Lost Judgment

 

In Yokohama, firefighters stumble across the body of Hiro Mikoshiba, a student teacher who had recently disappeared. One person who seems all too happy to see Mikoshiba dead is Tokyo police officer Akhiro Ehara, who blames Mikoshiba’s bullying for driving his son to commit suicide. Ehara, however, has a seemingly airtight alibi: at the time of Mikoshiba’s murder, he was caught groping a woman on a train, a crime for which he now stands trial. Suspicious, his legal team at Genda Law reaches out to their former colleague, lawyer-turned-detective Takayuka Yagami, to find out what really happened. Yagami and his partner Kaito head to Yokohama, reunite with friends Tsukumo and Sugiura, and begin to investigate the elite Seiryo High School in hopes of learning the truth. But as their investigation draws the attention of everyone from police to local gangs, it’s clear that someone doesn’t want that truth getting out.

 

The sequel to Sega’s 2018 Yakuza spinoff Judgment, Lost Judgment again offers a change-of-pace set in a familiar world. This time, however, that change goes beyond merely playing as a character on the (mostly) right side of the law. While the main Yakuza series has shifted to a turn-based RPG, Lost Judgment retains the classic brawling combat. It’s actually even deeper and more fluid here thanks to the new parry-and-counter oriented Snake style, one of several welcome additions. And yet to call Lost Judgment a superior sequel would overlook more than a few blemishes.

 

For all of their melodrama, machismo, and zany moments, Yakuza games have never shied away from tackling serious issues. Previous entries tackled mistreatment of the homeless, police and political corruption, immigrant exploitation, and the devastating effects of Alzheimer’s. Here, bullying, suicide, and sexual harassment take center stage. The first two are handled well, showing the impact of pushing teens to the brink, while the game’s approach to the third can best be described as tone-deaf. Another story-related concern: whereas Yagami had a personal stake in the events of the first Judgment, here he seems to be along for the ride. Yes, the case tests his commitment to his notion of justice, but it doesn’t hit the same way.

 

Gameplay is similarly hit-or-miss. Combat, as mentioned, remains a highlight, but for those not looking to fight the ubiquitous thugs that roam the city streets, Lost Judgment gives you the option of skateboarding right past them. The game’s investigation tools are deeper too, offering you not only the ability to look for clues but also, in certain circumstances, to sniff them out using a canine assistant. Less enjoyable is the new parkour (that utilizes a grip meter that depletes over time) and stealth (repetitive: move to a spot, throw a coin to distract, move to the next) mechanics. At least the game’s side content remains varied and mostly fun. Yagami gets to act as an advisor for various Seiryo High clubs, giving him a chance to do everything from dance to box to skateboard. The robotics club matches – picture robot Tetris with weapons and awkward controls – are a frustrating exception.

 

With Yakuza series creator Toshihiro Nagoshi having moved on and Sega locked in a dispute with representatives for Takuya Kimura (Yagami’s character model and Japanese voice actor – Greg Chun delivers the English performance), Lost Judgment may be the last game of its kind. That’s a shame both because Yagami and the game’s combat will be missed and because while Lost Judgment is hardly a failure by any means, the side series deserves a stronger send-off.

Dune: Part One

 

On the desert planet Arrakis, amid huge sandworms and hostile Fremen tribesmen, lies the spice mélange, a valuable substance that fuels interstellar travel. Emperor Corrino has transferred governorship of the planet from cruel and oppressive House Harkonnen to noble House Atreides, a gesture more trap than gift. Nevertheless, Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaac) seeks to secure his position by allying with the Fremen. Meanwhile, his partner Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) has been training their son Paul (Timothee Chalemet) in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, the powerful and secretive order to which they belong. Paul has been haunted by vivid dreams of a Fremen girl and armies killing in his name. One way or another, the house will meet its fate in the desert.

 

Frank Herbert’s iconic sci-fi novel is no stranger to the screen, having birthed a bizarre proposed 1970s adaptation by Alejandro Jodorowsky, a bizarre and offputting realized 1980s adaptation by David Lynch, and a less bizarre but more forgettable television miniseries in 2000. Denis Villenueve’s 2021 epic, which spans the book’s first half (a sequel is in the works), is by far the most successful of the lot. A faithful adaptation that distills when it needs to, Dune is crafted with vision and care. It is exciting and atmospheric enough to draw in even those that haven’t read the book, yet its latter-half pacing may test the audience’s patience.

 

As with Blade Runner 2049, Villenueve shows a knack for capturing the essence of what came before while still leaving his own stamp. Dune doesn’t skimp on the visual spectacle, offering everything from the endless sands (and terrifyingly huge sandworms) of Arrakis to the dark, cold hellishness of Harkonnen homeworld Giedi Prime and all shades in between. A pivitol battle, downplayed in previous adaptations, is given the full battle scene treatment here. A Hans Zimmer score, one of his best in recent years, accentuates the majesty and tension.

 

The actors generally do commendable work though several casting and character decisions don’t sit quite right. Among those that do work are Isaac, Ferguson (especially), and Chalomet (as with previous Pauls, he’s older than the character, but he pulls it off). Skellan Skarsgard’s take on the evil Baron Harkonnen is appreciably toned down. He’s still sinister and dangerous, but he’s not over-the-top. On the other hand, the Baron’s advisor Piter (David Dastmalchian) loses the source material’s twisted personality, much like Atreides weaponsmaster Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin) loses his musician side (the gruff warrior shtick calls to mind Brolin’s Deadpool 2 performance, but that was played for humor). Duncan Idaho is given an expanded role relative to previous adaptations, and while Jason Momoa is a fairly limited actor, he at least has the combat prowess down. Javier Bardem, on the other hand, is anything but limited, yet he feels slightly miscast here. The sequel will tell how Zendaya fares as Chani since her role here is small.

 

Despite a robust beginning, Dune lags about half to two-third of the way in. Paul and Jessica spend what seems like a long time wandering the desert, an indulgent choice on Villenueve’s part. Pacing recovers well enough toward the end to set up the film’s next installment, but Dune would have lost little were it fifteen minutes short.

 

For sci-fi fans and those who enjoyed the novel, Dune is a must: a grand spectacle that consistently impresses. For everyone else, the pull may not be quite as strong, but there’s still more engagement than slog.

Sopranos Review Round-Up: The Many Saints of Newark, Talking Sopranos, and Off the Back of a Truck

 I was a teenager in New Jersey when The Sopranos revolutionized television drama during its original run. I didn’t fully grasp the intricacies of what I was watching – that would come later – but there was something relatable beyond the adjacency of the setting. Most of the show’s main characters were of my parents’ generation rather than my own, but their children, Meadow and A.J., embodied many of the seeming contradictions Millennials faced: well-provided for yet ill-prepared to deal with the world, pushed to avoid repeating the mistakes made by their parents yet resented for not being more like those parents, offered both possibilities and a relentless pressure to fulfill them.

 

Since the last episode aired in 2007, The Sopranos has been analyzed, dissected, lauded, scorned, queried, referenced, revered, parodied, and dismissed more times than I care to count. As influential as it has been, that much is to be expected. Less anticipated, however, has been its renaissance. It has been a streaming favorite amid the pandemic, particularly – and perplexingly – among those too young to have seen it the first time it aired. Then again, given how well Tony’s “I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end” speaks to contemporary concerns, perhaps that is not perplexing after all.

 

Amid this resurgence, several cast members launched podcasts, several books were written and released, and the seeming mirage of a prequel movie actually became a reality. These media run the gamut from the virtuosity of Uncle Junior belting out “Core ‘ngrato” to the ineptitude of Vito’s attempt at honest carpentry, but even at their lowest points, they are at least fascinations for Sopranos fans.

 

The Many Saints of Newark

 

In 1967, New Jersey mob soldier Richard “Dickie” Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola) serves as a mentor to his young nephew, Tony Soprano (William Ludwig), especially after Tony’s father Johnny (Jon Bernthal) is sent to prison. Four years later, Johnny is released, Dickie and Joanne are parents to a young son, Christopher, and Tony (Michael Gandolfini) is an intelligent but trouble-prone teen concerned about his depressed mother Livia (Vera Farmiga). Meanwhile, Harold (Leslie Odom Jr.), one of Dickie’s former number runners, has come back to form a Black syndicate to wrest control from the Italians. While Dickie’s uncle Sally (Ray Liotta) encourages him to stay out of Tony’s life to avoid corrupting him, it may be too late for either of them.

 

Ever since the cut-to-black ending of The Sopranos final scene, demand has run high for some kind of follow-up. Series creator David Chase’s reluctance and series star James Gandolfini’s 2013 death made a continuation impossible, but it didn’t preclude a prequel. To a certain extent, The Many Saints of Newark delivers, showing younger versions of many of the series regulars and at least hinting at what led them to where they are when we first met them in 1998. But amid the copious amounts of fan service lurks another, arguably more interesting movie that looks at the 1967 Newark riots and their impact on the status quo via the lens of organized crime. The extent to which these two aims interrupt rather than complement one another speaks to an identity crisis that keeps The Many Saints from reaching its full potential though there are still moments in which it shines.

 

If nothing else, The Many Saints excels as a period piece, capturing the 1960s and 1970s with Scorsese-like detail. Chase (who co-wrote with Larry Konner while Alan Taylor directed) has always been something of an obsessive music fan, and it shows here. While his selections fit the mood (or, in one case, hilariously and darkly subvert it), they are so omnipresent during the film’s first half hour or so that The Many Saints plays like an awkward musical. This, coupled with some questionable writing, lends credence to the idea that Chase’s biggest creative contributions to The Sopranos were as a big-picture conceptualist while a lot of the episode-to-episode brilliance came from the likes of Terence Winter and others. At the very least, Taylor’s direction is sharp and assertive. This is a stylishly violent movie though not (again, save for the case previously alluded to) cartoonishly so.

 

Even with the dedication to fan service as something of an impediment, some of the cast members do an excellent job. Nivola has the luxury of playing someone long dead when the series began, and so he has more freedom to define who Dickie Molitisanti was. We see in him many shades of Christopher, a series regular (who narrates the film from beyond the grave – a cheap gimmick that Michael Imperioli nevertheless salvages). Dickie is violent and jealous and impulsive but also aware that there is more to life than being a wiseguy and is driven to achieve it. Harold, who morphs from ally to enemy, is in many ways his mirror image: a criminal who experiences a social awakening of sorts and decides to take his shot. Given the paucity of Black characters in the original series, his deuteragonist role (until that spot is usurped by Tony) is a welcome addition.

 

Among those in the “younger versions of established characters” camp, Farmiga and Corey Stoll (Tony’s conniving Uncle Junior) had some of the biggest shoes to fill (Nancy Marchand and Dominic Chianese, respectively) yet did some of the best work here. Farmiga’s Livia is still brimming with toxic negativity, yet she is not the monster she will become by the time of Marchand’s portrayal. Farmiga humanizes her enough to offer some semblance of hope for redemption even though we know it is not meant to be. For his part, Stoll nails Junior’s pettiness, irritiablity, and sense of his own importance as well as his look and mannerisms. It’s a shame that a character with some of the best dialogue in the original series is reduced to a series of catchphrases (even if the infamous “varsity athlete” line was laugh out loud funny), but that’s no fault of the actor.

 

Of course, Michael Gandolfini taking over for his late father had arguably the biggest shoes to fill of all, but to everyone’s collective relief, Tony isn’t the main character here. Gandolfini the younger did a commendable job embodying younger Tony even if he’s slightly too old for the role. Then again, this is far from the movie’s only transgression against the established timeline. In the original series, Silvio Dante (Steven Van Zandt), Tony’s longtime friend and consiglieri, is implied to be a peer no more than a few years older. Here, the 1960s/70s version is played by a 30-something John Magaro with a combover, and he calls Tony “kid.” That Magaro is doing a caricature of a mobster caricature doesn’t help matters. Liotta very nearly falls into this category of distractingly bad as well. As Dickie’s abusive jerk of a father, Aldo, he’s one-note detestable, turning in a lazy performance full of superficial bluster. But then he also plays Sally, who is both quirkier (he’s a Miles Davis fan) and more contemplative, showing that maybe Liotta wasn’t just going through the motions for a paycheck after all.

 

The Many Saints of Newark ends in a way that brings everything full circle while still leaving questions unanswered. Chase, ever the pessimist, shows children fighting to avoid becoming their parents and failing, and that, coupled with the change in setting and exploration, however brief, of social context, lends at least some substance to what is otherwise an awkwardly nostalgia-heavy affair. Fans of the series will likely find The Many Saints worse than the weakest of the show’s episodes, and yet, as a side story/supplement, it’s oddly indispensable.

 

Talking Sopranos

 

One of several Sopranos podcasts to emerge during the past few years, Talking Sopranos is hosted by series regulars Michael Imperioli and Steve Schirripa, who interview crew, fellow cast members, and others while providing recaps of every episode.

 

At the heart of Talking Sopranos is a great joke albeit one that wears thin quickly: Michael and Steve are the complete opposites of their characters…and each other. While Christopher Moltisanti was an impulsively violent failed writer frustrated about his place in the world, Imperioli is an accomplished writer and actor with an intellectual’s low-key bearing. And while Bobby Baccala was the sensitive butt of many jokes (at least until his latter-season rank up), Schirripa is the quintessential abrasive New York loudmouth. The two needle each other endlessly, which is amusing to a point, but they (or, more accurately, Steve) have an annoying tendency to lose the thread. For every insightful and amusing guest interview, there are those marred by rote questions and unwarranted interruptions. The episode analysis fares no better, often spiraling into pointless segues. Admittedly, some of the show biz anecdotes shared are gold, but even at their best, they stretch out each episode’s run time to a frustrating degree.

 

I have invested enough time in Talking Sopranos to see it through to the end, and for the patient, it does offer occasional rewards, but you should think twice before taking the plunge.

 

Off The Back of a Truck: Unofficial Contraband for the Sopranos Fan

 

While other Sopranos books focus their energies on episode analysis and behind-the-scenes trivia, Nick Braccia’s 2020 offering carves out a unique niche by trafficking in Sopranos-adjacent lore. It discusses the cultural context (crimes, food, music, and fashion) that informed the show as well as its big and small screen antecedents (I credit it for getting me interested in the first season of Wiseguy) while also exploring The Sopranos’s subsequent impact. There are favorite episode run-downs here too, as well as series death rankings, and while some of the picks are debatable, even the worst is more thoughtful and informed than the typical vapid top-ten clickbait cluttering the Internet. Some Sopranos fans may find the amount of “side content” distracting and tedious, but for those who have already heard the behind-the-scenes stories, it is precisely this unique focus that gives Off the Back of a Truck value. Credit Braccia for going where other books won’t.