Tom Cruise plays a Civil war vet named Nathan Algren who has been spending the last 10 or so years since the end of the war riding around the old west with General Custer and murdering Native Americans. But he feels bad about it so that makes it ok. He is hired to go to Japan and lead an army of Imperial Japanese troops against the Samurai, who the movie parallels to the Native Americans in their customs, battle tactics, and ways of life.

Nathan quickly realizes that the Japanese Imperial troops suck at battles and the Samurai are great at them. Then he gets captured by the Samurai and gets to know the Samurai leader, Katsumoto, played by Ken Watanabe. He sympathizes with them because he feels bad for murdering a bunch of Native Americans and because he’s cared for by the hot wife of a Samurai he killed during the battle in which he was captured.

He knows that eventually the Samurai are going to get slaughtered by the Imperial Japanese regardless of how superior the Samurai are at fighting, because the Imperials have superior weaponry. Sure enough, when the Samurai have their big showdown with the Imperials at the end, they are slaughtered by cannons, gatling guns, and rifles. Katsumoto dies and Nathan doesn’t. The end. Somehow this takes two and a half hours.

Hey, the obsession with masks continues! Tom Cruise doesn’t wear one himself, but there is a great deal of focus on the attire and masks of the Samurai. Near the end of the movie, he changes his clothes. I know that doesn’t sound exciting but trust me it’s a big moment for everybody involved.

There are also some legitimately fun fighting scenes and the movie is occasionally funny, but not very funny. You won’t laugh out loud, you’ll just smile and feel a little bit sad because you just smiled at a joke that really is only funny if you’re being charitable, and you’ll realize that the movie is a bit awkward and you’re looking for an excuse to laugh or be distracted for a bit. After all, it’s a movie in which Tom Cruise plays a Samurai. I know it claims it’s based on true events but come on.

Early in the movie the narrator says something about the Moderns and the Ancients, a reference to ancient Greece. Nathan also compares the last doomed battle between the Samurai and the Imperials to the Battle of Thermopylae (famously portrayed in the movie 300). I suppose that is enough of an indicator that The Last Samurai is an allegory for the inevitable death of tradition. If so, it doesn’t really teach us anything, it simply feels sorrow.

It is actually, in a lot of ways, an ode to some of the classic Japanese films of cinema and is not too different in tone from Seven Samurai or Yojimbo. In this way it is appropriately lonely, slow, and sad. It is also fitting that most American westerns are ripoffs of Japanese Samurai films, and that The Last Samurai merges those ideas. Perhaps you could argue that The Last Samurai is a bit of a cipher eulogizing the storytelling of a bygone era. Nuance, patience, and tradition have become overwhelmed by explosions. Artisanship has been trumped by mass production, craft made irrelevant by technology.

It might be true, but being true and being engaging aren’t the same thing. In the immortal words of Jeffery Lebowski, “You’re not wrong, Walter, you’re just an asshole.”

Next: Collateral

Something I noticed when watching Minority report that I found interesting: This is the fourth movie in a row that predominantly features Tom Cruise wearing a mask.

I am taking a little artistic license here, but let me explain. In Minority Report, Tom Cruise’s character receives some sort of device that massively changes his appearance to the effect that nobody can recognize him. He also gets his retinas replaced so he can’t be recognized by eye-scanners. This is, in essence, a mask.

In Vanilla Sky, Tom Cruise’s character is in an automobile accident that drastically changes his facial appearance. His doctor gives him a latex mask to wear in public which hides his disfigurement.

Mission: Impossible II features Tom Cruise’s character impersonating others by wearing the incredibly lifelike masks that are iconic of the franchise. It also features other characters wearing Tom Cruise masks to impersonate Tom Cruise. I suppose I should note that I understand that these scenes do not actually feature actors wearing masks – but the fictional masks are central to the story and the espionage themes of the movie.

And in Eyes Wide Shut, Tom Cruise’s character famously wears a mask to a sex party full of masked high-society types.

I wonder if there was something going on in Tom Cruise’s life during the 1999-2002 time period that drew him to roles in which he disguised his appearance. Was he troubled by a fear that his handsomeness was more central to his success than his acting ability? Did he have any personal difficulties with living in the public eye during this era, the height of his fame? Is there something about his marriage being on the rocks (He and Nicole Kidman divorced in 2001) that influenced this?

I have no idea, but it seems like a trend. Anyway, about the movie…

I’m not particularly intrigued by the idea that “pre-crime” or the ability to arrest someone for something that they are going to do is a “science fiction” concept since we arrest and imprison people in today’s society for intending to distribute drugs. So the so-called fantastical elements (the science is never fully explained outside of the fact that the movie’s “precogs” are people who developed their abilities because of “genetic testing”) doesn’t really ring true to me. However, that’s the whole point of Phillip K. Dick and other science fiction that is meant to provoke thought about how the ideas are relevant in today’s world. Should we legislate against how someone thinks, or should we try and influence change? The movie’s opinion on this is pretty clear.

Stephen Spielberg’s strengths and weaknesses are on display in Minority Report as well. One of the reasons the movie feels so lively and action packed is that the camera is constantly moving, showing us different angles of situations. The set piece that a majority of the plot hinges upon is in its entirety based on the development of different perspectives as we learn more about the scene. This scene, and the entire plot of the film, would not work without Spielberg’s vision.

For some reason though I’ve always found Spielberg fairly tone deaf – the inconsistency in pacing and mood in the Indiana Jones movies is a weakness in that series, for example. In Minority Report Spielberg mixes intense situations where characters confront serious personal challenges and struggle to repair and understand relationships with slapstick comedy. This completely kills the suspense of a few scenes that should be exhilarating.

Cruise doesn’t have to do much acting here. Colin Farrell is also in the movie and he does his best to give his character some depth, but he isn’t particularly well utilized here. The movie also has a villain and a romantic interest who might as well be statues with signs hung around their necks labeled “villain” and “romantic interest.”

Really, Minority Report’s appeal is entirely based upon the story, which is good enough that even though I remembered most of the plot’s twists and turns, I still found entertaining and compelling. Sci-Fi movies almost never hold up well because advances in technology as well as our understandings of the “future” portrayed by the stories develop so fast that its hard to re-watch them with the curiosity and wonder that captivates attention when they are released. I don’t suppose I would call it a “good” movie. I remember Richard Roeper (Gene Siskel’s temporary replacement on his and Roger Ebert’s “At the Movies” TV show after Siskel passed away) named it the best film of 2002. I think that’s a joke.

But it works for me, and it’s a good example of a clever, semi-original action/sci-fi movie (it’s based on a Phillip K. Dick story, but I don’t think it’s a very well-known one) in the era of big-budget special-effects driven blockbusters that are almost never well made and almost never original.

Next: The Last Samurai

I think it’s possible that Vanilla Sky is the most “Tom Cruise” Tom Cruise movie of all time. Spoiler alert:

Vanilla Sky is largely about the idea that you can have a happy, fulfilled life simply by deciding to. It is also about whether fleeting decisions and feelings you have “in the moment” are more or less real than the hard truths of everyday life.

Does this sound familiar? It should, since you’ve clearly been diligently reading and internalizing every single one of these Tom Cruise reviews. If it doesn’t, this is also the main theme of Jerry Maguire, Cruise and director Cameron Crowe’s last collaboration.

Jerry Maguire applies the idea that happiness comes not from a life of realism or from making logical, reasoned choices, but from following fleeting ambitions to the point of failure. It is a practical exploration of this theme. Depending on whether or not you want to believe in Crowe’s nihilism (I do), it is also melancholy, indicating that following these choices leads to happiness and excitement but also certain failure and pain.

Vanilla Sky takes a metaphysical look at the same worldview: What is more real? I mean, literally, what is more real? A dream that honestly portrays and fulfills your desires, or a waking life built around what is logically possible?

I get why a lot of people don’t like Vanilla Sky. It is hard to follow. It is heavy-handed. Some of the plot points don’t feel like they add up even when you’ve pieced together the twists and secrets that are revealed in the last few moments. The genre and tone change as the movie develops as well – from romantic comedy, to thriller, back to romance, to science fiction. It may be a thought-provoking experience, but I’m not sure if it’s an entertaining one.

The thing I loved about the film was the dialogue, ripe with Cameron Crowe’s signature wordy sentimentality. Like Kevin Smith and Aaron Sorkin, Crowe ignores natural human speech patterns because he wants his characters to make his points for him. Jerry Maguire was full of characters lying to one another while staring, smiling, into each other’s eyes. Vanilla Sky features characters having conversations that are really just parallel monologues, where neither listens to or cares what the other is saying. The patterns may or may not ring true but the concept feels real.

The thing I hated about Vanilla Sky was that even though the plot was rich and intense and the themes were thought-provoking and clear, I never had an understanding of who the characters were or why they did what they do. For a movie pushing two and a half hours, featuring only a few performers, I learned much less about the characters than I did in Magnolia which features way more people. For a movie that attempts to tie real-life decision making to a difficult, sci-fi plot point, this seems like a massive oversight.

So why, then, is this the most Tom Cruise movie of all time? It takes a real, sincere look at the idea of using science to extend one’s life and align one’s fantasies with reality. It implies that committing to what really, substantially, exists is preferable to the bliss of an ignorant, cerebrally-driven existence. It suggests that you have to care to be fulfilled. And even though it isn’t the best movie of all time, it sure is trying.

Next: Minority Report

Generally, spy franchises are built around the personality of the hero. The Jason Bourne series, like its titular protagonist, is stoic, clam and intense with bursts of energy. It’s compelling how little of his personality Matt Damon shows in that role. The James Bond series, on the other hand, has ebbed and flowed around the character its leads have brought to the screen. Sean Connery’s Bond was charming, irreverent and sometimes goofy. Daniel Craig’s has been handsome and a bit sorrowful. Pierce Brosnan’s was suave in the way a sturdy laminate is suave.

The interesting thing about the Mission: Impossible film series is that the films have changed to suit the personalities of their directors instead of their actors. Likewise, Ethan Hunt is a bit different in every film. In the first movie, Cruise plays foil to the franchises serial/noir roots represented by Jon Voight. Brian DePalma plays with the themes and tropes familiar to the TV series and uses Cruise’s Hunt to burst them open, attending to detail with meticulousness and craft.

It’s clear from the opening scenes of Mission: Impossible II that John Woo doesn’t care about any of that. He wants action and explosions, motorcycles and sex scenes. Brian DePalma wants you to wonder. John Woo wants you experience something.

The plot is simple and outside of a few mask-reveal tricks there aren’t any twists. Woo is a fantastic action director, combining close-ups and clever framing with wide and medium range movement to make you feel like you are part of the action without losing the sense of what’s going on. It’s a tricky balance that some of the most acclaimed action movie directors haven’t mastered and some of the most derided have (Michael Bay, explosions and all, is the king of this kind of filmmaking). If only someone could teach Mike and John how to write.

Interestingly, Ronald D. Moore of Battlestar Galactica fame gets a “story by” credit in this one: A terrifying genetically-modified flu virus was created in a lab in the interest of creating a super-vaccine that could fight it, as well as every other strain of influenza. I have no idea if this makes scientific sense but it sounds compelling. The scientist decides to transport the virus and the vaccine to Los Angeles because if he didn’t there would be no way of the virus getting stolen and sold on the black market as a chemical weapon. The IMF sends a hotheaded secretly-evil possible rogue agent to pose as Ethan Hunt and escort the scientist to L.A. because they can’t find Ethan Hunt and Ethan Hunt is of course the only person the scientist trusts. Then the hotheaded secretly-evil possible rogue agent does what no one would have expected and goes rogue – crashing the plane and murdering everyone on board, then stealing the virus and vaccine so he sell them to a biomedical conglomerate looking to corner the market and make a boatload of cash. Ethan Hunt has to recruit a team of agents to help him get the virus back and the team includes the rogue agent’s ex-girlfriend who promptly falls in love with Hunt, Ving Rhames because of fan service, and Billy Bragg because the movie takes place in Australia and also because someone on the home team has to die.

The movie progresses pretty much how you’d expect, with a wonderful clone of the M:I I heist in the atrium of a biomedical research lab in Sydney, and a terrific motorcycle chase / fight scene at the end between Hunt and the villain, played by Dougray Scott.

It’s been discussed before, by me, and by other people whose reviews actually matter, that Tom Cruise basically IS Ethan Hunt, and that his effort to provide realism in his films by doing his own stunts is what provides the intensity that makes them engaging. In this one, he hangs by one hand from a cliff, does some cool motorcycle tricks, and dropkicks Dougray Scott in the chest. It’s totally plausible that Cruise actually learned how to do all of these things for the movie, though there are enough cutaways and careful cropping to indicate that some of the work was done by a double. Whatever, it works, and if the music is occasionally cheesy or if you roll your eyes when Tom Cruise emerges from a flaming hallway behind two majestic soaring doves just do your best to ignore the symbolism and unintentional comedy and remember what kind of movie you’re watching.

But here’s the thing: Cruise is not good as a romantic lead. When Tom Cruise, romantic lead in a feature film, is accompanied by some character note about how he is a) psychotic (Jerry Maguire) b) a huge dork (Cocktail) or c) completely out of his league (Eyes Wide Shut), it works. But he is not nor has he ever been classically cool in the James Dean sense. And that’s what John Woo tries to do with him, hoping that the audience won’t notice that he has no chemistry whatsoever with Thandie Newton or that when he lies on top of her, stares into her eyes and says “Damn, you’re beautiful,” it sounds like he’s reading from a fortune cookie.

If you can get past this, you’ll have fun watching Mission: Impossible II. I love that it exists as this unique little snowflake in a film franchise that has gotten increasingly bombastic and serious. While it’s not a particularly good movie, it’s reminiscent of a time when even Hollywood valued the style and personality of a particularly interesting director rather than just giving the next Marvel movie to whoever made a well-reviewed indie film last year and trusting that they won’t take any big risks.

Next: Vanilla Sky

Magnolia is a long, ponderous, sentimental movie about the ways people are connected. We are introduced to several characters, all lonely and connected in different ways. We see how these characters’ experiences and relationships have created the situations in their lives. Some of them are nearing the end of their lives and others are at the beginning, but all of them are lonely.

We see them judging people and being judged by others. We see what they do when they interact with people and how they react to their internal ideas about how others perceive them. They feel unique, like their own problems are more terrible and insurmountable than anyone else’s. We see how they respond to those problems – some of them get drunk or do drugs or turn up the music so loud they can’t experience the reality around them. Some of them create different identities that better meet their own expectations for who they should be.

Some of them die, or are reprimanded, or continue living their lives unchanged. And some of them realize that they can only be happy when they realize that others exist, by listening, caring, and by trying to get what they want.

Magnolia is one of my favorite movies. I have spent a great deal of time watching it and thinking about what it means. But for today I’m going to focus on Tom Cruise.

Cruise gives a terrific and uncharacteristic performance. I think he’s at his best when he’s able to take his strengths – his huge, crooked smile, his energy and physicality – with a unique character that doesn’t merely feel like Tom Cruise (he of unending charisma and charm). In Magnolia he does this by playing a monster, a real-life villain who uses his intellect and skills in a way that harms our society and people. When we first see Frank T.J. Mackey it’s in an infomercial, but when we see him in the flesh his first words are “Respect the cock” followed by “Tame the cunt.”

But Mackey is also a charming and brilliant man who understands the way people react to what he does. The scenes in which he is interviewed by April Grace are incredibly captivating. We learn almost nothing about Frank’s past and why he became the person he is, but we learn everything about how he behaves around women, how he lives his life, and why he is successful.

Then we see how Frank reacts to adversity, and it is not in the typical Tom Cruise fashion of punching and kicking. He sometimes screams, sometimes seems short of breath, but more often than not Frank stares off into space, shielding his vulnerability with silence. We can see that he is in pain and also that he is angry, so full of rage that he can’t even move, and also that he is terrified that he could say something or do something that could come back to hurt him.

Last, we learn his history. The incredible thing about encountering a character in this way, the opposite sequence in which an audience typically engages with a fictional character in film, television, or literature is that when we finally do learn Frank’s past it all makes sense. We see why he would lie about who he is, and why he is so angry at his father. He sits at the bedside of a dying father and screams at him with the rage of an abandoned son and then breaks down and begs him not to go away again.

And in this last moment we finally know where all of that anger and fear from the previous scenes came from. Cruise, like he always does, takes the script and pacing and plot of the movie and makes it feel real, and here he does it with the incredibly rich and poignant source material of Paul Thomas Anderson’s screenplay.

I didn’t time it, but it looks like Cruise gets around 20-25 minutes of screen time in a 3 hour movie, which is less than some of the other main characters of Philip Baker Hall, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and John C. Reilly. All of the performances are great – Hoffman’s, for example, is much more subtle but equally emotionally affecting. Some of the storylines don’t work as well – to this day I don’t really care that much about Quiz Kid Donnie Smith or know what we’re supposed to understand about the young black street tough who raps at Officer Jim Kurring at the beginning of the movie, then appears again near the end. And the best thing I can figure out about the title is that it’s something ancient, primal, and inexplicable, multi-faceted and fleeting but beautiful.

This is also the first movie in which Tom Cruise looks like the Tom Cruise I identify with from the 2000s. He’s put on a little face weight from the mid 90s (even though Magnolia was released in the same year, 1999, as Eyes Wide Shut, I believe it was shot years after) and his hair is long, befitting an odd, kind of plasticky-surfer-chic era in American aesthetics. It is also apropos to the new cultural understanding of Tom Cruise that was built over the course of the aughts – that he was, and is, a psychopath.

Next: Mission: Impossible II