We know we are in trouble from the opening beats. Our lead, a lunkheaded personal trainer named Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg) is being chased by the cops, apparently for doing something horrendous. As he runs in slow motion, the camera occasionally ‘becoming’ part of his streak to freedom, an internal monologue begins explaining things. At a certain point, the voice over narrative switches perspective and Daniel riffs on the most influential people in his life - and they are all fictional characters. Tony Montana. Rocky Balboa. Some infomercial guy. No real life human heroes, just similarly stunted guys he’s idolized since he saw them on the silver (or TV) screen.

Like a lightning bolt striking an aging edifice, Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs hit Hollywood…hard! It signaled the arrival of a new voice in cinema, one that would cement its import in 1994 with the arrival of the international smash Pulp Fiction. Since then, Tarantino has become a solid cinephile talking point, a love-him-or-hate-him example of originality or outright stealing, depending on your particular penchant. Most of this comes with success. You can’t have a resume that includes two Oscars, legions of rabid fans, and films like Jackie Brown, Kill Bill, Inglourious Basterds, and Django Unchained and not experience a bit of the old jealous blowback.

For a long time, those in the know only referenced Sir Run Run and Runme Shaw as the kingpins of Hong Kong and Taiwanese filmmaking. No matter the poorly dubbed and obscenely edited examples of the brothers’ work, Shaw studios became the bellwether for an entire home video revolution. Think about it. Before the advent of the VCR and specialist distribution companies, the works of artists like Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee, and Gordon Liu were left to dingy drive-ins and The Late Late Show, if they were shown at all. With cable and the sell through title came a market desperate for product and companies willing to release anything to make a profit. Thus, the martial arts movie came into its own. Today, it’s considered the standard bearer for action, adventure, period piece polish, and good old fashioned ass-kicking.

It seems so silly. It’s the lowest form of criticism… and yet, all throughout the 19 April 2013 weekend, critics have been having a field day with Tom Cruise’s latest sci-fi epic, the oddly named Oblivion (was that title ever explained in the film or did it just sound really cool?). While it easily claimed the weekend box office ($38 million, and counting, on top of the near $112 million it’s already earned overseas), it’s also earned some scathing notices, most pointing out how heavily the movie lifts from previous cinematic staples. Everything from Planet of the Apes (?) to The Matrix has been name checked, with every other bit of celluloid speculative fiction thrown into the mix to maximize the message. Indeed, the consensus appears to be that Oblivion may be great to look at, but it’s also clearly unoriginal and derivative.

By its very definition, a victim is someone who is “injured, destroyed, or sacrificed” or “subjected to oppression, hardship, or mistreatment.”  For said individual (or group), the crime is often less difficult than the aftermath. In the moment, the harm comes quickly and without anticipation. In those long, often equally painful days/weeks/months/years afterwards, the mind goes into a tailspin while the physical wounds, if any, heal and scar over. Things fester. They rot. The result is a changed human being, a person no longer lacking a tag. Call it victim, or perhaps survivor, but the truth remains that they have been changed forever. Only ‘owning’ what happened to them, that psychological shell game that purports to empower the damaged and distraught, can one supposedly walk upright again and move on.