’s central premise is flawed.
 
Second?  Well, there’s this business of ‘The Leech,’ and I kinda/sorta found it offensive.
​

Pennycoff’s script tells us a Biblical parable of ‘The Leech,’ that being a kind of spiritual demon who preys on the weak and downtrodden.  (There are suggestions, for example, of Satan serving in the role as ‘the leech.’)  Clearly, Terry is depicted as ‘leeching’ off David, accepting the man’s eager hospitality and then making himself entirely at home to increasingly ridiculous proportions.  Eventually, Terry even brings his displaced girlfriend Lexi (a criminally underused Taylor Zaudtke) into the dwelling, and she is shown just as parasitic as her chosen mate.  However, David’s plight – especially in the second half – explores a variation on this idea, that perhaps it is he who has been ’the leech’ all along, sponging off the goodness and graces of the church, his flock, and his deceased mother to the point wherein he has lost all true independence.  One could argue that it’s this long-gestating internalized guilt that causes the preacher even greater psychological trauma – not the plunge into depravity actively orchestrated by Terry and Lexi – and, again, I just see that as storytelling contrary to my own world experience.
 
Still, I’d be lying if I told you that The Leech has no authentic laughs because that’s far from the truth.  Skipper and Gardner are terrific opposite one another.  Both demonstrate an intrinsic understanding of their darkly comic pairing, and their scenes play out exceedingly well, especially with the resulting discomfort.  (Sadly, Zaudtke really isn’t given much more than a female manifestation of Terry, so I’ll pass on reacting any more to it.)  Alas, it’s the half-baked messaging and disturbing finale to The Leech that truly sucked the vein dry, and that’s a shame.
 
The Leech (2022) was produced by Doomcroak Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the superb folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  Though I’m no trained video expert, I thought the sights-and-sounds were fabulous from start-to-finish.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features, the disc boasts a wealth of materials, including an audio commentary, sponsored Q&As, some behind-the-scenes featurettes, and much, much more.  As usual with Arrow Films, it’s a glorious collection for fans who like this sort of thing.  Well done.
 
Mildly recommended … but with some reservations.  While a reasonable effective and well-made psychological thriller, The Leech still suffers from a central character – a man of God – who all too easily succumbs to Earthly delights that rather quickly put him on a path to ruin, quite possibly to the delight of far too many storytellers and not as many in the viewing audience.  Performances work precisely as designed by writer/director Pennycoff, serving up a predictable finish to an all-too-common descent into madness by a man typically made of vastly stronger stock.  Disappointing … but not surprising.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary copy of The Leech (2022) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

A wise man once asked: “How can we appreciate an all-new journey when we’ve no idea of what our destination is?”
 
This highlights the difficulty of reviewing a property like 1899: as a traveler, we have absolutely no idea of where we’re headed until we get there.  Yes, yes, and yes: we may be able to close our eyes and reach out in the darkness, and maybe by feeling around and touching a bit of this or that we just might imagine what a twist or turn implies … but because the framework is built in such a way as to maintain ultimate secrecy surrounding the end of our trip, I’d still suggest that this is a journey likely to disappoint as many as it endears.
 
TV’s Lost ventured into similar thematic waters.
 
Across its six mystery-fueled seasons, its creative behind the curtain worked very hard to continually redefine the structure of its intense storytelling.  For a time, viewers were treated to flashbacks that tied centrally back to characters in their current predicament.  Then – perhaps when that format exhausted its usefulness – they turned their sights into the future, cultivating a look at where the program might be headed, though never quite ignoring the TV present.  Finally, the showrunners engineered a little something something they liked to call a – ahem – ‘flash-sideways,’ in which popular characters found themselves in a somewhat parallel existence … only to inevitably reveal what many still in the viewing audience had long suspected, that being everyone had passed on and what was being explored was a loose afterlife.  Sigh.  I still want my money back for what I wasted on that finale.
 
Thankfully, 1899’s creators – Baran bo Odar and Jantje Friese – have a background that demonstrates perhaps a better reason to ‘trust the maker’ than did Lost: their previous show – Netflix’s stellar Dark – lasted three intriguing seasons, perhaps just long enough to sustain an audience’s level of disbelief effectively and honestly with such make-believe as time travel, temporal paradoxes, and parallel existences.  Though I’ll admit that I thought the bloom came off the rose quite a bit with its third season, Dark still rather efficiently wrapped up its narrative – far more successfully than did Lost – even if viewers weren’t all that enamored with the final solution.  (Hint: I wasn’t … but it still functioned as a reasonable and prescient conclusion.)
 
Still, 1899 is not without some shortcomings.
​

At its core, 1899 appears to be a show concerned with reality and how both these characters and (shudder!) the audience process it.  There are heavy suggestions that what’s transpiring could both be real and/or imagined, and this, at times, makes the program more than a bit confusing … as reality can occasionally be.  It explores real (TV) time along with flashbacks and what might be dreams or visions, often blending these various ‘worlds’ together in such a way that can make it difficult to keep up.  Thankfully, its fairly large cast – main and key supporting players – does whittle itself down (through a series of events), so ‘keeping up with the Jones’ does get easier as it progresses.  Stay awake (snicker snicker), stick with it, and you’ll reap some modest rewards.
 
However, Odar and Friese’s program does and doesn’t cover a lot of ground in its first season, a total of eight episodes.  This isn’t to say that it’s either too long or too short; rather, the installments – roughly about midway through their run – begin to overlap themselves thematically.  Things happen that – narratively – make little sense until you get a bigger picture, requiring you – the viewer – to carry a lot of information with you to that point.  Once you do know what’s going on with respect to the show’s world-hopping, I’m still not convinced this was the easiest means to an end.  I’m inclined to suggest – though I do hate doing this – that there has to be a slimmer edit to all of these events that would make vastly greater sense … but at the end of the day it’s still my job to react to art as it’s presented and leave the revisions to the artists.
 
Lastly, once the – ahem – final reality to what’s actually taking place is clearly established, I find myself still questioning whether or not this reveal is authentic.  The scripts invest an incredible amount of time in misdirection (to a point), all of the twists and turns intending to heighten the tension, drama, and suspense.  But I’m not sure that’s always the case here.  Some of it is indeed inventive, but when an audience is treated to so many surprises at a consistent pace it becomes only natural to suspect a big discovery really might be doing little more than housing yet one more mystery.  The season ends with (I won’t spoil it) a pretty dramatic repositioning – one that might have half the audience scratching their heads and the other half trying to figure out just what it means for everything that took place across these eight episodes – so please if anything keep your thinking caps on tight, folks.
 
What all of this still does in the end is position me with a variation of the question that I asked at the opening: “What did I think about what happened when what happened might not be part of the final destination?”
​

Well …
 
On a production level, 1899 is exceedingly well-crafted, excellently staged, and exceedingly well performed.
 
In the guise of our lead heroine ‘Maura Franklin,’ the award-winning Emily Beecham gives a compelling performance.  Though her character is couched in the writing in such a way that we don’t truly know if she’s a protagonist or an antagonist, she makes the program watchable by conveying the desire of a woman to both unravel the mystery her life has somehow become as well as the desire to set things right, even perhaps at the cost of her own existence.  There’s an earnestness to her plight, making it easy to root for her along the way.  Here’s hoping she can hold it all together even though the program – if renewed – promises to take her in yet one more challenging direction.
 
As ‘Captain Eyk Larsen,’ actor Andreas Pietschmann is, thankfully, a familiar face: he was last seen as the mysterious stranger through all seasons of Odar and Friese’s Dark … so, yes, it’s nice to recognize a player!  As 1899’s convoluted plot develops, it becomes increasingly clear that – like the lady Franklin – his fate is somehow tied in with this bizarre history; but the second half of the season kinda/sorta shelves his character in a way that slows down the progress more than a bit.  (What can I say?  In times of crisis, it’s comforting – even for the audience – to have a person of authority present, but Larsen is absent for much of the plot, so I think this was a mistake.)  His ‘blue collar mentality’ fuels some good scenes as needed, and his presence is an asset to the show.
 
Beyond those two leads, the cast benefits from some other strong players, but – alas – as can happen with having so many actors and actresses no one really gets any pivotal or instrumental scenes to the central plot.  While there are clearly a handful of several subplots all swirling around the program’s highs and lows, they inevitably appear inconsequential when you reach Episode Eight and all is revealed (somewhat).  Because of this, I’ve no idea what to make of them – superficially, they appear to have little to nothing to do with where the franchise is headed, should Netflix pick this up and push it to fruition.
 
In case you’ve missed it, 1899 has a premise that’s somewhat difficult to decipher without spoiling it for audiences, and that’s something I work hard to avoid on SciFiHistory.Net.  A bit long – and more than a bit confusing at times – it’s still an interesting idea perfectly suited for long-form storytelling … though those who like to binge might wanna space out the episodes a bit in order to avoid the possible mental exhaustion. 

​-- EZ

Sigh.
 
Despite the fact that AMC’s The Walking Dead has finally reached the end of its journey after an incredible run of eleven fun-filled seasons, I think it goes without saying that we’ve clearly not seen the last of these characters.  In fact, if you speak with any of the knuckleheads in charge of the wider Dead universe, they like to think that they’re just getting started.  With new spin-offs and minis already shooting and scheduled to air in 2023, this post of mine – as well as any others across the Information Superhighway – is hardly an epitaph.  All this is – as it is entirely intended – is an acknowledgement that the original program has reached the end of its original broadcast run.
 
As I’ve been blogging for quite some time now, I’ve occasionally been asked about why I haven’t sounded off on The Walking Dead.  When I engage folks online and/or via email, I tell them that the show just hasn’t stimulated me enough to honestly want to ruminate over its characters, themes, situations, and circumstances.  While I’d never argue that the production quality hasn’t been mostly superb, I just haven’t been captivated sufficiently by these various arcs to commit much space to them.  That isn’t intended to insult the show in any measure, as – for the most part – I’ve spent an incredible number of hours through its high and lows.  I’ve just – simply – had nothing to say about them … especially nothing to say that likely hasn’t been said elsewhere.
 
Any show that lasts as long as the Dead has is understandably going to endure a lot of critical blowback, both from fans as well as media types.  That’s just the nature of telling stories: not everyone – at all times – is going to be equally riveted or moved or thrilled or aghast or indifferent.  Instead, the various arcs have been what they’ve been – good and bad – much in the same way some characters have endured while others came and went, some expiring in incredibly bloody fashion.  And the dead?  The walkers?  The rotters?  The Whisperers and more?  Similarly, they’ve left an imprint, trudged along, and gone the way of history.  Or not.
 
An examination of the show’s ratings plunge over the last few years naturally made the rounds, some pundits using it to suggest that the program quite possibly should’ve gone away much earlier.  Such theorizing made for some interesting and informative Tweets – fans debating back-and-forth over their respective ‘quality assessments’ of the years; and – if nothing else – the discourse reminds me why folks become fans in the first place … we like to talk about the likes and the dislikes, and these things obvious fed into those audience numbers.  I’ve no interest in doing any grand autopsy of the apparently waning phenomenon, but I will offer up an observation or two, mostly because it’s my day job, folks.
 
For a program with the ‘Dead’ in its title, The Walking Dead – ahem – really left the Dead for dead over its last few seasons.  The handful of narrative developments focused a bit too meatily on the rebuilding of society for my tastes, and I just didn’t find the bulk of stories involving the Commonwealth all that fresh or innovation.  Essentially, I’d argue we’d seen a lot of these circumstances before – albeit in much small settings – so the show (for the first time for me) began feeling redundant.  Its villains?  Hammy.  Campy.  Borderline unbelievable, honestly, especially given how much of this universe we’d seen before.  But the shift away from adventures fostering tension with – even in Daryl Dixon’s words from the finale – our true enemy weakened the potential of a once great adversary.
 
Now, the showrunners I think even acknowledged this reality when they introduced a late-breaking evolution of new walkers, ones that could apparently control their motor skills more effectively.  Suddenly, audiences were treated to stumblers who could climb, pick up objects, and even use rudimentary weapons in their quest to eat flesh.  But because these new traits kinda/sorta came out of nowhere (do not get me started on the spin-offs!!!), the development (while interesting) still felt like it was the creation of a room of writers trying to wreck a bit more havoc in a world that had become, sadly, predictable.
 
If there’s one trait that destroys Horror quickly, then that would be predictability.
 
Also, I’d argue that the cast just grew too big and cumbersome to truly focus on any authentic relationships.  When you go a few seasons of adding new faces to the narrative coupled with eliminating the great zombie threat to the populace, then all of a sudden there are more folks at the table than we literally have chairs for.  Before the Commonwealth, the Dead was already running that risk because the creators had fleshed out multiple communities with which to extend the possibilities: once this fully realized return to normality became the backbone to these stories, I contend that there were just too many characters centralized in a show that was supposed to be about the end of the world (to a point) and not a nighttime soap opera.
 
Lastly?
 
Well, the final swing of Lucille to the camel’s back was the fact that – in the process of trying to put the world right again – risk seemed to creep into the background of these various soirees.  Gone were the days when the audience sat on the edge of its seat wondering who was going to survive, who might come up short in the battle, and who might get bit in the process.  With no risk, there was very little authentic possibility for loss; and the removal of the program’s randomness might very well be what inevitably drove viewers elsewhere.  What with streaming outlets on the rise and the fact that Dead still relied on the – ahem – weekly serialized broadcast format so many venues have tossed aside, perhaps there just wasn’t room for the routine.
Of its final installment, I will say this: it didn’t move me, not in the way I had hoped it would.  It was just … fine.  Parts of it felt rushed.  Parts of it, honestly, felt a bit too easy.  A small part of it moved me … but I won’t spoil that for folks.  That’s for me to know and for you to always guess at, if it matters.  While I’ll miss the time spent with so many of these very, very good creations, I’d still concede that there’s a part of me glad it’s all over … and, yes, I’ll probably tune in for the spin-offs because I’m a glutton for punishment … and I do so want some real closure.
 
Maybe they’ll provide it.

​-- EZ

The wifey and I were late to the Supernatural bandwagon.

In all fairness, I was never quite as smitten with the spooky as my better half was, but I'd never argue against the show's central chemistry of an extended family banded together to take a much-needed stand opposite the forces of darkess ... and, yes, this included an incredible assortment of secondary players who came and went from the popular program as needed.  One of those was Nicki Aycox.  In the guise of 'Meg Masters,' she racked up a solid five visits to the Horror procedural, and she turned in some great work as one of the show's many repeat visitors.

As for the rest of her career?

Aycox definitely had the flexibility to step into mainstream dramas and comedies, of which her legacy certain shows.  But genre fans might know her from stops to NBC's SciFi/Sitcom 3rd Rock From The Sun, The X-Files, Dark Angel, and a few others highlighted on her IMDB.com profile.

I'd read somewheres, previously, that sadly she'd developed leukemia a few years ago; and the Yahoo News article concerning her passing indicates she did succumb to the disease late last week.

Thought and prayers are issued to the family, friends, and fans of Ms. Aycox.

​-- EZ

Folks, folks, folks: I do not dislike any of the Power Rangers properties.

I do know that I have been caught speaking a bit flippantly about them here and there in the blogosphere or even on my daily citation pages; but that's only because to me it seems like this vast, vast property, and it came into being well after my time with what I'd consider to be more kid-friendly entertaining and/or programming.  Yes, I've seen a few episodes of various incarnations here and there; and while I might admire what it does in small ways it just isn't nor wasn't my cup of tea.  As I said, I was a bit older and had definitely moved into what I'd call meatier pursuits.  As they say: "to each his own ..."

But, yes, I saw the news over the weekend on Twitter when the original rumors of Jason David Frank's passing started hitting the web.  (In case you missed it, there was a lot of hubbub regarding it for quite some time.)  I did what any faithful in genre circles would do -- I cautioned folks not to overreact, to wait for official confirmation, and to hope for the best and pray for the worst.  I even engaged with a few folks on the Twitter feed -- there were some who were adamant it was a vicious hoax, and I tried to just calm them down -- which is something I normally try to avoid.

The thing is: losing a hero is never easy.  While I'll never agree that any particular actor is a hero, I'd still agree that talented men and women have a way of transcending the ordinary, lifting up their performances -- if not their lives -- to the extraordinary ... and -- without a doubt -- Jason David Frank touched a whole helluva lot of people.  Some of that was through his work.  Some of that was through his career since Power Rangers.  Some of that was through the convention circuit.  However he may've made a legacy, it's very clear that he has one, and -- with his loss -- I think all of us should choose to thankful for the positive impact he may've made on television, movies, fandom, and beyond.

It's never easy saying goodbye.  No matter the circumstances, the sum total of any man's life is so much more than how he or she leaves this plane of existence.

Thoughts and prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Jason David Frank.

​-- EZ

Though it’s taken me a bit of time, I think I’ve finally figured out exactly why I’m struggling with Walt Disney’s latest streaming opus, Andor.
 
Critics of the show – from what I’ve read – have been a bit eclectic in finding one if not multiple reasons they’re unable to truly get behind its various characters and stories.  By contrast, Andor’s loudest and most vocal supporters do tend to gravitate toward the mutual position that – ahem – it’s an adult story set in a universe that was arguably created for young’uns.  Because its players are going through motions and layers of – ahem – narrative complexity (their words, not mine), those singing the show’s infinite praise typically cite showrunner Tony Gilroy’s slow-burning, plot-heavy mechanics, insisting that the storyteller has most effective brought the Mouse House franchise into the modern era of long-form storytelling.
 
Now, frankly, I’ve got no real bone to pick with any of that.  If I wanted to, I suppose that I could argue about that whole ‘adult perspective,’ but I think – at the end of the day – those quibbles are more likely boiled down to polite differences of opinion.  You see the world your way, and I see it mine: while we might share some experiences and maybe even a like-minded platform about maturity and the like, the differences of our education, morals, and upbringing still influence each of us to whatever uniqueness we might find in our respective worldviews … so I’ll leave that issue aside in discussing my thoughts on Andor (generally) and its tenth episode, “One Way Out” (specifically).  I do this because – as I said above – I think the installment really crystallized my dissatisfaction with the program.
 
“One Way Out” was received some incredible accolades in many, many online communities.  Some have likened it to Mel Gibson’s Braveheart (1995), a solid and cinematic retelling of the life and times of Scottish warrior William Wallace.  (FYI: while I enjoyed the picture as did seemingly all of mankind – if you believe what you read – I didn’t find it the G.O.A.T. of a film so many did.)  While I’ve no interest in mincing words on that comparison (and its flaws), I can certainly understand and appreciate how some might allow their emotions to runaway with themselves and demand “One Way Out” be – ahem – christened the greatest Star Wars moment ever filmed … but let’s dial that back just a minute, can we?
 
In all seriousness: what were Andor and his fellow inmates supposed to do?
 
For those who might not be following the show as closely, “One Way Out” is, essentially, a jailbreak.  Both the wrongly and justly accused residents of an Imperial prison join hands, rise up, and overthrow their captors, throwing off their figurative shackles so that they can pursue a lie beyond their obvious oppression.  It’s all captured with some fabulous staging – along with some fabulous cinematography – and I’d be a fool to not give the episode’s loudest voices my agreement … but, again, I ask you … what were these folks supposed to do?
 
Thematically, Andor is understandably about the founding of the Rebel Alliance.  History – real history, and not filmed stuff – has shown us that those who are bound and shackled by tyrannical governments have a pretty solid track record of eventually reaching a boiling point and inevitably pushing back; and despite all of the protestations about how “One Way Out” deserves to be considered the defining hour in all of Star Wars I found it a bit underwhelming and – ahem – downright predictable.  Perhaps that’s owed to the fact that I read quite a bit of history, and I’ve long ago accepted the political reality that breaking a culture is not as easily achieved as Hollywood and its employees might have us accept.  That’s the stuff of movies … but the stuff of reality is that there are plenty of dark and bloody moments when regular Toms, Dicks, Harrys, Jacks, Jills, and Barbies said, “This far, no farther.”
 
As good as “One Way Out” may’ve been rendered, that’s all there was to it.
 
And – taking the argument a step further as I’ve long been known to do – what about those prisoners who were legitimately incarcerated – perhaps even for life – who fundamentally deserved to be behind bars?  Andor – as a property – has never quite clearly staked out perfectly the chronological particulars within the broader Star Wars timeline (yes, yes, yes, I’m aware of when it’s supposed to take place), so couldn’t it be very likely that this prison existed well before Palpatine’s current shenanigans and contained authentic bad people?  Real criminals?  Serious ne’er-do-wells?  While Cassian undeniably never deserved the sentence he received (and, yes, please remember that I’m ignoring the fact that he probably would’ve been sent elsewhere if his true nefarious past was known), hasn’t the show inserted far too much wiggle room into a franchise that’s long been a classical struggle of good versus evil?
 
Because the show is (in my opinion) truly running a bit too fast and loose with its own mythology, I’m having trouble appreciating the yarn its spinning.  Facts matter, and – as I’ve suggested that I’ve no possible way of knowing whether every single resident of this prison had the ‘heart of gold’ they’ve given Cassian – the story of the oppressed ‘prisoners’ was given no authentic examination whatsoever.  Instead, all of these inmates were granted the kind of ‘feel sorry for me’ aesthetic applied to our hero – who has no fundamental journey or quest, at this point, that I’m aware of – so they’re just as innocent as he is … only he isn’t innocent … well, he is and he isn’t … and do you FINALLY see what I’ve been saying about bad writing ruining even a halfway decent show?
 
Again: don’t misunderstand me.  If you’re thrilled with Andor, then I’m happy for you.  As I’ve always argued, there’s vastly more room in our world for inspired adventures; and if you find Andor and these loosely-constructed myths to your liking, then so be it.
 
Given the fact that this is allegedly coming from the same minds who crafted Rogue One – which I enjoyed vastly more than anything in here to date even with its allegedly eleventh hour retooling  – I’m just surprised it’s making so little narrative sense.
 
Still … may the Force be with us.  Always.

​-- EZ

Yes, yes, and yes: as a (somewhat) child of the 1980’s, I’m more than passingly familiar with the B-Movie flick Alligator.
 
In fact, I went to college in the mid-1980’s, and Alligator was exactly the kind of home video movie rental that played on the fraternity house television set quite probably hundreds of times … and I honestly never quite understood why.  Though I only watched passing snippets of it – never sitting down with the brothers to digest it all in a single sitting – I was never that impressed with it.  (Honestly, back in those days, I was more into cinema classics than anything else, but I could appreciate the random Evil Dead or Re-Animator as anyone else my age.)  As a Horror feature, it seemed cheaply made; and I just didn’t find it all that frightening.  Still, the picture persisted, and – as I said – it was rented and watched more times than I care to remember.
 
In any event, I recently caught it screening on one of those Friday Night Turner Classic Movies presentations, so I DVR’d it for posterity’s sake and (finally!) sat through it from start to finish.  Better late than never, am I right?  I guess I figured I owed it to my contemporaries to experience something I was never gaga over despite all of the opportunities.  Though my opinion of it really didn’t change – it’s a bit of charming shlock, at best – I’ll offer up a few other thoughts out of respect for my peers … not like they deserve it for believing as they did that this was one of the high points of 80’s cinema.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
​

From the film’s IMDB.com citation:
“A pet baby alligator is flushed down a toilet and survives in the city sewers.  12 years later, it grows to an enormous size thanks to a diet of discarded laboratory dogs injected with growth hormones.  Now, humans have entered the menu.”
 
I’ve long made peace with the fact that my critics complain that I have a tendency to “suck the fun” out of everything.
 
You see, I’m in many ways a realist, so movies – while entirely fictional (or to a degree) – present a unique challenge.  Clearly, they’re conceived as entertainment, but because of the way I look at the world at large I do require that they – in their own estimable way – make sense.  Plot holes ruin the experience for me – even ones that appear so glaringly obvious that perhaps they were meant in jest – and developments or twists that arise inorganically pull me out of the experience.  Layered storytelling should progress logically; if not, then there’s a hint of artifice to all of the world, and the resulting failure of cohesiveness turns the meal sour for me.  I can’t – as they say – just “get into it,” so I find the flick inferior.
 
Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know.  Trust me: I’ve heard it all before.
 
So when a young girl comes home to find that her baby alligator has gone missing … only for her to grow up to become the area’s – ahem – resident expert on alligators, I’m inclined to think this stuff only happens in movies.  When a screenwriter adds even more layers of improbability to the yarn – such as having this little lost alligator subsist for over a dozen years on the diet of lost dogs ingested with illegally-tested growth hormones – the entire house of cards falls completely apart for me as, statistically, it would be damn near impossible for all of these elements to align themselves in such a way as to make this story – as conceived – remotely plausible.
 
Again, I know.  Like I said: I’ve heard it before.
​

​I realize it’s only a movie, but when that script requires a never-ending stream of narrative twists that defy reason I can’t help myself … and, surprisingly, award-winning screenwriter John Sayles still managed to chuck more fuel onto the fire that was his script of Alligator (1980) as directed by the reliable Lewis Teague.  (Sayles, I love what you did with Battle Beyond The Stars, so I’ll forgive you this shortcoming.)  The end result of their collaboration remains one of the more fondly remembered Horror features of its era, though I’ll admit that I never quite understood why.
 
In some respects, Alligator represents one of the high points in bringing ‘the great urban legend’ to life.  In fact, we’ve probably all heard stories of reptiles flushed down the toilet, and that is the opening catalyst for putting this creature feature on the cinematic map.  Young Marisa (Leslie Brown) comes home from school to find her pet gone; while dad did the nasty deed, there’s never even unifying scene wherein he confesses it to his daughter.  (In fact, I don’t think it’s ever touched on once it happens.)  Just as we all collectively have wondered what might happen were this done, Alligator quickly ramps up the possibilities with some mad, mad science.
 
Where it stumbles – and it does seriously stumble – is that it relies too heavily and too consistently on develops that appear more of a screenwriter’s invention than it does authentic story development.  Granted, storytellers have long established their loathing of corporations and commerce, but couldn’t Sayles come up with anything other than a big pharmaceutical company being the devil behind-the-curtain here?  This trope has come up again and again in Science Fiction and Fantasy, and even back in the 1980’s it was considered ‘old hat.’  To make matters worse, how would it be – sigh – even fashionably possible that said pharmaceutical company would be sponsoring a huge outdoor gala which would be on the dreaded alligator’s escape route from the city?  And – lo and behold – wouldn’t that be just the kind of shindig in which this hungry behemoth could stop and make a meal out of everyone seemingly responsible for its tragic condition?
 
Why … the story practically writes itself!
 
Thankfully, the film does benefit from some good casting.
 

Back in the day, I was very familiar with the face of Robert Forster.  In fact, his work in 1977’s Stunts was a bit of legend for me and my friends.  Stunts – a largely forgettable film about some skullduggery in the movie business – played in a seemingly endless rotation on one of the earliest pay cable channels available in our market, so I and my friends had seen it dozens of times.  (Seriously, don’t seek it out, unless you’re a Forster fan.  Even then, it’s only marginally entertaining.)  As the man of action bent on uncovering the mystery behind his brother’s death, Forster’s ‘Glen Wilson’ was everything a bunch of pre-pubescent roughnecks would want to follow in his footsteps.  He was ‘the man’ for us, and I’ll concede his unflappable charm elevates Alligator in minor ways.
 
Award-nominated actress Robin Riker’s career was really just getting in gear.  IMDB.com shows that she’d enjoyed some small roles in television, and then the opportunity to go to second billing on a Horror feature dropped into her lap.  (You go, girl!)  Naturally, her good looks make her easy-on-the-eyes for audiences, and she pairs up opposite Forster with some nice chemistry despite the fact he’s a bit hard on her in some of the quieter moments.  But men can stare at her gingery goodness all damn day, and that’s a fact.
 
Still, it’s hard for me to recognize Alligator as anything other than a modestly successful B-Movie that benefits from being a formulaic creature feature from an era in which ‘anything goes’ on the silver screen.  It rarely makes sense – yes, I’ve already conceded the “it’s only a movie” argument – and there’s never really all that much time spent with the ‘gator itself.  Call me old-fashioned, but I do like creature features that give me more monster time than anything else; and Alligator’s dark and dreary subterranean settings might be the perfect urban landscape to ratchet up fear, but I wanted more time spent with the critter than with some milquetoast supporting players.
 
Alligator (1980) was produced by Alligator (if you can believe IMDB.com).  (Wikipedia.org reports that it was produced by Group 1 Films.)
 
Mildly recommended.
 
As imperfect as Alligator (1980) was and will always be, I suppose there’s nothing wrong with it occupying some soft space in the hearts of 80’s film fans.  (FYI: soft spots make it easier for the creature to chew!)  It certainly represents a flick whose heart was in the right place, though any critical dissection of its characters, situations, and circumstances grinds the narrative to a serious halt.  Still, kudos to those involved for launching a short-lived gator franchise as well as giving screen time to one of mankind’s more enduring urban legends.  And God bless us Forster and Riker … a match made in cinema heaven.

​-- EZ

For the uninformed: Night Gallery (1969-1973) was an anthology program launched from the mind of Rod Serling, a gifted storyteller who had found previous fame and fortune with the format with the groundbreaking The Twilight Zone (1959-1964).  While the two shows share some thematic sensibilities as well as the propensity to rely entirely on guest stars in key roles, perhaps the significant difference is where Zone relied predominantly on Science Fiction as a backdrop for its tales Gallery tended to explore the supernatural, the occult, and the downright macabre at times.
 
To the show’s credit, Night Gallery enjoyed a pair of Primetime Emmy Awards (one in 1971 and again in 1972 in different categories).  While the program didn’t win, series creator Serling himself took home a 1970 Edgar Allen Poe ‘Special Edgar’ trophy for bringing the program to life, another much deserved nod toward the quality recognized in the man’s ongoing legacy at the time.
 
Recently, I had the good fortune of receiving a complimentary Blu-ray copy of Night Gallery: Season 03, and I wanted to spend some time reviewing a handful of the episodes for interested readers.
 
Today’s installment: “The Girl With The Hungry Eyes” first aired on U.S. broadcast television on October 1, 1972, and the curious yarn starred James Farentino and Joanna Pettet as the fashion photographer and his muse (respectively) thrown together out of mystical circumstance but only one of them has the power to break the spell over mortal men … even at a very high professional cost.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the episode’s IMDB.com citation page:
“Photographer David Faulkner makes the acquaintance of a beautiful but anonymous woman.  A beer manufacturer is entranced by the girl and wants to put her on all of his billboards and demands a meeting with her.  David and every man the girl meets becomes similarly infatuated with her.”
 
In fairness, that synopsis (apparently provided by a reader of IMDB.com) doesn’t quite do the thirty-minute story justice because it only flirts (snicker snicker) with the installment’s subject matter.  Instead, the script credited to Robert Malcolm Young (inspired by a story from Fritz Leiber Jr.) conjures up a bit of TV magic and commentary about beauty, where it comes from, where it might take us culturally, and maybe why it’s more than a bit elusive.  At its core, “The Girl With The Hungry Eyes” only toys with the ideas of advertising and commerce, centering on how something that’s more than a pretty face might move nations to war (or, at least, buying beer), and instead hones in on the dark side of what might make beauty as dangerous as it is lovely to behold.
​

Because this is Rod Serling territory – and it is Night Gallery, after all – there’s also the somewhat supernatural hook: what audiences learn is that this unnamed Girl requires sustenance to survive, and apparently that takes the shape of human souls of the men who gawk at her endlessly with lecherous intent.  Though some might suggest the John Badham-directed episode leans heavily into misogynist sensibilities, I’m inclined to argue that critics would be taking this sugary concoction far too seriously.  One could gender-swap these central roles – make the model a man and the photographer a woman – and the core theme – that of the danger with investing too fervently in the superficial – still rings true.
 
But I digress …
 
Cast as the Girl is the lovely Joanna Pettet, indeed a delicious creature with a face one easily imagines in any and all types of major market media campaigns.  She’s a talent who even bared more than just her soul in the pages of Playboy (1968, for those of you Googling); while her professional career appears to have ended in the early 1990’s, she definitely enjoyed a string of small roles in some of TV’s more memorable franchises.  Still, it’s easy to see her as the inspiration here, and she makes even the anonymous nature of her curious spirit in the piece real enough to be accepted.
 
The late James Farentino – a guy who in my opinion never quite found any big breakthrough performance but turned in solid work whenever called upon – plays the somewhat blue-collar photographer David Faulkner who somehow mysteriously finds the Girl in the last frame of a newly-developed roll of film.  He knows that he didn’t snap her picture, but – captivated as all men are by her radiance and beauty – he can’t help but expand upon their professional encounter more.  Before he knows it, the two of them are bound contractually together, though he’s limited to allowing her to exist in his world without sharing her name, her address, or her true identity.
 
As you can imagine, the magic of The Girl With The Hungry Eyes requires that no one glance too deeply at its premise, perhaps the guiding metaphor for these thirty minutes if there ever were.  When he can’t help himself, Faulkner gets closer and closer to violating the demands his magical model has put on their dubious partnership; but – in the end – he’ll know that she was never quite as real as she was the wistful source of all that men dream about when they’re slaves to hormones they know all too well.  As one might imagine, it only takes a spark to send it all up in smoke … eyes included.
 
Night Gallery: Season 03 (1972-1973) was produced by Universal Television.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber.  As for the technical specifications?  Though I’m not trained video expert, I found the sights and sounds of this episode to be particularly solid.
 
Highly recommended.
 
Though it’s far more magical surrealism than anything else, The Girl With The Hungry Eyes is a winning thirty minutes.  It has just enough story to draw an audience in, and it boasts two central performances – Farentino’s and Pettet’s – that work within the mystical construct of a world both with and without boundaries.  Naturally, Pettet is just damn fabulous to look at – one could expect no less given the tale – but Farentino is man enough to put an end to her shenanigans before it costs him more than his existence.  Good call, my man.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Night Gallery: Season 03 by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ