Arcaneya

Tag: 2018

  • Holmes & Watson (2018): An Alternate Arc For Watson’s Earned Co-Detective Position

    Holmes & Watson (2018) had all the right ingredients for a clever historical parody: two brilliant comedic actors, an iconic detective duo, and a high-stakes mystery involving Queen Victoria. Unfortunately, the film’s potential was buried under layers of juvenile toilet humor, repetitive slapstick, and random gags that overshadowed the story. Critics were nearly unanimous in pointing out that the humor often detracted from the narrative, leaving audiences laughing sporadically but rarely engaged with the plot or the characters.

    Yet beneath the chaotic jokes, there were glimmers of character arcs — the subtle fallout and reconciliation between Holmes and Watson hinted at relational growth, even if it was barely developed. Overall, however, both characters remain mostly static: Holmes eccentric and brilliant, Watson loyal and bumbling, from beginning to end. This lack of sustained development meant the story had little emotional payoff, leaving viewers disconnected from what could have been a clever parody with real stakes.

    An Alternative Outline for Watson’s Growth

    A more engaging approach would be to build the story around deeper character arcs that run throughout the entire film. One compelling possibility would focus on the dynamic between Holmes and Watson, using a promise of partnership as the narrative backbone. Imagine Holmes promising Watson that if he contributes meaningfully to solving the Queen’s assassination threat, he will be named co-detective. Excited and eager, Watson sets out to prove himself — only to find that Holmes is secretly sabotaging him at every turn. Holmes could subtly alter clues, misplace evidence, or even redirect minor discoveries, all while maintaining his usual brilliance, perhaps even solving parts of the case in mere minutes.

    Watson, relentless and determined, works through Holmes’ sabotage, demonstrating resourcefulness and cleverness that surprises even Holmes himself. This cat-and-mouse dynamic creates both comedic tension and emotional investment, as viewers root for Watson to earn his recognition. Eventually, Watson discovers the sabotage, leading to a comedic yet meaningful fallout. Holmes, confronted, must apologize and admit his jealousy, revealing unexpected growth and vulnerability while retaining his iconic genius. Only after this reconciliation do they come together to solve the final mystery, blending their complementary strengths.

    Final Thoughts

    With this deeper arc, the film could have replaced most of the lowbrow toilet humor with clever situational gags — the Titanic gag and the bulky camera selfie joke stand out as prime examples of absurdity that actually works within the narrative. The result is a movie where the comedy arises naturally from character interactions and historical absurdities, rather than forced visual gags.

    In conclusion, by weaving sustained arcs for both Holmes and Watson, emphasizing relational growth, and focusing on clever, situational humor instead of gratuitous slapstick, Holmes & Watson could have transformed into a genuinely enjoyable parody. Such a reimagined version might even be worth watching, elevating the film beyond its original critical reception and giving both its actors and the iconic detective duo the showcase they deserved.

    Thanks,

    Ira

  • Mortal Engines (2018): Putting the Derailed Premise Back on the Mud Track

    Mortal Engines opens with one of the most imaginative concepts in modern steampunk cinema — cities on wheels, devouring each other in a post-apocalyptic ecosystem of predator and prey. The idea is visual dynamite. You can almost taste the diesel fumes, hear the creak of steel teeth as one city swallows another.

    And yet, after this thunderous opening, the movie veers into strange, disconnected territory. The predator-city concept fades into the background as we follow a revenge arc that could have been set in any generic dystopia, a sentimental undead assassin with confusing motivations, and a conveniently introduced fortress city that arrives without setup. By the time the climax rolls around, we’ve gone from grinding gears and political maneuvering to a quantum-powered doomsday weapon — a tonal leap so jarring it snaps the dieselpunk fantasy in half.

    The heart of the premise — the politics, survival, and ruthlessness of predator cities — gets lost under a heap of side plots. Which is a shame, because with the right focus, Mortal Engines could have been something unforgettable.

    A Love Story That Devours

    Instead of scattering the audience’s attention, the story could have anchored itself to a single, driving throughline: a classic love story, tangled in the politics of predator cities.

    The film could open much like the original — a medium-sized predator city hunting down a smaller one. The protagonist, a young captain’s apprentice, makes the decisive move that captures the prey (the magician archetype). After the victory, he convinces the crew to pull ashore for a much-needed rest, docking against a beautiful, stationary shore city. He signals peace with white lights… but positions the city so its treads crush the first shoreline house — a symbolic reminder that even diplomacy in this world begins with a bite.

    Tensions are high as diplomats are sent in. Here, the apprentice meets a woman who will upend his world (the high priestess) — radiant, sharp, and belonging to a city too beautiful to devour. To impress her, he later captures a third city, basking in his own bravado. But she soon tires of his arrogance and returns to her former lover. Stung and furious, the apprentice engineers a false flag attack from her home city, giving him the excuse to devour it.

    His triumph turns sour. Diplomats resent him, and the great metropolis of London sends him cold warnings. With enemies closing in, he is eventually forced to seek asylum in a massive fortress city with walls like Shan Guo, enduring ridicule for his retreat. Cornered (the hanged man archetype), he begins to reckon with the destruction he has caused. When he meets his former love again — a survivor of the city he destroyed — he apologises (the death archetype). They share a quiet, sunlit moment of truth (the sun archetype). She offers a hint of warmth, but nothing more for now.

    Redemption on the Edge of Devouring

    With London’s forces advancing and all seemed lost, the protagonist does not surrender to despair. Instead, tempered by loss and humbled by the consequences of his pride, he devises a bold plan—not to fight with sheer force but to outthink the predator city system itself.

    Drawing on his knowledge of the cities’ mechanics and his hard-earned understanding of alliances and survival, he forges unexpected coalitions among smaller settlements, uniting prey cities that had long lived in fear and isolation. He transforms the landscape from a battlefield of consumption into a network of cooperation, a new kind of ecosystem where survival depends on mutual support rather than endless devouring.

    In a climactic maneuver, he leads this alliance to outwit London’s juggernaut—not by meeting steel with steel, but by exploiting vulnerabilities in the predator city’s overreach. Through clever strategy and a willingness to sacrifice personal glory for the greater good, he stops London’s advance and ignites the first flicker of a new order.

    His personal redemption is complete—not through revenge or conquest, but through wisdom, humility, and love that endures beyond the carnage.

    Why This Works

    By centering the story on a single, emotionally charged romance, every hunt, every diplomatic move, and every battle becomes tied to the protagonist’s personal arc. The love story doesn’t exist in the background — it is the story. The predator cities aren’t just set dressing; they are the means, the obstacle, and the weapon in a war of pride and longing.

    This version would keep the dieselpunk spectacle while giving the audience a reason to care about the outcome beyond “who wins the fight.” Pride and love would drive the plot, the politics would feel sharper, and the final tragedy would land with the force of steel jaws closing. Instead of destruction, this ending offers hope—a protagonist who learns and grows, forging a future that breaks the cycle of endless consumption.

    In short, it would give Mortal Engines what the original sorely lacked: a heartbeat that could be heard over the roar of the engines.

    Thanks,

    Ira

  • A Wrinkle in Time (2018): Improving an Unwatchable Story into a Rainy-Afternoon Worthy Adventure

    There are bad movies, there are messy movies… and then there’s Disney’s 2018 A Wrinkle in Time, which manages to make a pile of garbage look like “freshly washed laundry tucked neatly into a carefully painted new wardrobe.” It had a hefty budget, a beloved cast, and source material that’s inspired generations — yet somehow the film plays like someone wrote ideas on index cards, threw them in the air, and filmed whichever ones landed on a dog poo.

    From the get-go, it’s a story without agency. Meg and company are essentially abducted by plot. The three mysterious women arrive out of nowhere, herd the kids along without explanation, and the characters just… go with it. The young genius Charles Wallace, instead of being an interesting wild card, is presented as a flawless wunderkind — a cinematic red flag for boredom. In the movie we got, he turns evil out of nowhere. In the movie we could have gotten, he could’ve been an antagonistic thorn in Meg’s side from the start.

    Giving Meg the Reins

    In our rewrite, the three women aren’t random fairy godmothers — they’re cosmic investigators, looking into a dangerous, unexpected “tessering” event. They suspect it’s connected to Meg’s missing father. Meg, sharp and restless, overhears their conversation and puts two and two together. Instead of being whisked away, she makes a choice: she’s going through that portal.

    She drags Charles Wallace and Calvin with her — Charles against his will, Calvin out of fascination (and maybe a dash of teen awkwardness). This single change flips the movie’s energy. Now Meg’s driving the plot, Charles has a legitimate reason to be irritated with her, and Calvin’s loyal, slightly worshipful presence balances the sibling friction.

    Charles Wallace: The Slow-Burn Villain

    From the moment they leave Earth, Charles questions Meg’s every decision. He doubts her instincts, scoffs at her optimism, and accuses her of chasing a hopeless dream. This isn’t just bickering for the sake of drama — it’s setting the stage for his eventual turn.

    Just as Meg is on the verge of breaking through to her father, Charles’s ego pushes him over the edge. Unwilling to admit she might be right, he gives in to IT’s influence, twisting the fabric of space to keep their father hidden. His transformation isn’t random — it’s the inevitable climax of his arc.

    A Father Lost in the Corners of the Universe

    The original film plops Dad into an empty cosmic room, moping like he’s been waiting for a table at a crowded restaurant. Our version grounds his predicament in lore: tessering requires precise cosmic coordinates and a calm mind. As a newcomer, he overshot his destination and landed in a remote alien village, immediately incarcerated for his different appearance — fed, clothed, but never trusted.

    Stressed and untrained, he couldn’t tesser back even if he wanted to. He doesn’t know Earth’s “vibrational signature,” and every failed attempt sends him in circles. Meg and Calvin must follow faint echoes of his failed tessers to find him — a breadcrumb trail sabotaged by Charles at every step.

    From Under 5 to Solid 6?

    The IMDb score for A Wrinkle in Time sits under 5, the cinematic Bermuda Triangle where films go to be politely forgotten. With stronger character agency, a sibling rivalry that escalates into a meaningful emotional climax, and a father’s plight that makes sense within the story’s own rules, this version could easily climb into the mid-6 range — not perfect, but enough to turn “unwatchable” into “worth a rainy afternoon.”

    In short: give the characters a reason to be there, give the relationships tension, and maybe — just maybe — your flying manta ray moment won’t feel like the idea card that stuck because it has gotten some dog poo on it.

    Thanks,

    Ira

  • Fantastic Beasts – The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018): Fixing the Bonkers Story

    The original cinematic release of Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald regrettably presented a narrative often described as “straight-up bonkers” (Cinemasins Youtube) and a “muddled masterpiece of missed opportunities.” Its convoluted plot, a surprisingly meek villain whose motivations felt abstract and indistinct, and a central protagonist, Newt Scamander, who lacked a discernible character arc, all contributed to a pervasive sense of “mumbo jumbo.” The film’s reliance on convenient plot shortcuts like a poorly explained blood pact, inconsistent magical rules regarding travel and escape, and a climax featuring an ambiguous magical portal, left audiences feeling confused and disengaged. It became clear that the story, in its attempt to be grand and sprawling, ultimately fell under the weight of its own ambition.

    However, the very flaws that plagued the original film can serve as guideposts for a more compelling and coherent alternative. Imagine a version of The Crimes of Grindelwald that intentionally inverts some of these issues, creating a narrative far more impactful and emotionally resonant.

    An Alternative Outline

    In this reimagined story, Grindelwald’s escape at the outset remains a crucial event, but its immediate aftermath is shrouded in unsettling silence. The world does not erupt into overt magical warfare, nor do we witness Grindelwald immediately broadcasting his grand ambitions. Instead, a more insidious and chilling “weirdness” begins to seep into the global wizarding community. This would manifest as subtle, yet deeply disturbing, voting inconsistencies within the various Ministries of Magic worldwide. Reports would emerge of strange political maneuvering, inexplicable policy shifts, and the quiet, almost undetectable, takeovers of these crucial governing bodies, one by one. Furthermore, whispers would spread of changes in long-held magical statutes, seemingly allowing for a gradual dismantling of the Statute of Secrecy and subtle infiltrations of Muggle governments.

    Against this backdrop of creeping, systemic change, our protagonist, Newt Scamander, undergoes a profound transformation. Rather than remaining a reactive, reluctant participant, Newt becomes hell-bent on keeping the wizarding world a secret and in delicate balance with Muggles. He is no longer just a magizoologist; he is an eloquent and passionate proponent for this ideology. He would be expressive about its vital importance, offering articulate arguments for why coexistence and the preservation of magical secrecy are paramount. In this version, Newt truly stands as the leader of this fundamental belief, even more so than Albus Dumbledore, who, burdened by his past and perhaps the enigmatic constraints of the blood pact, would largely follow Newt’s ideological lead, offering guidance and strategic support from the shadows.

    This fundamental reorientation of the narrative immediately addresses the original film’s most significant shortcomings and places the story on far stronger footing. Grindelwald’s threat sheds its “meek” quality, transforming into a terrifying, insidious form of political and societal manipulation that directly opposes Newt’s core convictions. He is no longer just a generic dark wizard; he is the precise, ideological antagonist to Newt’s vision of a balanced world. The slow-burn introduction of Grindelwald’s influence through quiet coups and legal subversion fosters a deepening sense of dread and mystery, rather than overwhelming the audience with immediate, unexplained spectacle.

    Newt, now a proactive and ideologically driven protagonist, gains a compelling and deeply personal arc. His journey becomes a fight not just for his friends or for creatures, but for the very soul of the wizarding world and the principles he so passionately defends. Dumbledore’s role becomes clearer and more poignant: a powerful figure, wise from past mistakes, who sees Newt as the untainted champion necessary for this particular battle, even as he navigates his own personal limitations. This ideological clash between Newt’s ardent belief in balance and Grindelwald’s creeping fascism becomes the true engine of the plot, imbuing every discovery and confrontation with heightened stakes and emotional resonance. What once felt like “much ado about nothing” transforms into a desperate, principled fight for the future of two worlds, mirroring the battles within Newt’s own mind as he steps from the quiet comfort of his creatures into the perilous arena of global politics.

    This conceptual framework lays a strong foundation for a story where every twist, every challenge, and every character choice would serve a clearer, more impactful narrative. While this vision implies a significant departure from the original film, it offers a pathway to a more cohesive, character-driven, and ultimately more satisfying chapter in the Fantastic Beasts saga.

    Thanks,

    Ira

  • I Feel Pretty (2018): A Small Third-Act Change to Make Its Big Message Hit Home

    I Feel Pretty is one of those films whose premise alone can carry it beyond its flaws. The idea that a single shift in self-perception — whether sparked by a knock on the head or sheer willpower — can completely transform how someone experiences life is both funny and deeply uplifting. Even when the humor leans a little broad or the pacing feels uneven, the message shines through: confidence can change your world. For anyone who doubts themselves, the movie offers something priceless — a playful, if exaggerated, reminder that life looks different when you dare to believe you’re enough.

    Still, the film left some viewers wanting a deeper connection. While Renee’s newfound boldness provides plenty of comedy, the story sometimes feels like it hovers on the surface. The head injury gimmick, though serviceable, keeps the transformation at arm’s length, as if confidence is a magical trick rather than something Renee can truly claim as her own. By the time she regains her senses, her journey toward lasting self-worth feels a little too tidy, the emotional stakes smoothed over by a quick speech and happy resolution.

    But I Feel Pretty doesn’t need an overhaul — just a subtle shift to make its ending hit harder. Imagine if, after Renee hits her head a second time and loses her illusion of beauty, she falls into a genuine crisis. Ethan, noticing her change, gently says, “You seem different today.” Renee, spiraling, assumes he’s talking about her looks and withdraws into herself. When Ethan adds, “You’re not the girl I fell in love with,” it cuts even deeper — not because of her appearance, but because the confident, vibrant woman he fell for has vanished. Renee, blinded by her insecurity, doesn’t hear what he really means and flees in tears.

    This misunderstanding could send her into a more personal spiral, echoing her old fears as she tries to “fix” herself the only way she knows how: rushing to change her body, working herself into exhaustion, chasing perfection. It’s not played for laughs but as a reflection of how fragile newfound confidence can be when it’s tied only to how we look. Yet by the end, Renee finds the courage to confront Ethan — not to win him back, but to clear the air. In their conversation, she realizes that his love was never about her looks; it was about the spark she carried when she believed in herself.

    This added layer wouldn’t change the soul of I Feel Pretty but would make the conclusion far more resonant. Instead of Renee’s arc ending with a speech and a smile, it would show that true confidence isn’t something handed to you by magic or a trick of perception. It’s a choice, something you reclaim even when the mirror feels unkind. The movie’s humor and heart would stay intact, but its final message would linger: believing in yourself isn’t about a perfect reflection — it’s about embracing yourself, flaws and all, and carrying that light forward no matter how many times life knocks you down.

    Thanks,

    Ira