Willy Evans

As a revered and respected member of the Kansas City film community, I believe it’s important to clarify my stance on a few sensitive and widely discussed topics. In an age where news spreads quickly and outrage spreads even faster, online communication often leads to misconceptions and misunderstandings. To ensure my perspective is fully understood, I want to address these matters directly and clearly.

Misunderstandings—especially when it comes to art and film—can hinder meaningful discourse and cultural appreciation. As someone who is passionate about cinema, I want to avoid letting assumptions or oversimplifications detract from the nuance and thoughtfulness that must be brought to these conversations.

With that in mind, I want to share my thoughts on a selection of films I’ve “liked,” even when that appreciation (bravely) goes against the grain of popular opinion. These are not casual or fleeting opinions; they are the product of a lifetime immersed in cinema, shaped by a deep understanding of the medium’s history, craft, and potential. Love them or hate them, my views demand consideration—not because they are merely mine, but because they reflect a commitment to thoughtful, critical, and fearless engagement with the art form. It’s time to move beyond superficial judgments and give these films the serious attention they deserve.**

Editors Note: Sometimes people struggle to tell if I’m joking (this is my responsibility, not theirs). To be clear, this introduction is like 85% joke.

Borderlands

Widely dismissed with a dismal 10% on Rotten Tomatoes, Borderlands is a film that has been met with overwhelming scorn from critics and audiences alike. Yet, despite its flaw, or perhaps because of them, I find myself compelled to admit that I kinda like it. My appreciation is neither naive nor uncritical but stems from a perspective rooted in philosophy, aesthetics, and an almost anthropological curiosity about the absurdity of its creation.

First, it is impossible to ignore the ridiculousness of Borderlands’ existence. The film represents thousands of hours of human effort and millions of dollars funneled into a multi-year production across 2 industries and countless companies that resulted in a stupid and confounding spectacle.

The idea that someone spent weeks meticulously crafting a scene in which the irksome automaton Claptrap defecates bullets—for what felt like five full minutes—is, in itself, fascinating. Eli Roth’s studio pitch for this movie involved talking about taking videos of his shame-filled pooping dog. The Hollywood machine’s unfeeling dedication to something so ludicrous becomes a kind of art—a monument to the baffling capabilities of American filmmaking.

The film forced me into an absurdist philosophical fervor. Much of Borderlands makes no sense, not just narratively but on a fundamental, existential level. Its disjointed elements challenge the viewer to question their own reactions: Why don’t I like this? What does it mean for something to be bad? Why would I trade 202 minutes of my life watching this? (I’ve seen the movie twice)

To sit with these questions is to engage in a deeply philosophical exercise. The experience of Borderlands becomes, for me, an occasion to savor the absurd—the tension between a search for meaning and the recognition that there may be none. That Cate Blanchett, one of the most revered actresses of our time, is the star of this cinematic chaos only amplifies the experience. Kevin Hart and Jamie Lee Curtis round out a cast so wildly miscast it feels intentional like I’m in the audience for Springtime for Hitler.

Adding to the absurdity is how disconnected the film is from its source material. As someone who enjoyed the first two Borderlands games (I was 16 when the first one came out), it’s surprising how little the movie retains from them. The games are chaotic and irreverent, but the film feels like a random collection of ideas loosely inspired by the source material, with almost none of the characters or story intact.

Finally, despite its myriad shortcomings, Borderlands is occasionally funny. Admittedly, the humor is uneven, tasteless, and, more often than not, uncomfortable. Eli Roth has a troubling history as a filmmaker, marked by undertones of sexism and homophobia, along with the kind of general yuckiness I don’t like. This looms over the film. Yet, there are moments of levity that I can’t pretend I didn’t like. Jack Black’s slapstick performance as Claptrap, a handful of offbeat one-liners, and the occasional burst of entertaining action all coalesce to create fleeting moments of genuine amusement.

To appreciate Borderlands is not to excuse its flaws or to overlook its missteps but to take the flaws and bend them to your will. It is a film that, while undeniably bad, offers a rare opportunity for philosophical reflection, absurdist delight, and the occasional laugh. And in the end, isn’t that worth something?

Joker: Folie a Deux

I don’t think this movie is good. The music is terrible, it’s way too long, and it’s overall a grueling experience. More than that, it feels like it actively wants to punish you. Its central message is clear: “The Joker isn’t cool. The Joker is boring. You shouldn’t like him. His life is nothing but failure and pain”—and it relentlessly hammers that point home. Watching it is miserable, but culturally, I take a gross enjoyment

As a sequel to Joker and part of the larger “superhero movie” universe, I find its badness a little satisfying. We, as a culture, deserve bad movies. We’ve been draining the well of intellectual property for so long that it’s completely run dry, and Joker: Folie à Deux feels like a dirt clump tossed up by the molemen living in the pit of that empty reservoir. It’s a reminder of how far we’ve strayed from genuine creativity, and in that sense, it’s almost a necessary evil.

Megalopolis

Megalopolis is WILD. It’s a nonstop barrage of insane images and ideas that are somehow both simple and dumb yet ponderous. So much of it makes absolutely no sense which frustrated many. But I’ve discoved a vital insight in my movie-watching life: care less. If something is weird, beautiful, ugly, and contradictory, just take what you want and leave the rest behind.

Don’t let the bad parts ruin the chaotic, messy fun. It’s a forever soup with complex flavors and some carrots that have gone bad. It’s an aged wine with sediment you have to filter with your teeth. Is it ideal? No. But it’s better than something boring.

Red One

I like this movie. It’s funny, and it only cost me $5 for a ticket. I went with my friends on a nice Tuesday night at the Ward Parkway Center, the same night I decided to start pulling Werther’s Originals out of my bag as a bit.

It looks good at times, with attention to detail in things like the CGI snowmen, a few dedicated performances, and, honestly, pretty good set and costume design. Sure, it has some rough moments, but that’s typical of most Hollywood films. This movie is a solid American product (bangs hood). Plus, Nick Kroll does something in this movie that had me laughing so hard I thought I might pass out.

It’s not great. Chris Evans is bad (except for one speech that was surprisingly a little moving), and every time a kid talks, I completely tuned out. But overall, it’s light and enjoyable. Like the whipped cream on a Christmas pie (the pie is my nice night out with friends).

Trap

I don’t know what to tell you if you don’t like this movie. I’m sure you have your reasons, and I’ve probably already heard the critiques about its inconsistencies and absurdities.

I’m sorry that M. Night Shyamalan, the visionary filmmaker, has put your brain in an uncomfortable position. Like a physical therapist who places a patient in an awkward stance to restore mobility, Trap forces our collective moviegoing experience into an uncomfortable position, helping us rediscover our ability to enjoy things.

It’s sincere and goofy, and it doesn’t care about the things it doesn’t care about. It has clear objectives, and it nails them with confidence without getting bogged down by the rest. And that rules.