The Buffyverse Character Countdown (#31)

Welcome to another long-term list project (yes, I will be posting the top ten greatest 90s songs soon; it's been somewhat delayed). A few years back, I ranked the seasons of one of my favorite television series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That same year, I also completed watching Buffy’s spin-off and companion series, Angel. While not nearly as strong as Buffy, Angel does contain some truly excellent episodes and presents several profound philosophical dilemmas. Taken together, the two series might as well be the most rigorous analyses of feminism and existentialist philosophy ever to make their way onto Western television. Buffy certainly focuses on the former, as it is a drama about growing up, whereas Angel is a series more dedicated to existentialism and other issues that beset adults. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is almost entirely fantasy-driven, featuring tropes from both children's series and soap operas. Angel, by contrast, is more of a procedural show - it has moments of levity, but it's often somewhat dry as compared to its sire.

Yet for all of their philosophical and dramatic differences, both series have one factor in common: character-driven storytelling. Though both series are rife with complex symbolism, rich cinematography, clever dialogue, and appropriate theming, it’s the character writing that makes both series work as well as they do. It felt right to pay homage to all of the great characters of the Buffyverse with some sort of countdown throughout the month of July. However, given the tremendous number of great characters in both series, it seemed unfair to do an arbitrary top 50 characters and clump them all together or - even worse - compile a gargantuan top 117 characters like Buzzfeed and fail to analyze them. Instead, I’ve decided to do something different – a double countdown of the series’ heroes and villains.

The Buffyverse is at once host to some of the most inspiring and thought-provoking protagonists in television history as well as some of the most despicable and horrifying baddies of the small screen. Both deserve analyses and evaluations on their own terms, as clumping all the characters together onto one giant list does a disservice to their function within the narrative. How can the villains stand up to the heroes on a general list, given that the heroes are given far more time to develop? It simply wouldn’t be fair. I’ve thus come up with a double top 31 list for the heroes and the villains of Buffy and Angel – one for each day in July. I’ll be evaluating both sets of characters the following set of criteria.

The Heroes

1.  Overall Development – Just how much do these heroes grow? Are they static, fulfilling a brief narrative function and then disappearing? Or is their story more complex?
2. Narrative Execution – Are these characters enjoyable to watch? Does the direction and acting mirror the quality of the writing?
3. Virtuous Standing – Just how heroic are these heroes? Certainly, flaws are central to every great character, but are they able to surmount them? If they don’t, is there something to be learned from their failure?
4. Philosophical Intrigue – Just how much latent potential is there within these characters to explore broader questions of philosophy, politics, and humanism? When are they at their most interesting?
5. Real-World Impact – Are these characters in any way reflective of reality? Are they abstracted ideals of what we want, or do they feel real, perhaps even attainable?
6. Personal Preference – The X-factor category, in which I’m allowed to adjust a ranking based on how much I personally like the characters.

The Villains

1. Personality/Character Development – Are these villains static one-offs whose sole function is bringing out positive growth in the heroes? Or do they have arcs of their own?
2. Narrative Execution – Are these characters enjoyable to watch? Does the direction and acting mirror the quality of the writing?
3. Appropriateness of Allegory – Since nearly all Buffyverse villains are metaphors for real-world evils and problems, does the villain adequately highlight humanity’s vices?
4. Diegetic/In-Universe Achievements – Just how dastardly were these villains’ deeds? To what degree did they inspire change in our heroes?
5. Personal Preference – The X-factor category, in which I’m allowed to adjust a ranking based on how much I personally like the characters.

Undoubtedly, these lists are subjective; series with casts as diverse and engaging as those of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel leave tons of room for wide-ranging opinions and differing tastes. However, these are the characters I feel represent the best of good and evil to be found within this fictional universe’s complex moral atmosphere. It should also be clear that this list will contain plenty of spoilers for both series: should you be interested in entering these series with all of their twists intact, then you should probably not read along. That said, if you don't mind a few spoilers in the name of sparking your interest in a new set of shows, then I encourage you to read along for the remainder of the month. This list is a testament to great writing, effective direction, and powerful acting: these are the top 31 best Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel heroes and villains.

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Hero #31: Connor (Angel Seasons 3-5)

The YouTube Channel, The Passion of the Nerd, put it the best: Connor. Is. The Worst.

I honestly questioned whether I was obligated to include Connor on this list, as he might just be the single worst thing to happen to the entire Buffyverse – a dour sourpuss of a character utterly absent of joy, psychological intrigue, and interest. He's so unpleasant as to make the audience member want to throw his container of mint gelato at the television screen rather than force his way through watching Connor's detestable mug for more than ten seconds at a time. I even pondered putting Connor on the villains list, as he ends up doing much more harm than good within Angel's plot, let alone its quality as a series. However, I soon realized Connor is so detestable and ineffective that he wouldn’t be able to make the villains list by its own criteria, as he's too clumsily written and performed to serve as an interesting antagonist. All the same, he is the main plot point of two seasons of Angel, becomes a member of the main cast, and is one of the most important characters in the series. To lump him into a set of unmentionables would be a disservice to his character. So… let’s talk about this sack of s*** character and exactly why he doesn't work.

Connor is the son of two vampires - Angel and Darla - conceived with the destiny of killing the demon known as Sahjahn, one of Angel's most forgettable antagonists. Unfortunately for Connor's earthly happiness, Sahjahn manages to re-write part of the prophecy foretelling his death to read that "the father will kill the son" - the implicit suggestion being that Angel will kill his own infant son.  Wesley, in order to save both Connor and Angel’s soul, kidnaps Connor in order to spare him from his father's wrath. Unfortunately, in a tragic turn of events, Connor ends up abducted by one of Angel’s nemeses, the demon hunter Holtz, and trapped in a hell dimension for most of his juvenile life. Then, thanks to the time differential between dimensions, Connor leaps back into Angel’s life after becoming a broody, non-emotive, yet unbearably smarmy teenager bent on destroying every demon he comes across. He's remarkably good at destroying these demons, but he's also remarkably good at destroying good television.

Connor’s “arc” mostly comprises of his negotiating loyalties between his foster father, Holtz, and his real father, Angel, the former being bent on killing the latter. Were the writing in Angel Seasons 3 and 4 better than it is, this narrative could actually have gone somewhere, producing genuine torment within Connor and making his ultimate decisions all the more heartbreaking. We know how devious yet sincere Holtz is, and we know how virtuous yet unresponsive Angel is, so there is a great dynamic motivating Connor’s development. Yet it’s here that the writing and acting undermine any chance Connor could have had to become a fascinating character. Vincent Kartheiser uses all the emotion of Shadow the Hedgehog, creating a character comprised of 90% angst, 9% stupidity, and 1% pouty lips; thank goodness he redeemed his career with Mad Men. The writing, however, is the true enemy, as it makes Connor out to be a complete idiot unable to see through the simplest of ruses. Connor goes along with Holtz’s schemes whilst hardly questioning them and is a general a****** to everyone around him. He’s about as charming as a pile of rocks. His humor is the same hit-or-miss one-liner style used by Angel himself, but, given Connor’s lack of comedic timing, not a single quip lands. His fighting techniques make him a practical Mary Sue for the entire second half of Season 3. Not only does Connor's frustrating writing and dialogue make him a tremendous missed opportunity, but he's genuinely unpleasant to watch throughout the season.

And that's before we get to the hellhole that is Angel Season 4...

Throughout Season 4, we’re faced with a Connor who has gone completely bananas. He murders innocent people in order to protect himself from the wrath of his so-called friends. Later on in the season, in perhaps the most disgusting scene in the entire Buffyverse, he has sex with Cordelia – his freaking foster mother figure – and helps give the Big Bad of the season, Jasmine, a corporeal form. He then becomes one of Jasmine's most dedicated disciples, allowing her to ruthlessly devour her subjects without so much as looking on in shock. Though he does end up killing Jasmine, he ultimately enters a depression and… commits an act of domestic terrorism, strapping bombs to himself, a comatose Cornelia, and dozens of innocent men, women, and children. If for some reason the audience member hasn't learned to hate this self-righteous, preening douchebag by this point, then I think his or her moral center is seriously lacking. Angel provides Connor with a spiritual/time-traveling re-do such that the boy has no memories of his painful life, allowing for a moment of redemption for the character at the end of Angel’s fifth season, but the damage has been done and then some.

To praise a character like Connor for his virtue or to praise his redemption would be wholly disingenuous and disgusting. Angel might frame itself as a series that makes us want to like Connor, but it seems to go out of its way to make Connor the least likeable and admirable “hero” in its entire catalogue. The character almost singlehandedly ruins a season and a half of the show, and it’s genuinely painful to watch. He fails every single one of the criteria for heroes in the series, and the only reason he makes the list at all is his outsized impact on how the universe developed. Honestly, I’d rather have put any number of minor characters onto this list instead of him. But, no, instead I have to mention the whiny, Oedipus complex-ridden, preening, insufferable terrorist and murderer as one of the good guys because the writers of Angel said he was a hero. Yuck. 

Villain(s) #31: The Initiative/Adam (Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 4)

I hate these guys.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Adam and the Initiative are the worst long-term villains in the entire Buffyverse. In fact, they only make the list at all by virtue of two factors: they did have a long-term impact on the plot regardless of their lack of effectiveness and entertainment factor, and because I clumped them together. Needless to say, neither of these villainous forces is in any way compelling or fun to watch, and though they do achieve quite a bit within the diegesis, their lack of actual character makes them genuinely unpleasant when stacked up against the other Big Bads of both series. While they are at least slightly better than forgettable villains such as Angel Season 3's Sahjahn, they do not work as primary antagonists whatsoever.

The Initiative, the main villainous collective of Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s fourth season, is a government task force whose mission is to eliminate demons throughout Sunnydale. At first, the group operates in parallel with Buffy and the Scoobies, since both are trying to destroy genuinely dangerous monsters. However, Buffy and her friends soon discover that the Initiative's methods are, to say the least, questionable, given that the government operation captures many demons and conducts wholly inhumane experiments upon them. The rift comes to a breaking point when the Initiative's true motivations are revealed: their goal is not to destroy demons, but to instead use demon genetics to create an army of super-soldiers that can be used for paramilitary functions. In short, the Initiative is essentially the living incarnation of the military-industrial complex that one's conspiracy theorist cousin fears most... only with more demons and less shadow banking. But though the Initiative's plan is indeed sinister, the Initiative members themselves are quite boring. Since they're a collective of soldiers who do not question orders, they feel more like drones than actual antagonists.

We only gain insight into two villainous members of the Initiative to any substantive degree: director Maggie Walsh and lieutenant Forrest Gates. Walsh is the more interesting of the two, since she is at once Buffy's psychology teacher in Season Four, Riley's mother-figure and mentor, and the creator of Adam - the Initiative's prototype super soldier and the ultimate Big Bad of the season. She's a villain who tries to keep her appearance professional and her presence imposing. Unfortunately, Lindsay Crouse's performance comes across not as cold and menacing, but instead muted and stoic. Her dialogue, for the most part, is expository rather than developmental, as she sets up the missions of the day and fawns over her creation. Her expressing jealousy towards Buffy for taking Riley away from her is an interesting development, but it's barely given an episode of exploration before Adam impales Walsh and removes her from the plot. Forrest, Riley's best friend, dislikes Buffy's intrusion into the Initiative's operation and, much like Walsh, becomes jealous of Buffy's relationship with Riley. Yet, unlike Walsh, his potential is even smaller, as he is a military drone to the core. Once Adam kills him, he becomes a soulless zombie whose only function is dragging the plot along and giving Riley a fight scene in “Primeval.”

And then there’s the Big Bad himself: Adam. I’ve discussed before why Adam is one of the worst villains in the series: he’s a purely physical threat who does not present any opportunity for Buffy to grow as a human being. Buffy versus Frankenstein’s Monster could have been an interesting concept, what with the psychological complexity of the Monster in Mary Shelley’s original novel. However, Adam is about as psychologically complex as a pseudo-intellectual college freshman – an effect that should be appropriate in a season about Buffy’s going to college but one that ends up as laughable rather than threatening. Adam's humor is about as funny as the one-liners of a petulant middle schooler. His combat sequences are oddly unremarkable by Buffy standards, despite his modus operandi being his physical strength. The monster's design is ugly and cluttered rather than being memorable or imposing. Plus, he’s an unlikable character whose introduction into the series involves him killing a child. There’s no joy or fun to be had in Adam’s breed of menace: he’s merely an obstacle to be overcome. Throw in the fact that he’s defeated by one of the most embarrassing power-up sequences in all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and one’s got a Big Bad that strikes out on all levels.

Given the sheer number of bad qualities these villains possess, why are they on this list at all, let alone above beloved one-off villains from the same season, like Veruca and Sunday? Ultimately, the Initiative and Adam's in-universe accomplishments are just too significant for them to not place on the list whatsoever. The Initiative is responsible for putting the chip into Spike, starting off one of the most important parts of the renegade vampire's character arc and expanding the philosophy of the series into a much more nuanced exploration of good and evil. The Initiative also introduced Riley into the series as a major character, for better or worse. Adam is a major catalyst for Willow’s increased dependence on magic, leading to some of the better parts of Seasons 5 and 6. However, in spite of these accomplishments, these villains aren’t exactly enjoyable to watch whilst achieving them. The Season 4 Big Bads represent the very worst writing and directing in the entire Buffyverse, reeking of thematic confusion, poor pacing, and subpar acting. The only reason they make the list at all is their Big Bad status. If not for that, I’d be happy to boot them off the list and put a comic relief villain like Principal Snyder onto it instead!

Movie Review #26: La La Land --- The Transience of Musical Moments

La La Land (2016)
Director: Damien Chazelle
Writer(s): Damien Chazelle
Starring: Emma Stone, Ryan Gosling, John Legend

It's been a while since I've written a movie review. Let's look at something great.

As one can probably tell from the majority of the movie reviews on this blog, I deeply admire the MGM musicals of the 1950s, as well as the Golden Age of musical theatre in general. After all, I did write an entire month's worth of reviews on the screen adaptations of the great Rodgers and Hammerstein productions. When I look over the majority of modern musicals - particularly those films marketed and produced by the Walt Disney Corporation (Into the Woods, Frozen) - I find them lacking in polish, craft, virtuosity, and elegance. They simply are not comparable to the 50s classics. I doubted whether Hollywood would ever dare to put on another production of such scale as those early musicals ever again. Along comes La La Land: an unashamedly colorful and vibrant original musical filmed in Cinemascope and inspired by the music of George Gershwin and Cole Porter.  On that ground alone, I would have been a fan. Yet La La Land makes a move that not only earns my undying respect, but also outright astonished me.  This is the first film I've seen in years that actually made me cry in the theatre, for its ending is one of the most perfect denouements in musical history.

Mia (Emma Stone) is a would-be actress working a full-time gig as a barista. Sebastian (Ryan Gosling) is a struggling jazz pianist intent on restoring jazz to cultural prominence. The two meet up after Mia overhears Sebastian playing in a particularly unctuous restaurant owned by a J.K. Simmons cameo. Conflicting egos at first bring them to squabbling, but Sebastian's boundless ambitions and Mia's performative charm eventually draw them together. However, the costs of the South Californian lifestyle quickly encroach upon their happiness. How will Mia and Sebastian's relationship adapt to economic realities? The answer, while not surprising, is certainly touching.

On a purely musical level, La La Land is not quite as virtuosic as the MGM musicals that inspired it. Damien Chazelle did not hire singers who could act, but actors who could "sing" - a habit which ordinarily would not work to a musical's favor. Both Gosling and Stone sound rusty, more often flat than on-pitch and lacking any and all diaphragm support. Heck, even in her most emotional number, Emma Stone is singing purely from her throat. Melodic lines are constantly petering out, and a number of lines don't satisfy. Even the choreography has flaws, what with the tap sounds of the dance sequence in the film's third song clearly being edited in post. The first two songs in the show are also practically identical, having the same harmonic progression and emotional tenor, both being garish, gaudy, high-octane, pep rallies that many viewers might find obnoxious if not outright insulting.

Yet it works.

The mistakes in La La Land's musical craft are obvious and intentional, as nearly all of them build into the structure of the narrative. Vulnerabilities of technique are equated with vulnerabilities of character. Mia and Sebastian are not Don Lockwood and Kathy Selden; they are neither conventional Hollywood protagonists nor role models for moral behavior. They are naïve, egocentric, hypocritical, excessively passionate, and emotionally inconsistent - just like the audience members. They merely happen to express those vulnerabilities and flaws throughs songs rather than snarky text messages. Sure, actual musical theatre actors could communicate these same vulnerabilities without betraying technique, but the flawlessness of their craft would make them less appealing. Most people aren't trained dancers and singers. Since La La Land strives to put the audience into the protagonists' place rather than prop them up as paragons of moral and artistic behavior, the vocal and dancing flaws actually work to the movie's advantage rather than its detriment.

Even the repetitiveness of the first two songs works. Musical numbers in La La Land (and in good musical theatre as a whole) are the vehicles through which we understand characters' perception of reality. Though the identical harmonic structures of "Another Day of Sun" and "Someone in the Crowd" would be game-breaking for some, both of these numbers are taken from Mia's perspective. She's a budding actress surrounded by people more talented, attractive, and charismatic than she is. Of course she'd perceive every waking moment as an overly colorful unseemly reminder of her lack of talent as compared to everyone else. Her musical moments in those numbers are subdued and unimportant, with her constantly being one-upped by extras. It's only when she's introduced to Sebastian's music, a stark contrast to her "normal," that the score changes. Harmonic variety is introduced, the chord changes mirroring the character changes. Two of the songs - "City of Stars" and "Audition" - are genuinely compelling in the way that the first two numbers decidedly are not. La La Land recognizes the crucial relationship between music and narrative, and Mia's relationship to the score emphasizes this element of musical form.

Speaking of Mia, let's discuss Emma Stone. Having admired her roles in films such as Magic in the Moonlight and Birdman, I've become somewhat of a fan of her work. Heck, Emma Stone was the only truly redemptive element in the Amazing Spiderman films. Oddly enough, though, Stone's effectiveness in La La Land has little to do with her actual acting ability. Sure, she sings, dances, monologues, cries, laughs, mugs, but any actress could have done those things. Why couldn't, say, Rachel McAdams have done well in same role? Simple: unlike most other contemporary actresses, Emma Stone knows how to manipulate the camera better than anyone else. Emma Stone's expressive, almost Disney-esque eyes serve to draw the audience into almost every frame; she's practically objectifying herself. However, this objectification serves not to demean but to enhance her character. Emma Stone calls upon classic Hollywood models of objectification and turns them on their head; just like Ingrid Bergman, Marilyn Monroe, and Nicole Kidman before her, Stone presents herself as a larger than life figure posing before the camera. Yet it's not Emma Stone whose posing: it's Mia. Mia, who, according the film, grew up on classic movies, is constantly acting. Throughout the film's first act, one can never quite tell when she's being authentic or merely putting on another mask, transforming into another image of herself, for casting directors, her boss, or even her friends. She's a method actor, to be sure: there's always something inherently personal to her public personae. But we never quite get to see Mia drop her act until a third of the way into the film. Emma Stone's ability to turn her gaze away from the camera is her most potent technique throughout the film and it makes Mia one of the most complex and rich characters in recent film memory. While other stars may have turned in more powerhouse performances this year, few required the subtlety of this one.

Ryan Gosling isn't quite up to par with Stone, as his natural charm is tied down by the negative attributes of the character he plays. Sebastian is not a good person: he's pretentious, obstinate, naïve, and frustrating. Heck, he's not even an excellent musician. Gosling's "love" for jazz, his mantra within the film, is little but cursory fandom. He fetishizes jazz paraphernalia but he doesn't really develop a particularly profound theory. He doesn't discuss the impact of any particular jazz recordings or delve into the intricacies of the jazz ethos. His explanation of the genre to Mia is shallow, at best, and wholly inauthentic, only supplemented by the fact that he is not African-American and lacks a cultural connection to the music. His ambitions are checked not by reality, but by a cynicism towards modern culture that smacks of the worst elements of Holden Caulfield-esque appeals to "authenticity." He longs for a yesteryear that never really existed. Nonetheless, the character works insofar as he brings out the better elements in Mia, allowing her to break out of the constraint of her circle of friends. More importantly, he's a character who changes for the worse within the film's diegesis but for the better for the film's dialectic. Sebastian showcases more natural ability than those around him, but he more often than not squanders it. As compared to the evasive Mia, he's honest to a fault, much like his key literary model, Alceste from Moliere's The Misanthrope.    While Mia grows to embrace Sebastian's positive elements - ambition, sincerity, energy - Sebastian doesn't so much adopt Mia's better traits amiability, modesty, and earnestness. The film also shifts towards a focus on Sebastian towards its end, the implication being that if Mia is who we want to be, Sebastian is who we are.

Let's cut to the chase. This is a SAD movie. One will not see the heroes riding their Prius off into the sunset with "the end" scrawling across the screen a la the original MGM musicals. These characters don't deserve a storybook ending. Their individual arcs are complete and the ending is undeniably conclusive, but the emotional arc is left ambiguous. Pending on how one enters the movie, one may or may not find the conclusion personally enjoyable: I've encountered a number of people, who, expecting a traditional MGM ending, hated this film and hated its ending. Others found the journey fruitless, as we have followed two individuals for two hours and not necessarily gotten what we wanted. They feel cheated, as if the movie forgot its purpose.

Yet I think these negative perspectives seem to have missed the point of the film entirely. For, as interesting and engaging as Mia and Sebastian's love story is, La La Land isn't about them at all. They are, as all fictional characters are, a device to explore elements of universe. Moreover, La La Land's chief concern is not even about romance and love. La La Land's chief concern is the role of music in our lives: its beauty, its elegance, its mutability, and, most important of all, its transience. La La Land isn't just a musical; it's a deconstruction of the audience's relationship with musicals.

To get a fuller sense of La La Land's commentary, we must analyze the form of the modern American  musical itself and the history of MGM American films. Musicals, much like opera, operate under logic incommensurate with our reality; the expression of passion through song is contrary to our everyday experiences. Intermittent song and dance numbers would interrupt the social order and send civilization as we know it into disarray; see Buffy the Vampire Slayer's "Once More, with Feeling" for evidence. Indeed, many audience members cannot summon a suspension of disbelief permitting actors to break into song and thus repudiate musical dramas. This phenomenon has contributed to the decline of opera as a hallmark of Western culture. The American musical, post-Rodgers and Hammerstein, differs from opera in one key aspect: not all of the drama is contained within song. Interruptions to the musical flow are to be expected, to the point where sung-through shows such as Les Miserables, Next to Normal, Rent, and Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street skirt the definition of the modern musical entirely. In the American musical, musical numbers are a departure from reality rather than the essence of reality. Music becomes the entryway into personal development no external person could observe under normal conditions. The songs take us outside of the world and into the character. They are but moments: intense, moving, yet fleeting.

The MGM musicals offered a dream-like quality perfect for this model of the musical. They were colorful to an almost gaudy degree; on the pure production end, monochromatic costume colors and the like were industry standards so as to make primitive lighting and camera design more effective, but the sheer vibrancy of these flashy colors coupled with the elegance of the performers' moving bodies created the image of watercolors in motion. Studio backgrounds were equally colorful yet often vaguely defined, adding to the dream-like aesthetic of the films. Throw in the moral simplicity of the tales - often so simple as to make Aesop wince - and one had the film equivalent of fairy tales.  As the musicals' popularity declined, these films entered the public's memory, becoming the fairy tales they depicted. Just like each song interrupted the reality of the film's diegetic universe, each film interrupted the universe of the audience member. Instead of merely depicting musical moments, the films became musical moments.

Damien Chazelle and La La Land not only understand this theory of musical film-making, but they add a new dimension: what happens when the music ends?. Certainly, each musical number incorporates the aesthetics of the classic musicals - the monochromatic costumes, the misty backgrounds, the extended dance sequences - but the most important element is the ending. Every musical number in La La Land ends abruptly and harshly: "Another Day of Sun" ends with the honking of guitar horns, "Someone In the Crowd" with Mia getting her car towed, "A Lovely Night" with a beeper, "City of Stars" with a decline in romantic intimacy, "Audition" with Mia's voice cracking. All of these harsh comedowns culminate with a hard cut in the film's final musical number so punishing yet thematically satisfying that I dare not spoil it. The driving nuance of these comedowns is clear: not only must these musical moments end, but, in the worst cases, they are aberrations from actual living. When the characters get wrapped up in their musical numbers, they aren't merely transported into their own world; they are ignoring everything else around them and getting trapped in their own conceit. Coming back to the reality is thus agonizing for everyone. The audience has a similar experience. When one finishes watching Singin' in the Rain, one's life doesn't end. One has to get up, turn the movie off, pop the DVD out of the player, and go finish filing those taxes. Music can be a giant distraction. The same idea holds for romantic passion: Emma and Sebastian get so drunk on their own happiness that they fail to see the cracks in both their daily routines and in their very relationship.

However, the mere fact that music and passions are momentary and fleeting doesn't make them any less beautiful, meaningful, or important. Musical cues bring about the most important character shifts for both Mia and Sebastian, gradually making both of them better people by the film's conclusion. The scene in which Mia abandons her shallow boyfriend in favor of asking out Sebastian at the end of the film's first act is triggered by her hearing a song on the radio. The final five minutes of the film consist of a sequence chock full of cinema allusions, dazzling palette shifts, stunning choreography, astounding cinematography, and the greatest lift in an original cinema score since the key change in "Beauty and the Beast." To deny the wondrous nature of these musical moments is to be truly soulless. Indeed, La La Land suggests that these transcendent musical experiences are universal; in the very first scene, we hear dozens of people listening to different types of music on their radio, with the implicit suggestion that one could follow any one of their stories and see how music plays a role in their lives. These musical moments may represent what life couldn't be, nay, shouldn't be, but they are, in their way, the most tender waking dreams we experience. While watching La La Land, I truly stepped into one.

La La Land is a beautiful movie, not because of its score, its actors, its cinematography, or its direction: it's a beautiful movie because it understands itself and its impact on the viewer. Damien Chazelle has already demonstrated his tact in composing self-aware and incisive films; Whiplash was a spectacular film in its own right, a horror film whose most frightening character is not the abusive teacher but the Frankenstein's monster of a student. Yet La La Land has raised the bar for all subsequent film musicals. I've seen the other major nominees for Best Picture this year, and none of them even come close to approaching La La Land in terms of universality of emotional impact, cinematic craft, or thematic complexity. It is a masterpiece not for its score, its visuals, or its direction, but for its ideas. It is the best movie I have ever reviewed on this blog.

I give La La Land a 9.5 out of 10.