"So, the movie is about Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and his gorilla friend -"
"Ok, I'm interested."
"But the gorilla gets exposed to Science Gas and grows big -"
"And then Johnson has to help his big gorilla friend fight two OTHER giant monsters -"
"Look, you're sweetening a deal you already closed, but keep going..."
There are few filmmakers - hell, few artists - with such immediate cultural cache as Steven Spielberg. The man is single-handedly responsible for the matinee fever dreams of multiple generations of movie-goers as well as being able to put together Oscar-nominated films on the turn of a time. So the fact that he decided to be the one to adapt Ernest Cline's novel celebrating a whole bunch of the "stuff" that Spielberg was either involved with producing, or more directly responsible for, always seemed like. . . an odd choice.
How do you make a decent film out of a coming of age novel about celebrating your own stuff?
As it turns out, you make the movie all about how empty the pursuit of only "stuff" is in the long run.
Immediately after getting out of Black Panther, my overriding thought was that this must have been what it felt like to see Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie on the big screen in 1978 and watch a filmmaker redefine a genre for an entire generation.
Since then, damn near all I can think about has been when I can next go back.
Look, if you guys don't start going to see Guillermo del Toro's movies more often, he's eventually gonna run out of crazy people to finance them. And losing out on films like The Shape of Water would be a damn tragedy.