A Boy is a Gun

Upgrade

Novocaine

Well hello, friends, foes, and passive aggressive acquaintances, I hope you’re well despite…you know, the world. After a long period of nonstop heavy rain that caused a devastatingly deadly flood, the sun finally appears to be peeking out from behind the clouds down here in Texas, but whether the weather is tame or torrential, I’m always ready to discuss a hyper-specific, perhaps overly-niche double feature. This week I wanted to scratch a specific cinematic itch and explore a genre that I rarely desire to partake in if it is without Keanu Reeves: action movies. But this week’s action movies were specifically gory, gutsy, male-centric (somewhat redundant to say), and revolve around characters who—through some bodily defect or alteration—are indestructible. I am not referring to supernatural characters, creatures, monsters, or even superheroes, but mortal, at least semi-normal characters who are palpably human yet unreasonably untouchable. Action movies are filled to the brim with unrealistically resilient, Mary Sue-ish characters—John Wick, John McClane, James Bond, Indiana Jones, Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, Jean-Claude Van Damme from any movie he was ever in, and the majority of the dudes from The Fast and the Furious franchise—action movies as we know them likely would not exist if it weren’t for this inevitably invincible archetype. As I get older and feel the consequences of my physical actions taking a toll on my own rotting body more and more, it makes me more and more fascinated by the indomitability and freedom, or lack thereof, of the human form. Our bodies are elastic yet finite, strong yet delicate, capable of so many spectacular feats, and yet they are collectively and individually under threat of being scrutinized, politicized, policed, and controlled at any time—particularly for those of us assigned female at birth. The fact that abortion is still treated like a social, moral dilemma up for debate and not a personal, completely typical medical choice, creeps me out to no end. The fact that a room of rich white men in suits can decide what a woman is and is not allowed to do with their one, singular body is terrifying. And as far-right extremists continue to pedal conspiracy theories about people’s genitalia, and more cisgendered people are being “accused” of being trans, the anxiety and paranoia surrounding bodies expands and devolves further. I’m not gonna make this whole post that’s supposed to be about violent, good-time action movies about abortion access, gender-affirming care, and the right to bodily autonomy, but I do think there is an interesting connection between the right to choose, and these movies about men and their control (or lack thereof) of their bodies. In fact, while I tend to speak specifically about women and femmes within this oppressively patriarchal ideology, men have historically had their bodies exposed and dissected too. Women may be expected to be predisposed to motherhood or nurturement, but men are expected to be predisposed to providing, protecting, fighting in wars, etc. We are not machines where we can input ideals and output perfection, and yet this feels like the expectation at times. We are all uncomfortably bound by the societal expectations of how we present our bodies, we all have the potential to be exploited for the things nature gave us, and in a convoluted way, both of tonight’s films express this. So I decided to title this week’s double feature after one of my favorite Tyler, the Creator songs, and explore two similarly absurd movies about the possibilities and perils of the human form—especially when they’re pushed to the physical limit(s.)

Up first is a movie I’ve been wanting to see for quite sometime, not just because it stars a crush of mine who is currently being underutilized on this season of And Just Like That—Logan Marshall-Green—but because it was created by one of my favorite modern day horror visionaries, Leigh Whannell, this is the 2018 film Upgrade. Upgrade transports us to the year 2046, where our protagonist, Grey Trace (Marshall-Green), is one of the few people in this ultra-futuristic world not dependent upon digital technology. Grey is a rugged, salt-of-the-earth, old-school, (sexy), auto mechanic with very few clients in this cyberpunk society, but his breadwinner techie wife Asha (Melanie Vallejo) is happy to be modern enough for the both of them. One night, Grey has to deliver a refurbished old car to a client named Eron Keen (Harrison Gilbertson), a tech giant who lives in a ginormous, clandestine smart home, and Asha accompanies Grey in her own self-driving car so she can give him a ride home. On their ride back, though, the self-driving car malfunctions and takes them in the wrong direction, speeding all the way toward a markedly sketchier part of town. They both command the car to stop, but the car’s voice just says there’s been an error before crashing violently at the entrance of a shanty town. As if this weren’t terrifying enough, a car full of armed men pulls up immediately, and after a brief struggle, the men shoot at Asha and Grey—killing Asha and paralyzing Grey from the neck down. Three months later, Grey is in a wheelchair, reasonably depressed, full of rage, and resentful of the fact that he is now reliant upon the technology he once eschewed. But he is soon approached by Eron Keen, who alleges that he’s created a new digital implant called STEM that may help Grey walk again. Grey is downright suicidal, hopeless, and frustrated with the lack of action from the police, but he agrees to undergo this highly experimental procedure. Miraculously, Grey regains full control of his limbs again—in fact, he seems even stronger than he was before—but Eron has Grey sign an NDA and directs him to pretend he is still a quadriplegic when out in public, because this new technology really isn’t cleared for human trials yet. But this doesn’t stop Grey from sneaking around, looking for his wife’s killers, and when the implant in his brain begins to talk and help Grey track down each suspect, he becomes a true force to be reckoned with. At first, Grey tries to fight with his own strength and instincts, but when he agrees to let STEM take over the functions, Grey becomes a relentless killing machine—which comes in handy when Grey realizes that most of his targets have also been technologically upgraded. Detective Cortez (Betty Gabriel) is trying her best to give him a sense of relief, but she is perplexed to see that Grey’s wheelchair has been spotted at nearly all of the bad guys’ regular hangs. Grey is dead-set on revenge and STEM is hardwired for efficiency, so when STEM takes over, Grey is scary-good at getting results. Eron has been tracking Grey’s every move and forbids him from doing any more vigilantism, but as Grey and STEM become more unified, Grey’s sense of reality and humanity begins to unravel. Upgrade is the ideal kind of action movie to this inactive critic, because it was short, easy-to-follow, and it felt very adjacent to horror with its shockingly brutal kills. Logan Marshall-Green was a perfect antihero, and I’m not even sure how he accomplished this, but he effectively made it seem like he was not the one controlling his body. And with clever directing from Whannell and sleek cinematography from Stefan Duscio, the camera moved in such a disorienting and cool way during each fight sequence, that it feels like your own body is under robotic control as you watch. I went in with low expectations, but Upgrade was surprisingly disturbing in its depiction of our complacency and carelessness surrounding life-altering technology—which is showcased particularly in its supremely bleak ending, which I won’t dare spoil here.

I went into tonight’s next film with even lower expectations, because while the premise and cast seemed fun enough, the marketing for this one was so omnipresent and insufferably corny—this is Dan Berk and Robert Olsen’s 2025 film Novocaine. Jack Quaid stars as Nathan Caine, a kind and introverted assistant manager of a credit union in San Diego who suffers from a genetic disorder called CIPA: congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis. Because of this, Nate has lived his life under supreme caution—he has babyproofed his house and only consumes liquids, for fear that he may bite his tongue and swallow it without even knowing. It’s a complicated disability, one that has turned Nate into a pretty anxious homebody who mostly plays video games with his online bestie Roscoe (Jacob Batalon), until Sherry (Amber Midthunder) comes into his life. Sherry has just started working at the credit union, and the two hit it off in a way that is intimidating but exciting to Nate. When the two go out to lunch one day, Sherry even convinces Nate to try a bite of the diner’s famous cherry pie—which is pretty life-changing for this overly-cautious creature. Though these two stars don’t have a ton of chemistry, their first date is precious, and Sherry is curious, if Nate can’t feel pain, can he feel pleasure? It turns out that he can, and Nate is positively smitten with Sherry after they share a night together. This makes it all the more panic-inducing when, the next day, the credit union is attacked by men dressed as Santa who kill the manager, rob the vault, and take Sherry hostage. As you can probably guess, this forces the once mild-mannered Nate to take action, and finally make brave use of his inability to feel pain. After the robbers shoot up all of the cops that followed them, Nate trepidatiously takes a cop’s car and gun and speeds after these brutes. He isolates one of the goons and they battle it out in the kitchen of a restaurant, where no pots or pans or boiling water can slow Nate down. And when this goon tosses Nate’s gun into a an actively-bubbling deep fryer, Nate has no problem reaching in and retrieving it. Once again, actress Betty Gabriel plays a detective, and she is bewildered by Nate’s apparent attempt to solve this case on his own terms, with his own hands. These bank robbers, led by Ray Nicholson, are confused why this lanky loser is tracking them down, but they really don’t see him as a threat—until it’s too late. And while some of the characterization(s) of Nate felt slightly heavy-handed in an attempt to really illustrate his inexperience in being courageous, this worked best in fight scenes, when some of the more shocking kills occurred. Similar to Upgrade, Novocaine featured some spectacular camerawork and some truly wild stunts and gore. In fact, while Upgrade felt horror-adjacent and Novocaine felt comedy-adjacent, Novocaine was just as gory and grisly with its creative fight sequences. I mean, I’ve seen every John Wick movie and all manner of other mid-to-lower-tier action flicks, and there were some kills in this goofy movie that still made my jaw drop. I’ll be honest, I was so over this movie before it even came out, because of its several-months-long, incessantly-played trailer, and it just felt too silly and eye-roll-y—even for me. But as I watched Novocaine, as I surprised myself with my own delight and engagement within it, I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having. And I’m so relieved! I mean, thank god it turned out to be good, but why was the trailer cut in such a silly, derp-centric way? Don’t get me wrong, Novocaine is definitely silly, but it’s actually much darker, gorier, and more gutsy than I would’ve ever guessed from its “oh, come on!” flavor of marketing. Still, I do think this movie would’ve been an actual hit if it had come out 10-15 years ago. I would’ve seen it in theaters, and I would’ve reblogged pictures of Jack Quaid on my tumblr, referring to him as “adorkable”—I feel this in my bones, I can almost picture it perfectly. Still, Novocaine is very much a good enough time and not nearly as shitty as I’d feared. It’s witty, it’s got twists, and Jack Quaid keeps making pretty good use of his punchable face so good for him! His dad deserves way more of a punch to the face anyway. Truly my only critique of Novocaine beyond its maddening marketing roll-out was its runtime—this is an hour and fifty minute long movie that could’ve easily been 90 minutes, tops. But I, too, struggle with brevity and being succinct, clearly. All of our bodies are powerful vessels—for our voices and opinions, for making children and memories and mistakes and whatever else we wish to hold within ourselves. The functions and follies of our flimsy beings are proven with whimsical detail in a film like Swiss Army Man, where Daniel Radcliffe’s corpse becomes a lifesaver for the stranded Paul Dano, or every single possession movie like The Exorcist, where Regan’s body is the chosen vessel for a puking, profane demon named Pazuzu. But no matter whose body we’re discussing, we should all be entitled to the basic human rights that keep our bodies functioning and happy and alive. We only get one body on our one ride on planet earth, so I say, we might as well love ours and stay out of the business of other’s. Thank you for bringing your body and your eyes to my blog this week, dear readers, I am powerless without you. Until next time, toodles!