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Adidas Wilson Matrix — The 25 Best Live-Action Fantasy Movies of All Time. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.
This is Ashley Akinetti from the almost famous podcast. You ever notice you and your spouse keep saying, we need to get away, but you never actually plan anything. That was us until we did something fun and spontaneous. We went to resort pass.com. There are hundreds of hotel resorts, pools and spots and private beaches that you can enjoy. You can spend the day at a luxury resort, pool, spa, massage, without booking an overnight stay. And listen, I may have only been like 15 minutes from home, but it felt like it was a whole different world. And I'm thinking, this is exactly what I needed. So just go to resort pass.com, choose your resort, choose your day, luxury, resort, day passes, start at just $1,500. Once you post your daycation, people are gonna ask where you are. Go to resort pass.com slash almost famous and use the promo code almost famous to get $20 off when you spend $100. That's code almost famous at resort pass.com slash almost famous.
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In 1921, there was this Swedish filmmaker named Victor Jostrom. And he figured out how to capture actual translucent ghosts on a strip of celluloid film. Or, well, at least that's what audiences thought, right? Exactly. I mean, you have people sitting in these darkened theaters, watching spirits literally rise out of physical bodies. And we are so utterly desensitized to computer-generated imagery today that I think we forget there was a time when bending the visual rules of reality felt dangerously close to actual witchcraft. Yeah, it was literal magic to them. Right, you went to the theater and you actively paid someone to manipulate your brain. Which honestly is the foundational pack of cinema. You sit in the dark, the projector fires up and you willfully surrender your baseline reality to the architect behind the camera. Okay, let's unpack this because that exact pack is the engine driving our deep dive today. We are ripping into this phenomenal curation by Jeremy Irk at over at Collider. A really massive piece of work. Oh, yeah.
Specifically, we're looking at entries 25 through 16 on his ranking of the 25 best live action fantasy movies of all time. But our mission isn't just to read off a list of movies to you. The goal here is to fundamentally shatter that rigid, boring definition of fantasy. Right, because if you think fantasy is strictly confined to like British people wandering through forests with glowing wands and broadswords. Yeah, you are missing out on the true architectural magic of the medium. The genre suffers terribly from that aesthetic kitchen holding. We confuse the window dressing of high fantasy, the dragons, elves, ancient runes. Pointy ears. Exactly. The pointy ears. We confuse all of that with the actual mechanical function of the genre. Right out of the gate, Jeremy lays down this philosophical anchor that we really need to establish before we talk about a single film. He makes the argument that all movies, every single one of them are works of fantasy and make belief. And he is absolutely correct, just purely on a technical level. I mean, let's look at the mechanics of what a camera actually does.
A director listed a sprawling chaotic 360 degree real world. Right. They take a rectangular lens, and they carve out a tiny, tiny fraction of that space. The act of deciding what remains outside the frame is inherently a manipulation of reality. You're emitting context by design. Precisely. And then comes the editing day. And editor takes those fragmented rectangular captures, splices them together, and entirely fabricates time. Oh, wow. Yeah. They compress a 10-year journey into a two-second cross-fade. They manufacture causality where none existed in the physical world. So unless you were watching an unedited, locked-off security camera feed, which would be totally devoid of narrative intent. Right. Exactly. Unless you're watching that, you are engaging with a constructed, unreality, all film is fantasy. So if a gritty handheld crime drama is already a fantasy, what happens when a filmmaker decides to make an actual fantasy movie? Well, then you enter the realm of the double fantasy. Oh, I have to mention, Jeremy refers to this as a double fantasy in the article,
and makes a specific point to clarify. It is absolutely not the kind by John Lennon and Yoko Ono. That is a very important distinction to make. Which really made me laugh. But it also made me wonder, you know, doesn't taking a double leap risk alienating the audience. Like if you push too far from reality, don't you just snap the tether entirely? Well, yeah, that is the tight rope walk of the genre. If you just throw random magic at the screen without an internal logic, the audience checks out immediately. They just get lost. Right. The second leap only works if the newly established impossible rules are treated with absolute terrifying sincerity by the camera. And, you know, recognizing when a filmmaker nails that sincerity requires a very specific kind of cinematic diet, which brings us perfectly to the architect of this list, because you don't curate a ranking this wild covering as much cinematic ground without having a slightly unhinged relationship with media yourself. Unhinged is definitely the right word. Let's talk about Jeremy Erkert for a second.
We're talking about a writer who has published over 2800 articles for Collider since February, 2022 alone. The math on that output is frankly staggering. It equates to this relentless daily ingestion and synthesis of narrative. You just don't hit those numbers without completely rewiring your brain to process storytelling as a primary language. Omnivore is the word used to describe his tastes. And honestly, it almost feels like an understatement. He devours everything. His aesthetic palette bounces from like guys in rubber-gudzilla suits, destroying Tokyo, to gritty, mobster-flix samurai epics. Bob Foss musicals. Yes. Bob Foss musicals. The French New Wave. And he's really into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, though notably he draws a hard line at the Disney Plus shows. Which is a fascinating boundary, if you think about it, the French New Wave actively sought to dismantle traditional narrative structure. It was practically assaulting the viewer's expectations. Yeah, totally breaking the rules. Right. Meanwhile, classic musicals demand the viewer,
except that human beings just spontaneously burst into perfectly choreographed song to express emotion. To appreciate both of those requires immense cognitive flexibility. I actually want to push back on his Marvel hesitation, though. If he loves expansive, impossible world building, shouldn't episodic television be like the ultimate playground for that? Why draw the line at Disney Plus? It likely comes down to the economy of storytelling. Cinema, even really long cinema, is finite. It forces a complete narrative arc within a contained window. It has to end. Exactly. Episodic streaming content, especially franchise-driven content, often suffers from narrative delusion. It stretches that double fantasy so thin over so many hours that the tension of the unreality just goes slack. That makes a lot of sense, actually. But speaking of endurance tests, there is a detail in his profile that legitimately stunned me. He is intentionally tracked down and watched every single Nicholas Cage movie released before 2022. That isn't film criticism.
That is an anthropological expedition. Right. Watching the entire pre-2022 Nicholas Cage filmography is like embarking on a grueling mythic quest. You are waiting through absolute cinematic masterpieces. And then you are suddenly just bushwacking through direct to DVD existential nightmares. Oh, absolutely. And Jeremy openly admits that doing this often felt like a quote, tremendous waste of time. Well, what's fascinating here is the sheer massacism of completism. Why do it? Because to truly evaluate the peaks of a medium or an actor's deeply eccentric career, you have to intimately map the valleys. The Nicholas Cage filmography is honestly a perfect microcosm of the fantasy genre itself. Oh, I've so. It's wildly unpredictable, occasionally transcendent, and sometimes utterly baffling. He operates in extremes, you see, in his reading habits, too. He claims to have read all 13,467 of Stephen King's novels. Yeah. And he is actively planning to tackle King's 82,756 short stories and 105,400 to 33 novelas over the next two years,
which is mathematically impossible hyperbole, unless he has access to a time machine or a multiverse portal. Exactly. Stephen King is prolific, but he hasn't written 13,000 novels. But using that specific mathematically absurd hyperbole tells us exactly how this curator's mind works. He defaults to the epic. He views media consumption through a heightened, slightly surreal lens. It signals a brain that is entirely comfortable abandoning literalism. If you are going to trust someone to rank fantasy films, you want a guide who naturally speaks in the language of exaggeration. You also want someone who wrestles with the art. He apparently spent 12 years in an existential crisis over Tommy Wiseau's film The Room. He agonized for over a decade about whether it's genuinely the worst movie ever made or a bizarre, accidental masterpiece of surrealism. See, this raises an important question about intent versus reception. The Room attempts to be a grounded melodrama, but it is executed with such profound incompetence that the human interactions become alien.
The dialogue is so. The dialogue, the pacing, the framing. Yeah. It all feels like it was created by a being who has only ever had human behavior vaguely described to them. In a bizarre way, it functions as an accidental fantasy film. Because the reality it presents is so deeply uncanny. Exactly. And the fact that our curator spent a decade chewing on that exact tension makes him the perfect arbiter for this list. So with this wonderfully obsessive hyperbolic, omnivorous mind guiding us, let's dive into the actual rankings. And we are starting in a place that might confuse a lot of people who strictly associate fantasy with dragons. We are looking at entry 24, Greta Gerwig's Barbie from 2023, and entry 23, Harold Ramis' Groundhog Day from 1993. The domain of low fantasy. Let's start with Groundhog Day. On its surface, this is a sarcastic early 90s comedy starring Bill Murray. He plays Phil Connors, this deeply cynical weatherman, sent to the painfully mundane town of Punxutani, Pennsylvania. It is the most grounded, snowy, unremarkable setting
imaginable. And that is the defining architectural requirement of low fantasy. You must establish a bedrock of absolute unshakeable mundanity. The audience must recognize the world as their own. The coffee tastes like our coffee. The annoying co-workers sound exactly like our annoying co-workers. And then you break the spacetime continuum. Exactly. But notice how the film breaks it. There is no inciting incident explained to the audience. Phil doesn't anger a wizard. He doesn't touch a cursed amulet. He simply wakes up to sunny and share on the radio on a day repeats. Just boom. Loop starts. Yeah. The fantasy element intrudes upon the real world without explanation or apology. We don't get a why. We just get the crushing reality of the what. And this is where I want your take, actually, because I've always viewed this movie as a philosophical nightmare dressed up as a comedy. Phil's trapped in a time loop. Is that immortality or is that hell? Oh, it is the cinematic realization of Friedrich Nietzsche's concept of eternal recurrence. Wait, really? Nietzsche? Oh, absolutely. Nietzsche posited a thought experiment.
He asked, what if a demon told you that you would have to live your exact life over and over again for eternity with nothing new ever occurring? Would you throw yourself down a Nashor teeth or would you consider it a divine gift? Wow. OK. Groundhog Day weaponizes this philosophy. The film uses the mechanics of fantasy to trap a man in a purbatory of his own flaws. At first, Phil uses a lack of consequences for hedonism. He steals, he manipulates people. See, it's all the pastries. Right. But the brilliant editing of the film, the constant aggressive smash cuts back to 6.0 AM, gradually transforms the repetition from a playground into a suffocating psychological prison. Oh, wait. Let me push back on that a little. Isn't he only in a prison because he lacks imagination? Like, if you have infinite time, you could master every language, read every book, become a concert pianist, which, I mean, he eventually does, the fantasy element actually gives him the ultimate freedom from the constraints of a mortal lifespan. But that is the trap.
He does have infinite time to acquire skills, but he has zero ability to build a legacy or forward momentum. He can become a master pianist, but the next morning, nobody remembers his concert. Oh, man. Yeah. The fantasy forces him to realize that self-improvement for the sake of ego is hollow, if you cannot share it. He has to use the unreality of the time loop to learn how to genuinely connect with the reality of other human beings. The magic isn't there for spectacle. It is an incredibly aggressive tool for forced psychological evolution. It uses an impossible circumstance to teach us something desperately true about the human condition, which bridges us perfectly to the film sitting right behind it on the list at number 24, Barbie. A completely different flavor of low fantasy. Totally. Now, this was a $623 million domestic box office behemoth. It is a massive pop culture event. But structurally, it handles its fantasy in a completely different way than Groundhog Day. Yes. Because while Groundhog Day drops a fantasy rule into the real world, Barbie creates
an entirely separate, fully realized fantasy dimension that eventually collides with our reality. And the visual contrast is just astounding. Margot Robbie playing Barbie, waving down from this impossibly pink, technically exceptional dreamhouse. The production design didn't just paint things pink. They altered the fundamental laws of physics and scale. Let's talk about that scale, actually, because it is a masterclass in visual storytelling. The houses in Barbie land are built roughly 23% smaller than human scale. Wait, really? Just 23%. Yeah. And it's deliberate. When Margot Robbie stands in her bedroom, her head is uncomfortably close to the ceiling. Why? Because that is exactly how a plastic doll looks when you shove it into a manufactured plastic house. The filmmakers used physical set construction to enforce the unreality of the space. That is so smart. There is no actual water. The pools are solid plastic. You don't walk downstairs. You gently float from the roof to the car because that is how a child plays with a toy. The attention to the mechanics of play is incredible.
But here is the through line I'm seeing for you listening at home. If Phil is trapped in the repetitive mundanity of a real snowy town, and Barbie is navigating a wildly different, technically perfect, plastic utopia, aren't they essentially dealing with the exact same crisis? They absolutely are. Aren't both films using the fantasy genre to explore the deep-seated human desire to break out of our designated societal roles? If we connect this to the bigger picture, you have just hit the nail on the head. That is the core function of low fantasy. Phil is originally trapped in the role of the arrogant, cynical, misanthrope. His time loop shatters his ability to rely on that role because his cynicism yields no progressive results. Right, being a jerk gets him nowhere. Exactly. Barbie, on the other hand, is literally trapped in the role of an archetype stereotypical Barbie. She is an idea of perfection manufactured in a corporate boardroom. Her journey out of Barbie land and into the gritty, complicated, patriarchal, real world is a violent transition from static perfection to messy, mortal humanity.
They both have to completely abandon their scripts. Exactly. And the genius of both films is the camouflage. You think you are sitting down for a goofy comedy about a repeating groundhog festival or a visually explosive satire about a Mattel toy? But the filmmakers use the Trojan Horse of Comedy paired with the rule-breaking freedom of fantasy to sneak existentialism right past your defenses. OK, so low fantasy works by pulling the magic down into the dirt of our everyday lives. But what happens when filmmakers go in the absolute opposite direction? This is Matt Rogers from Los Cultures, thus with Matt Rogers and Boan Yang. This is Boan Yang from Los Cultures, thus Matt Rogers and Boan Yang. You know when people try a new food and suddenly it's like, wait, that's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try Cupid Mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake. Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs.
Cupid only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, some fans even swear by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it, restaurants use it. People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it. Grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're at the store. Put it on just about anything. Then you'll understand. Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Akinetti from the almost famous podcast. You ever notice you and your spouse keep saying, we need to get away, but you never actually plan anything. That was us until we did something fun and spontaneous. We went to resortpass.com. There are hundreds of hotel resorts, pools and spots and private beaches that you can enjoy. You can spend the day at a luxury resort, pool, spa, massage without booking an overnight stay. And listen, I may have only been like 15 minutes from home, but it felt like it was a whole different world.
And I'm thinking, this is exactly what I needed. So just go to resortpass.com, choose your resort, choose your day, luxury resort day passes, start at just $1,000. Once you post your daycation, people are gonna ask where you are. Go to resortpass.com slash almost famous and use the promo code almost famous to get $20 off when you spend $100. That's code almost famous at resortpass.com slash almost famous. Shop vans and Albertsons for fresh savings every time you shop. This week at vans and Albertsons, get fresh, boneless, skinless chicken breast for $199 per pound limit 10 pounds. And locally grown, grape-ary cotton candy grapes are $299 per pound with digital coupon. Plus 24 packs of Canada dry or 7-up 12-ounce cans are $499 limit one with digital coupon. Enjoy fresh and delicious savings for every meal. Hurry in, these deals won't last. Visit vans or Albertsons.com for more deals and ways to save. What happens when they tackle the highest, most revered foundational myths of our culture?
The stakes change entirely. You leave the cul-de-sac and you enter the realm of high myth. Let's unpack the Arthurian duality. We are looking at entry 25, Excalibur from 1981, and entry 18, Monty Python and the Holy Grail from 1975. Two absolute titans. It is mind-blowing to me that these two films share the exact same source material. We are talking about King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, Camelot, the quest for the Holy Grail. But structurally, tonally and philosophically, they are on entirely different planets. It is arguably the best case study and cinema of how a single mythological framework can support violently opposing interpretations, yet both result in masterpiece-level fantasy. Let's start with the dark side of the coin. John Bohrman's Excalibur. This is hailed as one of the greatest R-rated fantasy movies ever made. And when you look at Bohrman's career, he directed deliverance, the incredibly bizarre sci-fi film, Zardo's. Oh, Zardo's wild. So wild. And he did the famously chaotic exorcist's too, to the heretic.
So you know immediately this isn't gonna be a sanitized Disney Fisad fairy tale. Bohrman is a filmmaker of extreme textures, and Excalibur is a film you can almost smell. It smells of iron mud, blood, and dense foliage. There's a specific image highlighted from the film, Nigel Terry is Arthur and Shuri Lungy is Gwynnevere at the altar. And just the visual weight of the armor they wear in this film, it just looks exhausting. That visual weight is entirely intentional. Bohrman recognized that the original Arthurian legends, Thomas Mallory's Lamort d'Arthur, are not stories for children. They are brutal, violently contested narratives about power, lust, betrayal, and dark pagan magic, clashing with rising Christianity. It's heavy stuff. Very heavy. To achieve this, Bohrman used lighting techniques that fundamentally altered how the audience perceived the knights. He often shot the gleaming plate armor, reflecting green gels, making the knights look as though they were physically born from the harsh, unforgiving nature of the forest itself. So the environment is literally reflecting off of them?
Yes. The magic of Merlin isn't sparkly, it is terrifying and elemental. Excalibur demands absolute uncompromising reverence for the myth. But then you travel back six years to 1975. Monde Python and the Holy Grail. They take that exact same foundational lore, that exact same reverence, and they mercilessly bludgeon it with a rubber chicken. What's fascinating here is how deconstruction functions as a form of world building. Now, wait a minute, I have to stop you there. Is parody actually world building? Like if King Arthur is pretending to write a horse while his servant claps to hollow coconut halves together to simulate hoofbeats, doesn't that inherently destroy the fantasy illusion? You are constantly reminding the audience that they're watching a low budget movie. How does that qualify as effective fantasy? It is a brilliant question. The instinct is to say that breaking the fourth wall shatters the double leap we talked about earlier. But Monde Python is operating on a different frequency. The world they create is consistent in its absurdity.
Consistent absurdity. Okay, explain that. Think about the internal logic of the film. When Arthur encounters the bridge keeper, the magic of the bridge dictates he must answer three questions. That is a classic fantasy trope. But the questions devolve into pedantic debates about the airspeed velocity of an unlayed and swallow. Right, African or European. Exactly. The fantasy world of Holy Grail has strict, unbreakable rules. It's just that those rules are based on an archipyrocracy and pedantry rather than majestic destiny. So they aren't ignoring the rules of fantasy. They're weaponizing them for comedy. Exactly. The comedy only works because the audience intuitively understands the grave mythic structure that is being mocked. When the black knight gets his arms and legs entirely severed in a sword fight and calls it a flesh wound, the joke relies on the audience knowing the trope of the stoic invincible fantasy warrior. They are essentially playing jazz with the Arthurian chords. Bormin plays the symphony as written, full brass, thundering timpani. Python takes the exact same sheet music
and turns it into a chaotic kazoo solo. But both require the listener to know the original melody. That is a perfect analogy. And both are completely valid expressions of the fantasy genre. They prove that a myth is truly immortal, only when it is strong enough to survive both absolute reverence and absolute mockery. I love that framing. Now Arthur and his knights, whether they were bleeding in the mud or running away from a killer rabbit, fundamentally belong in their setting, their products of their time and place. But a huge subsection of fantasy relies on characters who are aggressively incompatible with their environments. The displacement narrative, the uncanny outcast. Yes. Let's dive into our next pairing. We are looking at Entry 22, Tim Burton's Edward Cesarhams from 1990 and Entry 19, Wolfgang Peterson's the never-ending story from 1984. Two incredibly distinct visual worlds. Oh, absolutely. Let's start with Burton's masterpiece. Edward Cesarhams relies on an aggressive visual clash. You have an incredibly dark, gothic, crumbling mansion
looming high in a hill. And sitting directly beneath it is an exaggerated, eerily flawless pastel-colored American suburb. It is a brilliant, special representation of Carl Jung's concept of the shadow. The suburb is the manicured persona what society wants to project. The gothic mansion is the hidden, dark, unfinished reality lurking just out of sight. And out of that dark mansion comes Edward, played by Johnny Depp. He is a literal fantasy creation, an artificial man built by an eccentric inventor who died before he could give Edward human hands. Instead, he has these massive terrifying shears. And this creature is brought down into the pastel suburbia and told to assimilate. Assimilate into the impossible. Yeah. And there is a detail highlighted here that I think perfectly encapsulates the movie. It's the scene where Edward is sitting at the dinner table with this suburban family, desperately trying to eat a single green pea with his Cesarhams. Oh, that scene is the mechanical heart of the film. From a filmmaking perspective, Tim Burton and his costume designer Colleen Atwood deliberately designed the Cesarh
prosthetics to be incredibly cumbersome. Johnny Depp wasn't just acting awkward, the physical apparatus restricted his fine motor skills. So he was actually struggling? Real struggle, yes. By struggling to eat a simple pea, the film visualizes the tragedy of the uncanny outcast. He possesses tools that make him an incredible artist. He can sculpt ice and trim hedges into masterpieces. But those same tools make him violently incompatible with the delicate mundane rituals of normal human intimacy. He is a fantasy creature begging to be mundane. A fantasy creature begging to be mundane. That is a brilliant way to put it. Because it creates a perfect mirror image inversion when we look at the never ending story. How do you mean? Well, in Burton film, the magic comes down to the real world and tries to fit in. But in the never ending story, we follow bastion, a very normal grieving bullied kid in the mundane world who uses a magical book to escape into a dying fantasy realm. Oh, yeah. He gets pulled into the world of Fantasia, fighting the nothing alongside a young warrior
in a betrayer and flying on Falcoy the Lec Dragon. So Edward wants to escape the magic to be normal. Bastion wants to escape the normal to experience the magic. That inverted dynamic you just outlined is the key to understanding why the fantasy genre is so psychologically vital to human beings. Really? How so? If we connect this to the bigger picture, these two characters represent the dual engines of audience engagement. When you sit down to watch a movie, you are simultaneously bastion and Edward. Wait, how can we be both? They want opposite things. Consciously, we are bastion. We buy the ticket or we open the book. Because we are exhausted by the mundane. We have to pay taxes, we have to commute, we experience grief and bullying. So we actively seek out the escape hatch. We want to ride the dragon. We want to be essential to a grand cosmic battle. We want agency in a world where the rules are clearer. Precisely. That is the escapist function of fantasy. But subconsciously, we deeply resonate
with Edward's sizzards hands. Because no matter how deeply embedded you are in a community, every single human being harbors a secret fear that they are an unfinished experiment. Oh wow. We all have moments where we feel we are fumbling through the arbitrary social rules of the past El Suburbia. We all feel like we're trying to eat a pea with scissors. Yes. So fantasy provides the escapist thrill of Fantasia while simultaneously offering profound empathy for a real world alienation through characters like Edward. It is a genre that comforts the outcast while empowering the powerless. That is incredible. It is the ultimate Swiss army knife of storytelling. And speaking of storytelling tools, sometimes the genre is so flexible that it disguises itself completely. You think you were watching one type of movie and suddenly you realize the mechanics underneath are operating on pure fantasy. A genre shift mid flight. Exactly. Let's look at reimagining the familiar. We are jumping to entry 21, the 2001 film Godzilla, Mothra and King Gidora. Giant monsters all at attack at entry 16,
Ang Lee's crouching tiger hidden dragon from 2000. Two incredible films. I am so thrilled this specific Godzilla movie made the list. Because 99% of the time, Godzilla is categorized as science fiction. Well, the lore is inextricably tied to the atomic bomb. The 1954 original directed by Ishiro Honda is a direct agonizing allegory for the nuclear devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And you know, the subsequent American H-bom test of the Kenyate Hall that radiated a Japanese fishing boat. Godzilla is a prehistoric creature mutated by modern science. He is a walking nuclear reactor. Right. It is science fiction grounded in a real world atomic trauma. But this 2001 film often just called GMK by fans does something radical. It ignores every single sequel that came before it. It acts as a direct sequel to the 1954 original, but it violently yanks the franchise out of sci-fi and drops it squarely into high fantasy. It's a huge pivot. The text highlights this massive pivot. Godzilla is no longer just a radioactive animal. He is literally reanimated by the collective vengeful spirits
of the people who died in the Pacific War. It is a stunning thematic recalibration. And the adversaries change too. Mothra, King Yudora, and Baragon aren't presented to scientific anomalies or aliens. They are explicitly defined as ancient, mythical guardian monsters slumbering beneath Japan, summoned by spiritual urgency to fight this undead Godzilla. By shifting the origin from atomic science to supernatural vengeance, the filmmaker Shusuka Kaneko alters the very nature of the threat. In sci-fi, Godzilla represents humanity's fear of the future. Our fear that our technological advancements will destroy us. But by turning Godzilla into an avatar of restless World War Two spirits, the film uses fantasy to confront humanity's fear of the past. It becomes a story about cultural amnesia. Godzilla is attacking Japan because modern, commercialized Japanese society is forgetting the horrors and the sins of the war. He is a supernatural reckoning. The Guardian monsters represent ancient folklore trying to protect the land from the unresolved trauma
of the 20th century. It turns a monster movie into a metaphysical debate about national guilt. Exactly. And it proves that applying the rules of fantasy to an established sci-fi icon, unlocks entirely new emotional registers. Here's where it gets really interesting though. If GMK uses fantasy to explore massive national trauma crouching tiger, hidden drag and uses fantasy to explore the most intimate, repressed human emotions possible. The micro versus the macro. Yeah. Let's talk about Wuxia. The text translates this as martial heroes. It's a genre deeply rooted in Chinese literature and cinema, focusing on martial artists who are capable of superhuman feats. We see Michelle Yeo as Yushuline wielding heavy weaponry with impossible grace. The choreography in this film, orchestrated by the legendary UN whooping, is a master class in the suspension of disbelief. The warriors glide across the surface of lakes. They engage in blistering sword fights while balancing on the slender, flexible tops of a bamboo forest. They emphatically defy the laws of gravity.
But I want to challenge you on this. If characters are flying around, bouncing off walls and performing superhero landings, how does the movie not just become a shallow action spectacle? It's a fair question. The source explicitly points out that underneath the action, this is a deeply human story about love, regret, and betrayal. How does angly, balanced, physics-defying wirefu with grounded, agonizing human regret? He achieves it because the fantasy elements are never used merely for spectacle. They're directly mapped to the internal psychological states of the character. Oh, interesting. Give me an example. Think about the central characters Lee Mubai and Yushulean. They're deeply in love, but they are bound by rigid societal codes and a sense of duty that prevents them from expressing it. They are emotionally incredibly heavy. They're weighed down by obligation. Yes. So when they fight, when they unleash their martial arts mastery, it is the only time they're allowed to transcend their earthly burdens. The wirework, the weightlessness, is a physical manifestation of the freedom they desperately crave
but deny themselves in their daily lives. When you watch the famous bamboo forest fight between Lee Mubai and the young rebellious Genu, it isn't just a physical combat over a stolen sword. It is a deeply complex psychological argument. Right, because she's so reckless. Exactly. Genu is thrashing about erratic, driven by image or passion, bending the bamboo wildly. Lee Mubai is perfectly balanced on a single branch, effortlessly moving with the sway of the wind, trying to teach her spiritual equilibrium. The fantasy choreography is the dialogue. Wow. So the unreality of the movement is actually just the visual language used to express the reality of their souls. Brilliantly put, yes. Both GMK and crouching tiger rely heavily on late 20th century and early 21st century filmmaking tools. They use advanced wire removal, digital compositing and CGI to seamlessly blend these impossible feeds with live action photography. The tools got so much better. But looking at how crucial visual effects are to making these worlds believable, it raises a massive historical question.
How on earth did filmmakers convince audiences to take that double leap into fantasy before computers existed, before they even had synchronized sound to help set the mood? You have to go back to the alchemists of the silent era. You have to look at filmmakers who are inventing the visual grammar of the impossible from scratch, which brings us to the haunting origins of the genre. This is Matt Rogers from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Boan Yang. This is Boan Yang from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Boan Yang. You know when people try new food and suddenly it's like, wait, that's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try QB mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake. Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. QB only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, some fans even swear
by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it, restaurants use it. People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it, grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're at the store. Put it on just about anything. Then you'll understand. QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Akinetti from the Almost Amused Podcast. You ever notice you and your spouse keep saying, we need to get away, but you never actually plan anything. That was us until we did something fun and spontaneous. We went to resortpass.com. There are hundreds of hotel resorts, pools and spots and private beaches that you can enjoy. You can spend the day at a luxury resort, pool, spa, massage, without booking an overnight stay. And listen, I may have only been like 15 minutes from home, but it felt like it was a whole different world. And I'm thinking, this is exactly what I needed. So just go to resortpass.com, choose your resort, choose your day, luxury, resort day passes,
start at just $1,500. Once you post your daycation, people are gonna ask where you are. Go to resortpass.com, slash almost famous and use the promo code almost famous to get $20 off when you spend $100. That's code almost famous at resortpass.com, slash almost famous. Shop vans and Albertsons for fresh savings every time you shop. This week at vans and Albertsons, get fresh, boneless, skinless chicken breasts for $199 per pound limit 10 pounds. And locally grown, grape-ary cotton candy grapes are $299 per pound with digital coupon. Plus 24 packs of Canada dry or 7-up 12-ounce cans are $499 limit one with digital coupon. Enjoy fresh and delicious savings for every meal. Hurry in, these deals won't last. Visit vans or Albertsons.com for more deals and ways to save. We're looking at the oldest entries on Jeremy's list. Entry number 20, the Swedish film The Phantom Carriage from 1921 and entry number 17, The German Titan Faust from 1926. Foundational texts for everything we watch now.
Let's start with 1921, The Phantom Carriage, Directed by and starring Victor Shostrom. The premise is incredibly grim. It is based on a legend that states the last person to die on New Year's Eve is cursed. They must spend the entire next year driving a spectral carriage, acting as the grim reaper, collected the souls of the dead. It is a deeply moralistic, terrifying folk tale. And the thing that blew my mind researching this, the effects still work. A movie that is over a century old still evokes a genuinely spooky, otherworldly atmosphere. We were talking about 1921. How did they put translucent three-dimensional ghosts on screen without a single microchip? They achieved it through a punishingly precise technique called double exposure. And it is vital to understand how difficult this was mechanically. Right, they couldn't just click a mouse. No, not at all. Today you shoot a plate of room, you shoot an actor on a green screen and you composite them digitally in a few clicks.
In 1921, the camera operator had to physically hand crank the film through the camera to expose the background, the graveyard, the street. They had to count the exact number of cranks. Literally count them. Then they had to take the film into a dark room, manually rewind that exact strip of film, put it back in the camera, cover the lens with a mat to block out certain light, and have the actor playing the ghost perform against a black velvet backdrop. So they are exposing the exact same physical strip of chemicals to light twice? Exactly. The silver halide crystals on the celluloid captured both layers of light. If the camera operator's hand slipped or if they cranked slightly too fast on the second pass, the illusion was ruined and the film was destroyed. The translucent ghosts in the Phantom carriage are a triumph of mathematics and chemistry just as much as they are a triumph of acting. And because they didn't have sound, they couldn't have a narrator explain, you know, ooh, look a scary ghost. The visual effect had to carry 100% of the narrative weight. It was pure visual storytelling.
Which transitions perfectly to our final film, 1926's Faust, directed by F. W. Murnell. This is the pinnacle of German expressionism. The story is a cosmic downbeat wager between God and Satan, specifically Mephisto, over whether Satan can corrupt the soul of a good man named Faust. German expressionism is arguably the most important movement in the history of fantasy cinema. Emerging from the economic and psychological devastation of post-World War I and Germany, these filmmakers decided that objective reality was useless for conveying true human despair. The source notes, it is incredibly creatively shot. And effectively unsettling. This raises an important question. How do you visually represent a cosmic wager between heaven and hell using nothing but wood, canvas, and light? I mean, they couldn't just green-screed a demon. Right. Murnell didn't just point a camera at actors. He manipulated the very architecture of the sets. German expressionist films feature doors that are jagged and asymmetrical.
The shadows aren't just cast by lights. They were often literally painted onto the floors and walls in harsh, jagged angles to create a sense of psychological vertigo. Painting the shadows, that is brilliant. Think about the famous sequence where the giant demonic figure of Mephisto towers over a detailed miniature of the town. His vast black wings enveloping the city, bringing the plague. It is a staggering image of inescapable doom. And they achieve that by aggressively playing with scale, miniatures, and forced perspective in the camera. Precisely. And I want to make this exceptionally clear to anyone listening today. These silent films are not just dusty museum exhibits. They are the DNA of everything we watch today. They laid the groundwork. The double exposures Shrewstrum bled over in 1921. They are the direct technical ancestors of the compositing used to make Godzilla breathe atomic fire, or to make the spaceships in Star Wars fly. The painted shadows and twisted architecture of Murnell's Faust, that is the exact visual vocabulary Tim Burton stole and modernized to build
the Gothic mansion in Edward Cicerhands. It's all connected. The silent pioneers prove that the camera itself is a wand. They prove that cinema is a medium of unreality. OK, let's dig a deep breath. Because we have traversed a massive cinematic landscape today. We really have. We started in the fluorescent, mathematically scaled, plastic, cul-de-sacs of Barbi land. We endured the suffocating snowy existential dread of repeating Tuesday in Punxitani. We watched John Bourman cover nights in mud and blood to honor a myth. And we watched Monipyth on clap coconuts together to playfully destroy it. We saw a monster born from the atomic bomb repurposed to carry the spiritual weight of a forgotten war. Yes. We watched warriors defy gravity in a bamboo forest to express the love they couldn't speak. And we watched a silent, century-old ghost drive a carriage through the night. It's quite a journey. So what does this all mean for you listening? If you take a step back and look at Jeremy Irkhardt's wildly eclectic curation, the ultimate takeaway
is that the live-action fantasy genre is not a rigid category defined by a specific aesthetic. It is not confined to swords and sorcery. Not at all. Fantasy is a cinematic crowbar. It is the tool filmmakers use to pry apart the rigid, boring laws of reality, our physics, our societal roles, our mortality, so they can slip profound, uncomfortable, and beautiful human truths into the spaces between. It is the ultimate testament to the elasticity of the cinematic medium. Fantasy doesn't hide us from reality. It provides the necessary distance for us to survive examining it. It really does. But before we sign off, I want to leave you the listener with a final thought. The concept to chew on as you engage with modern media. It ties directly back to our opening premise. The double leap. Right. We established that the camera creates a fantasy by framing reality. And that live-action fantasy takes a second leap into the impossible by filming real actors in impossible situations. But look at where Hollywood is right now. We have technology like the volume,
these massive wrap-around LED screens rendering real-time, photo-realistic environments in Unreal Engine. We have deepfakes. We have AI-generated background actors. It's getting wild. As computer-generated imagery becomes utterly flawlessly indistinguishable from reality, what happens to the concept of live-action fantasy? That is the million-dollar question. If the environment, the lighting, the monsters, and eventually even the digital doubles of the actors are all generated inside of GPU, there is no baseline physical reality being manipulated by lens anymore. In the future, will the line between a realistic movie and a fantasy movie disappear entirely? If every single pixel on the screen is fabricated by code, will the very concept of live-action cinema become a myth of the past, leaving us with a medium that is nothing but pure, unadulterated digital make-belief? It is an incredibly chilling, yet creatively thrilling frontier. We are moving from manipulating reality to synthesizing it entirely. And it forces us to ask what it is we truly value when we sit in the dark and look at the screen.
Thank you for joining us on this deep dive today. Keep questioning the reality of the media. You consume, seek out the profound magic hidden in the mundane. And as always, keep diving deep. This is Ashley Akinetti from the Almost Amos podcast. You ever notice you and your spouse keep saying, we need to get away, but you never actually plan anything. That was us until we did something fun and spontaneous. We went to resortpass.com. There are hundreds of hotel resorts, pools and spots and private beaches that you can enjoy. You can spend the day at a luxury resort, pool, spa, massage, without booking an overnight stay. And listen, I may have only been like 15 minutes from home, but it felt like it was a whole different world. And I'm thinking, this is exactly what I needed. So just go to resortpass.com, choose your resort, choose your day, luxury, resort, day passes, start at just $25. Once you post your daycation, people are gonna ask where you are. Go to resortpass.com slash almost famous and use the promo code almost famous
to get $20 off when you spend $100. That's code almost famous at resortpass.com slash almost famous. Shop vans and Albertsons for fresh savings every time you shop. This week at vans and Albertsons, get fresh boneless, skinless chicken breasts for $199 per pound limit 10 pounds. And locally grown, grape-ary cotton candy grapes are $299 per pound with digital coupon. Plus 24 packs of Canada dry or 7-up 12-ounce cans are $499 limit one with digital coupon. Enjoy fresh and delicious savings for every meal. Hurry in, these deals won't last. Visit vans or Albertsons.com for more deals and ways to save. McDonald's is putting value back on the menu. Whether you're craving a Big Mac, McNuggets are sausage egg and cheese, McGrittles make it a meal and save. Your favorite is now your wallet's favorite too. Extra value meals are back. Get a big something extra. With a Big Mac or 10-piece McNuggets, fries and a medium Coke all for just $9.
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