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In which Gilliam gets back to form, sorta, with this basically functional dystopian satire.

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In which we have notes on a criminal f****ing conspiracy

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Look, it's really very simple. Heath Ledger is a suicidal fraud with amnesia and a magic pipe, who is also sometimes 3 other actors, and falls in with a medieval theater troupe in present-day London, where they operate as a front for an immortal, alcoholic monk with a post-graduate degree who uses a magical portal to Candyland to weigh human souls as a way to compulsively gamble his mortal dauther's life against the Christian Devil. You know, that old chestnut.

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We reflect on Wilson Fisk's tenure as mayor of New York, and the ever-escalating difficulty of making genre stories that don't acknowledge the last ten years of politics.

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Gwen Sisco returns to offer measured defense of possibly Gilliam's least-loved film.

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In which we wake up from a long Bioware hypersleep to roll up our sleeves and get down to some busywork.

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Chris Prentice returns to chart Gilliam's precipitous decline with this overcast, fantasy snoozer

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We're drinking with the longshoremen tonight.