scottgmckenzie
Joined Jul 2022
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scottgmckenzie's rating
Wow seriously ignore the dumb negative reviews clearly most of those are folks who did not even watch any of the episodes so far. Check out this new epic story - I'm hooked!
Chief of War is more than just a historical drama-it's a cinematic homage to a culture rarely given this much screen time, and it doesn't waste a single frame in telling its story with reverence, grit, and heart.
Scenery and Cinematography: A Visual Masterpiece
From the opening shots, the Hawaiian islands (and yes I know where it was filmed so what it's beautiful and works setting the right tone) are treated not merely as a backdrop but as a living character. The lush greens, volcanic reds, and expansive blues of the Pacific are captured in breathtaking wide-angle shots and sweeping aerial views. The cinematography is meticulous, almost meditative at times, with deliberate pacing that draws you into the natural rhythm of island life-and the turbulent undercurrents of war.
Whether it's mist-covered cliffs, churning surf, or smoke rising from tribal fires, every scene feels handcrafted. Natural light is used to stunning effect, particularly in golden-hour battles and quiet conversations under torchlight. It's immersive and evocative-clearly influenced by Terrence Malick and The Last of the Mohicans-but with a distinctly Polynesian heartbeat.
Music and Sound Design: A Spiritual Undercurrent - Zimmer sets the mood
The score blends traditional Polynesian instruments with modern cinematic cues to elevate tension and emotion without overpowering the moment. The use of indigenous chants, percussion, and melodic motifs grounds the story in authenticity and identity. Music here doesn't just accompany the narrative-it anchors it. In quieter scenes, the ambient sound of the ocean or jungle builds a visceral sense of place that never lets you forget where you are: this is Hawaii, before the West came calling.
Characterization: Layered, Human, and Authentic
Jason Momoa leads with raw intensity, but it's his restraint in key moments that makes his performance resonate. He embodies a man torn between tradition and transformation-between chief and warrior, between vengeance and vision. The supporting cast is equally strong, particularly the women, who are not sidelined but integral to the emotional and political stakes of the story.
The show avoids turning characters into mere archetypes. Even the antagonists are layered, with motivations rooted in power, fear, or survival, rather than cartoonish villainy. Tribal alliances, family dynamics, and individual ambition collide with believable complexity.
Storytelling: Epic in Scope, Intimate in Heart
At its core, Chief of War tells a story about identity-cultural, personal, and generational. It balances sweeping historical events with intimate personal struggles. The pacing leans slow-burn in the best way, giving characters and conflicts time to breathe.
The writing doesn't spoon-feed exposition, trusting the audience to stay engaged and follow along as customs, rituals, and politics unfold naturally. This lends the show a sense of realism and weight, making the betrayals more heartbreaking and the triumphs more earned.
Themes of legacy, honor, resistance, and sacrifice are woven throughout without becoming didactic. And while the show doesn't shy away from brutality, it also leaves room for beauty, love, and quiet reflection.
Final Verdict:
Chief of War is a powerful, respectful, and beautifully crafted series that elevates indigenous storytelling to a new cinematic high. It's a rare show that educates while it entertains, moves you while it mesmerizes. With its gripping narrative, stunning visuals, rich characters, and soulful score, it's a must-watch for fans of historical epics and cultural storytelling done right.
Chief of War is more than just a historical drama-it's a cinematic homage to a culture rarely given this much screen time, and it doesn't waste a single frame in telling its story with reverence, grit, and heart.
Scenery and Cinematography: A Visual Masterpiece
From the opening shots, the Hawaiian islands (and yes I know where it was filmed so what it's beautiful and works setting the right tone) are treated not merely as a backdrop but as a living character. The lush greens, volcanic reds, and expansive blues of the Pacific are captured in breathtaking wide-angle shots and sweeping aerial views. The cinematography is meticulous, almost meditative at times, with deliberate pacing that draws you into the natural rhythm of island life-and the turbulent undercurrents of war.
Whether it's mist-covered cliffs, churning surf, or smoke rising from tribal fires, every scene feels handcrafted. Natural light is used to stunning effect, particularly in golden-hour battles and quiet conversations under torchlight. It's immersive and evocative-clearly influenced by Terrence Malick and The Last of the Mohicans-but with a distinctly Polynesian heartbeat.
Music and Sound Design: A Spiritual Undercurrent - Zimmer sets the mood
The score blends traditional Polynesian instruments with modern cinematic cues to elevate tension and emotion without overpowering the moment. The use of indigenous chants, percussion, and melodic motifs grounds the story in authenticity and identity. Music here doesn't just accompany the narrative-it anchors it. In quieter scenes, the ambient sound of the ocean or jungle builds a visceral sense of place that never lets you forget where you are: this is Hawaii, before the West came calling.
Characterization: Layered, Human, and Authentic
Jason Momoa leads with raw intensity, but it's his restraint in key moments that makes his performance resonate. He embodies a man torn between tradition and transformation-between chief and warrior, between vengeance and vision. The supporting cast is equally strong, particularly the women, who are not sidelined but integral to the emotional and political stakes of the story.
The show avoids turning characters into mere archetypes. Even the antagonists are layered, with motivations rooted in power, fear, or survival, rather than cartoonish villainy. Tribal alliances, family dynamics, and individual ambition collide with believable complexity.
Storytelling: Epic in Scope, Intimate in Heart
At its core, Chief of War tells a story about identity-cultural, personal, and generational. It balances sweeping historical events with intimate personal struggles. The pacing leans slow-burn in the best way, giving characters and conflicts time to breathe.
The writing doesn't spoon-feed exposition, trusting the audience to stay engaged and follow along as customs, rituals, and politics unfold naturally. This lends the show a sense of realism and weight, making the betrayals more heartbreaking and the triumphs more earned.
Themes of legacy, honor, resistance, and sacrifice are woven throughout without becoming didactic. And while the show doesn't shy away from brutality, it also leaves room for beauty, love, and quiet reflection.
Final Verdict:
Chief of War is a powerful, respectful, and beautifully crafted series that elevates indigenous storytelling to a new cinematic high. It's a rare show that educates while it entertains, moves you while it mesmerizes. With its gripping narrative, stunning visuals, rich characters, and soulful score, it's a must-watch for fans of historical epics and cultural storytelling done right.
"Truth, Justice, and Therapy?"
If Zack Snyder gave us a Superman who brooded, Superman 2025 gives us one who bawls. This movie is less about fighting evil and more about feeling sad about it. At one point, I half expected a mid-credits scene of Clark journaling in a feelings circle hosted by Oprah.
Let's review the emotional apocalypse: Clark cries.
Superman cries.
Lex Luthor cries.
Pa Kent cries.
Ma Kent mocks him for crying-twice.
A gay staffer at the Daily Planet has a full-blown panic attack-Lois Lane (because of course) steps in to save the day while Superman stands slack-jawed like a background extra in his own movie.
Not once-not a single time-does Superman take control of a situation or rise above it on his own. He's tossed around like a confused sidekick in his own origin story. Need a building saved? Someone else handles it. Need a moral decision made? Lois or a conveniently diverse committee steps in. Need the villain stopped? Don't worry-he'll probably cry too, and they'll hug it out over shared trauma.
Even Lex Luthor, who's supposed to be a brilliant sociopath, spends half the movie doing an emotional TED Talk about his childhood bullying and sobbing into a monologue about toxic masculinity. By the end, you start wondering if Doomsday's just going to hand out Kleenex and call it a day.
And in the most baffling omission of all, Superman-this supposed paragon of heroism-never saves Lois Lane. Never. Not once. Not even by accident.
The result? A film with zero stakes, zero triumph, and zero inspiration. Superman 2025 is what happens when you hand a $200 million superhero budget to a university gender studies department and tell them to deconstruct masculinity with capes.
This wasn't a Superman movie. It was a wet tissue with a cape on it.
Hollywood, take note: superheroes are allowed to feel-but they're also supposed to do. The world doesn't need a Superman who cries at every crisis. It needs one who acts.
Bring back the man of steel. This guy's made of Play-Doh.
If Zack Snyder gave us a Superman who brooded, Superman 2025 gives us one who bawls. This movie is less about fighting evil and more about feeling sad about it. At one point, I half expected a mid-credits scene of Clark journaling in a feelings circle hosted by Oprah.
Let's review the emotional apocalypse: Clark cries.
Superman cries.
Lex Luthor cries.
Pa Kent cries.
Ma Kent mocks him for crying-twice.
A gay staffer at the Daily Planet has a full-blown panic attack-Lois Lane (because of course) steps in to save the day while Superman stands slack-jawed like a background extra in his own movie.
Not once-not a single time-does Superman take control of a situation or rise above it on his own. He's tossed around like a confused sidekick in his own origin story. Need a building saved? Someone else handles it. Need a moral decision made? Lois or a conveniently diverse committee steps in. Need the villain stopped? Don't worry-he'll probably cry too, and they'll hug it out over shared trauma.
Even Lex Luthor, who's supposed to be a brilliant sociopath, spends half the movie doing an emotional TED Talk about his childhood bullying and sobbing into a monologue about toxic masculinity. By the end, you start wondering if Doomsday's just going to hand out Kleenex and call it a day.
And in the most baffling omission of all, Superman-this supposed paragon of heroism-never saves Lois Lane. Never. Not once. Not even by accident.
The result? A film with zero stakes, zero triumph, and zero inspiration. Superman 2025 is what happens when you hand a $200 million superhero budget to a university gender studies department and tell them to deconstruct masculinity with capes.
This wasn't a Superman movie. It was a wet tissue with a cape on it.
Hollywood, take note: superheroes are allowed to feel-but they're also supposed to do. The world doesn't need a Superman who cries at every crisis. It needs one who acts.
Bring back the man of steel. This guy's made of Play-Doh.
Ballard is exactly what you'd hope for in a spin-off from the Bosch universe - sharp writing, layered characters, and that signature Michael Connelly blend of realism and moral complexity. If you're a fan of smart, character-driven crime dramas, this is a must-watch.
Detective Renée Ballard (portrayed with intensity and heart by Maggie Q) is a compelling lead - relentless, flawed, and driven by a deep sense of justice. She's brought back to head LAPD's newly revived cold case unit, and much of the show's strength lies in the dynamic between her and her team. These aren't just background characters - each member of Ballard's task force brings their own backstory, baggage, and perspective to the table, creating tension and chemistry that feel real, not scripted. As the season unfolds, you begin to care about them individually, and how they're shaped by the cases they reopen.
The plot is far from formulaic. What starts as standard cold case work quickly unravels into a web of deeper conspiracies and personal stakes. The show introduces a rotating cast of antagonists - not just criminals, but internal adversaries, political forces, and ghosts from Ballard's past - all revealed through smartly timed twists that keep you guessing without ever feeling forced. Some of the most powerful moments come not from shootouts or chases, but from interrogations, betrayals, and moments of quiet revelation.
Visually, Ballard continues the noir atmosphere of Bosch, but adds its own tone - more introspective, more psychological. The writing respects the viewer, never spoon-feeding, and the cases feel authentic and grounded in the gritty reality of Los Angeles. This isn't CSI-glam; it's closer to The Wire in its honesty. And great cameos
Whether you're a longtime fan of the Connelly universe or new to it, Ballard delivers a compelling new chapter. With a strong central performance, a richly developed supporting cast, and complex, morally grey storytelling, this series deserves a full run. Hopefully, Prime knows what they've got here. Please approve the next season and also bring back the Bosch series. And work out something with Netflix so we can get a Lincoln Lawyer and Bosch crossover - and folks read the books they are excellent.
Detective Renée Ballard (portrayed with intensity and heart by Maggie Q) is a compelling lead - relentless, flawed, and driven by a deep sense of justice. She's brought back to head LAPD's newly revived cold case unit, and much of the show's strength lies in the dynamic between her and her team. These aren't just background characters - each member of Ballard's task force brings their own backstory, baggage, and perspective to the table, creating tension and chemistry that feel real, not scripted. As the season unfolds, you begin to care about them individually, and how they're shaped by the cases they reopen.
The plot is far from formulaic. What starts as standard cold case work quickly unravels into a web of deeper conspiracies and personal stakes. The show introduces a rotating cast of antagonists - not just criminals, but internal adversaries, political forces, and ghosts from Ballard's past - all revealed through smartly timed twists that keep you guessing without ever feeling forced. Some of the most powerful moments come not from shootouts or chases, but from interrogations, betrayals, and moments of quiet revelation.
Visually, Ballard continues the noir atmosphere of Bosch, but adds its own tone - more introspective, more psychological. The writing respects the viewer, never spoon-feeding, and the cases feel authentic and grounded in the gritty reality of Los Angeles. This isn't CSI-glam; it's closer to The Wire in its honesty. And great cameos
Whether you're a longtime fan of the Connelly universe or new to it, Ballard delivers a compelling new chapter. With a strong central performance, a richly developed supporting cast, and complex, morally grey storytelling, this series deserves a full run. Hopefully, Prime knows what they've got here. Please approve the next season and also bring back the Bosch series. And work out something with Netflix so we can get a Lincoln Lawyer and Bosch crossover - and folks read the books they are excellent.