Today’s song of the day is The Harder They Come, taken from the soundtrack of the 1972 Jamaican film of the same name. This film and Jimmy Cliff’s performance and the soundtrack are all often credited with introducing reggae to the rest of the world.
Well they tell me im a pie up in the sky Waiting for me when i die But between the day your been and when you die They never seem to hear or even cry
So as sure as the sun will shine im going to get my share now of whats mine And then the harder they come the harder they’ll fall One and all Ooh the harder they come the harder they’ll fall One and all
Well the oppressors are trying to keep me down Trying to drive my underground And they think that they have got the battle won I say forgive them lord, they know not what they done
Cause as sure as the sun will shine Im gonna get my share now of whats mine And the harder they come the harder they fall One and all Ooh the harder they come the harder they fall One and all
And i keep on fighting for the things i want Though i know when your dead you cant But id rather be a free man in my grave Than living as a puppet or a slave
So as sure as the sun will shine Im going to get my share now whats mine And then the harder they come the harder they fall One and all Ooh the harder they come the harder they fall One and all
As some of our regular readers undoubtedly know, I am involved in hosting a few weekly live tweets on twitter and occasionally Mastodon. I host #FridayNightFlix every Friday, I co-host #ScarySocial on Saturday, and I am one of the five hosts of Mastodon’s #MondayActionMovie! Every week, we get together. We watch a movie. We snark our way through it.
Tonight, for #MondayActionMovie, the film will be 1990’s Street Asylum!
It should make for a night of fun viewing and I invite all of you to join in. If you want to join the live tweets, just hop onto Mastodon, find the movie on YouTube and hit play at 8 pm et, and use the #MondayActionMovie hashtag! The watch party community is a friendly group and welcoming of newcomers so don’t be shy.
RIP to the great actor, Udo Kier. He died yesterday at the age of 81, in Palm Springs, California.
Today’s scene that I love features Kier in the only version of Suspiriathat matters, the original one directed by Dario Argento. In this scene, Kier discusses witchcraft with Jessica Harper.
“They failed us… so what choice did I have?” — John Doe
John Doe: Vigilante, directed by Kelly Dolen and released in 2014, is a blunt and provocative take on the vigilante thriller, brimming with social commentary and visual grit. The film revolves around John Doe, played by Jamie Bamber, whose world is shattered by the violent deaths of his family members. Disillusioned by a justice system that barely delivers justice, Doe transforms himself into a vigilante, targeting repeat offenders who continually evade real consequences. The narrative takes a non-linear approach, jumping between timelines using mock interviews, courtroom debates, and TV news segments to piece together Doe’s story and the societal mania swirling around him.
The structure of the film is both one of its most engaging features and a source of occasional frustration. Rapid switches between documentary-style “talking head” interviews, real-time action, and flashbacks keep the viewer on their toes. While this can create some dramatic momentum, it also leads to a sense of disconnect, as the story sometimes trades clarity for style. Still, there’s an undeniable energy to this format. The movie feels urgent and relevant, throwing the audience directly into a conversation about law, order, and the places these systems break down.
A major focus of the film is on the media’s influence over the public’s perception of vigilantism. The mixed portrayal of John Doe as both a monster and a folk hero reflects how quickly public sentiment can tilt depending on who’s doing the telling. There’s an uncomfortable suggestion that cycles of violence and public outrage are not only connected but sometimes dependent on the news cycle to fuel them. The film hammers this point home repeatedly, sometimes at the expense of nuance. It isn’t shy about waving its message in the viewer’s face, with characters often delivering speeches about justice, victimization, and the failings of society.
Despite some heavy-handedness, Jamie Bamber’s performance is the glue holding everything together. He plays Doe with a haunted distance rather than unrestrained rage, showing a character who’s been hollowed out by tragedy and driven by a cold, relentless sense of necessity. He’s not a cartoonish avenger—his actions clearly torment him, and his moments of uncertainty make the character believably conflicted. However, the supporting cast doesn’t fare as well, with most roles feeling thin and underdeveloped. Journalists, detectives, and secondary victims drift in and out, often serving mainly as delivery devices for the film’s ceaseless thesis statements about crime and morality.
The violence in John Doe: Vigilante is unflinching and rarely sensationalized. Confrontations come fast and harsh, depicted with practical effects that drive home the ugliness of the acts themselves. This directness serves to emphasize the horror of violence, whether enacted by criminals or by Doe himself. The film’s refusal to sugarcoat these scenes will appeal to viewers who prefer realism and discomfort to stylized action, but it may push others away due to its unrelenting bleakness.
On the plus side, the movie does succeed in keeping the viewer guessing about its core question: Is Doe’s crusade righteous or an invitation to chaos? His victims are almost unfailingly depicted as monsters, which blunts some of the intended ambiguity, but the reaction from the world around him—copycat crimes, protests, media manipulation—spins the plot in more interesting directions. The broader implication is that once a society loses faith in the courts, retributive justice becomes both appealing and very, very dangerous. While the film mostly sticks to familiar genre beats, it does occasionally land a punch that lingers. Scenes showing a growing vigilante movement in response to Doe’s actions are particularly thought-provoking, inviting viewers to consider how collective anger can quickly spiral out of control.
However, the film repeatedly stumbles over its own desire to make a point. Its depiction of evil is strikingly black-and-white, and the justice system is rendered in frustratingly broad strokes. Very little time is spent on the possibility of innocent people being caught in the crossfire or of criminals ever achieving redemption. All the nuance falls to Bamber’s performance, as the rest of the characters serve mostly as echoes of his trauma or mouthpieces for the script.
Dialogue can also be a weak point. Characters often speak in loaded, over-serious refrains about crime and victimhood. If you’ve seen other media with vigilante themes, especially ones grappling with morality, John Doe: Vigilante might give you déjà vu. It isn’t particularly subtle and tends to repeat itself, particularly in the latter half, as perspective shifts and news segments rehash similar arguments. By the time the final acts come around—with a pivotal, tension-drenched scene of Doe delivering his last “message” to the public—the narrative momentum has already started to lag.
Still, the film isn’t without its bright spots. Its editing, especially the way flashbacks are woven into the present narrative, is creative and keeps certain plot elements hidden until just the right moment. There are a few bold narrative choices—one involving a child’s perspective near the end is a standout—that briefly elevate the film above its otherwise standard revenge-thriller fare. These are the moments that will stick with viewers long after credits roll.
At its core, John Doe: Vigilante is angry and bruising, with its heart firmly pinned to its sleeve. It wants to provoke discomfort and debate, not offer easy answers or escapist fun. The movie wrestles with questions of what justice really means when institutions fail, and whether violent reckoning is ever justifiable—even for the worst of the worst. It doesn’t ultimately land on a satisfying conclusion, but that may be the point.
John Doe: Vigilante stands as a solid and sometimes stirring entry in the vigilante genre, bolstered by a committed lead performance and raw intensity but hampered by heavy-handed dialogue, weak supporting characters, and a lack of moral complexity. For viewers who enjoy gritty crime films and are open to films that raise difficult, unsettling questions, John Doe: Vigilante is worth checking out. Just don’t expect it to pull its punches—or to give you any tidy resolutions.
RUN OF THE ARROW opens up on April 9th, 1963, with confederate sharpshooter O’Meara (Rod Steiger) shooting a Union lieutenant named Driscoll (Ralph Meeker). This turns out to be the final shot fired in the Civil War as General Lee is in the process of surrendering to General Grant. It also turns out to be Driscoll’s lucky day, as a slight warping of the bullet causes O’Meara’s aim to be off just enough for him to survive. With no more war to fight and with a heart full of hate for the Yankees, O’Meara declares himself to be a man without a country and decides to head out west towards the land of the Indians. As part of his travels he happens across Walking Coyote (Jay C. Flippen), an aging, renegade Sioux scout who’s headed back home to die. Walking Coyote takes O’Meara under his wing and teaches him the Sioux language, as well as many of their customs. When they’re captured by a band of Sioux warriors led by Crazy Wolf (H.M. Wynant), and are being prepared to be killed, Walking Coyote invokes the “run of the arrow”, a ritualistic game that could save their lives. Unfortunately, no one has ever survived the run of the arrow. But today, it seems there’s a first time for everything, as O’Meara survives just long enough to be found, hidden, and saved by the beautiful Indian squaw Yellow Moccasin (Sarita Montiel). Yellow Moccasin nurses him back to health and presents him to her tribal chief, Blue Buffalo (Charles Bronson), who spares his life since he survived the run. Blue Buffalo also welcomes O’Meara into their tribe and allows O’Meara and Yellow Moccasin, who have fallen in love, to get married and adopt the mute orphan boy, Silent Tongue, as their own son. Things seem to be going well until Sioux Leader Red Cloud (Frank DeKova) and Army General Allen (Tim McCoy) reach an agreement that allows for an Army Fort to be built in a narrowly defined area. While the construction of the fort is entrusted to an honest man of integrity named Captain Clark (Brian Keith), the agreement is ultimately sabotaged by the murderous Crazy Wolf, and then further by the Indian hating Captain Driscoll… yes, that same Union soldier that O’Meara shot on the last day of the war! When the fighting starts again, will O’Meara prove himself to truly be a Sioux warrior willing to kill American army soldiers, or is a part of his heart still with his country?
Director Samuel Fuller’s RUN OF THE ARROW is a movie about the damage that occurs when human beings allow their hearts to be so filled with bitterness and hate that they quit caring about other people. It’s also about what happens when those same people run into rational people of good will, and we find out if they’re still capable of even considering the possibility that their own hate has blinded them from the truth. In other words, it’s a film that’s possibly more relevant today than it was when it was made in 1957. Bitterness and hate is represented by the characters of O’Meara (Steiger), Crazy Wolf (Wynant), and Lieutenant Driscoll (Meeker). O’Meara hates Yankees, Crazy Wolf hates the white man, and Driscoll hates the Indians. The rational people of good will are the characters of Yellow Moccasin (Montiel), Blue Buffalo (Bronson), and Captain Clark (Keith). Yellow Moccasin saves O’Meara, when everyone else would have just let him die. Blue Buffalo engages in honest conversation with O’Meara and even welcomes him into their tribe. Captain Clark shows O’Meara an empathetic ear and kindness when so many others have told him to just get over himself. The actions and fates of the characters play out against this dynamic of hatred versus humanity, with the results underscoring just how tragic it is when people focus on the things that separate us rather than the things that unite us. It’s all so unnecessary, but it’s also a realistic vision of the world we live in. The film also struck me as particularly violent for a 50’s western, which also underscores that reality.
Some of the performances are very effective in the film. Rod Steiger’s Irish, confederate Sioux is an interesting character and the actor gives it his all as you’d expect. I’m a big fan of Steiger and his performance here only solidifies my respect for him. Brian Keith’s Captain Clark arrives fairly late in the proceedings and comes across as a tough, but honest man of integrity at a point when the movie really needs him. He has an excellent scene with Steiger where he debates the old confederate’s reasons for renouncing his citizenship with both sound logic, empathy, kindness and a hint of likable sarcasm all at the same time. It’s one of the best scenes in the film. And likewise, Charles Bronson, the most buff Hollywood Indian to ever strip down to a loincloth, comes across as a reasonable and kind tribal chief in his dealings. Bronson had played Indians before, but he was usually more of the renegade, warpath variety, so it was nice seeing him as a good guy here. H.M. Wynant took the renegade Indian role here which you might have expected for Bronson at the time. He’s suitably fierce but one-dimensional. The same can be said for Ralph Meeker as Lieutenant Driscoll. He’s pretty much just a stereotypical jerk. He’s good at being a jerk though! And Sarita Montiel, voiced by Angie Dickinson, is quite the beauty as Yellow Moccasin. We discussed H.M. Wynant and RUN OF THE ARROW with author Steven Peros on the “This Week in Charles Bronson Podcast.” Check out that interview below:
I’ve recently heard RUN OF THE ARROW compared to Kevin Costner’s DANCES WITH WOLVES, and there are definitely many similarities. I won’t go into all of those here, but one of the things I appreciated the most about RUN OF THE ARROW is the fact that the movie makes its feelings known about politics. In a movie filled with characters who have had their lives upended by the various decisions of political leaders, director Samuel Fuller has crafted a story that focuses most sharply on defining the quality of men based on what’s in their “hearts.” When it’s all said and done, oftentimes the only control we have is the way we respond to the events in our lives, and that’s not politics, it’s personal. To drive this home, in one of their conversations, Walking Coyote tells O’Meara that he could have been a chief if he had wanted to be. When O’Meara pushes the old scout on why he didn’t want the position, Walking Coyote responds with, “Because I hate politics!” On that point, I couldn’t agree more.
“I can’t speak, but I’ll make them listen.” — Brian Godlock
Silent Night (2023) finds John Woo making his first American action film in two decades, since the disappointing Paycheck in 2003. While it’s definitely a step up from that sci-fi thriller misfire, Silent Night still doesn’t quite reach the heights of Woo’s Hong Kong classics or even his best Western productions like Face/Off. This latest outing is a lean, mostly dialogue-free revenge thriller that has Woo’s fingerprints all over it—a mix of balletic violence and emotional anguish—but it also shows the limitations of trying to recapture that old Woo magic in a very different cinematic landscape.
The story is simple: Joel Kinnaman plays Brian Godlock, an electrician whose son is killed in a gang shootout on Christmas Eve, and he himself is shot in the throat, losing his voice. The film then follows Brian’s quiet but brutal quest for revenge a year later. The choice to tell this nearly wordless story is a bold gamble, and for much of the film, the absence of dialogue adds power to the emotions and the tension. Kinnaman’s physical performance carries most of the weight—his grief, anger, and determination are all conveyed through body language and expression. This is one of the biggest strengths of Silent Night: Woo’s ability to communicate story and feeling visually, which harkens back to the silent films of early cinema, blending with his signature poetic violence.
That said, the silence also highlights the script’s thinness. The supporting characters, including Brian’s wife (Catalina Sandino Moreno) and a sympathetic detective (Kid Cudi), feel underdeveloped, serving more as plot functions than full people. This narrow focus on Brian’s pain and revenge means the film sometimes feels emotionally shallow beyond the core trauma. Compared to Woo’s earlier work, where secondary characters and relationships added layers of complexity and intensity, Silent Night is more singular and direct, for better and worse.
When it comes to action, Woo shows he still has the chops. The gunfights and hand-to-hand scenes are meticulously choreographed, emphasizing realism with a solid dose of stylized flair. It’s a return to the grounded grit Woo displayed in some of his earlier Hong Kong films, leaving behind some of the higher-octane operatic excess of his best-known Hollywood hits. The violence feels impactful and earned, avoiding cheap spectacle for a more tactile, bone-crunching effect.
Still, Silent Night doesn’t quite have the scope and scale of Face/Off or The Killer. It lacks the grandeur and intricate storytelling that made those films iconic. Instead, it’s a tighter, moodier experience that prioritizes emotional atmosphere over plot complexity. This stripped-down approach is refreshing to a degree, but it can also become monotonous—especially since the lack of dialogue and limited character development demand more patience from the viewer.
Comparing it directly to Paycheck, Silent Night is a clear improvement. Paycheck was widely regarded as a forgettable action film that failed to capitalize on Woo’s talents, stuck with a muddled sci-fi plot and lacking the emotional firepower Woo excels at. Silent Night ditches the high-concept sci-fi for a more grounded, personal revenge story, allowing Woo to bring more of his hallmarks to bear—the intense physical performances, a palpable sense of loss, and carefully crafted action sequences.
However, it’s important to temper enthusiasm with the fact that Silent Night is not a full return to Woo’s prime Hong Kong cinema or his best Hollywood days. It’s missing some of the poetry, charm, and iconic bravado of movies like Hard Boiled or Face/Off, where Woo’s characters felt larger than life and the action was operatic and unforgettable. Here, the film often feels restrained, even muted, perhaps reflecting a director adapting to new cinematic expectations but also struggling to fully bring himself back to the forefront in the American industry.
Silent Night is a worthwhile viewing for fans of John Woo and action cinema looking for something different—one part homage to classic revenge tales, one part experiment in silent storytelling. It’s emotionally raw, visually precise, and markedly better than Paycheck, but it also lacks the fire and inventiveness that made Woo a legend. It’s a step forward and a reminder that even the greatest filmmakers can evolve and sometimes falter. If Woo is finding his voice again, it’s decidedly quieter but still unmistakably his own.
“I’m scared of my family, but I want to go home.” — Miyuki
Tokyo Godfathers is a film that shows how hope and kindness can be found in the most unexpected places, all wrapped up in a hilarious, chaotic, and heartwarming story set on Christmas Eve in Tokyo. Directed by Satoshi Kon, this 2003 anime follows three unlikely characters: Gin, a middle-aged alcoholic with a troubled past; Hana, a lively transgender woman who dreams of being a mother; and Miyuki, a guarded teenage runaway dealing with her own pain.
The adventure begins when the trio, scavenging through garbage for Christmas presents, discovers an abandoned newborn baby. Hana names the baby Kiyoko, meaning “pure child,” and the three set off on a mission to find the baby’s parents using a few clues left behind. Their journey takes them into the depths of Tokyo’s bustling city life—through snowy streets, a yakuza wedding, and encounters with all kinds of characters, from hitmen to estranged families.
What makes Tokyo Godfathers stand out is its perfect blend of humor and emotional depth. It’s easy to laugh at the trio’s bickering and mishaps, but the film also offers sincere moments of vulnerability and growth. Hana’s fierce protectiveness, Gin’s struggle for redemption, and Miyuki’s search for acceptance form a trio of deeply relatable characters. Their rough lives and personal regrets are shown honestly, but the warmth they create together feels genuine and touching.
The film doesn’t shy away from depicting the harsh realities of their world, including violence, abuse, and loss. Yet even in moments of hardship and conflict, acts of giving and empathy persist. Sometimes these harsh and tender moments intersect in the same sequence—such as tense confrontations that unexpectedly end in compassion, or scenes where despair is met with generosity. This layering creates a powerful sense of life’s complexity, showing that kindness can shine brightest amidst chaos and pain.
Visually, the film captures the chilly, neon-lit cityscape with beautiful detail. The animation highlights not only the busy and bright streets of Tokyo but also the subtle emotions of the characters, from shy glances to moments of frustration or tenderness. The film’s mix of grounded realism with moments of coincidence or miracle lends it a magical yet believable atmosphere.
At its core, the film explores what family really means. The three main characters, though not related by blood, support and care for each other in ways many traditional families don’t. The baby Kiyoko serves as a catalyst for each character to confront their past and rethink their relationships. The story gently shows that family can be chosen, formed through shared hardship and love rather than just genetics.
The film’s holiday setting works beautifully because it taps into the holiday themes of forgiveness, second chances, and hope. But it doesn’t shy away from showing the harsh realities of homelessness, loss, and loneliness—making the moments of joy feel even more earned. The characters are flawed but deeply human, and their journey toward reconciliation and connection is both honest and uplifting.
Though the story relies on some lucky coincidences and wild turns, these moments of serendipity feel like part of the film’s charm, highlighting how unpredictable and strange life can be. These surprises keep the story moving and weave a sense of wonder through the gritty city streets.
The supporting characters the trio meet add layers of complexity and humor, and small scenes—like Miyuki bonding with a single mother despite a language barrier or Hana’s reflections on her past love—enrich the narrative. These interactions remind us that no one’s story is simple and everyone carries hidden struggles.
By the end, each main character faces their own moment of truth—whether it’s Gin reconnecting with his daughter or Miyuki standing up to her past. The film leaves viewers with a hopeful message: even when life feels broken, it’s possible to find grace, redemption, and unexpected family.
Tokyo Godfathers is perfect if you want a holiday movie with heart, humor, and a refreshing dose of realness. You don’t need to be an anime fan to appreciate its warmth and message. It’s a touching reminder that kindness and connection can be found in the most unlikely places—even on the coldest winter nights.
Through the Shattered Lens 