Children Of Men (Alfonso Cuaron, 2006) Review

There are so many textured things about this film, that it is literally impossible to avoid spoilers. So, there’s your warning.

Below is an explanation of the distinguishing feature of this film, which is necessary to acknowledge, before further analysis:

Cuaron’s interesting approach to narrative structure certainly cements his status as an auteur. He’s gone on record to say how much he dislikes the use of exposition – so obviously the film starts in media res. However, what is interesting is how Cuaron applies this idea throughout the entire film. Whilst many filmmakers might use a shocking idea to initially hook the audience and then go on to explain its significance, Cuaron relies totally on the progression of the narrative to act as the sole exposition. Consequently, at some points I was left slightly confused as to what was happening. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing because it fuelled my curiosity and made me feel rewarded for predicting subsequent events. It also heightened the feelings of tension because there was no foreshadowing. At all.

Before delving into specific parts of the film, its prudent to talk about what ideological themes Cuaron explores.

Children Of Men is a psychological thriller that answers the question – what happens when women can no longer give birth. The answer – the world collapses, Britain becomes the only ‘civilised’ country but has now become a police state, intent on exporting all immigrants. If that sounds full on, I would go as far to say that this film is the benchmark for dystopian settings. It’s intense and in parts you really do have to pause and take a break.

Key to the film is the idea of conflict. Even though violence accompanies this theme, Cuaron makes more of a passing remark on the futility of war and violence, focusing more on conflict. I would hypothesise that Cuaron believes that conflict instigates violence, so like many other parts of this film, he focuses on exploring causes rather than effects. Nevertheless, one of most obvious examples of conflict is the clashing of different groups. The protagonist, Theo, battling with the false heroes, The Fishes, comes to mind. However, I believe that Cuaron emphasises the importance of conflict as a theme by presenting other themes as being in conflict with each other. This contributes to a feeling of unease as nothing ever seems resolved.

I always find enjoyment in watching older films that are set in the future and seeing how many things they ‘get right’. Whilst most of the superficial items they get complete wrong, for example people are still using earphones with wires – imagine that! Cuaron does; however, do an eerily excellent job at painting the picture of a divided world that we clearly find ourselves in today. This is, perhaps the most prominent instance of him focusing on effect. We see cages of people being held against their will and nationalistic propaganda, aiming to scaremonger. This could be read as a warning against current events.

In my opinion, the most eye-opening comparison is that of Religion and Science. Cuaron doesn’t take a side, instead opting to stay neutral to allow the viewer to form their own opinion (this is true throughout the film’s different themes). The key thing to notice is that there is literally no explanation to the infertility. Science can’t explain it nor can Religion. So Cuaron unites both themes with a shared identity. We also see degradations to both ideas. Religion is presented as fanatical and something practised by lunatics. This is seen when Miriam feigns religious lunacy, to distract the police officer on the prison bus. *It’s a good thing they managed to find Pam Ferris after she blew away from Privet Drive because she was excellent in this role.* Of equal importance is the idea that civilisation is perhaps too reliant on science as a safety net. The fact that science can’t answer everything is entirely humbling and paints a bleak picture, the transition from Miriam’s scientific nature as a nurse to her spiritual persona, is Cuaron suggesting that humankind turns to faith, when there’s nothing left to hope for.

The imagery used by Cuaron is some of the most profound I have ever seen. It is beautiful. The way he blends literally every plausible element of film form to create different meanings is nothing short of outstanding. However, my favourite imagery is present towards the end of the film in the refugee detainment camp, where the baby comes down a series of steps. I believe this is representative of a genesis of sorts and the preciousness of youth. Although, with the use of light and gunfire, I’m certain there are alternative impressions.

The point is, there are so many ideas and meanings to extract from this film. The way light is used to reflect Theo’s changing personality especially springs to mind. It is therefore impossible for me to list off every feature I enjoyed. I also think that it takes away from the enjoyment as a viewer of appreciating these meanings. Children Of Men is one of those films that you can rewatch countless times and find different messages upon each viewing. I’m almost certain that there were some key ideas I missed.

Cuaron explored tension with a simple editing technique, not cutting. In many action scenes, there would be a prolonged shot of Theo, with the camera tracking his movement. This ensured that as a viewer, we had limited understanding of what was happening around us, so Cuaron essentially conceals information – intensifying the horror.

Equally, Cuaron’s use of escalating violence left an extremely open-ended message at the ending. We see one person die, then a group of people, then a building is bombed, then multiple buildings are completely destroyed, then the entire camp is wiped out but then Theo dies. Ignore my use of anaphora but this violence doesn’t seem to escalate with Theo’s death, yet it does because Theo is symbolic of the hope that humanity has. So with Theo’s death, juxtaposed with the hopeful boat arrival, Cuaron gives really mixed messages, creating an ending that leaves more questions than answers about the future of humanity.

As you can see through my scrawl of thoughts, arranged in a sporadic order, it’s difficult to talk about this film without getting sidetracked. Everything links but nothing is connected. I hope I have done this film justice because it’s truly one of the best things I have ever seen. There are countless characters and themes I haven’t even spoken about, each of them bringing something unique to the narrative. Even though you can barely scratch the surface of what makes this film great in a dissertation, let alone a review, one thing is for sure. The juxtapositions and comparisons throughout Children Of Men are intoxicating. Even the title is an oxymoron. This enables Cuaron to explore dominant ideologies (Religion, the role of media, equality etc…) and question the viewer’s attitudes towards these. It’s scarily eye-opening.

You really need to watch this film.

Right now.

5 stars.

Bowling For Columbine (Michael Moore, 2002)

Whilst I was struggling to classify Fahrenheit 11/9 into one distinct documentary mode, it’s very easy to designate Bowling For Columbine as that of the participatory mode.

In this regard, Moore takes on the role as a pseudo-protagonist. That is to say that through his actions, the viewer can follow a narrative of sorts, whereby there is a distinct culmination or denouement that rewards engagement from the offset (the confrontational interview with the then head of the NRA – Charlton Heston). Equally, Moore uses a mixture of candid dialogue between political figures & civil workers, in addition to narration, to explore different case studies throughout the documentary.

As the title would suggest, Moore examines the extent to which the horrific Columbine school shootings changed the landscape of the USA. This case study forms the backbone of the narrative and further case studies stem from this – all in the aim of explaining why America has such a problem with gun violence.

Moore uses his characteristic liberal-leaning humour to good effect throughout the film, emphasising certain points that are the most important. For example, in one of the earlier scenes, we see Moore set up a new bank account with the sole purpose of owning a gun. He follows this up with a quip about the dangers of giving away guns in a bank. Whilst this helps to underline the ludicrous nature of the availability of guns in the USA, it also brings the viewers attention to the freedom that Americans so long to keep.

In fact, Bowling for Columbine, is itself a study of the perceived importance of freedom. There is a distinct dichotomy between the freedom to buy a gun and the lack of freedom that victims of gun violence experience.

One of the most notable features of Moore’s style of documentary in Bowling For Columbine is how he uses inter titles to separate the film into segments based on different case studies, thus implying that gun violence is comprehensive and needs to be broken down to truly appreciate the extent to which it is rife. They also emphasise key points within the film, for example, there is an inter title just after an interview with an executive at Lockheed Martin (a weapons manufacturer), where the executive suggests that the cause of gun violence is fear amongst Americans. The pause allows the viewer to reflect on this as the progression of the film will exemplify this to be somewhat true.

Even though Moore doesn’t utilise many innovative features of digital filmmaking, his use of montage is highly effective in conveying a sense of overwhelming emotion. Backed by the song ‘It’s a wonderful world’, Moore narrates over seemingly every instance of America’s violent past to allude to the idea that violence is rooted in every level of American society and that guns merely act as an accessory to unload fear, in the guise of anger and hatred.

Cold War (Pawel Pawelkowski, 2018) Review

Romance isn’t always black and white, until it is.

The use of the Cold War as a setting adds an interesting dynamic to an otherwise orthodox love story. With that said, Cold War (Pawel Pawelkowski, 2018) showcases fantastic cinematography and the seamless transition between countryside and city landscapes gives the film a polished aesthetic.

The narrative focuses on the love story between two Polish citizens called Zula (Joanna Kulig) and Wiktor (Tomasz Kot). Wiktor is a magnificent composer whom is holding auditions for a folk-music group trying to preserve their dying craft. Zula, on the other hand, poses as a peasant as she tries to join the group. Part of Zula’s backstory is explored, given that we learn of her father’s abusive past; however, this is not mentioned thereafter. This film does a good job of establishing two likeable protagonists, enabling the audience to connect with them; however, there are a few plot holes in the form of unanswered questions. Although not integral to the progression of the plot, I can’t help but think that the attempt to add layers to the protagonists, in the form of backstories, merely made their lives seem somewhat confusing and unclear.

In terms of cinematography, the director employs a variety of different camera shots to create specific meanings. One of my favourite shots comes in the form of a mid-shot. Wiktor and Zula are embracing each other in a romantic moment. The shot conforms to the rule of thirds and this adds to the aesthetically-pleasing style of camera-work used throughout the film. The shot also shows the two main protagonists slightly off-centre, somewhat diminishing their importance. This could have been done to highlight the humbling nature of war, that is to say that war has the power to dwarf anybody and everybody.

‘This mid-shot serves as a poignant reminder of the harshness of war.’

I also like the director’s use of shadows. Shadows are used throughout the film, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue. This is significant because it echoes life under a communist ruler; where information is withheld and not everything is as it seems. The use of shadows in film is by no means revolutionary; however, in this situation it is gritty and intense due to the realism explored.

Another subtlety that felt particularly implicit was during the scene at the cafe; when Zula was dancing with other men and Wiktor was looking on with anger and sadness. The director changed the lighting to give the top of Zula’s head a brighter look. This created the impression of her being an ‘angel’, which connotes innocence and purity. This is somewhat ironic and juxtaposes the wrong and sinful nature of her adulterous dancing.

Although the director was very effective in his use of cinematography to create effects, I feel that the use of sound was not as well-used as it could have been. The non-diegetic score blended with the diegetic music playing from the folk group contrasted well. This gave the film a lively soundtrack. However, I felt that the use of silence at points created little to no meaning. In fact, it was quite jarring. It made those particular scenes less impressive and meaningful.

The directorial decision to use different time-frames to create a sense of change was effective. However, it did make the plot seem more confusing and the narrative, as a whole, quite fractured. As a spectator, I felt lost as I tried to figure out what had happened in order for Wiktor to have been freed from prison. Although I did manage to understand this, it detracted from my enjoyment of the film as a whole.

The ending also felt quite unsatisfying. I felt unrewarded for having watched the film as the payoff to the rising action was quite tame. The director forgot about nuance and this made the final line, a metaphor, seem cliched and pointless. This was not in line with the rest of the film. This made me feel annoyed.

Perhaps the ending shaped my view of the film as a whole. Yet, surely, the nature of an ending is that it is supposed to be memorable, be that good or, in this case, bad. Nevertheless, the fantastic cinematography cannot be overlooked. The aspect ratio and black and white nature of the film gave it a unique aesthetic, in line with the era that it was purporting to come form. With that said, the confusing plot holes and one-dimensional narrative left me wondering if this film was all style and no substance. Whether or not a cohesive plot was overlooked in favour of a superb display of the director’s cinematography skills and prowess is something to think about. This film is by no means perfection but its cinematography should be marvelled at. The plot holes did not stop my understanding of the narrative to the point where I couldn’t follow the plot; however, it meant that I enjoyed the film a whole lot less as a whole.

3.5 stars.

Angel Has Fallen (Ric Roman Waugh, 2019) Review

Crash and Burn.

Angel Has Fallen (Ric Roman Waugh, 2016) does a great job at answering one of cinema’s most pressing questions, how many times can you say the f-word for it to lose its effect. The film had no real substance. Within the first few minutes, the only tangible dialogue consisted of f-words. This suggests to me that the writing team had a great idea of the big spectacle that was the final sequence; however, that they did not know how to get there.

The narrative follows a simple structure. We begin by learning that Mike Banning’s (Gerard Butler) mental state has taken a turn for the worst. He is now struggling with substance abuse as he tries to navigate the rocky waters of PTSD. This is a good way to bridge the gap between the previous two movies in the trilogy. The use of painkillers was interesting. It seemed to me as though the director was using them to present a motif, perhaps pain or suffering, since they were used quite prominently as a prop early on. However, we didn’t see them again at all until the closing stages. Perhaps the director gave up on any subtlety altogether. This annoyed me.

The Has Fallen trilogy has been built off of the back of rising action ending in a big and elaborate sequence of impressive explosions and drama. This film abandons that altogether. The rising action is swapped out for peaks and troughs of equally impressive action. The problem with this is that there were periods in the narrative where there was no action at all. Since the narrative was bland and the plot lacked direction, I nearly fell asleep.

Butler’s performance was telling of the film itself. Uninspiring. He relied on the action to drive his character’s story arc; however, his lack of emotion and failure to connect with me as an audience member made the action less intense. I didn’t care about the fate of Mike Banning. This is arguably my biggest criticism of the film. It’s all well and good having these spectacular action sequences that cost millions of dollars to make but when you don’t care about the protagonist, they are meaningless.

This brings me onto another drawback of the film. The cuts. The editing team must have accidentally held down the left-click button or something because the amount of cuts in the earlier scenes was absolutely absurd. It was bordering on insanity. I felt like I was going to be sick.

The director was one-dimensional. The camera does not have to be pointed directly at the character speaking in a boring mid-shot every single time there is a period of extended dialogue. Often, we can learn more from the character who is not speaking. Facial expressions are very telling of how speech can have an affect on different people.

The worst thing about this movie was the performance of Tim Blake Nelson as the Vice-President. Everything he said was unbelievable and lacked conviction. He was supposed to be the mystery antagonist but his performance was so bad, you could tell that he was rogue right from the start. The worst aspect about his performance was when he goes into the hospital room where the President (Morgan Freeman) was in a coma and asks “how is he”.

In terms of cinematography, the film is unremarkable. The director seemed lazy in that the only real shot variation from mid-shots of characters speaking and long-shots of big action sequences, was the birds-eye view of the hospital corridors towards the end of the film. I felt that, although this scene was long and drawn out, the twist was interesting and something that I did not see coming.

I really enjoyed the performance of Nick Nolte as Banning’s estranged father. He added real humour to an otherwise dry plot and the dynamism in his tone of voice meant that he was memorable as a character. The film tries to explore the relationship between a man and his father who he has not seen for a very long time and is quite successful in doing so. This was most certainly because of Nolte’s exceptional performance.

On a whole, this was definitely the least enjoyable film out of the trilogy. I plea for the production company not to make another movie like this. Where Olympus Has Fallen (Antoine Fuqua, 2013) and London Has Fallen (Babak Najifi, 2016) had good plots that developed the character of Mike Banning, this film left me wondering where Banning has left to go. He has saved the President, thrice, and even fought against false allegations of treason in this latest instalment. There is no way that I can personally see this plot progressing any further. However, with the box office takings so far, I fear that it might.

2 stars.

Auteur or Not?

Auteur?

The term auteur is used to characterise directors whom exert near-complete control over their films and the entire film-making process. This is effective in achieving a certain aesthetic that becomes synonymous with a director. Their style becomes so unique; that it is often difficult for directors to adopt a similar style, without it looking like blatant plagiarism.

Take Wes Anderson, for example. Possibly the director who has the most unorthodox and quirky style of cinematography and, as such, is most definitely an auteur.

Tim’s Universe.

Tim Burton has been: making, directing and producing films for about four decades now. In that time, he has established himself as one of the foremost auteurs in terms of attention to detail. Burton spends years planning films, often sketching characters as a starting point and then sorting out all of the formalities afterwards. It is this attention to detail that establishes Burton’s films as masterpieces.

Burton often relies on the use of dark backgrounds and sets in order to create a ‘gloomy’ aesthetic. This is achieved to great effect in the film Batman (Tim Burton, 1989). Where the comedic tone of Adam West’s 1960’s Batman series often sparked a lot of criticism, Burton revives the fledgling franchise by taking Batman back to its darker roots. The film is gritty and doesn’t hold back in its eccentric presentation of antagonists like The Joker. This is a trope of Burton films. He isn’t scared to veer away from the norm and delve into the realms of horror.

To his credit, Burton makes movies that are often branded as revolutionary horrors. However, I would argue that this is wrong. Burton’s films are, at face value, typical horror movies. They look like horror movies in that the purported worlds retain a sense of mystique and irregularity. I would, instead, suggest that Burton’s films are much more fantastical in nature and therefore his films should be categorised in the fantasy genre.

‘A key example of one of Tim Burton’s most iconic piece of artwork. The long, spindling branches that curl around elicit an uncomfortable response from the audience, who are seeing something that they are used to seeing.’

This point can be exemplified when you look at Burton’s filmography. Another one of his films, Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton, 2010) is much more in line with other films in the fantasy genre. Burton’s starting point for the whole film was The Queen of Hearts’ big head. The unique decision to make a film based off of one costume design feature perfectly shows Burton’s eccentric style. By giving the characters in this film outlandish features that are both: visually striking and awe-inducing, Burton establishes the film as interesting and worth-watching from the offset.

‘The Queen of Heart’s iconic big head is a unique character design that adds layers in the form of metaphors to an otherwise familiar folk tale.’

Alongside: unique characters, obscure costume designs and obtrusive set designs, Burton cements his status as an auteur through his use of anthropomorphism. By no means is the process of giving objects human-like traits completely unheard of; however, Burton uses it to such an effect that is unlike no other.

Take The Nightmare Before Christmas (Tim Burton,1993), a prime example of Burton’s iconic use of anthropomorphism in action. Straight away the song This is Halloween does a great job at establishes the tone of the narrative going forwards. The lyric “pumpkins scream in the dead of night” pulls at childhood fears. There is something unmistakably terrifying about pumpkins being able to scream. Therefore, Burton creates a sense of terror but it is his auteur style that allows the terror not to descend into horror for the sake of horror. The terror merely adds to the value of the film. Without it, the film would be an, at best, average fantasy animation; however, with it, it is a masterstroke in how cross-genre films can, at their best, be simply superb.

Another key element of Burton’s films is his choice of performers. More often than not, Burton casts Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in prominent roles. Both of them have built up good relationships with the director and this allows everyone to get the best out of each other.

Is Tim Burton an auteur?

Yes. Most definitely, in fact.

The African Doctor (Julien Rambaldi, 2016) Review

Saquer naddin.

Saquer naddin is one of those French phrases that doesn’t translate into English particularly well. In a nutshell, it pretty much just means ‘go for it’ and, at the end of the day, that is The African Doctor (Julien Rambaldi, 2016) in a microcosm.

The movie tells the story of how a black family man called Seyolo (Marc Zinga) tries to earn his French citizenship in order to facilitate his dream of having a doctors office in Paris. This film is a perfect example of French humour at its finest, that satirical, bleak pessimism blended with dramatic irony and sarcasm. My favourite kind of comedy!

We begin with a scene in a pub, the subtitle reads “Lille – 1975”. Seyolo has just finished his studies and has achieved his diploma in medicine. We learn that he wants to remain in France and seek refuge from the dictatorial rule of President Moboto in his Homeland of Zaire (Now the Democratic Republic of the Congo). He invites his family to join him as he settles in a small town ‘just’ to the North of Paris, whilst he completes his initial placement to prove his worth as a French national.

A high-angled long shot is the first shot we see of Marly-Gomont. The small, extremely rural village, seemingly nowhere near to the Eiffel Tower or the Champs Elysees, as Seyolo’s wife Anne (Aissa Maiga) rightfully points out. The choice of shot works very well because we get a glimpse of the extreme isolation and seemingly endless fields of Marly-Gomont. The subsequent close-up of Anne’s face allows the audience to relate with her shock and anger at being promised Paris and being given a field. The diegetic sound of rain falling when the family reach their home is a good example of pathetic fallacy and humorously mimics Anne’s disappointment.

The overall aesthetic of the film remains quite dark and dreary throughout. The cloudy and overcast skies act as a backdrop to most of the scenes outdoors. This sets the tone for Seyolo’s plight to become accepted going forwards. The only real drop of colour comes in the form of the yellow wheat fields. This juxtaposes the palette used in the portrayal of Seyolo, highlighting the isolation that he is experiencing.

‘This shot does well to capture how pathetic fallacy and a bleak colour palette are used to create the impression of lost hope and isolation.’

In terms of performance, I think that Zinga does an okay job of capturing the difficulty of black people in the 1970’s. Seyolo’s want to be accepted is often shown through his excitement and eagerness when speaking to the white people of Marly-Gomont. This is usually effective in showing how out of touch he is with the serious nature of the French locals; however, at times, it makes his character seem too ignorant for a man whom is supposed to be an intelligent doctor. This makes the film seem somewhat fractured and disjointed as there doesn’t seem to be any way for the story to have an ending in the form of Seyolo eventually becoming accepted.

I believe that Maiga’s performance of Anne vastly overshadows that of Zinga’s performance of Seyolo. Maiga shows her character to be multi-faceted. Whilst Zinga often delves into the realms of preposterousness with his outlandish portrayal of Seyolo, Maiga shows her character to grow and develop, mimicking real life. Initially, Maiga shows Anne to be cowardly. Her ignorance and confusion is warranted in this case, given that she has no level of higher education that we know of and this is the first time that she has left the country. In this way, Anne is gullible and easy-to-trust, she doesn’t understand why she is singled out, nor why her husband is not receiving any patients to treat. This is shown flawlessly through Maiga’s bulging eyes and questioning tone of speech.

Anne soon learns of the backwards nature of the locals’ view on her race. Maiga then changes her characters sentiment. She becomes much more hot-headed and sad. This is brilliant in showing the changing dynamic of the relationship with her husband, who seems to not want to question the locals’ behaviour. Maiga is a key component in this film’s questioning of 1970′ attitudes towards race. It seems that without her, Zinga would just be further assuring our preconceptions on minority attitudes at the time. Maiga is a beacon of hope and a catalyst for change. She represents one of the few people who were instrumental in changing people’s archaic attitudes. That is why she is the standout star of this film.

The African Doctor is more than just a family film about a man and his family trying to defy the odds and live in France. It deals with something much more complex and harrowing in nature. Racism and the representation of race.

From the offset, Seyolo and his family are immediately established as different and as people who don’t fit in. This is shown especially in the extreme long shots of Seyolo surrounded by nothing but fields and hay. This connotes the isolation that black people must have felt at the time. It is difficult to imagine the isolation that they would have felt.

In my eyes, the film does a great job at showing the widespread nature of racism. Racism was institutionalised and rife. This is shown when Seyolo’s children, Kamini (Bayron Lebli) and Sivi (Medina Diarra), return home from school, saddened, after being branded as “blackies” and “darkies”. Now is also a good time to point out that both Lebli and Diarra are ones to watch for the future. Their limited screen time still left an imprint on me, Lebli especially. In fact, Lebli has some of the most thought-provoking one-liners in the entire film, the most memorable being “why’s it so hard for blacks”.

Out of all of the fabulous one-liners in the entire film, there are three that really stand out for me.

The first one comes across as funny in its context. When a cow moo’s at Anne, she responds with “what, is it because I am black”. Whilst this is funny considering the ridiculous nature of a cow being racist, it does well to highlight how widespread racism was in the 1970’s. Something that is often overlooked in films is how impactful racism can be. The cow leaves Anne questioning if anybody is, in fact, on her side, besides her own family.

The second one-liner is the most harrowing. When Seyolo and Anne are in the car, getting ready to drop their children off for their first day of school, Seyolo reminds his children of the importance of education. He says that “only education matters, especially when you are black”. This is harrowing in that it reminds the audience of how few-and-far between opportunities were for people of colour. It also reminds you how far, as a society, that we have come but how far we still need to go.

The final one-liner is arguably the most depressing thought in the entire film. Seyolo remarks that “violence doesn’t help, it’s for idiots”. This can be taken in two ways.

Firstly, as a direct criticism towards the repressive regime in Zaine at the time. However, more likely, in fact, would be the second reason… as a plea for the ‘race war’ to stop. No longer should it be about blacks vs. whites or us vs. them but instead that it should be about unity and harmony. This is not easy to achieve.

We still have a long way to go to end racism but I think that this film sends the right message. Although, in the grand scheme of things, one film cannot overturn years’ worth of: racism, hatred and violence, it is a step in the right direction. Hopefully this film has opened up a few more eyes to the harsh reality that is the world of today. If nothing else, it shows that acceptance is worthwhile and meaningful.

This film should definitely be on your watch-list. By no means is it a blockbuster spectacle for the ages; however, it is a wholesome comedy that poses greater questions that need to be answered. It also contains one of the funniest scenes in recent memory when Seyolo is treating two brothers in his clinic.

Be sure to sure to check this film out and see if you too feel as rewarded for watching when you reach the end of the film as I most definitely did. Don’t forget, saquer naddin.

4 stars.