12 Years a Slave

Unutterably powerful performances in a film of equal weight. I did find myself wondering, about an hour or so into it, if I would be able to endure the entire thing. More than once I had to willingly unsuspend disbelief and remind myself that these were actors and it was all special effects and make-up. Every major character was full-rounded -- even the minor characters were more than two-dimensional -- so much so that, at the end, I felt ashamed and guilty for being relieved and happy that Northrup was rescued. What about all of the others?

What struck me most, living here in Louisiana now, is how slavery not only privileged, but normalized sadism, dehumanization and violence -- and how the effects of that normalization are still felt in southern society. How slavery pitted working-class whites against enslaved blacks in a competition that continues today, and how the oligarchic control of the planters is reflected in the stranglehold that the oil and gas industry has on southern society, and the almost-worshipful attitude of so many toward that industry. It is an attitude that incorporates a great deal of fear as well as envy.

More than half of the large-for-the-early-show audience was African-American, primarily women, which made watching the film an experience in itself. Their reactions were much more personal and also more cultural, providing a Greek chorus of murmured, "Uh-huhs,"  "Lord have mercies," and "Yes, indeeds" to loud exclamations of, "Oh, no, she did not!" and "Oh, yes, she did." And numerous calls to "Give it to him -- give it to him now!" "Someone shoot that man. Just shoot him."

We bought the book a few years ago when the Dr. Sue Eakin spoke about her work in authenticating the narrative at the Louisiana Book Festival, but haven't read it yet. I was astonished to learn that this work, which was so well-known in its day, was all-but-forgotten in the 20th century, but admit that even I have been put off from starting it due to the 19th century phraseology.

The Harmonists vs the Saphhires

Coincidentally, we have watched two modern movie musicals in the past few months based on "true stories" of musical groups, and they couldn't be more different. The first, "The Harmonists," a German film released in that country as "The Comedian Harmonists," is a relatively faithful story of the career, life, and loves of the group of the same name in pre-WWII Nazi Germany. The original recordings of the group are used as the soundtrack, which adds to the authenticity of the piece and avoids any sense of parody, which is always a temptation with music from that period. The performers lipsyncing is perfect and they also flawlessly incorporate the physical mannerisms that would have accompanied the pieces in concert.

A bit of a spoiler here -- none of the characters is killed or sent to a concentration camp. Which is not to say that the politics of the time are not a major issue in the movie. The script moves seamlessly through the social and political changes between 1928 and 1934, and demonstrates with subtle, yet chilling, effect, how German society, becomes ever more anti-Semitic, almost without recognizing it. The legal restrictions that are put in place are so very gradual that individuals are able to justify and rationalize them and ignore the warnings of those with a clearer vision, until it's literally too late. More than once, a Jewish character insists that Germany is too civilized, too modern, too rational, to be going down the road that it has clearly embarked upon. Contemporary parallels were, in some cases, almost too easy to draw, particularly in regard to the rise of extreme nationalistic sentiment and vilification of "the other."

The characters in the film are extremely well-rounded; we see their strengths and weaknesses, their flaws and their finer points. Even the Nazis are shown as human beings, albeit morally and emotionally deformed ones. The movie is in no way predictable, although some of it is inevitable. We see the Jewish characters struggling with their own sense of identity, as what they consider an ethnicity, if they consider it at all, becomes an uneradicable stigma, while the "Aryan" members of the group are forced to confront the racism at the heart of "their" society. Highly recommended.

The contrast between this film and "The Sapphires" could not be stronger. Other than the setting and the name of the group, "The Sapphires" has nothing in common with the "true story" on which it is based. This would not be an issue, except that the deviations are all in the direction of cliche, formula, and sexism. The original group had made a name for itself singing in various locations in Melbourne -- they were not "discovered" in an outback talent show by a down-at-heels male musician who would become their manager and lead them to success. They were invited to sing in Vietnam; they did not have to compete with other groups. Obviously, as there was no man in the picture, there was no "Taming of the Shrew" love story. The script was written by the son of one of the original Sapphires, and, as is frequently the case, suffers from a lack of objectivity. There are far too many "lessons" being taught -- the Lost Generation, Australian racism, the horrors of war -- and the Aboriginals and their society are romanticized.

Because the characters are stereotypes and the storyline is cliched, the film drags whenever the focus moves away from the musical performances. The mildly erotic interludes are just embarrassing because they are predictable and formulaic and there is no real chemistry between the couples (well, maybe between Mailman and O'Dowd). Worse, one of the girls is made out to be something of a slut, cheating on her fiance back home. The characters are so under-developed and the plot so thin, that it is a shock when one girl accuses another of having been attracted to a soldier only because he provided her with alcohol and drugs. We never see any of that, nor is there any evidence provided for her rebuttal that all of the soldiers are stoned most of the time. While that was undoubtedly true, the line is just thrown in there to try to provide some sense of the period, without spending the time to show us. 

The film is set in the early 60s, during the Vietnam Era, which makes the anachronisms -- "Cajun blackened catfish," Tupperware of the wrong period, among others -- glaringly obvious to anyone over the age of 40.

On the other hand, the music is very good and the costumes are fabulous!

Border Incident

Mike has been adding movies to the top of the Netflix queue again. The less said about "The Witch's Mirror," the better all our lives will be, although I do need to remember to"The Sands of Iwo Jima." But first, while it's fresh in my mind, "Border Incident," a 1949 movie directed by Anthony Mann and starring a young Ricardo Montalban as Mexican special agent Pablo Rodriguez. A timely film, it teams Montalban with George Murphy as an American immigration agent. Together, they attempt to break a Mexican farmworker smuggling ring operated by the ruthless, yet civilized and genteel, Howard Da Silva. The movie also illuminates and celebrates the little-known Bracero guest worker program, in force from 1942 through 1964, which was  designed to alleviate agricultural labor shortages due to WWII.

The film begins slowly and, frankly, badly. As was not uncommon at the time, the first 10 minutes or so are strongly reminiscent of educational films of the day, as the narrator provides information about the farmworker situation that verges on propaganda. In an unintentionally humorous scene, farmworkers are massacred in the Canyon del Muerte (yes, I know, that's not humorous) and their bodies dumped into quicksand. The bodies disappear in mere seconds beneath what looks like moist sawdust.

The next 10-15 minutes continue the exposition, this time with a cast of extras who make a valiant effort, but have a tendency to mumble their lines. Once Montalban and Murphy take center stage, the action -- and the acting -- improve. We are also introduced to the ringleader on the Mexican side of the border, Hugo Wolfgang Ulrich, played by Sig Ruman in a very different role from those he played in the Marx Brothers' films. Veteran actor Arthur Hunnicutt will be immediately familiar to fans of . .  well, just about any 1960s and 70s television show, this time playing against type as one of the Hugo's murderous thugs.

Despite a tendency to preach, the film does an admirable job of attempting to portray the exploitation of the farm workers and the ruthlessness of those who are using them. The illegal braceros are paid one-third the legal rate; 20% of their pay is taken by the foreman and another 40% withheld for meals. One of the workers notes that he would have made more working in Mexico.

As the beginning scenes demonstrate, it does not shy away from violence. The ending, however, is so utopian and so patriotic that I had to salute. Braceros are once again working under the watchful and protective eye of two governments, in safe and sanitary conditions, and earning their full due. The movie was made before opposition from organized labor brought the program to a close, primarily because it served depress wages and decreased the number of domestic farm workers.

Filmed in and around El Centro and Mexicali, the setting and scenery are as much a part of the cast as any actor, thanks to cinematographer John Alton's deft handling. Much of the film takes place at night, and the moon, car headlights, porch lights -- all kinds of light -- are used to great effect, as, of course are shadows.

It is not, however, as many on IMDB would have it, a film noir. Yes, it is in black and white and many of the cinematic effects are derived from that style, but the essence of film noir is the decent man caught in a web of circumstance beyond his control. Noir, is at heart, cynical; the ending of this film is anything but. Oh, yeah, and there's no femme fatale. There's a bleached blonde floozy, but that's not the same thing at all.

It's not a psychological drama, either; not really. It's a propaganda piece made by two very skillful and experienced movie makers.

Simon, King of the Witches

After a "long wait" and a broken DVD, we finally settled down to watch what we thought would be a delightfully campy 1970s horror film. Unfortunately, it was neither delightful nor campy, and the only horrible part was the length, although it is guaranteed to offend every Wiccan out there, except maybe those with a sense of humor. They'll still be offended -- but amused at the same time.

And it reminds us of how far we've come in terms of depictions of gay men.

According to something I read somewhere, but of course cannot find now, this was either written or produced (or was it directed?) by a true believer in witchcraft who wanted to make a movie about how it "really is," and that's exactly what this movie feels like -- a low-budget documentary. Simon indulges in long, pedantic explanations of what he is doing and why, and the scenes of magic are played not only straight but sincerely.

According to IMDB it's a "cult classic," but I don't think that's quite true. It's not quite over the top enough to be a cult classic. It's more like a "cult curiosity."

I won't bore you with the plot, which you can find on IMDB. I will say that it's a real trip back to the 70s, with macrame, chokers, dashikis, and psychadelica galore. The "Wiccan" ceremony includes a priestess played by Ultra Violet, skulls, nudity and a live goat. But it is a good 30 minutes too long, which is saying a lot about a movie that is barely an hour and a half.

Two Maltese Falcons and a Lady

One of the dangers of being confined to the house after bunion surgery is that Mike gets to go shopping by himself.  A recent trip to Sam's Club for milk, eggs, and bread resulted in a 2-disc special edition of "The Maltese Falcon," which includes the 1931 and 1941 movies by that title and the 1936 version, "Satan Met a Lady." Or should I say, one of the benefits?

We're watching them in chronological order, so first a review of the 1931 film, with Bebe Daniels as Ruth Wonderly, Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade, and Una Merkle as Effie. The title was changed to "Dangerous Female" when it was sold to t.v. in the 1950s, so it's no wonder that most of us were not aware of this version.

My first reaction was that the film was woefully miscast. Bebe Daniels, while quite the looker, did not have the depth to play an international woman of mystery. Her character is only ever called Ruth Wonderly, which is emblematic of the simplification of the role. This is particularly notable when Spade mocks her for having a "throb in your voice," which could not be further from the truth.

Ricardo Cortez also lacked the necessary depth and complexity. He played Spade as a slick ladies' man, not to say gigolo. His smile was too broad, his deliver too light, his reactions too studied. Of course, he was cast for the role because the film makers were trying to produce a sophisticated, romantic film, not a gritty, hardboiled detective story. Spade's office bright, clean, and well-appointed; his apartment is large and opulently-furnished. Una Merkle was a bright spot as Sam's Girl Friday, with too much good sense to become involved with him romantically. Dudley Digges' Caspar Gutman is more a small-town crime boss than a dreaded power-behind-the-scenes; Dwight Frye looks the part of Wilmer and does a credible job with what little he's given to do; Otto Matieson was surprisingly good as Joel Cairo; he is precise rather than prissy. Probably because of the focus on Sam's exploits, the homosexual undercurrents among those three are considerably toned down, although they are still present.

The script eliminates most of what would later become iconic lines, in favor of focusing on Spade as a womanizer. When we are first introduced to Spade, it is as one half of a silhouette seen through his outer office door, of a man and woman kissing. The door opens, and the camera focuses on the woman's legs, as she adjusts her silk stockings (the ones with a seam up the back).  Archer returns from a business trip, he is in time to catch his wife and Spade in an intimate conversation on the phone. In this pre-code film, very little is left to the imagination, unlike the later versions, which had to make due with insinuation and suggestion. When Spade offers to sleep on the couch and give his bed to Miss Wonderly, she replies, "I wouldn't want to put you out," and in the next scene, is coming out of his bedroom in a negligee and kimono. Iva Archer arrives not long after, forces her way into the room, sees Miss Wonderly, and demands to know, "Who is that woman in my kimona?" Next morning, we see Miss Wonderly sleeping in Sam's bed, and a very distinct impression on the pillow next to her; later, she is taking a bath and talking to Sam through the door. Later, he strip searches her in his kitchen, when the $1000 bill goes missing. He orders her to remove her clothes, and we see her throw her gloves and coat at him. Later, we see her listening at the kitchen door, bare-shouldered, her clothes clutched to her chest.

As with "Baby Face," an awkward ending is tacked on to please the censors. First, Spade presents a witness to Wonderly's killing of Archer, a Chinese man with whom he had spoken in Chinese when he went to view the scene of the crime, so that there is no doubt about her guilt. Of course, this means that he knew that she was the murderer all along, which begs the question of why he became romantically involved with her. Then, he Spade visits her in prison, to tell her that he's joined the D.A.'s office. She mocks him and sends him on his way, then looks after him with tears in her eyes. He tells the Matron to treat her well and give her anything she wants, and to send the bill to the D.A.'s office where, he laughingly says, "I'll OK it!" I'm still trying to work that one out; the best I can do is that it is an attempt to provide a happy ending and to possibly justify his relationship with her as being based on love, but they do it at the cost of corruption in the D.A.'s office. Strange.

Re-viewing Abrams "Star Trek"

I told Mike that I should have watched the first of the new "Star Trek" movies again before we saw the second one because I really didn't remember it. I remembered that we watched it; I remembered the new actors; I remembered that Nimoy was in it; I remembered that it had something to do with time travel and that it created an alternate universe, but I did not remember any of the details of the plot.

So, I got the DVD from Netflix and watched it yesterday, and realized that it was a good thing that I had not watched it earlier, or I would have sat through the second film saying, "But this is the saaaaaaaame movie! It's based on the same original film! It's the same plot! It's the same action sequences! It's the same weaknesses!"

Do-do-do-doooo, do-do-dooo

Yes, that's my rendering of the theme to Raiders of the Lost Ark, this week's classic cinema offering at Cinemark, and yet another film that I had not seen in its entirety on the big screen. The first time I saw it was in 1982 or 1983, at the student union theater -- where it cost all of probably 50 cents. I don't remember exactly, but what I do remember was deciding at the last minute to hit the restroom, because "nothing ever happens in the first 10 minutes of a movie; it's just the set-up."

I returned to my seat, and said, confidently, to my friend, who had warned me not to go, "I didn't miss anything, did I?" She looked at me (in the dark) and said, "Yes," and then turned back to the screen. It didn't take me long to realize that I had, in all likelihood, missed "something."

So, this was my chance to see it from the beginning in all its action-packed glory. It's marginally possible that I have seen it from the beginning on television or VCR or even possibly a DVD, but if so, it really, really didn't count. A 19" diagonal boulder just doesn't have the same impact -- figuratively or literally.

This first installment in the now-cultural capital quartet still holds up as far as storytelling, characterization, sets and costuming go. Some of the high-tech special effects seem rather obvious and clunky today, but the re-enactment of Yakima Canutt's classic "drop" stunt is a stunning as ever. Harrison Ford was -- a young Harrison Ford. The Nazis are truly nasty and villainous through and through, as is Indie's bete noir, Belloq; nothing complex or complicated about any of them.

Karen Allen's slightly-better-than-the-girl-next-door look was a refreshing change from the ubiquitous stick-insect stripper we get in so many films today, as was the fact that she was much more age appropriate at only 10 years younger. Finally, a damsel who can be counted on to pick up the nearest object and brain a villain or even, if it comes to it, shoot him in the back.

While the film draws on all of those serials and action films of the past, it also served as an inspiration for many movies and television shows that would come after it, and I'm not just talking about that hack rip-off, Romancing the Stone. The reality is that today, I would never assume that nothing would happen in the first 10 minutes of a movie. Poltergeist owes much to the opening of the Ark, as do so many supernatural-themed movies, and where would Warehouse 13 and its ilk be without, well, the search for lost relics and the warehouse?

I think we need to see Crystal Skull again now, so that I can truly appreciate it's homage-ness.

"The Big Sleep" hat trick

I am not alone in considering the 1946 film version of "The Big Sleep" to be one of the defining American films noir. The cast is uniformly excellent, the dialogue is snappy, the action is brisk, the characters are well-defined and complex. The screenplay certainly takes liberty with the plot of the novel, but only in the interest of better film-making.

So, I was intrigued to discover that Robert Mitchum had starred in a 1978 remake. Mitchum earned his own reputation among the hardboiled set,  and of course had played Marlowe in 1975's Farewell, My Lovely, so I was interested to see what he did with the role in this film. Sadly, not much. He seemed not so much world weary and cynical as bored and jaded. The film is pedestrian for many reasons, and his plodding through it is just one of them.

The script is much more faithful to the novel than the older version, but that simply demonstrates that novels as novels don't make very good movies and that there are few modern screenwriters who can match William Faulkner, especially when he was working with Leigh Brackett and Jules Furthman.

It also demonstrates that showing rather than suggesting is not necessarily -- indeed is seldom -- superior. I've read any number of reviews on IMDB that claim the original "left out" the nudity, drugs, sex, etc. of the book. Nonsense. Any adult who is paying attention knows exactly what is going on and what is being discussed. Do we need to see the nude photos of Carmen Sternwood to know why she is so desperate to retrieve them? Do we need to see the needle and the tourniquet to know why she posed for them in the first place?

However, it is testament to how little society had changed in 30 years, that the the scandals, motives, and characters of the books still had the power to titillate and shock. There is no explanation, though, for the change to the ending.

A word to filmmakers. If you're going to insist on re-making a movie that does not need to be remade, that has maintained a loyal following for nearly 70 years, and that appears on every list of classic films noir, don't try to make it on the cheap. On the other hand, if your principal is a down-at-the-heels private detective, don't put him in tailored suits and give him a $50,000 car to drive and house him in an upscale London flat.

I assume that a limited budget is the only reason for hiring a gaggle of second-rate ham actors and setting this film in London. Oh, and if you do move this quintessentially American film to London, make sure that all of the principles are British; although trying to work out why the some, but not all, of the Sternwoods were Americans living in London did provide a modicum of distraction.

If you absolutely must film it in color, keep the sets small, tight, claustrophobic. No sweeping landscapes, open, airy rooms with light, bright furnishings, or sunny gardens.

As much as I adore Jimmy Stewart, he was woefully miscast as General Sternwood. I didn't for one minute believe that he was the "very dull survival of a very gaudy life." Dull survival yes -- gaudy life, no. And he exuded far too much regret, rather than cynicism. He was sad rather than bitter, a pitiful, rather than a grand, wreck.

The rest of the cast was either amateurish or overblown. Richard Boone's Lash Canino was an embarrassment. Sarah Miles -- actually, she suffers from being compared unfairly with Lauren Bacall. She did play her character fairly closely to the one presented in the book, an unsympathetic character with no sexual tension between her and Marlowe. However, Candy Clark was painful to watch. She played the role as a spoiled brat, rather than a sly, malicious psychopath. And even at that, it is an amateurish performance. Joan Collins -- someone put that woman in a soap opera. She had all the subtlety of a high school drama queen.

Although perhaps I should not be blaming the actors; Michael Winner is no Howard Hawks. He was obviously far more interested in the violence and horror/gross potential than in the characters or their motives. There is nothing subtle or understated in the entire film and all of the supporting characters are one-dimensional villains straight out of melodrama. It could easily be argued that Winner, et al., really did not understand the essence of either hardboiled detective fiction or film noir. Their decisions as to what to life verbatim from the novel and what to leave out seem more designed to move the plot along rather than to convey character, emotion, or atmosphere.

Oh, what's the hat trick? It's the novel, which has just moved to the top of my "to be re-read immediately" list.

Casablanca and Cleopatra -- digitally restored and on the big screen; and evidence of First Contact

Both movies were recently shown as part of the Cinemark Classics series. Despite having seen Casablanca enough times to be able to recite nearly the entire movie along with the actors, I'd never seen it on the big screen. I may have seen it on a moderately large screen in my college film appreciation class, but that might have been Citizen Kane.

And it did make a difference -- subtle, but noticeable. The street scenes were far more detailed and atmospheric, and somewhat claustrophobic; that sense of being in a crush of people, all moving and talking and shoving, really came through. The lighting, the sets, the close-ups, the emotions : this was more than seeing the movie as it was meant to be seen, it was experiencing it as it was meant to be experienced.

So, when Mike noticed on Monday that Cleopatra was showing today, there was not question that we'd be seeing it. There is nothing subtle about this cinematic spectacle, even on the small screen, so we were prepared to be overwhelmed, and we were.

From the opening scene, with literally thousands of extras -- that's thousands of real, live human beings, not CGI clones -- to the final shot of Cleopatra decked out in her gold Isis dress, this film defines "spectacle." The colors; the sets; the cast; the sex; the politics; the sexual politics. This is a movie truly for adults, who can infer what the movie implies.

Elizabeth Taylor is luminous. Richard Harrison is, by turns, dignified and regal and terrified. He makes Caesar's transformation from Roman general to would-be dictator real and believable. Roddy McDowell is, as usual, only too believable as the scheming, treacherous Octavian. And Richard Burton -- well, only in his alcohol-fueled pipe dreams does Russell Crowe even come close to standing in his shadow. And the supporting cast is as excellent, although I found Hume Cronyn somewhat bland and wooden.

And, with the exception of a few painted backdrops, there are no "special effects" (and those hardly count). All of those sets were built from the ground up. All of those sphinxes. Everything. And then there is that triumphal entrance into Rome. The movie is worth seeing just for that scene.

Interestingly, Cleopatra's hairstyle and clothing becomes increasingly modern as the film progresses. Her straight, chin-length bob eventually morphs into a waist-length mane of romantic curls, while her initially sheer, revealing vaguely Egyptian robes give way to demure, almost matronly dresses after she becomes a mother and a woman in love. She is no longer a powerful political threat, no longer able to use her sexual abilities to manipulate men.

I won't bore you with a repetition of the plot, as we all know the story, but I did discover something fascinating. Evidence of First Contact. I thought they were Vulcans at first, but then I realized that, of course, they were Romulans. Romulans were behind the fall of the Egyptian empire. Oh, yes. If you don't believe me, take a look at this. He was going by the name of Ramos (Ramos -- Romulan. A coincidence? I think not). I saw at least two more in the Egyptian military.

Star Trek : Into Darkness (Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers)

It has not been two years since we were last at a theatre, but we do watch a lot more streaming these days. Thanks to a colleague's gift of a Fandango gift card (an entirely unnecessary "thank you" for giving her a lift on a few occasions), we've recently seen "Casablanca" on the big screen, and today, ST:ID.

As with the first movie in this new franchise, I was relieved that the actors are not trying to do impersonations of the actors in "our" universe, and that the accents are accurate (ok -- more accurate). The core personalities are correct, but these are new expressions that are the result of different circumstances. And, of course, they are younger chronologically and in terms of their career.

This remake of "Wrath of Khan" -- I told you there were spoilers -- manages to introduce nearly all of the same characters and most of the same tropes, but in a 21st century framework.

Kirk's dressing down by Pike was something that many of us have been waiting 50 years for. It didn't happen in our universe, but it should have. It felt good and it felt right. We had to wait until the original "Wrath of Khan" for Kirk to finally have to take responsibility for the consequences of his command decisions.

But why did Spock agree to create the volcano neutralizer in the first place? It clearly violated the prime directive. That was never explained or even addressed. (And was I the only one whispering, "My preciousssss -- my precioussss?")

According to the Onion, this movie lacks a heavy-handed message. Whoever wrote that clearly didn't watch the film. Less than 30 minutes in, we are aware that this is truly a post-9/11 Star Trek. A terrorist attack leads to a controversy over targeting the villain vs capturing him and bringing him back for trial. Added to that is the secret development and use of super-duper smart "photon torpedos" -- or drones by any other name. Oh, and let's not forget that the villain has escaped to Iraq the Klingon home world of Kronos, and that Star Fleet is developing weapons of mass destruction in secret.

Secrets abound in this entry. There are also the secrets surrounding the villain. I admit that I did not identify Khan until Sherlock he was about 30 seconds in to his speech. Of all the actors, Cumberbatch was the least effective. His trademark clinical detachment is simply not convincing; I didn't believe for a moment that he was burning with an intense desire to save his people and for vengeance. In fact, I originally thought he was some kind of robot or android. Of course, the backstory he's given doesn't support it, either. There's nothing like watching your beloved wife die to push a megalomaniac over the edge. Saving a bunch of popsicles just doesn't have the same emotional weight. Now, if Admiral Marcus had destroyed a few of them . . . but I guess there is a limit to how far the writers were willing to go.

Both Mike and I murmured that we did not trust Carol Wallace. A blonde with a Ph.D.? Please -- it's unnatural. And we were right -- and wrong. Given her accent, we thought she was in league with the villain -- both limeys -- but then it's revealed that she's Carol Marcus, pre-David, of course, with a degree in weapons engineering, not bioengineering. Why is she a limey when her daddy is clearly an American?

Uhura speaks Klingon to the Klingons -- after she forces Kirk to backdown. Sulu shows us what he's made of. Yeah, he'll be a captain of his own starship in this universe, too. And this ships are big -- massively, overpoweringly big. No short, narrow studio corridors for this crew. Christine Chapel has gone off to be a nurse. Hmmmmm . . .

The action sequences owed a little too much to "Star Wars" for my taste -- and were too long. And will someone please explain to me why the Earth has not one single planetary defense system in place? Not even over Star Fleet? Honestly -- not even a simple deflector beam to repulse rogue comets and asteroids!

And then there's the ending. Spock's big moment -- given to Kirk. I feel like Jan Brady -- "Kirk, Kirk, Kirk, it's always Kirk!" On the other hand, only a Vulcan would have stood a chance against Khan, and we get to see Spock unleash some of his repressed Vulcan rage, and Uhura gets to do something more than open hailing frequencies.

But it lacked the emotional impact of the original. By this point in the film, we knew it was coming, so there was no shock value. And, not only had I already realized how they would save Kirk, but we were not witnessing what was, for us, the end of a 20-year friendship. However, with luck, we were witnessing the beginning of one.

The epilogue, on the other hand, brought everything back around full circle. We're back in our familiar Star Trek world where normal human beings, not super heroes, have overcome poverty and ignorance and (most) disease; where every alien is a potential friend; where space holds untold wonders, just waiting for us to discover them. Yeah, that's why we keep coming back for more.

Ok -- I admit it -- I cried (a little) when the original theme started playing during the end credits.