Cineology

The mission: Find the Minority Report-a vision of a possible future crime, namely murder, from one of the three psychics, called PreCogs, that differs from the other two-and extract it from the mind of its source. Since this report casts doubt on the process, this is proof that the concept behind the 2054 experiment called PreCrime-arresting a person, or persons, before a murder is committed-is flawed and therefore not yet appropriate to be adapted as a nationwide program. This is the plot of Steven Spielberg's "Minority Report," based on the 1956 short story by Philip K. Dick, a vision of the future so fully realized that it takes the viewer through a fascinating story of morality, dangers of technology, and human error. It is a science-fiction film for the ages, certainly one of Spielberg's best.

Yet underneath its intelligent ideas, thrilling chase sequences, and eye-catching visual touches somehow both passing as modern and futuristic, it is about a man who remains in grief, in depression, due to the sudden disappearance of his young son six years ago-now presumed to be dead. We go through this compelling journey and realize that the film is about second chances-the very thing that those people arrested for pre-murder are never given, all because of the assumption that PreCogs are never wrong. That is, until this man in grief, John Anderton (Tom Cruise), who lost his identity as a father and as a husband, is deemed guilty of PreCrime-that soon he will shoot a person dead, one he hasn't even met.

Clearly, the picture is capable of delivering thrilling sequences of action-which is different from action sequences although it does that well, too. (The opening scene involving the cheating spouse, the "Spyders" on the hunt, and the mall with the balloons are expertly paced and edited.) Notice that before John goes on the run, the screenplay by Scott Frank and Jon Cohen ensures we know every relevant detail as to why the protagonist must do what he does.

Since we have a complete picture of what is at stake for the main character, he running for his life-his own friends and colleagues against him-is all the more suspenseful. If he gets caught, we know precisely what will happen him because we have witnessed an arrest and seen what happens to the convicts' bodies. Thus, emphasis is not on what will happen to the character from the perspective of punishment. Instead, importance is placed on the big picture: if PreCrime became a national program, imagine the numerous factors that could go awry, the number of men and women to be wrongly convicted.

The picture is filled with to the brim with inviting performances, from Cruise who is required to juggle being a tough leader, a desperate runaway, and a vulnerable man who lost those most important to him; Samantha Morton as the most gifted PreCog with a tragic backstory; Colin Farrell as the clever and punctilious DOJ agent whose role is to audit the PreCrime program; Max von Sydow as the father of the program and a sort of father figure to John; and last but certainly not least Lois Smith as the mother of the program but has since lived in isolation because her project turned into something that we feel deep down is morally reprehensible to her. Smith gets one scene-a key one-yet it is the most memorable of the bunch because she utilizes every pause and modulate every line of dialogue to her advantage. I craved to know more about her character, particularly her time as a geneticist and her relationship with the PreCogs.

Tightly-written and beautifully photographed, "Minority Report" is a modern classic. It clocks in at nearly two-and-a-half hours and yet it moves like a gust of wind because the filmmakers are in complete control of the storytelling machine: a traditional three story arc from Point A to Point Z in a way that is direct with a few surprises along the way.

One of the surprises is its sense of humor. Watch closely when we are shown people simply living in this version of a future and how they adapt to technology, for instance. Look at the advertisements. Observe the freeway scene where cars go up, down, and sideways; are they traveling on a road or on the side of buildings?-it is like a statement on what action films have become... or will become. Hopefully not the latter; the future is not set in stone.

You might have heard about this movie because of its selling point: It was shot on an iPhone. This approach of capturing images may impress some, but it does not impress me. What excites me, however, is strong storytelling containing characters worth spending time with and getting to know-which "Ghost," written and directed by Anthony Z. James, offers the viewer should one bother to look just underneath the familiar plot: an ex-con having just been released from prison wishes to reconnect with his family, specifically his son who grew up without a father for ten years. As the ex-con rings the doorbell, his wife chooses not to answer the door. We assume it is out of fear.

It is a quiet drama-certain to be mislabeled by those seeking numbing thrills or noisy action as slow or boring-but lean a little closer and listen with intent. Clearly, the humanistic screenplay aims to make a thoughtful statement about the past, how it can be passed on not just through environment and socioecology but also biology. The father's past involves violence-which is skirted around for more than half the picture. When specifics are finally revealed, it is not entirely surprising yet still quite disarming. Perhaps it is no accident that the occasionally irascible son walks around the neighborhood with something to prove, as if constantly carrying weight on his shoulders. His father wasn't around to take off some of the burden.

At the center of the picture is two naturalistic performances by Anthony Mark Streeter (Tony, the father) and Nathan Hamilton (Conor, the son). Right when the picture ended, I felt compelled to find out if this was their first feature-not because the acting is in any way unconvincing or false. On the contrary, Streeter and Hamilton's performances contain no vanity, just raw interactions of every day people who've been around the block-perhaps one too many times. They look tired, a bit sad, hopeful at times, and when they are surprised, especially when they try to hide it, we cannot help but smile with them. The relationship's rhythm is so curious, I found myself observing the most minute facial details of two men who have just entered a new chapter of their lives.

A standout: when the father and son make eye contact for the first time, not saying a word for what it feels like ages, we are made to believe that these two already have a complicated history; it is exciting because we are dropped right in the middle of it. Acceptance or rejection-we are not given a solid grasp of how the relationship will turn out. Another standout: Tony meeting with a man with whom he used to work for. Dom (Russell Barnett) seems to have the money, the power, the drugs. He wears a nice suit. But really look at him, his habits, his dead eyes. All he has is a nice view from his office window. Tony might be a penniless ex-con but at least he has a purpose. He wants to live again, to be present, to be there.

The final act may come across contrived to some. To me, however, it is a natural destination-not just in a movie of this type but also in terms of what this specific story attempts to communicate about the cycle of violence, how ghosts of the past can haunt and threaten to derail a possible future of contentment and happiness. I admired that it faded to black when it did because it trusts us, after having gotten the chance to know its protagonists, to imagine what might happen next. I found it to be a terrific litmus test of how closely we pay attention to the people around us. Here is a movie that gives people the desire to see.

The kind of movies I look for are the ones that inspire my being to pause somewhere amidst the curious happenings and force me to think, "Spielberg made this," "Tarantino made this," or "Herzog made this." In the middle of this purposeful, angry, at times moving and educational picture, I couldn't help but think, "Spike Lee was the only person who could have made this" because the work possesses so much flavor and personality, the experience leaps out of the screen to slap us and shake us; it is alive, humorous, tragic, ironic, and timely.

It goes beyond politics. There are jabs against Donald Trump, his presidency, and his racist remarks (and actions) against African-Americans and other minorities, but the screenplay by Lee, Danny Bilson, Paul De Neo, and Kevin Willmott is correct to treat it as a symptom of the malignant tumor that has been wreaking havoc within the veins of US of A since its inception. The plot revolves around four Vietnam war veterans who return to the country that, for better or worse, have shaped who they are. They wish to retrieve a case full of gold. But this being a Spike Lee Joint, this shiny thing is metaphor: of ghosts, of corrupted souls, of what has been stolen or denied by a country that used, abused, and sold slaves so it could become what it is-a world leader, a superpower, a bully, a mess... yet somehow still regarded as an ideal by most nations. It is a story, too, about contradiction and hypocrisy.

But foremost: it is a story about forgiveness. It doesn't seem at that way even already an hour into the picture. I admired that about it. Spanning about a hundred and fifty minutes, it takes its time to allow the pieces to fall into place. It invites us to look beyond the action and consider our world. It implores us to really look at it, to ask ourselves if we're proud of it, if we feel comfortable for children to live and thrive in it. So many mainstream movies these days, many of which are forgettable, settle for shallow entertainment. Nothing at all to say about the world around us, our history, where we're heading. As it has always been with Lee: To be political, to voice out injustice, to act as a megaphone is entertainment. He doesn't want us to turn off our brains; he wants us to turn it on, to push it, to challenge the system of oppression.

We meet Eddie the businessman who exudes success (Norm Lewis), Otis who left someone important in Vietnam (Clarke Peters), Melvin the conscience and pragmatist (Isiah Whitlock Jr.), and Paul the wild card (Delroy Lindo). We hang out with these men as they laugh, drink, and reminisce. The writer-director shows them looking at the Vietnamese and the Vietnamese looking at them. The camera pinpoints skin color, physical stature, hair, voice, how a person carries himself or herself within a defined space. It is an observant picture, certainly daring and willing to ignite fierce discussion. There is not one shot that comes across as a waste.

But how can there be forgiveness, healing, when so much injustice and anger remain? The film does not provide answers, but it presents a microcosm in the form of Paul mourning over a dear friend-someone he looks up to, one whom he considers to be a brother-whose name was Stormin' Norman (Chadwick Boseman). Notice the technique used during its flashbacks: Norman is shown as an ideal. A case can be made that we never truly get to know him as he was, only in the mind of Paul-the man whose body got to go home to America but whose soul remained in Vietnam alongside the corpse of his friend. Paul is such a shell, he finds he is incapable of loving his own son (Jonathan Majors). David looks at his father and he seems lost. They are tethered only by genetics. It is a sad sight to see and feel. Wonderfully performed by Lindo, Paul is one of the most memorable characters I've come across in recent memory.

Does the movie provide catharsis? Yes and no. There is catharsis on screen which involves shootouts, deaths (black, white, American, Vietnamese, French), and tying up loose ends by showing signed checks, hugging, solidarity, and people shouting "Black Lives Matter!" Perhaps I don't feel there is true catharsis because I am a person of color in America. That when I go to the Midwest, for example, I am not seen as an American but The Other. A second-class citizen. But sometimes it is enough that a film takes a shovel, dig deep, and further expose what has long been dormant. Or at the very least serving as reminder of what we have yet to work on.