Tag Archives: Fantasy

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)

09 Wednesday Nov 2016

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In ages long past, a boy dazzled his town
With music and magic and tales of renown,
With legends and stories he conjured and staged
As fierce paper battles and paper wars waged.

His paper-fold figures delighted the folk,
Who sang the boy’s praises before the spell broke,
But no one would guess that the sagas he spun
Held echoes of truth for this samurai’s son.

The rush of a rousing adventure well-told
Can wither as soon as the papers unfold,
But when real adventure emerges from lore,
The tales and their memories mean a bit more.
________________

MPAA rating: PG

I had the pleasure of seeing Kubo and the Two Strings as a sort-of double feature with Suicide Squad, and as the reviews of the latter would suggest, Kubo was easily the better film. In fact, I believe it has surpassed Chicken Run as my favorite stop-motion animated film, and mainly because it did something no other stop-motion movie has. The jerky movements or macabre aesthetic of past such films have defined the medium for years, but for the first time, Kubo made me forget I was watching stop motion. That makes it not only a visually incredible adventure with an imaginative story to boot, but a new high-point of achievement that Laika Entertainment can claim in their chosen field.

Kubo and the Two Strings is a heroic adventure influenced by ancient Japanese myth. Young Kubo (Art Parkinson) has been brought up in a seaside cave by his mother, who tells tales of how she saved him from her father, the Moon King, in an escape that cost Kubo one of his eyes and left her in a faltering mental state. Despite her warnings not to stay out after dark, one mistake leads to them being discovered by her menacing sisters (Rooney Mara), and, joined by a protective Monkey (Charlize Theron) and a dim-witted Beetle (Matthew McConaughey), Kubo is launched on a mystical quest to find his father’s lost armor, his only hope of survival.

Of course, the film’s most immediately remarkable trait is its animation. For once, Laika’s animation isn’t set on the creepy or grotesque, leaving such weirdness to only a few unnerving threats along Kubo’s journey (such as a preoccupation with eyes, also seen in Coraline). The freedom of the camera to capture all kinds of angles and both sweeping vistas and carefully crafted details sets the animation bar so high that only Laika will probably be able to outdo themselves in the future.

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Despite the eerie effect that usually accompanies stop motion, Kubo and the Two Strings succeeds in balancing a variety of tones, from light and humorous during Beetle’s introduction to poignant during the mother’s backstory to absolutely wondrous when Kubo unleashes his magical shamisen (Japanese banjo) that controls origami puppets for his live performances. The plot may veer into some odd territory as it progresses, but Kubo and the Two Strings is aware of it, even encouraging viewers to hang with it in Kubo’s opening address. In doing so, the audience is taken on a dazzling ride with some darker-than-usual plot directions.

Alas, Kubo is not without some faults. Kubo admits to not being very good at ending his stories, and the filmmakers mirror that shortcoming to some extent. The final confrontation between Kubo and the Moon King is a bit randomly overblown with sentiment, and the resolution feels strange and manipulative, especially considering the importance the film places on memories. In a way, I see what the filmmakers were attempting, but they weren’t wholly successful. In addition, describing the Moon King as a celestial ruler of cold perfection might be seen as a criticism of God, but its basis in myth softens that objection, especially if compared with the cold “perfection” of other villains, like the Borg in Star Trek. Nevertheless, these complaints don’t ruin an otherwise outstanding film, and even if the ending could have been improved, I liked how the seemingly awkward title was given touching significance.

In an age of remakes and constant adaptations, Kubo stands out first and foremost as a work of pure originality. Animated films like The Secret Life of Pets are content to borrow other movies’ plot elements wholesale, but the folks at Laika have crafted something unique and presented audiences with sights they’ve never seen before. In a perfect world, that’s what a great film should do.

Best line: (Kubo, at the start of his stories) “If you must blink, do it now.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S.G. Liput
418 Followers and Counting

 

Cartoon Comparisons: Sleeping Beauty (1959) / Maleficent (2014)

19 Sunday Jun 2016

Posted by in Movies, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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There she lies, fair Sleeping Beauty,
Cursed to slumber and to wait.
Those who kiss for wealth or duty
Cannot change her dreamless fate.

Only true love can awaken
And unlock her heavy eyes.
Fear not that she is forsaken.
Love will find her where she lies;
He will come, and she will rise.
________________

 

MPAA rating for Sleeping Beauty: G
MPAA rating for Maleficent: PG

 

Now that my cable has been restored after a bad storm knocked it out for a few days, it’s time once again for a Cartoon Comparison, this time between Disney’s classic Sleeping Beauty and its subversive live-action counterpart Maleficent. Sleeping Beauty was the last cinematic fairy tale of Walt Disney’s lifetime and really the last traditional fairy tale until The Little Mermaid thirty years later. Since it’s widely considered one of Disney’s best, modern Disney executives decided to use it (and Alice in Wonderland) to kick off their crusade to translate the entire canon to CGI-filled live-action. So how do these two compare?

I’ll be honest: Despite its reputation, Sleeping Beauty has never been among my favorite Disney films, which is why I haven’t reviewed it until now. Even compared with Disney’s classics, I’ve always leaned more toward Cinderella and Fantasia, simply because I grew up watching them more. I probably saw Sleeping Beauty once or twice as a kid and not since, and I was pleasantly surprised when this latest viewing reminded me of why it truly is a Disney classic. At first, some of the opening animation appears simple and angular, like an illustration from the Middle Ages, but as it continues, backgrounds become increasingly detailed. Close-ups of stone walls and tree trunks border on photo-realistic, and the layering of the forest adds beautiful depth as trees stretch away into the distance. As much as I love Disney’s follow-ups like One Hundred and One Dalmatians or The Jungle Book, the animation quality clearly started declining after this, making Sleeping Beauty, in a sense, the height of early Disney animation.

Not so much, though, when it comes to the story. One thing I always associated with Sleeping Beauty was its namesake being rather boring, and indeed Aurora herself is basically a placeholder, a damsel in distress who doesn’t do things as much as things happen to her. What I forgot was how enjoyable the fairies are. The three colorful fairy godmothers Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather are the true protagonists here, first blessing baby Aurora, then hiding her away from the evil Maleficent, raising her, and playing a key role in the famous climax. Their likable bickering over method and favorite color adds humor to scenes that otherwise might be dull. Likewise, Maleficent is a memorably evil villainess (voiced by Eleanor Audley, who also voiced Lady Tremaine in Cinderella), whose dragon transformation is the most thrilling scene of the movie.

While the film and the story it’s based on are undoubtedly classics, Sleeping Beauty does have more than its fair share of flawed fairy tale logic. For instance, why does King Stefan ban spinning wheels and force his kingdom into sixteen years without thread when Aurora is hidden anyway? Why do the fairies bring Aurora back to the castle the day of the curse rather than the day after, just to be safe, and then promptly give her some risky “alone time?” Why do the fairies put everyone to sleep when, for all they know, Aurora’s true love could be right there and unable to awaken her if he’s asleep too? Regardless of little plot holes like these, Sleeping Beauty has that timeless Disney touch that still captures imaginations, especially during the forest dance between Aurora and Prince Philip as they waltz to Tchaikovsky.

And then, fifty-five years after Sleeping Beauty, someone at Disney had a grand thought and asked, “Why is Maleficent so evil? She just wants to curse this baby out of spite for not being invited to her christening? Traditionally, evil villains are so old-fashioned, so why don’t we turn her into a good guy?” Thus, borrowing a page from Wicked minus the musical numbers, what should have been dismissed then as a foolish idea became 2014’s Maleficent, a film I fully intended to dislike. I’m not wholly against these live-action remakes, but Disney should be trying to honor and flesh out its classics, not transform them into their opposites.

As I watched Maleficent, I began to accept that it’s honestly not a bad film nor a bad fairy tale. It’s just not Sleeping Beauty, and unfortunately the comparison does make it a bad film. Gone is the line about Maleficent using “all the powers of hell”; instead, she’s just a cute little girl fairy who happens to have big devil horns and eagle wings and a name implying harm and destruction. She starts out good, the guardian of a magical realm called the Moors, whose one meaningful relationship with a human ends in betrayal, pain, and bitterness. As far as villain backstories go, I can actually accept this; the writers do a decent job in providing a reason for Maleficent’s hatred. Once the baby Aurora is born, though, and we get a re-creation of Sleeping Beauty’s opening scene, the sorry consequences of these story changes play out.

Eventually, Maleficent’s rage dwindles to annoyance as she watches Aurora from afar, repeatedly saving her from the thoughtlessness of the three “good” fairies, renamed Knotgrass, Flittle, and Thistlewit, whose bickering loses all its likability when it becomes clear what morons they are. Over the course of sixteen years, Maleficent and her shapeshifting raven Diaval (not Diablo as in the cartoon) are Aurora’s real caretakers, and by the time the curse is to be fulfilled, Maleficent tries first to cancel it and then to break it. Something just doesn’t feel right about giving all these laudable duties to the villain; in making Maleficent good at heart, every other character suffers. The three fairies, or pixies, are negligent fools; Aurora’s father King Stefan is the real villain, an obsessive monster who cares more about killing Maleficent than about his own wife and is nothing like his cartoon counterpart singing “Skumps!”; even Prince Phillip is deprived of everything that made him an appealing character in the original. By the time “true love’s kiss” rolls around, the story borrows a page from Frozen, reminding us that true love doesn’t have to be romantic in nature. That worked in Frozen because it was original; don’t mess with something that is supposed to be romantic!

Basically, everything worthwhile about Maleficent is original. Every time it thinks for itself, it entertains (the magical Moors, the battle scenes, Diaval’s transformations). Every time it tries to borrow from Sleeping Beauty, it pales in comparison (the fairies and their gifts, Aurora and Phillip’s unmemorably unmusical meeting, Phillip’s ineffectual kiss). Perhaps fans of Angelina Jolie could look past all this, but I’m not one of them, and nothing in her turn as Maleficent changed that. I did rather like Elle Fanning as the buoyant Aurora, but most of the cast was intentionally unpleasant, with the girl power message effectively ruining every male character. It’s not just I as a man who felt that way too; my VC felt the same distaste.

Maleficent is a prime example of where Disney should have left well enough alone, letting its past animations speak for themselves. It might have worked better as an original story, but when a voiceover tries to convince us that this live-action subversion with the cool visuals is the real story, it loses credibility. Please, I know the real story, and it’s from 1959.

Best line from Sleeping Beauty: (Merryweather, as Flora uses her as a dummy to make Aurora’s dress) “It looks awful.”   (Flora) “That’s because it’s on you, dear.”

Best line from Maleficent: (Aurora, practicing to tell her aunties) “You’ve been very good to me…well, except that time you fed me spiders.”

 

Rank for Sleeping Beauty: List Runner-Up
Rank for Maleficent: Dishonorable Mention

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput
388 Followers and Counting

 

Wolf Children (2012)

08 Sunday May 2016

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Mothers are angels, by parenthood wrought,
And unsung saints, whether they know it or not.
Their job is to lead through each giggle and tear
And make angels too of the rascals they rear.

They’re makers of breakfast and takers of guff
And mentors who know when enough is enough.
They’re huggers or kissers, though all aren’t the same,
Who take it in stride when kids think it a shame.

When needed the most, they’re a wide-open door,
The builders of life starting at the ground floor.
All this mothers are, or should be by design,
All worthy of honor, and why I love mine.
__________________

MPAA rating: PG

Happy Mother’s Day to all! I have no idea why it’s taken me this long to review the film that placed #6 on my Top 12 Anime List, but Mother’s Day seemed like the perfect opportunity to review this affectionate tribute to a mother’s love. After strong films like The Girl Who Leapt through Time and Summer Wars, I think Mamoru Hosoda clinched his growing reputation as the next Hayao Miyazaki with Wolf Children, a favorite of many anime fans.

As a college student, Hana meets and gradually falls in love with a young man she meets in class, a strong, silent type with a kind heart. Her love for this unnamed man is not diminished when he reveals that he is part wolf, able to transform at will but choosing to live as a human. What follows is a warmhearted montage of domestic bliss to rival the beginning of Up, along with an equally tragic end when Hana is left alone to care for their two wolf children Yuki and Ame.

While an early scene implies the uncomfortable idea of interspecies romance, almost everything else about this film is sweet and tender in the most appealing way. The usual stresses of raising children are given a unique spin with the werewolf aspect (should she take them to a pediatrician or a vet?). Hana knows nothing about raising kids on her own, let alone the half-wolf variety, but she learns and loves through every sleepless night, cranky tantrum, and potential emergency. While she keeps Ame and Yuki away from the world for the most part to protect them, she is a superlative example of the hard-working, underappreciated single mother.

When the two kids begin to outgrow their small apartment, she decides to move to the distant countryside, where they will have the freedom to choose whether to be wolves or humans. The move to a large dilapidated home (reminiscent of the beginning of My Neighbor Totoro) only means more work for Hana and more opportunities for both fun and danger for assertive Yuki and timid Ame. Hana’s tenacity is tested and affirmed, as is the good will of her charitable neighbors. The lush, hilly setting offers some gorgeous scenery, which captivates one of the children more than the other. In particular, two scenes of natural splendor are the epitome of animated beauty, and the family’s frolic through the snow is accompanied by a winsomely elegant score that always gives me chills.

The unfortunate drawback to Wolf Children’s appeal is a semi-unsatisfying ending. With time to consider both perspectives, I’ve come to forgive the bittersweet climax, which is like the reverse of The Jungle Book’s ending, if that makes sense. Even so, everything Hana did for her children is worthy of the deepest love and appreciation, and the end smacks of adolescent ingratitude. Despite that caveat for the climax, Wolf Children, for me, is not a film to simply like or dislike but to be fond of. My fondness for this film runs deep, and it will forever rank among my favorite depictions of maternal love.

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput
385 Followers and Counting

 

Ragnarok (2013)

30 Saturday Apr 2016

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(Today’s final NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo prompt was to write a translated poem, so I tried to write something homophonically similar to “The Half-Finished Heaven” by Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer. Doing that, I could have ended up with something as inscrutable as some of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ work, so instead I simply began each line of the poem below with the same letter as the original poem and chose a Scandinavian film to review.)

Mid-look was my life cut short,
Aghast at the proven report.
Goodbye to my daughter and son;
Dear father will never see port.

A brave man was I, no mistake.
Oh, Vikings would never forsake.
Vigor was rife in our bones,
Alas, till they littered the lake.

Veiled are we here in our sleep,
Veiled in the dangerous deep.
Still does our conqueror live,
Drowsing upon our corpse heap.

Valiant and foolish to tarry
Is he who finds our cemetery.
______________

MPAA rating: PG-13

Ragnarok may be the first Norwegian film I’ve seen, in a way the Norwegian equivalent of a late-summer blockbuster. Perhaps the closest thing I can compare it to is 2008’s Journey to the Center of the Earth with Brendan Fraser, loaded as both are with clichés and genuinely thrilling moments. Both films start out much the same; like Fraser’s volcanologist, archaeologist Sigurd Swenson (good Scandinavian name!) is desperate for funding, and when an enigmatic clue arises, he brings along his two kids Ragnhild and Brage and a couple colleagues on an ill-advised search for answers that doesn’t go as planned. In lieu of a Jules Verne novel as inspiration, Norse mythology stands in with the story of Ragnarok, a.k.a. the end of the world.

The expedition walks into danger when they raft across a remote, far-north lake to a central island where both Vikings and Russians once visited, never to leave again. It’s an effective build-up to what is ultimately a creature feature. The monster hidden below the surface and the foolish decisions of the humans will bring to mind films like Jaws, Eragon, and Jurassic Park III, but this Norwegian equivalent of those movies usually manages to make the material its own. A few set pieces involving a zip line and a bunker are edge-of-your-seat highs, and my VC was far more terrified than I at one prolonged suspense scene.

It may not be entirely original, but Ragnarok is an entertaining action adventure with some tense thrills that never become un-family friendly. The special effects are usually as good as most American productions, and the isolated Arctic scenery makes for a stunningly rich setting. I will be interested to see how Marvel’s Thor: Ragnarok compares. For a first accessible foray into Norwegian cinema, I’d recommend Ragnarok, though don’t watch the English dub. Most dubs don’t bother me, but when children are screaming and some English voiceover dully says “Help me,” it kinda ruins the moment.

Rank: List Runner-Up

© 2016 S. G. Liput

385 Followers and Counting

 

The Raven (1963)

21 Thursday Apr 2016

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(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write in the voice of a minor entity in some myth or fairy tale. It’s not exactly a myth, but I chose the bust of Pallas, a.k.a. Athena, in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” and took the message in a different direction. It may not have much bearing on the film, but it let me experiment with one of my favorite classic meters.)

 

As I waited, stern and stonely, with my master, looking lonely,
Watching as he excavated stacks of books he rarely read,
Never had I seen him sadder since he placed me with a ladder
Up above his chamber door, a bust of Pallas’ pious head.

Since his lover had descended down where all Earth’s tales are ended,
He had dwelt in constant sorrow for his loveliest Lenore.
Being just a statue modest of a lesser-known Greek goddess,
I could offer little comfort perched above his chamber door.
Rather poor was our rapport.

Feeling life was but a blooper, there he sat within his stupor,
Only moaning now and then to prove he wasn’t lifeless yet.
Suddenly, a sound’s ascension, almost too minute to mention,
Brought both his and my attention to the latest cause to fret.

First, the door decreed a knocking, as if someone there were stalking,
But he only found a shocking emptiness no guest would fill.
Then again we heard the slightest tap, and Master, not the brightest,
Opened up the window widest to investigate the sill,
Letting in more than a chill.

From the darkness of the window (I would not have let him in, though)
Flew a fateful sable raven, harbinger of darkest dread,
And my master, undecided if this bird by fate was guided,
Let the impudent intruder perch upon my marble head.

Though he was a learned scholar, he did not have many callers,
And this visitor perhaps had made him giddier than before.
Thus, he started conversation with this bird in desperation,
And to Master’s consternation, it replied with “Nevermore,”
Just the one word “Nevermore.”

This shock made him rather edgy, and as if he took a pledge, he
Started questioning the raven, asking it about Lenore.
The same response it kept dispatching, while my forehead it kept scratching,
And the Master grew more vexed with each retort of “Nevermore.”
That’s not easy to ignore.

When he even started yelling at the raven so compelling,
I considered maybe telling Master he should not accost it.
How I coveted to curb him, but I wished not to disturb him.
Hearing bird and statue speak, he’d surely think that he had lost it.

When he’d tried his guest to banish and it did not seem to vanish,
Master seemed to then accept its pilfered place above his door,
But the levelheaded raven, solid in its stolen haven,
Then proceeded to reproach in words exceeding “Nevermore.”
This is what the raven swore:

“Forces far beyond my ken have bid me speak like mortal men
In enigmatic utterances open to interpretation,
But the sight of your rebelling from my simple fortune-telling,
Even here within your dwelling, makes me sure of your stagnation.

Here I see a wealthy scholar wallowing in inner squalor,
With his grief a clenching collar, all because of lost Lenore.
In this bitterness you’re tasting, you are palely, daily wasting
Life and love and all the blessings thou art foolish to ignore.
Once they’re gone, they’re nevermore.”

Well impressed at this debating raven once so irritating,
I was now anticipating how my master would reply.
Slowly, he arose from sitting, set his jaw to keep from spitting,
And with venom not unwitting bade the raven quickly fly.

“If I wish to sit in mourning, keep your useless words of warning.
Even your persistent perching, I will manage to ignore.”
Still, I rest here, sick and saddened at my seeing Master maddened;
Still he sits, more scared of life than of the Raven’s “Nevermore.”
Closed below me is the door.
__________________

MPAA rating: G

Not to be confused with the 2012 thriller of the same name, this film version of The Raven is actually a 1963 B movie, one of director Roger Corman’s eight adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe works. It starts off in familiar territory, with Vincent Price as Dr. Craven, the unnamed griever of the poem who in this version is a reclusive magician. In contrast to his famous villainous roles, Price is a kind and unassuming figure, not nearly as obsessive as the character in Poe’s poem or mine, and when the titular raven enters his chamber, he earnestly asks if he shall ever see his lost Lenore again. The raven replies, in Peter Lorre’s voice, “How the hell should I know?” before explaining that he is a cursed sorcerer in need of a potion to turn him back into a human. What follows is a rather amusing and fun fantasy, with a quest to stop the evil magician Dr. Scarabus (Boris Karloff).

Price, Karloff, and particularly the easily irascible Lorre are all game players in a film that any of them might have considered beneath them. Accompanied by a jaw-droppingly young Jack Nicholson, the three magicians partake in a twisty game of cat-and-mouse and wizard duels to see who comes out on top. Interspersed with the B movie melodrama and macabre moments are clever little scenes of comedy, such as the characters removing and carefully folding a coffin cover only to toss it on the ground over their shoulder. The Raven departs widely from its source material and can hardly be called fine cinema, but it’s an unscary, good-natured horror-comedy on the level of the original Scooby-Doo, with a surprisingly worthwhile moral.

Best line: (Dr. Craven) “Instead of facing life, I turned my back on it. I know now why my father resisted Dr. Scarabus. Because he knew that one cannot fight evil by hiding from it. Men like Scarabus thrive on the apathy of others. He thrived on mine, and that offends me. By avoiding contact with the Brotherhood, I’ve given him freedom to commit his atrocities, unopposed.”

 

Rank: Honorable Mention

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

383 Followers and Counting

 

VC Pick: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)

17 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by in Movies, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt suggested using at least ten words from a specialty dictionary. In honor of Rex Harrison’s ghostly captain, I chose nautical terms, many of which were used in the film.)

 

A seaman in the truest sense is ne’er content on land,
And I have lived a life of which a captain may be proud:
Kept my ship in Bristol fashion,
Kept my crew content with rations,
Kept alert for mares’ tails warning tempests to withstand.
Yet now I wish, my beard more ashen,
That I’d found a second passion,
Plucking me a darling from the vast landlubber crowd.

I don’t mean some brief harbor love, although I’ve had a few;
I mean the kind worth waiting for through months before the mast.
I’d hoist the anchor eagerly
To reunite with such as she
And boast from stern to scuttlebutt to share a love so true.
The ship may list from weather to lee
And on her beam ends she may be,
But I’d have stronger cause to live and hold the tiller fast.

A lover in the truest sense is ne’er content at sea
But charts and stays the swiftest course from ocean unto wife.
When in the offing I appeared,
She’d stand upon a headland, cheered
And counting seconds till we both could reach the nearest quay.
I wish in such a course I’d steered
Before grey crept into my beard,
But maybe love can find a seaman even after life.
________________

MPAA rating: Not Rated (might as well be G)

It’s been a while since my trusty Viewing Companion (a.k.a. VC) got to choose a movie, and The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is one of her favorite romances. I’ve seen it a few times before, and for some reason, its full appeal never hit me until this latest viewing.

Gene Tierney plays the widowed Mrs. Lucy Muir, who moves with her daughter (Natalie Wood) and maid (Edna Best) to a large house by the English seaside, which she comes to realize is haunted by the deceased Captain Gregg (Rex Harrison). After a halfhearted attempt to scare her off, Gregg admires her spunk enough to let her stay, and the two of them allow their testily heartfelt conversations to bloom into unadmitted love. The captain’s blustery manner complements Mrs. Muir’s obstinance, and while she cares for the house they both love, he acts as her friend, security system, and inspiration to write a money-making memoir. Of course, romance can be strained between flesh and blood and spirit, and their relationship is soon threatened by the suavely courting Miles Fairley (George Sanders, known as the deep voice of Shere Khan in 1967’s The Jungle Book), who might be more seductive if he didn’t have a creepy disregard for personal space.

Both Tierney and Harrison are at the top of their games here, with Harrison in particular exceeding all but his My Fair Lady role in bringing to life the gruffly affectionate captain (whose coarse sailor language never extends beyond “blasted”). One scene in which he remains invisible to Lucy’s unwelcome in-laws seems to anticipate the similar dynamic between Sam and the holographic Al in Quantum Leap, while the tear-jerking final scenes match the best romantic endings. I also find it interesting to note that The Ghost and Mrs. Muir was turned into a 1968 sitcom, in which the ghost was played by Edward Mulhare, who also took over Harrison’s role of Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady on Broadway.

Sometimes it takes several viewings to help one fully appreciate a film, and The Ghost and Mrs. Muir deserves such appreciation and its 100% Rotten Tomatoes score. It’s a well-scripted, non-physical romance of the best kind, managing to be mildly spooky, delightfully charming, or tenderly bittersweet when it needs to be. It may not make my VC cry anymore, but it arouses the same emotions (minus the tears) in both of us.

Best line: (Lucy Muir) “You can be much more alone with other people than you are by yourself, even if it’s people you love.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

381 Followers and Counting

 

Cabin in the Sky (1943)

08 Friday Apr 2016

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(I decided to forgo today’s NaPoWriMo prompt about flowers, because really, how many movies about flowers are there? At least one of the characters in this random choice is named Petunia.)

 

When your mind is debating on whether or not
You should go for that third piece of pie,
Or whether you’re better off tying the knot
With a sinner or saint worth a try,
You may not be able to see who is there
As they whisper advice you might take,
But angels and devils are rapt in midair,
Intent on your every mistake.

So next time you manage to fend off temptation
And choose to obey that red light,
Or when you hold in your off-color frustration
At stubbing your toe late at night,
Just know that, although you may not hear a sound,
Your good choices made someone upset,
And that someone is probably pounding the ground,
Because you just lost him a bet.
_________________

MPAA rating: might as well be G

One day not long ago, I decided to just watch this random old movie for no other reason than it was there. Directed by Vincente Minnelli, Cabin in the Sky is a notable film due to its entirely African-American cast, which was unheard-of back in 1943, and it surprised many by performing well with white audiences too, perhaps because the vices, virtues, and caricatures on display are not exclusively black.

Little Joe (Eddie “Rochester” Anderson) can’t seem to shake his gambling addiction, despite the insistence of his religious wife Petunia (excellent Ethel Waters, who reprised her role from the play from which the film was adapted). After his bad habit ends up killing him, Little Joe is confronted by demons eager to take him to hell, but his wife’s prayers earn him a temporary second chance to straighten out his life. Aside from the fact that the plot seems to have inspired a memorable Tom and Jerry cartoon (“Heavenly Puss” if I’m not mistaken), it was a rather fun dynamic watching literal versions of a shoulder angel and devil pulling the characters in different directions. Once Little Joe returns to life, he doesn’t remember or see the spirits, and watching the spiritual enemies vying for him to make right or wrong choices is like a lighthearted version of The Screwtape Letters.

Where Cabin in the Sky falls is in its status as a musical. A musical number is supposed to enhance emotions or be generally enjoyable, but the few songs here just drag the pace to an unnecessary standstill. “Happiness Is a Thing Called Joe” is the only one worth hearing and earned an Oscar nomination for Best Song, but the rest are wholly forgettable, with one wince-inducing number confirming that Eddie Anderson’s scratchy voice was not meant for singing. Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong have small roles, but it was odd that Armstrong never even got to sing.

The music aside, Cabin in the Sky is a reasonably charming old movie with good work from its black cast, including Lena Horne as Little Joe’s worst temptation. If you’re looking for a random movie to watch, you could do worse.

Best line: (Georgia, played by Horne) “I’m just speaking my mind.”   (Petunia) “And I ain’t heard nothing yet.”

 

Rank: Honorable Mention

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

376 Followers and Counting

 

Coraline (2009)

07 Thursday Apr 2016

Posted by in Movies, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was a tritina, which has three set words to end each line in a pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and a final line with all three words in it. I decided to use the form for a creepy effect.)

 

Hark to the promise of pleasure and play.
Heed all the whispers that bid you come in.
Enter and leave your old world at the door.

Rest and don’t fret at the slow-closing door.
We’re glad that you had a good reason to play.
It’s been quite a while since a human came in.

I told you, don’t worry about the way in,
Or out for that matter; I’ve hidden the door.
It’s time that we all wear a smile and play.

I’m so glad the door brought in someone to play.
___________________

MPAA rating: PG

While I enjoy various kinds of animation, stop-motion isn’t my favorite. I love Chicken Run, but I’m less dazzled by the more macabre usages of this kind of puppetry, like The Nightmare before Christmas. That being said, stop-motion does lend itself to an unnatural movement perfect for creepiness, and Coraline utilizes this uncanny quality judiciously. From the first masterful shots of needle-composed fingers sewing up a little girl’s doll, it’s clear that experts of both animation and spookiness have put their craft on display.

Based on Neil Gaiman’s novel and with a Roald Dahl sensibility, Coraline first applies its technical finesse to the real world, as Coraline Jones (Dakota Fanning) and her parents move into a ramshackle apartment building. Coraline explores the neglected gardens and meets the eccentric neighbors and ultimately becomes bored and disgruntled at her surroundings. Then she finds a mysterious door which leads to an alternate universe where everything dull and mundane in the old world is bright and colorful and fun. Her Other Mother (Teri Hatcher) and Other Father are everything she wishes her parents could be, except they have buttons for eyes, and she has second thoughts when they want to sew buttons on her eyes.

Coraline cleverly manifests how a dream can so easily segue into a nightmare. Everything is fun and innocent at first (although some cartoon nudity goes a bit far), but as soon as Coraline becomes wise to her Other Mother’s sinister plans, the wondrous quickly turns monstrous. This disquieting wonderland is a perfect outlet for the animation, and many of the stunts and deft camerawork make one wonder how the filmmakers accomplished so much fluidity within the confines of tiny detailed models.

Perhaps because Tim Burton wasn’t involved, Coraline’s dark fantasy won me over, making it probably my favorite of the creepy genre of stop-motion animation. Some of the characters are still unnecessarily weird for my taste, but the central adventure has a winning blend of awe and fright that will make children think twice about too-good-to-be-true reveries.

Best line: (Other Mother, to Coraline) “They say even the proudest spirit can be broken…with love.”

 

Rank: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

375 Followers and Counting

 

The Book of Life (2014)

27 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Movies, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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Life is full of love and song
For those with both within their hearts;
But why must death and sleep be different
From their former counterparts?

Grief will mark a soul’s departure
Here on earth where all lives cease;
But from grief comes celebration
In another life of peace.
__________________
 

MPAA rating: PG

 

While Pixar has been rumored to be working on a project called Coco about the Mexican Day of the Dead (supposedly for a 2017 release), Reel FX and 20th Century Fox Animation beat them to the punch with 2014’s The Book of Life. This inventively animated romance starts out with a frame story reminiscent of The Princess Bride, with a confident museum guide recounting a story to a collection of rowdy schoolkids, who interject their occasional thoughts and worries as the tale progresses.

While these kids have a more typical cartoon human appearance, the characters in the tale being told are intentionally modeled as wooden puppets, with visible joints but no strings. This aesthetic combines with the off-kilter animation to give the CGI film a stop-motion aspect, not unlike The Lego Movie. The story itself follows three childhood friends, Manolo Sanchez (Diego Luna), Maria (Zoe Saldana), and Joaquin (Channing Tatum), who are destined to grow up into a love triangle. Just as viewers often debate who will get the girl in any number of series, the trio attract the attention of the two rulers of the afterlife, the lovely La Muerte of the Land of the Remembered and the bitter Xibalba of the Land of the Forgotten. Ron Perlman as Xibalba seems knowingly reminiscent of Hades in Hercules as he makes a game-changing bet with his counterpart as to which boy will marry Maria.

The Book of Life has a lot of positives. The animation is frequently enchanting and the characters surprisingly personable. While the characterization sometimes falters, I liked how one suitor was clearly meant as Maria’s soul mate, but the other was still given a chance to be heroic rather than being turned into a villain. The film also offers a uniquely positive view of death, treating it not as the end but as a second stage to reunite with loved ones and join in one big fiesta.

On the other hand, these same themes of death strike me as problematic. The depiction of the afterlife rings with Mexican culture but is entirely irreligious, as is the notion that our departed loved ones live on in happiness only as long as we remember them. The film’s conflict makes a point of noting that, without anyone to remember them, the dead will pass into the hellish Land of the Forgotten, which makes me wonder why no one is bothered by the fact that this will happen anyway within a few generations. I don’t remember my great-great-great grandfather; that doesn’t mean he’s not in Heaven. This idea of the afterlife is meant as a secular comfort but not a lasting one.

The Book of Life is also marred by tired clichés about being oneself against an overbearing parent; some awkwardly out-of-left-field pop songs, as if it’s trying to emulate Shrek; and oddly by the same animation I praised earlier. When I first saw the animation style, it reminded me of the Nickelodeon show El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera (picture below), and sure enough, director Jorge Gutierrez was also that show’s creator and apparently just translated the animation from 2D to 3D. While it works most of the time, certain scenes look strangely cheap with elaborate mustaches and protuberant noses that aren’t even trying for realism.

Here I go again, sounding all critical as if I dislike anything with flaws. Not so. The Book of Life rises as a delightful, energetic, and uniquely cultural change of pace from the usual stylings of Disney and DreamWorks while not coming off as low quality. Its themes of family and life and telling our own stories are commendable, and I enjoyed it, as I think most fans of animation will.

Best line: (one of the distraught schoolkids) “What is it with Mexicans and death?!”

 

Rank: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

360 Followers and Counting

 

The Neverending Story (1984)

19 Wednesday Aug 2015

Posted by in Movies, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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You think this story’s like the rest,
Like all the books you’ve read before?
It holds a secret none have guessed,
Real quests and dangers to explore.

Can any book draw you inside,
Where wonders wait on every page?
Can characters that there reside
Become dear friends at any age?

Perhaps, yes, any good book can,
But this is no mere written tale.
Just read wherever it began
And lift the word-begotten veil.
______________

Rating: PG

Anyone who’s looked closely at my Gravatar might have noticed that I’m holding Michael Ende’s The Neverending Story, one of my favorite books. I’ve loved this German-to-English fantasy since the first time I read it. I love how each of the twenty-six chapters begins with a different letter of the alphabet, how Uyulala the Oracle speaks only in rhyme, how the lines of fantasy and reality are blurred to draw Bastian and the reader into the land of Fantastica, how it questions the little things of adventure epics like why bathroom breaks are never mentioned, how extraordinary creatures and characters come and go, friends and foes. And of course, I adore how every minor character is given his own untold tale and dismissed with one of my favorite lines of this or any book: “But that is another story and shall be told another time.” No doubt, you’ll be seeing that line elsewhere on this blog.

So then, if I love the book so much, why has it taken me so long to write about the film adaptation from 1984? It’s hard to say; I grew up watching the movie version long before I had read the book, but once I’d been introduced to the novel, the film simply paled by comparison and dropped off my favorites list. It’s not that I dislike it; it captures some of the magic of the book and generally follows the book’s plot, though only the first half of it. Bastian (Barrett Oliver) is a dreamer, a lover of books who is compelled to steal a very special book and follow the adventures of Atreyu the warrior (Noah Hathaway) and Falkor the luckdragon and the Childlike Empress, even as he himself is drawn into the story to battle the Nothing. As a child’s film, it’s a bit darker than the usual fare, akin to Labyrinth or The Dark Crystal. Like those films, it utilizes detailed puppetry to bring many of the book’s characters to life, such as Falkor and Gmork the fearsome wolf and Morla the Aged One. I also like to think the gnomes Engywook and Urgl might have influenced the characters of Miracle Max and his wife in 1987’s The Princess Bride.

Yet while the similarities to the source material are recognizable, there are so many details that are changed. Some are understandable due to the limits of special effects at the time, such as leaving out Ygramul the spider or not making Cairon (Moses Gunn) a centaur, but others just beg the question “Why?” Why did the filmmakers change the name of the magical land from Fantastica to Fantasia (and why did Disney allow it)? Why did they call Atreyu’s necklace the AURYN when the book specifically leaves out the the? Why did they not let the Southern Oracle speak in rhyme? Why did they throw in nudity with the Sphinx gate, knowing this is supposed to be a kid’s tale? Why did they so poorly dub Deep Roy’s voice in the early scene and call him Teeny Weeny as opposed to a “tiny”? They even left out part of that favorite line of mine! All these differences do add up, making for a very inconsistent adaptation, one which displeased the author and prompted him to file an unsuccessful lawsuit.

The visual effects, like the adaptation, are hit-and-miss; while I’m sure they were astounding for the time, some hold up better than others. The Rock Biter (rock chewer in the book), Morla, and the destruction at the end are incredibly well-realized, considering the lack of computer assistance, but many of the puppets and blue-screen shots are very obvious by today’s standards. Likewise, the acting is satisfactory, even though some of it carries a hefty amount of 1980s/child actor cheesiness.

All in all, The Neverending Story is a film I’d recommend to any child who loves books and anyone who loves fantasy. It’s a childhood darling that halfway holds up with its message of imagination and hope, and I do still admire the score for the American version by Klaus Doldinger and Giorgio Moroder. Even so, to anyone who likes this film, I recommend you read the book and see the full scope of The Neverending Story (and ignore the film sequels). The novel is a classic that may someday get a more faithful adaptation, though I ought to check out the HBO miniseries, “but that is another story and shall be told [hopefully] another time.”

Best line: (since my line wasn’t included in its entirety, this is a decent runner-up) (Falkor) “Never give up, and good luck will find you.”

Rank: List Runner-Up

© 2015 S. G. Liput

336 Followers and Counting