40 Years Later, It’s Still One of the Smartest Comedies Ever Made From One of the Dumbest Possible Premises.
Clue (1985) somehow caught lightning in a bottle, and has held onto it for four decade; this same lightning was then shaken and thrown against the silver screen in the most delightfully chaotic ways imaginable. Forty years later, this all-star murder mystery based on the classic boardgame remains sharper, funnier, and more lovingly crafted than most prestige comedies released today. What should have been a disposable novelty became a masterpiece of comedic architecture, tonal discipline, and ensemble chemistry. I first discovered it on VHS from my local public library, and even then I knew I had stumbled onto something special. My sister loves it as much as I do. It’s a movie that works on you—and then keeps working every time you revisit it.
For my show ReelTalk on WKGC Public Media this week, I invited returning guest and friend of the show, film critic Sean Boelman to join me in our celebration of Clue‘s 40th anniversary. You can listen to the show by clicking the appropriate link below. While my article captures the highlights of what Sean and I discuss, listening to the show after reading the article, you’ll have a much more robust experience!
At its core, Clue commits fully to three things most comedic mysteries never attempt at the same time: total absurdity, airtight plotting, and theatrical precision. Most films in the genre pick one lane—either slapstick, or clever mystery, or witty farce—but Clue weaves them together with an elegance that belies how frantic the movie feels moment to moment. Unlike many modern adaptations drowning in CGI, brand synergy, or self-aware winking, Clue treats its ludicrous premise with the sincere craftsmanship of an Agatha Christie play–yet–Clue’s apparatus is actually more closely related to the boardgame play than to the typical Christie literary apparatus. The humor is character-driven, rooted in rhythm, timing, and razor-sharp verbal dexterity. That sincerity, combined with its unhinged heart, is why the film remains timeless.
Much of Clue’s durability stems from how it uses language as a weapon. This is not a movie relying on boardgame nostalgia or shallow references; it is powered by dense wordplay, screwball pacing, and overlapping exchanges that feel plucked from a stage farce running at espresso speed. Every performer is asked to treat their lines with theatrical precision. The jokes arrive in layers, often stacked on top of each other, rewarding audiences who pay attention and enhancing the comedy with every rewatch. By grounding the absurdity in craft—rather than irony—the film avoids collapsing into randomness. It feels smart, not silly; intentional, not accidental. Humor this tightly constructed simply does not age.
Another reason the film works: it respects the genre it’s parodying. Clue doesn’t mock murder mysteries from a distance. It commits to the melodrama, the red herrings, the stakes—even as it gleefully skewers them. Parody only works when sincerity lies beneath the joke. Modern adaptations often fail because they either drown in self-awareness or cling to seriousness so tightly the comedy feels bolted on. Clue threads the needle by honoring the mechanics of a whodunit while joyfully stretching them to the breaking point. It loves the sandbox it’s playing in, and the audience can feel that affection.
Of course, the film’s most unforgettable asset is its ensemble cast, which may be one of the best comedic troupes ever assembled on screen. These are character actors trained in theater, sketch, and improv—who understand timing and ensemble harmony better than any star-studded ensemble today. Tim Curry’s manic precision, Madeline Kahn’s volcanic eccentricity, Michael McKean’s brilliant awkwardness, Lesley Ann Warren’s slinky aloofness—every actor is distinct, yet completely in tune with the film’s wavelength. No one competes for the spotlight; instead, every moment becomes a relay race of comedic energy. Modern ensemble films often feel like stitched-together “bits.” Clue feels alive, reactive, and musical. It is an ensemble in the purest sense.
And then, of course, there are the multiple endings—a theatrical gamble so audacious it could have sunk the film entirely. Instead, it became an iconic part of its identity. In 1985, you never knew which ending you’d get in theaters, a cheeky nod to the board game’s replayability. Instead of feeling gimmicky, it felt organic to the world of the film—a natural extension of its playful tone and farcical structure. Today, a studio would almost certainly turn the idea into a marketing ploy or streaming bonus feature, but in Clue, the endings are crafted with sincerity and precision, not cynicism. They’re not content strategy; they’re punchlines.
The film’s simplicity is another key to its longevity. Where modern game adaptations inflate themselves into lore-heavy franchises, Clue keeps everything contained in one house with one group of increasingly frantic characters. The mansion becomes a pressure cooker where personality collisions become the main spectacle. No elaborate world-building, no digital spectacle—just smart writing, sharp performances, and a commitment to letting the humor build naturally. The film’s scale is its strength.
Would Clue still find an audience today? Absolutely—although probably through a different path. Theatrical comedy has become a rare species, and a film this verbally dense might struggle to secure screen space. But word of mouth would spread like wildfire, and social media would turn its most quotable lines into instant memes. If anything, its intelligence, compact scope, and genuine ensemble work would feel refreshingly rebellious in today’s IP-heavy landscape.
What ultimately makes Clue endlessly rewatchable—more than contemporaries like Knives Out—is that it’s a comedy first and a mystery second. The joy doesn’t hinge on solving the puzzle; it hinges on watching these characters unravel in the most glorious fashion. Puzzles fade with familiarity. Brilliant performances only deepen. The more you watch Clue, the funnier it becomes.
So what is Clue’s greatest legacy? It proved something rare: that a film can be wildly silly and intellectually sharp at the same time. It’s a miracle of tonal balance, ensemble synchronicity, and writerly discipline. A movie that treats its audience with respect even as it descends into delightful chaos. A movie that should have been forgotten…yet became unforgettable.
Forty years later, Clue remains the gold standard—not because it adapts a board game faithfully, but because it transcends one. It is lightning in a bottle. And every time we open that bottle, the spark still flies.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media and host of the show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
The magic of Sunset Boulevard is still capturing the “eyes of the world” from all those “wonderful people out there in the dark” seventy-five years later.
There is little question that Billy Wilder’s masterpiece Sunset Boulevard still captures the eyes, hearts, minds, and souls of audiences seventy-five years later. It continues to stare unblinking into the soul of Hollywood—and, perhaps uncomfortably, into the faces of all those people out there in the dark. Billy Wilder’s mordant masterpiece starring Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond endures not only because of its sharp wit, noir elegance, and unforgettable performances, but because it remains a mirror for an industry—and an audience—forever tempted to trade substance for novelty. Its barbed satire of fading stars, disposable talent, and a studio system eager to discard the past feels eerily prescient in an era when algorithms decide what stories are worth telling and studios recycle intellectual property like celluloid scraps. Watching it now, one realizes the film is not merely a relic of old Hollywood’s cynicism—it is an indictment of the complacency of contemporary audiences and the short-term greed of the modern industry. Sunset Boulevard has not grown old; it’s the world around it that has refused to grow up.
Since its release on 10th of August in 1950, it has been the inspiration to countless films. But what does it mean to you? What makes it special or stand out to you? Perhaps you just see it as an iconic film; or just maybe, you see it as representing something personal to you. From classic noir cinematography to some of the most quoted lines of all time, Norma Desmond’s spirit lives on. So much for Joe Gillis’ line about her “still waving proudly to a parade that has long since passed her by;” she is still as alive today as she ever was. Serving as a mirror to the current state of Hollywood, Billy Wilder’s film shed light on the darker side of celebrity that still haunts to this very day. This timeless movie provoked Hollywood to take a cynical and honest look at itself, and the dangerous price of stardom–especially when the star is fading into obscurity. Poignantly arriving near the end of the Golden Era (or Studio System), this cinematic masterpiece continues to be the epitome of a Hollywood and anti-Hollywood film for all eternity. Beyond what it meant historically or industry-wise, it holds meaning and significance for many who watch it. One of its strengths to withstand the test of time is the fact is its ability to connect with people visuals and emotionally. That, combined with solid technical aspects, makes for a dynamic cinema experience.
Part of what still beckons the “eyes of the world” is the movie’s ability to tell the story within a story. Gloria Swanson’s performance as Norma Desmond is so perfectly calibrated that audiences sometimes forget she was playing a role at all. Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett deliberately wove elements of Gloria Swanson’s real life into Norma’s backstory, yet the parallels are only part of the truth. Swanson was both exactly Norma Desmond and nothing like her—especially when you consider her remarkable adaptability and forward-thinking nature. She saw greatness in the character and the film, and saw this as her triumphant return to the screen in an important picture. In many ways, Gloria took a role that was essentially making a mockery of everything she once stood for. Like Norma Desmond, Swanson was one of Hollywood’s highest paid performers from the teens until the early 1930s. Following the advent of talkies in 1927 and the changes in the studio system thereafter, her career floundered. Yet, she carried herself with poise, theatricality, and unapologetic glamour—qualities that translated naturally into Norma’s imperious, otherworldly presence. If you’re looking for a real life “Norma Desmond,” then look to silent film actress May Murray—she did live in the past after her star faded, and was reported to have been rather eccentric. Gloria, however, proved that those ghosts didn’t have to haunt you if you kept moving forward. Which she did—in radio, television, theatre, fashion, and even technology.
1941: American actress Gloria Swanson (1899 – 1983) plays glamorous film star Leslie Collier in ‘Father Takes a Wife’, directed by Jack Hively. (Photo by Ernest Bachrach)
The role of Norma Desmond was originally offered to Mae West and then Mary Pickford, but both turned it down. Pickford recommended Gloria. Suffice to say, the role cannot be imagined to have been brought to life by anyone else. No one could capture the character of Norma Desmond like Gloria Swanson. Throughout the movie, we witness the psychological breakdown of a woman who is already seriously afflicted with chronic depression and even agoraphobia. I feel as though many actors, and even some industry professionals who are not performers, can truly understand what must have been going through the mind of Norma Desmond. Actually, even for those who are not involved in entertainment or media can still see someone who felt betrayed and left alone to drift away. We’ve all been there. Feeling like we have so much to give the world, our community, or to the arts, and no one to take or acknowledge it. Norma isn’t going through anything that we have not been through. Essentially, Norma’s significant other, or partner, was her celluloid self, the studio, the industry. And when her partner left her, never to return, she developed serious psychological and cognitive disorders. Each person who chooses to watch her downward spiral into insanity, should be able to identify with her on some level regarding something in their life. For Norma, it was being back on screen again. For you, it may be something else.
Fascinating elements of this story include the bewildering world of what lies between the glory and the fall of a celebrity who feels as though she built Hollywood, more specifically Paramount Studios. Never before had there been a movie that was developed around the idea of what happens to a star after they are rejected by the very business that created them. Serving as the inspiration to the opening scene of American Beauty nearly 50 years prior, Wilder set the standard in the dead body of the protagonist narrating the film. Like the fog over London, Gillis’ spirit hovers over the entire movie, narrating the course of events that lead to his demise. Joe gets to do what any of us would enjoy doing–getting to observe what happens after we die and how everyone reacts. Just like having a soundtrack to your life would be amazing, getting to narrate your story after you die would be equally, if not more so, enamoring.
William (Bill) Holden’s character of Joe Gillis is the prime representation of a starving artist. He lives in a tiny apartment, has a few credits to his name and is in danger of having his car repossessed. That describes many artists today, thus allowing other aspiring screenwriters and filmmakers to identify with his frustrations. Like a true film noir, the ending is tragic for the protagonist. Part of the suspense is wondering just when will he meet his end and why. For those who are trying to make it in the industry as a screenwriter, the grief and depression Joe must been feeling is something with which aspiring screenwriters can empathize.
Sunset Boulevard contains something for everyone: elements of mystery, action, romance, and deceit are woven meticulously throughout the film. This allows for the story to transcend decades of movie evolution and maintain such a high regard in the minds of all the “people out there in the dark.” And, even land a spot on the Great White Way in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard Broadway musical. It’s been rumored that Paramount plans to make a movie version of the Broadway show, but that rumor has been floating around Hollywood for years. As much as the the musical is a tribute to the original, the movie will always be more impactful because the stage simply cannot bring you as close to eyes of the actor as the screen can. And, Norma “can say anything with [her] eyes.” But, thanks to Barbra Streisand keeping the songs alive, “With One look” and “As if We Never Said Goodbye” are brilliantly written to capture the feelings and state of mind of Norma.
Regarding the screenplay itself, it is not a matter of what’s going to happen as much as it is how’s it going to happen. This pioneering non-linear structure served as yet inspiration for another film that would not be produced for nearly 60 years. Along with All About Eve and Citizen Kane, Sunset Boulevard played an instrumental role in the development of the 1994 blockbuster Pulp Fiction. A lesser known 2001 movie borrows many plot points from Sunset Boulevard including the movie title being a street name, entitled Muholland Drive starring Naomi Watts, Justin Theroux, and Laura Harring. Sort of a neo-noir, this is a more modern twist on the foundation Wilder laid with his masterpiece. On that note, now-a-days, non-linear films aren’t necessarily anything special, but at the time, Sunset Boulevard broke ground that would be the standard in abandoning traditional story structure. To me, the screenplay was written in such a way that many people can find his or her own story in the screenplay. Perhaps, someone feels like they are Norma–all but forgotten. Perhaps, there is a starving artist out there who can understand the predicament Joe Gillis was in–just trying to get ahead. To a lesser extent, there may be Betty Schaefer’s watching the movie who feel they have a lot of talent, but very little is recognized and want to find a creative outlet.
Unlike previous films, this movie was also ahead of its time in terms of including dark sarcasm and humor as chief elements in the film. Other aspects that capture the ears of the world, to Miss Desmond’s disapproval, are the famous lines from the movie. Ironically, Desmond despised dialog; however, her movie possesses the coveted numbers 7 and 24 spots on AFI’s Top Movie Quotes list. At number 24, “…I am big! It’s the pictures that got small;” and at number 7, ranking above “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship” and “what we have here, is a failure to communicate” is the often misquoted “Alright Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my closeup.” There are many other more obscure, yet brilliant lines of dialog and exchanges between characters, landing the screenplay in the WGA’s Best Screenplays of All Time list at number 7! It’s important to now only appreciate the movie as a movie, but to appreciate the story itself. Let us never forget that “someone sits down to write a picture” and fool ourselves into thinking that most of the time the “actors make it up as they go along.” Part of what makes this a timeless classic, and even a sort of Bible if you will, is the brilliant writing.
“[Cinema] is BIG. It’s the [movies} that got small.” In Sunset Boulevard, Norma Desmond’s defiant declaration—“I am big. It’s the pictures that got small”—was meant as a lament for the silent era’s fall to talkies; but in 2025, it resonates as a prophecy for cinema in the age of streaming. Norma wasn’t just talking about herself; she was articulating a truth about the grandeur, spectacle, and communal magic of the movies—an art form designed for towering screens and shared gasps in the dark. Today, as streaming platforms flood audiences with bite-sized content, algorithm-churned thrillers, and disposable franchise spin-offs, the scope of cinema has been compressed to fit living rooms and phone screens. Norma was right: cinema is big, but it’s the movies that have been miniaturized—scaled down in ambition, craft, and cultural weight—until they often feel like little more than moving thumbnails. The tragedy isn’t Norma’s inability to adapt, but that the industry has stopped aspiring to be as big as she was.
One of the elements that stands out in the movie is the meticulous placement of lighting. Film Noirs are one of the best examples of how effective lighting can be in playing an intricate part of the storytelling process. Lighting can show us whether or not someone may have two personalities, whether someone is dark and sinister. Since films did not have access to color, in the same way we do today, lighting in a grayscale movie was very important. Since colors could not be distinguished, lighting played that role. In many ways, the lighting in a film noir is like the Norma of the movie itself. Color has caused lighting to be used in a different way. For more practical reasons that aren’t always artistic in nature. Furthermore, another element that makes a film noir a film noir is the cinematography. After all, the term noir is French for dark. So, essentially film noir simply means dark film. It holds up to the definition due to the physically dark scenes; and furthermore, the state of being psychologically dark. The 9-time Academy Award nominated cinematographer John F. Seitz is responsible for creating the haunting visuals and shadows that dominate most of the movie.
One of the shots that is the most puzzling is how Wilder was able to shoot Joe Gillis’ floating body in the pool. Now-a-days, that is simple enough–even YouTubers do it–but in 1950, how does one accomplish such a special effect? The use of mirrors in the film went beyond macabre and haunting set pieces; a mirror was also used to shoot this scene. Seitz placed a mirror at the bottom of the pool and shot facing down towards the mirror while Holden floated in the water with the police officers around the deck. This gave the illusion the camera was in the water facing up.Thanks to the iconic cinematography, the mansion “stricken with a creeping paralysis” appeared lonely and massive. There is no better example of this than when Gillis descends the grand staircase to a party where he and Desmond are the only guests on an expansive tile dance floor recommended by Rudolph Valentino.
“Alright, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my closeup.”
Some of the most memorable cinematography comes at the end of the movie. Wilder and Seitz chose to shoot parts of the finale in slow motion to create an uneasy feeling in the minds of the audience. As Norma begins to descend the grand staircase one final time, she is shot in slow motion, as if it were Norma’s dream coming to life–her big come-back. Pardon, she never left; the pictures left her. In her mind, she is playing princess Salome entering the palace; when in all reality, it’s not movie cameras, but news cameras documenting her psychological decline into insanity. With her famous line “I’m ready for my closeup,” she encroaches upon the camera operator determined to get the closeup she wants, even though it is fixed at a medium shot. The audience, she is so desperate to connect with again, is tragically out of her reach.
Sunset Boulevard serves as a haunting reminder that cinema’s survival depends on more than novelty—it thrives on depth, craft, and stories that demand to be remembered. Wilder’s film shows us a Hollywood already willing to discard its own history for the next marketable thing, a cycle that feels alarmingly familiar in an age of streaming debuts and algorithm-curated “originals” designed for convenience over impact. Norma Desmond’s tragic insistence that she is still “big” speaks not just to her own faded glory, but to the enduring power of cinema when it aspires to grandeur rather than pandering to trends. The film urges today’s audiences to resist the allure of quick, disposable entertainment and to champion works that challenge, inspire, entertain, and linger in the mind. If we let convenience replace artistry, aesthetics to replace great storytelling, we risk playing our own part in the slow fade-out of the movies we claim to love.
Sunset Boulevard means a lot of things to a lot of people. And, each person may have their own respective reasons as to why this film holds a special place in the minds and heart of those who love cinematic art. This movie truly embodies the latin inscription around Leo the Lion in MGM’s logo “Ars Gratia Artis.” Art for Art’s Sake. To me, it is one of the purest examples of artistic cinema. It also served as a mirror, to the dismay of the big producers of its day, highlighting the state of the industry at that time. People still remain mesmerized at this timeless feature because of all it has to offer. This is partly due to the fact that it as relevant today as it was in 1950. It’s entirely possible that there are Norma Desmonds today in their decaying estates watching their movies on TCM or AMC under the delusion that they remain stars that command the attention of the world.
Regardless if you are a filmmaker or a connoisseur of movies, Sunset Boulevard captures the eyes of the world today. And, it will continue to be a source of inspiration and entertainment for decades to come.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
What a picture! Mission: Impossible–The Final Reckoning is an exhilarating end to a 29 year old journey. The scale and scope of the final chapter in Tom Cruise’s tenure as Ethan Hunt is out of this world. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, the cast and crew of this film delivered their best to “all those that [they] will never meet.” That’s us–the audience–we are those they will likely never meet. Such a fitting climax to one of the biggest franchises ever to hit the big screen. For everything the movie did right and excellent, it’s not without some shortcomings in the screenwriting. While the first act starts off a little clunky, it does eventually falls into place during the first act. Additionally, fans of the franchise will love the narrative connections to the preceding films, particularly Mission: Impossible and Mission: Impossible III. This is truly a cinematic spectacle deserving of every second on that big silver screen. Tom Cruise proves that he is still the definitive movie star.
Ethan Hunt and the IMF team race against time to find the Entity, a rogue artificial intelligence that can destroy mankind.
Writer-director Christopher McQuarrie brings Mission: Impossible (in its current incarnation) to a climactic close after 29 years. More than delivering a bombastic conclusion to the genre-defining franchise, he connects this film to all the preceding M:I films through both plot and character. Every moment feels earned–this movie and the cast and crew thereof–spare no expense of time or money in providing audiences with a spectacular cinematic experience that reminds us why big screen stories need the BIG SCREEN. Even though I do take issue with McQuarrie’s screenwriting in the first act–the first 15 minutes, or so, do feel a little disjoined and rushed–thankfully the remainder of the first act does fall into place. Not only do the characters have heart underscoring all the electrifying action sequences, the filmmakers involved in this have a heart for the audiences around the globe.
The IMF (Impossible Mission Force) oath reads, “We live and die in the shadows, for those we hold close, and for those we never meet.” And, in this movie, I don’t think that it merely means that the covert operatives and spycraft engineers carry out their missions behind the scenes of life, the way in which the line is delivered, I am all but certain that it’s a wink or nod to the audience indicating that McQuarrie, Cruise, and everyone involved make motion pictures for those they know, their friends and family, and everyone else out in the world that they may likely never meet. There is probably no other working actor out there that so vocally champions cinema like Tom Cruise. This is particularly true during and after COVID with his release of Top Gun: Maverick. Even in a press conference wherein Cruise was asked about the proposed international filmmaking tariffs by a reporter, and he redirected them to The Final Reckoning, because “we’re here to talk about the movie.” The trademark charisma, physics-defying stuntwork, and charm that Cruise brings to the screen serves as evidence why he truly is the definitive movie star working today.
Picking up in the months following the train incident from Dead Reckoning, The Final Reckoning thrusts audiences right into the middle of a world on the brink of WWIII. The entity has infected the internet and it looks like the end of the world, as we know it. Once again, Hunt is being hunted down by his government (and probably other governments too) because he refuses to let the United States have the key that would potentially give them control of the entity’s source code, because no one should be entrusted with that level of power or responsibility–not even Hunt and his IMF team. Ethan Hunt continues to stand up for what is right, the greater good even when it is the most unpopular stance or opinion to hold. Hunt and his team desire to destroy the entity so no one has access to its power and the entity cannot destroy the world so it and Gabriel can remake it in their image. The Final Reckoning forces us to look inward, and ask ourselves how we would react when faced with a world on the brink of disaster. Could we resist giving into our innate self-centered nature, even when disguised as the most logical choice? This movie is a challenge to humanity to always hold onto hope even when it appears to be impossible.
After the clunky start to the movie, the narrative begins to find its tone, pacing, and direction. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a “McQuarrie Cut” that adds in cut scenes at the beginning. Other than the stars themselves, the star of this movie is practical effects and filmmaking themselves. The CGI is minimal, and is rarely front and center. McQuarrie and Cruise lean into practical effects, mechanical magic, and other elements that give the film a tangible dimension. You cannot replace the way real light bounces off real objects and into the camera lens in this outstanding motion picture. The Final Reckoning is as much a celebration of the decades-old franchise (and TV show even before the original movie in 1996) as it is a celebration of classical filmmaking. Even the scenes and sequences that felt a little too death-defying or unrealistic, they certainly feel naturalistic within the world on screen (though, I’d be lying if I said that some came a little close to being even unbelievable in a Mission: Impossible movie). Even thought he aerial stuntwork in this movie is the most intense we’ve seen, this movie also includes a lot of underwater stuntwork and action sequences. And I must say that is’t he dark, claustrophobic underwater sequences that had me on the edge of my seat. It really is nothing short of incredible what McQuarrie, Cruise, and their teams were able to do in this motion picture.
For fans of the franchise, particularly those that have rewatched the whole franchise leading up to this moment, there are characters from the past that appear in substantive ways and even plot points that were never fully explored int eh past are brought full circle. Few, if any, characters feel like one-dimensional space-fillers–which can easily happen in an action movie–every character has a purpose, has a motivation. We care about our central characters’ survival, we experienced a gut-wrenching death in Dead Reckoning, so we know that these IMF agents are human, they can die. All the more reason why we are completely invested in their survival.
Even though we may get a Mission: Impossible movie in the future, maybe even one with one or more of the IMF team members from this original run of movies, Cruise has stated, in not so many words, that this movie represents his final Mission: Impossible movie in which he is the star. If we have future M:I movies, I’d like to see him make an appearance or play a supporting role, because Tom Cruise IS Mission: Impossible. What I love about these movies is that they seek to entertain first and include any more thoughtful ideas or questions in the subtext or emotional drivers of characters. Entertainment first. So many movies nowadays have such a cynical view of life and traditional values, but here is franchise built on that which brings us all together as a community. High concept? Sure, but that high concept nature of the M:I movies has never meant a meaningless or vapid experience. These movies, and others like them (regardless of genre), are what cinema is all about. And I am sure going to miss looking forward to the next Mission: Impossible movie.
Thank you Tom. And thank you McQuarrie and past writers and directors for 29 years of unparalleled thrills and excitement on the silver screen.
Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk about all things cinema. Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry
The Return of the Picard. After a watchable first season, absolute garbage second season, Star Trek: Picard finishes its final season with an immensely welcomed (near) return to form. In a media landscape that increasingly demonstrates an aversion to the past in an effort to improve or refresh legacy characters or series, the ups and downs of Star Trek: Picard (from hereon Picard), prove that some characters and stories were already exemplary in substance and form from the beginning. Suffice it to say, it boldly goes where it has been before and shows it can thrive.
The third and final season of Picard has resonated with Star Trek fans young and old because it finally went back to its roots, went back to why these characters are beloved and an integral part of the cultural zeitgeist. At least, refocused on that goal, anyway. While I don’t feel that it landed sure-footedly on a return to the Star Trek (TNG, Voyager, and DS9) formula, it was in the ballpark of what makes those series rewatchable over and over. Hardly a week goes by that I am not rewatching TNG and Voyager (DS9, lesser so).
The characters, plots, and themes continue to teach us, they remain culturally relevant. TNG represented Roddenberry’s best expression of his idea launched in the 60s with Desilu Productions at Paramount (yes, that means Lucille Ball was in-part responsible for the launch of Star Trek: TOS). At the heart of what makes Star Trek, STAR TREK are the stories that can only happen on Star Trek and the exploration of what it means to be human, whether that is the 24th century or the 21st. Secondary to the aforementioned is the episodic format that Strange New Worlds and Lower Decks has proven is the best expression of Trek plots. On that topic, the last two episodes of Picard felt like an old school two-parter TNG in all the best ways possible. Why stick to the formula? Because it WORKS.
Anytime a Trek series has deviated from the formula or format, it has proven to be less successful with audiences. If it’s not broke, DON’T fix it. Not everything needs to be a 10-hour movie season after season. Why? Because a serialized format lacks the latitude to explore a variety of characters and plots. Serialized shows are ultimately limited to the stories they can tell, because they ultimately have one main outside/action plot supported by one or more inside/emotional subplots or motivations. The episodic format provides numerous opportunities to dive into Star Trek in both plot and character. While even in its third season, Picard is serialized, the structure of the episodes leans into a quasi-episodic format.
Up until the third season, and even at the beginning of the third season, Picard engaged in perpetual character assassination. Completely retconning the best of our friends from The Enterprise D, E, and Voyager. It’s like, the writers of Picard never watched The Next Generation or Voyager, much less rewatched the timeless series.
Not to oversimplify, but to spotlight the sins of the writers, Picard was reduced to someone that represented an outdated way of life and was responsible for negative development of those around him, Seven of Nine was no longer a strong character of mind and body that wasn’t afraid to question decisions in the pursuit of efficiency and order, Guinan was no longer a comforter and wise counselor and her younger-self hated humanity instead of always seeking the best in them, Riker was too quick to admit defeat and appeared to lose strength of character, Starfleet was constantly disparaged as an antiquated and corrupt institution, and I could go on. Fortunately, Q, Worf, Dr. Crusher, and Data were mostly treated with care, and actually felt like they should after we last saw them in Star Trek: Nemesis (or Voyager, which is the case with Q).
Another area where this series negatively deviated from the TV series is the significant increase in course language, especially in seasons one and two. I am glad they mostly fixed that in season three. Star Trek was always something that whole families could watch, and it upset me when Picard didn’t feel like something for whole families. My hope is that Star Trek, moving forward, will be a show that kids and teens today can watch with their parents in order to form the same kind of fond memories I have from watching TNG and Voyager with my family growing up. Star Trek is family, and “on the Starship Enterprise, no one is alone.”
But by the last few episodes of Picard season three, our friends were back to being themselves! It was so incredibly refreshing when our friends returned to their true selves. The return to form and character reunion that Sir Patrick Stewart said he was not interested in at the announcement of Picard, turned out to be the very thing that the series needed and lacked through most of its run.
This character mix was perfection, as Seven would put it, from season three of TNG and beyond. Each one of them represented a different element of humanity, and only when together can we truly explore the human condition. Star Trek needs its Captain. Whether we are talking Picard, Sisko, Janeway, Pike, or Kirk. And that captain needs to be a strong leader, upholding the best expression of the morals, ethics, and order of Starfleet. It doesn’t mean those values and beliefs can’t be challenged–we certainly saw many times Picard challenged Starfleet’s decisions over the course of TNG–but it’s the pursuit of the best humanity can be to one another that is most meaningful. It’s what keeps Q always curious about humanity, in particularly Picard, a strong moral center.
Picard season three embraces this return to form, despite the naysayers that are negatively criticizing the show for looking backwards instead of forwards (which the Star Trek TV series consistently did). Clearly those that are accusing Picard of a disappointing third season missed the whole point of what makes something Star Trek, what makes Picard the definitive Starfleet captain and role model for his crew and all of us. It’s the same thing that fascinated Q: Picard’s (and for us Star Trek‘s) order, morals, ethics, and reflection of humanity. Just because a series continues to feature starships, uniforms, military-like rules, and an ethical center does not mean it is look backwards–those are the tentpoles that significantly impact the form the show takes and the viewer experience. Remove the tentpoles, and the show collapses.
I remember very little from the first and second seasons, but you know what I do remember? Opening with the Enterprise-D and Data/Picard in the series pilot, the Q scenes from season two, and the return to the stately peerless bridge of the Enterprise-D in the final two episodes of the third season and series. Why? Because if you are reviving a series or crafting a long-awaited spinoff series, you have to start with what is most familiar and true to character and plot, and go from there. If there is an established storytelling formula, then follow it. Formulas are formulas for a reason: they work, they’ve been proven to work.
While there are elements in the story of the third season that feel like Wrath of Kahn meets First Contact meets The Best of Both Worlds, that’s because those two movies and that highly rated two-parter from Season 2/3 of TNG represent the best of Star Trek. Why not take inspiration from them??? There was very little of Seasons one and two of Picard that I felt would inspire new fans to seek out the TV series or previous movies. But season three will undoubtedly prompt those that have not seen the TV series or First Contact to seek them out.
And DON’T stop watching when the credits roll, because there is a mid-credit bonus scene that gave me the BIGGEST smile! Because of the cameo AND how it perfectly sets up a spinoff series with a new generation of Enterprise crew.
The following section(s) contains some series finale spoilers.
The series finale features the rescue of Starfleet and humanity by the crew of the Enterprise-D. In the series, the Enterprise was always the calvary, and it plays out in the series finale as well. And for what it’s worth, the series explains how Geordi was able to rebuild the former flagship of Starfleet following the disastrous crash in Star Trek: Generation (1994) well enough. The showdown is a cross between The Best of Both Worlds and First Contact. And as such, nothing happens that isn’t somewhat predictable, but it’s okay. HOW the story unfolds is exciting because Picard finally embraces its legacy. In a media landscape of TV series that really feel like long movies, this one feels more like a TV show, and that’s a great thing! Trek excels more on TV than it does in the cinema because of the formula of its storytelling.
I love how Picard reclaims his legacy as the definitive Starfleet captain and simultaneously allows himself to be vulnerable enough to embrace his former love Dr. Crusher and his son Jack. When Picard encounters his son reprising the role of Locutus of Borg, Picard must deal with the trauma of that experience that has haunted him throughout his life and risk it all to save his son. This demonstrates tremendous growth for Picard. While this is going on, we witness the ramifications of the human youth’s corruption and assimilation by the Borg. For those that appreciate the thoughtful subject matter of Trek, this can be read as a cautionary tale of how the impressionable youth of our world are the most susceptible to toxic ideology under the guise of peace and a pain-free existence. In other words, an ideology that claims to be able to build a utopia, but utopia is an impossibility, and the pursuit of it comes at the cost of the loss of individuality and human dimension. While the series lacked the thought-provoking content of the TV series, these last few episodes attempt to get back to that.
Also, I love how Seven of Nine gets promoted to the Captain of the newly christened Enterprise-G, flanked by Raffi (a character for whom I never particularly cared, because the show made her unlikable in the first two seasons, and never gave her any real agency until season 3) as her No.1, and Jack Crusher as special counsel (a sort of Deanna Troi minus the empathic abilities). The new Enterprise has her crew, all set for new adventures!
So what is that mid-credit scene? Jack is putting away his belongings in his quarters on the Enterprise-G when Q shows up. That’s right, John de Lancie returns as the indelible Q. Jack questions him because he thought the trial against humanity ended. Q responds with Picard’s trial ended, but Jack’s is just beginning. Does this mean a Star Trek: the New Generation series featuring this crew plus occasional appearances by Q? I certainly hope so.
There you have it! A triumphant return of Star Trek. Perhaps the series started out, and even developed negatively, but it finished well. I’ve been a fan of Star Trek ever since my family would gather around the TV to watch TNG and Voyager each week with a pizza. These characters, settings, and even plots feel like a warm hug from a long-lost friend. I hope that Strange New Worlds, Lower Decks, and the series that Picard will hopefully inspire become the types of shows that years from now we will still be rewatching over and over.
Ryan teaches Film Studies and Screenwriting at the University of Tampa and is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter. If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.
Ghostface takes Manhattan. Mostly forgettable, S6REAM is neither bad enough nor good enough to be remembered. This forgettable installment in the SCREAM franchise is written by the brilliant Ready or Not’s James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick, but you wouldn’t know it from the contrived, clunky plot the two screenwriters developed. More violence does not a great horror movie make; the amped violence is employed as a tool to compensate for the vapid storytelling. Overstuffed with characters and lacking in any real suspense or thoughtful plotting, SCREAM VI is what happens when stories are dumbed down for TikTok attention spans and those that eat up YouTube trash. The Ready or Not duo should have spent more time understanding why Kevin Williamson’s excellent original screenplay works rather than creating some insipid fan fiction featuring the iconic Ghostface. Suffice it to say, SCREAM 6 is enjoyable enough for legacy fans, but remaining invested in this movie will undoubtedly prove to be an exercise in tolerance for the absurd.
Four survivors of the Ghostface murders, leave Woodsboro behind for a fresh start in New York City. However, they soon find themselves in a fight for their lives when a new killer embarks on a bloody rampage.
The SCREAM franchise is famous for its (usually) thoughtful social commentary on the horror genre (more specifically, the slasher); by extension, these meta observations are applicable to society in general. Scream VI provides commentary on franchises and (to my delight, as a film professor) film studies! In fact, Samara Weaving’s character is a film studies professor with an expertise in horror (just like me!). What’s ironic is that for all the knowledge the screenwriters demonstrate in a critical analysis of tropes or patterns of a horror franchise, this movie fails to provide anything meaningful to add to the conversation.
The detrimental problem in this lack of anything new is that the movie loses any kind of real thrill; moreover, it loses any ability to resonate with audiences because of failing to tap into those most primal fears at the bedrock of horror. The very tropes the movie highlights are the very tropes that form obstacles that the movie never overcomes. Furthermore, the problematic screenwriting feels like a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy rather than anything innovative. It doesn’t redefine what it means to be a franchise, it falls victim to the same parasitic infection innate in most franchises.
One promise the movie’s publicity makes—and fulfills—is the amped up violence, both in terms of body count and level of trauma. And there are most certainly going to be those that use the violence as a barometer for satisfaction in watching the film. This is a flawed evaluation method because it has little to nothing to do with the actual storytelling methodology nor quality. Due to the exponentially increased violence, the pacing of the movie is in high gear the whole time, leaving little to no room for emotional resets or breathing room to build suspense or any tangible tension. S6REAM is a lackluster offspring of Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson’s desperately trying to evoke an affection for the legacy property.
Because of the overstuffed cast, there is little time to develop any level of empathy for the characters. The only characters to have any real agency are Gale Weathers and Samantha Carpenter. Even Kirby’s character (whom gets a highly anticipated return) is lacking in dimension or growth arc. Other problems in casting include Jena Ortega whom I cannot take seriously as a final girl because she may as well be Rey from Star Wars for all her invincibility and lack of flaws. I never felt once that her life was in any real danger. An important quality for a final girl is strength, failure, and resilience. Tara is lacking in all these important qualities.
Scream VI (and the predestined Scream 7) may prove to be the nails in the coffin for the slasher. It will take a screenwriter(s) or director that cares about going back to the roots and building upon the soul of legacy properties or the tropes to breathe life into the former screen king of the horror genre. In other words, screenwriters and directors that care about story integrity.
Ryan teaches Film Studies and Screenwriting at the University of Tampa and is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter. If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.
R.L. Terry ReelView 
