Vaughn Stein
Terminal

What does it really mean to claim that a work of art is difficult? How can something that, by its nature, lends itself to being judged according to each person's subjectivity be difficult to understand? Because it is evident that each of us, when faced with a work of art, is naturally called to "feel," and these sensations constitute, in any case, the expression of an opinion and judgments which, in their sum, provide a work with a so-called "universal" value that transcends the intentions of its own creator. This naturally does not negate the specific role and professionalism of a critic. There's that famous phrase regarding music that every critic is, in truth, a failed musician: it is certainly amusing, but in some way "dangerous" or at least generalizing, especially in a particular moment like this. Let's imagine then that a critic is a kind of guide: a "historian." Someone who knows things and explains them from their point of view.

However, this condition does not exempt each of us from responding to that "call," which then gives art the true reason for its existence. Within our pure limited skills and according to our sensitivity and taste, we have a kind of moral duty to ourselves to express an evaluation. To not do so would be an act of renunciation, a great refusal for cowardice, so here I clearly state what I think, namely that "Terminal" (2018), the noir thriller directed and written by Vaughn Stein, is a good film and that it has a charm all its own, and this despite being edited in a way that could at least be called perfectible, and perhaps it's precisely this reason, this flaw, just like other potential "pointless wanderings," that makes it so intriguing and fascinating. The story? Let's say it all revolves around the interaction of characteristic characters tied to the criminal world who roam at night inside a train station in an undefined and mysterious city. There's an enigmatic crime boss who never shows himself and only communicates his "instructions" over the phone; there are two serial killers who seem to walk out of a Quentin Tarantino film, with the other two coming from the cinemas of Danny Boyle and Guy Ritchie; there's a professor who must die; and there's a janitor who whistles the tune of "Danny Boy" and somewhat resembles Ernest Borgnine in "Escape From New York," and it's obvious he knows too much. There's a girl who's the most mysterious of all, beautiful and fatal, who appears and disappears when you least expect it, yet always at the right moment.

Constructed in blocks, where all the events alternate on different time planes according to a parodic theme taken from Lewis Carroll's world of wonders, the real plot reconstructs and defines itself only at the end. Until then, everything is confusing. Maybe too much so. To appreciate the film and stay in it until the end, you have to focus on the individual scenes and consider them in their uniqueness, otherwise, you'll lose your mind, as it's difficult to find the common thread and impossible to untangle the characteristic skein before the end. But the film, apparently strongly wanted by Margot Robbie, lead actress, and first producer of the project, works in its own way, recalling certain symbolism from Refn's cinema in a manner less effective than "Drive," much less vulgar and gaudy than "The Neon Demon," ultimately less minimalist than "Only God Forgives" although some themes might indeed be common. Colored in the shades of the lead actress and with a cast that works, where Simon Pegg stands out, but especially Dexter Fletcher and Mike Myers, I can finally say that if "Terminal" is not a highly successful film, it makes this aspect a strong point, and perhaps one day it could become a kind of small major cult. Thus, you say something at the end that isn't understood but is liked, and in the end, one's appreciation and judgment often go beyond true comprehension.