Hello everyone, and a hearty welcome back to Wrong Every Time! I’ve got an eclectic collection of film thoughts for you all today, starting off with a Ghibli classic that could not fit more squarely within my wheelhouse. Incidentally, writing that sentence prompted me to look up what a “wheelhouse” actually is, and the answer is adorable: it’s a little cabin you build to protect whoever’s manning the wheel of a ship, meaning it’s a literal tiny house for a wheel. Fantastic.

Anyway! All my friends have been clamoring at me to get to Whisper of the Heart for weeks now, and unsurprisingly, I ended up absolutely loving the film. Along with that, this week featured a strange spread of films in a variety of genres, from vintage Arnold Schwarzenegger to a recent film that tries much too hard to be quirky. It’s an interesting mix of films, and I’ve got plenty to say about them, so let’s dive into another Week in Review!

I continued my journey through the Ghibli catalog with Whisper of the Heart this week, a film that basically everyone I knew assured me was an absurdly Me film. Well, it turns out I’m an exceedingly transparent media enthusiast, because Whisper of the Heart was terrific. Combining a charming love story with a coming-of-age narrative centered on the trials of young would-be artisans, Whisper of the Heart is one of the most grounded and small-scale Ghibli films I’ve seen, with any narrative fantasies stemming from the pen of its young heroine Shizuku. In spite of this, the film feels as energetic and full of wonder as something like Kiki’s Delivery Service, while combining that with a pragmatic, world-weary edge that lent it a powerful sense of relatability and consequence.

Shizuku begins the film on the boundary line between her childhood and adolescence, though she’s not initially aware of this. Early scenes find her adventuring around Tokyo with a sense of gaiety common to Ghibli protagonists, but in Whisper of the Heart, her freedom is understood to be a temporary state, and one she is desperately afraid of leaving. Clinging to stories and seeking her own fairy tale adventure, Shizuku is quietly terrified by the approaching necessity of deciding a potential career path, as well as the shifting nature of her relationships with others. Scenes like the one where her childhood friend confesses to her exemplify the tremendous power of combining this animation staff with material this grounded – Shizuku’s pain at being forced to reassess her childhood friendship is palpable, and the final shot, of Shizuku captured through the canopy of leaves, face obscured, is perfect.

Whisper of the Heart’s moments of joy are equally powerful, like when a request to hear a boy play violin turns into one of the most rapturous and technically impressive music performances I’ve seen in animation. As the only film directed by would-be Ghibli successor Yoshifumi Kondo before his tragic death, Whisper feels like it should be the first step of a long and prosperous career; it’s a film brimming with ideas and emotions unique among the Ghibli catalog, with a style I’d have dearly loved to see developed further. I can only be grateful we received this one very special film.

Because it was on Netflix and featured a whole lot of stars we like, the house also screened An Evening With Beverly Luff Lin, which proved itself to be interesting, but largely disappointing. In spite of featuring maybe half of the most charming comic stars of modern American television, Luff Lin leans heavily on a quasi-surreal, almost anti-comedy style of intentionally drawn out scenes, intentionally unconvincing acting, and intentionally anticlimactic gags that works maybe a third or so of the time, while basically never taking advantage of the inherent acting ability of its many stars.

This actually works for Aubrey Plaza, because Aubrey Plaza is a bad actress who never seems convincing, but the film largely squanders Matt Berry and Craig Robinson, who makes the absolute most of only communicating through groaning noises for most of the film. It’s really just Jemaine Clement’s character who makes out okay, since he’s the only one who possesses recognizable human emotions, and thus the only one whose acting can be evaluated as good or bad, rather than just obtuse. A few scenes here and there are surreal in a way that actually works, but for the most part, Luff Lin seems overly pleased with itself, far less funny than it thinks, and on the whole a massive waste of an incredibly strong cast.

Seeking a late-night action classic we hadn’t already watched, my house followed up Luff Lin with the far superior Conan the Barbarian, one of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s earliest starring roles. Given he’d only recently transitioned from absolutely demolishing a variety of bodybuilding contests, Arnie’s acting abilities aren’t the greatest at this point – but he performs more than well enough to sell a character like Conan, and while his way with dialogue won’t win any awards, the man is an absolute master of the knowing, voluminous smolder. Arnie smolders the shit out of this movie, firing off passionate death stares whenever he’s not actively inflicting death, which he does with cheerful frequency.

Conan the Barbarian is an epic sword-and-sorcery narrative with basically no fat whatsoever, and a copious number of distinct, exciting action setpieces. There’s a daring invasion of a snake cult, a battle set at a cannibalistic orgy, a night spent fending off demons from a reanimation ritual, and much else besides, all tightly paced and centered by Arnie’s strangely comforting presence. The film’s sets are terrific, and the secondary cast incredibly strong – James Earl Jones plays Arnie’s nemesis, while the narrator is the illustrious Mako (who’s played Aku and Uncle Iroh, among many other characters), who actually shows up in the flesh as a friendly wizard. On the whole, Conan the Barbarian is a top shelf action-adventure film, one I’d recommend to any fans of swords and sorcery.

Finally, I also checked out Labyrinth, the Jim Henson-associated ‘80s film that’s probably most notable for starring David Bowie as the villainous Goblin King. Having watched the film, I can emphatically confirm that Labyrinth is indeed most notable for starring David Bowie. It’s a fine enough children’s adventure, and the sets and puppets are wonderful, but it’s Bowie’s great songs and dynamic presence that really hold this film together. I can’t really recommend it as a full viewing experience, but watching David Bowie dance and sing while flinging a baby between a bunch of horrifying goblin puppets was, to me, well worth the price of entry.