#79: Wicked: For Good: But Why?
Death By Consumption
11/18/25 - 12/1/25
The best part about coming back from a long vacation (oh, did you know I went to Japan? Have I mentioned that yet?) is the absolute mountain of culture you have to catch up on. And yet, instead of planting myself in front of a screen and binging the new gay horny hockey show, I've been stuck spending quality time with loved ones. Like some sort of sucker! December, for me, will be about upping my screentime as much as humanly possible. I'm about to burn these retinas out of my skull with how much content I plan on consuming.
This week: I watched three of the big new movies and disliked two of them, I decided I'm over the government's constant striptease with UFO disclosure, I was charmed by The Beatles, I finally started getting caught up on the masterpiece that is Pluribus, and I read a book that was written by a reader of this very email!!
Wicked: For Good (2025) — at Marcus Cinemas Oshkosh
It's time I accept I'll never be a Wicked gay.
Now that I've seen the entire thing, I'm only left with questions. What was the point of this second film? Why was everything lit so terribly? Was it to turn the famous color of the original Wizard of Oz on its head, the way this story turns that movie's story on its head — a symbolic darkening of the screen, to make you take a second, closer look at everything you think you know? Or are these people really just that bad at making movies?
And I have even more questions about the story, now that I've seen it from beginning to end. Why — other than needing to give the story a plot — did Glinda stick with the Wizard, despite knowing he was a fraud? Why did Elphaba sing a whole song about how she was done being good, since everyone blames her for bad stuff anyway, before proceeding to... keep being good? And why did the big, final reveal need to be kept a secret from Glinda forever? In fact, why did any of this pointless stuff happen, and why did it all take so long??? Was this all just one big cash grab? Is it capitalism all the way down? Am I dumb for even asking such obvious questions?
The first film was a bit of a mess, sure, but at least it was a mostly fun mess. This one was mostly a joyless slog. It felt largely perfunctory, as if the film itself was saying, "Ugh, okay, let's just wrap this shit up, so sorry about all this."
For a film in which nothing really happens in the first half, it certainly felt like it never stopped moving — there is so! much! exposition! in the first hour-plus, so much it gave me whiplash, until I realized: wait, nothing is happening. It certainly feels like a lot of plot, but there actually isn't any plot to be found. There's a lot of frenetic energy here, but it all leads nowhere and has no purpose. You know it's a good movie when practically the entire first hour could be lopped off the film and nothing would change!
Granted, Wicked gays and girls have made it abundantly clear for the past year that the second half of the musical is famously a struggle, with pretty much zero iconic songs to be found, so I suppose we can't blame the film itself for these problems — though that once again raises the question: why split this into two films in the first place? I know the answer is "money" but you'd think they'd at least bother to come up with something else to justify the 5-plus hours we've now spent in this poorly lit world. This was a blatant cash grab, nothing more, and I'm kind of annoyed I fell for it. Wicked has fooled me twice, and the shame is absolutely on me.
Frankenstein (2025) — on Netflix
Another pointless, overly long, poorly lit slog of a film! The American film industry is doing great, it seems. Frankenstein, like Wicked: For Good, could have lost at least an hour, if not more. Fuck it — the whole film should have been left on the cutting room floor.
At least the performances were enjoyable, I suppose. Oscar Isaac is always great to see, especially when he randomly gets naked, like he does in this. (And, if you're wondering, no, you unfortunately do not get to see Dr. Frankenstein's other monster.) Jacob Elordi was certainly doing some acting, though a lot of the time his "acting" is actually more just "crouching." (It's a performance reminiscent of my favorite stage performance of all time, one that I never actually saw in person: Bradley Cooper in The Elephant Man, where he just kind of scrunched his face up and hobbled around.) And Mia Goth is there, doing her Mia Goth thing, which I always appreciate, though I never quite understand it.
The film felt strangely empty and soulless, with nothing deeper to say about humanity than a vague hand-waving at the ways the sins of the father are passed onto the son. So profound! And it only took 3 hours to get there! Sure, the set design and costumes and all of that were beautiful, but that's a bit like putting a tuxedo on Frankenstein's creature — it's still a lifeless, shambling mess that probably should have stayed buried.
Bugonia (2025) — on Apple
At some point we need to have a serious discussion about Poor Things, and what to do with the people who loved that movie. It’s scary enough that we have to share a society with RFK Jr. supporters, but knowing I could be sitting next to a Poor Things enjoyer at this very moment is enough to send a chill down my spine. I'm constantly looking at everyone askew, wondering if they laughed with glee at watching Emma Stone pretend to act like a baby for 2 hours. We live surrounded by freaks in this country, and I'm never going to forget the lesson of that film.
Poor Things also altered my relationship with Yorgos Lanthimos. After directing some of my favorite movies back to back to back (I will accept no The Lobster slander!), something in Yorgos must have snapped, and he made one of the worst films ever, an atrocity so irritating and inane that it forever changed my opinion of him. It was like if Picasso had gotten really into AI, or if Lady Gaga started doing reggae. Poor Things made me worried for Yorgos' mental health, and the adulation heaped upon the film made me worry for our society at large.
And yet, despite it being another Yorgos/Emma Stone collaboration, I felt a sense of eager anticipation about Bugonia. I still went in with a heavy dose of skepticism, but, damnit, by the end, these lunatics had somehow won me back. Bugonia is easily the best Emma/Yorgos film since The Favourite, and while it doesn't quite reach the brilliance of that movie, this was a very fun ride, and a fantastic showcase for Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons' talents. These two are really at their best here — Emma as a Lean In-style girlboss CEO, wielding corporate buzzwords and a plastered-on smile like a whip; Jesse as a conspiracy-addled backwoods one-man militia, equal parts terrifying and heartbreaking. The film is part thriller, part comedy, part sci-fi, genreless and very clever, and it's good enough for me to start the process of forgiving Yorgos and Emma for Poor Things. The body keeps the score, of course, we know this, but with enough time, therapy, and movies like Bugonia, I believe we can start to heal.
The Age of Disclosure (2025) — on Prime Video
Remember a couple years ago when the government was like, "Would you guys mind if we announced that UFOs are real?" and everyone was like, "Actually we can't take this on at the moment, sorry," so we all just collectively moved on? Isn't it time to, like, circle back to that? This "documentary" attempts to do just that, via "explosive" interviews with high-up government officials, seeking to "reveal" the "secrets" of "UAPs" (as UFOs are called now, if you haven't been keeping up with this whole thing, WHICH I HAVE).
There's no new UFO or alien footage in here, so don't get your hopes up that this documentary is about to blow things wide open. Instead, it relies on some big-name interviews, the biggest being Marco Rubio and Kirsten Gillibrand, two senators who have surely never lied to us before. They're accompanied in the film by interviews with random high-level military dudes, who all tell us various things you've probably heard before — a weird thing moved faster than possible, a different weird thing was seen by a military base — with a few "new revelations" sprinkled in. The most notable new revelation is a psychotic story (supposedly related by George Bush himself???) of a spacecraft landing at a military base, and an alien coming out and, like, talking to Air Force guys? Okay, sure!!! Why not!
These sorts of "documentaries" are always a silly affair, probably a mixture of real stories, total lies, and CIA psyops (my tinfoil hat stays ON), but as a rule they always get bogged down by one very specific dude. These dudes are always some sort of vague former government contractor, who worked in various mysterious sectors, and they always have the exact same bloated, roided-out body type as Alex Jones. The dude always makes himself the star of the film by unspooling story after story of his nefarious government past — he's always claiming to have been on a spaceship inside a government facility, or to have spoken to an alien. And, conveniently, he can never prove his government history, because it all either never existed or was wiped by nefarious entities once he started speaking out. Whoops!
So, while a part of me gets a little thrill every time there's footage of an admiral I've never heard of being like "yes, aliens are real," this film falls into the same trap as all this stuff: it's the same tired footage, the same stories of "tic-tac shaped objects," and unfortunately throwing Marco Rubio into the mix is simply not enough to convince me of anything. Maybe the 20 Rubio/Gillibrand stans out there are frothing at the mouth, but I’ve long since become immune to anything these two have to say.
As a certified nosy bitch, I'm getting tired of all these half-teases about who knows what, and I think it's time for these government folks to start putting up or shutting up. The government keeps acting like a bad burlesque dancer, tantalizingly rolling down their elbow-length gloves, teasing the public, like, "Ooh, wouldn't it be so naughty if we told you about the aliens?" before covering back up while doing some stupid Betty Boop dance to try to distract us. Either show us the goods or get off the stage, I'm TIRED!
The Beatles Anthology 2025 (2025, duh) — on Disney+
This series – Peter Jackson's remastering of the 1990s The Beatles Anthology series — is spectacular, and also happens to be a fantastic series to watch with your parents, if you're in the market for that kind of thing this month. While I'm far too familiar with practically every part of The Beatles' history (yes, yes, Sir Paul, I already know "Yesterday" came to you in a dream), I had never seen the original Anthology series, a gap I'm all too happy to be rectifying now. Because, it simply needs to be said: these were the four most charming boys in the world!
This series, in which The Beatles' story is largely told by George, Paul, and Ringo themselves, is an obscene display of charisma — practically every sentence out of their mouths is gold. And Peter Jackson's remastering of the footage and music is genuinely stunning, something you have to see to believe. The old concert footage feels practically 4K, as if you could reach out and brush John's sweaty hair out of his eyes. And the music! The way Peter Jackson has been able to isolate each individual track from even the most hectic of live 1960s recordings — most iconically the insane Shea Stadium performance — makes me wonder why every other modern film and TV show is so terribly mixed, if someone is able to pull this wizardry off. Like, Peter Jackson is making ancient shitty recordings come alive, so why is every Netflix show mixed like: “whisper whisper whisper EXPLOSION!! GUNSHOTS!!! whisper whisper”? (Breaking news: old man yells at TV for being loud.)
That Shea Stadium performance in particular is such a spectacular set piece, not only for The Beatles, but for Peter Jackson, who at a certain point feels like he's simply showing off. You're able to hear every missed guitar chord, every slightly flat note sung by Paul, every laugh from John and George as the overwhelming crowd causes them to repeatedly fuck up. You even, at points, hear specific screams from specific girls in the audience. It's almost as if Peter Jackson had traveled back in time, and planted mics all around the stadium.
And the entire series is like that, somehow breathing new life into the well-trodden history of the most-covered band in the world. At this point I don't even care if Peter Jackson wants to continue doing this work: it is our imperative as a society to force him to keep restoring old music and footage, until he's brought all lost media back to us.
Pluribus, episodes 1-3 — on Apple TV+
The only downside to traveling was knowing people were watching Pluribus, Vince Gilligan's highly anticipated new show, so when I returned I had to dodge spoilers as deftly as I avoided kissing my girlfriends in high school. Somehow, I managed to go into the pilot completely blind, and had the time of my damn life. Watching the Pluribus pilot felt the same way it must have felt living through the Renaissance, like all this ancient knowledge we thought was lost forever had come rushing back out of nowhere. You're telling me people still know how to make good TV shows?!
The 2nd and 3rd episodes were a bit slower than the pilot, I'll admit, but I really don't care — I'm having so much fun watching this show, luxuriating in its very strange world, and I truly will follow it wherever it goes at this point. I love the careful and respectful way he’s treating the central mystery, the way he sets up a question that you think is going to be the narrative hook of the entire season, before giving you the answer in, sometimes, a matter of minutes. It’s a sure sign that the showrunner trusts the audience, and isn’t here to waste our time, even in its slowest moments. You can feel the confidence behind the entire show, and it just feels so, so, so nice being in the capable hands of a person you know you can trust. We needed this show badly, and now all I ask is to please not spoil the next 2 episodes before I can get caught up. Pluribus is my life now.
Never Stop Exiting: Stories, by Michael Hopkins (2025) — paperback
I'm going to be honest, I was nervous about this one. You see, this is the first book I've ever had sent to me by someone who reads this very newsletter. When author Michael Hopkins offered to send me his new collection of short stories, I accepted, with some fear that I'd be saddled with an absolutely terrible book that I'd either have to trash or lie about. So what a massive fucking relief that I actually liked this book!
From the first story, he had me — it follows a woman, Shelby, who has to get her leg amputated, and is arguing with her mother about her desire to have the leg mounted on her wall as a trophy. It's a funny, heartfelt story, with a great, morbidly weird premise, and I genuinely breathed a sigh of relief that I loved it, knowing I could sink into the rest of the stories without worrying about what I’d have to say about it. What followed that opening story is a great, strange collection of stories, which range from speculative fiction to heartbreaking drama. Michael has a great ear for dialogue, his characters say a lot without having to say much, and his stories — unlike the collection's title suggests — always know exactly where to leave you, both satisfied and wanting more.
So I guess what I'm saying is: feel free to send me your art, if it's as good as this! (Or if it's bad, actually, you can send that too — it might be kind of fun to tear a reader to shreds.)