Tag Archives: Fantasy

Princess Mononoke (1997)

05 Monday Dec 2016

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The forest stood for centuries,
In peace made permanent by trees
Whose roots sucked deep of earthen milk,
Whose branches guarded all.
And then came humans and their ilk
Who made the trees to fall.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Mankind pushed on for centuries
Through mountains, deserts, woods, and seas.
From cave to tent to town, they rose
With wonders underway.
Too often, nature did oppose
And kept progress at bay.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Both stories hold an equal truth.
Both man and nature from their youth
Have wished romantically for truce
That ended in conquest.
Cooperation or abuse—
We choose which path is best.
___________________

MPAA rating: PG-13

Hayao Miyazaki has a filmography full of films considered great cinema, and each of them seems to fit a particular target age group. While they are all beautifully drawn, the maturity level for his features could be generally ranked something like this: Ponyo (5 years old and up), My Neighbor Totoro (6 and up), Kiki’s Delivery Service (7 and up), Castle in the Sky (8 and up), Porco Rosso (9 and up), Spirited Away (10 and up), Howl’s Moving Castle (11 and up), Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (12 and up), The Castle of Cagliostro (13 and up), The Wind Rises (13 and up), and the one most clearly meant for adults, Princess Mononoke (14 and up).

Princess Mononoke is different from any other Studio Ghibli film, both in its narrative complexity and its level of violence, and when I discovered the Ghibli films and had myself an anime marathon, it caught me completely off-guard. I was shocked that heads and arms were being lopped off within the first fifteen minutes, and I turned it off then and there. It took me some time to give it another try and look past the savagery of certain scenes. Luckily, those scenes are the exception rather than the rule, and I found that Princess Mononoke was something few animated films can claim to be—an epic. From the sweeping landscapes and moving Joe Hisaishi score (he really is one of my favorite movie composers) to the huge cast of characters and nuanced themes, it’s a film so ambitious that I don’t know if there’s anything else to compare it to.

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The story follows Prince Ashitaka (Billy Crudup in the English dub) in ancient tribal Japan, before forest gods and demons became mere legends. While defending his village from a demon boar, his arm is infected with a curse, and he must journey to a distant forest in the hopes of a spiritual cure. What he finds is an ongoing struggle between industry and nature, as the hardworking folk of the lakeside Irontown battle against the forest gods, led by the giant wolf Moro (Gillian Anderson) and her adopted human daughter San (Claire Danes).

Before Spirited Away came along, Princess Mononoke had every right to be called Miyazaki’s masterpiece, and while it’s far from my favorite of his films, I certainly see why it is deserving of that distinction, more so than Spirited Away, to be honest. Princess Mononoke is as expansive an experience as one can find in an anime film, with Ghibli’s ever-detailed artwork transporting viewers to another time and place full of action, beauty, and menace. It’s not a film I connected with personally, and certain things detract from it in my eyes: the aforementioned violence, the heavy pagan mythology, some grotesque imagery, an ending that doesn’t seem to punish the character most deserving of it. Yet there’s so much to impress that objections like these seem small by comparison.

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The plot and characters are the most impressive ingredients on display. The conflict between humans and nature has resonances of Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, from the strong female characters right down to the final scene of both, but there are more than two sides to the dispute, and every side has its own distinct motivations that are far from black and white or simple good and evil. There’s Lady Eboshi (Minnie Driver) and her Irontown loyalists, who are embattled with San and the wolves, while a herd of vengeful boar also joins the fray, while a devious monk (Billy Bob Thornton) plots to steal the head of the Great Forest Spirit, while some iron-greedy samurai make war too. And in the middle of everything is Ashitaka, urging peace on all sides as he seeks to heal his cursed arm, which gives him super-strength but will eventually kill him. How all these various factions clash is key to the film’s epicness, yet Miyazaki’s knack for character is also on display. Lady Eboshi, for instance, isn’t a typical villain, trying to act in the best interest of her people and demonstrating concern for the lepers and women under her care. It’s unfortunate then that the multitude of characters proves too much to negotiate by the end, where the strife is wrapped up a bit too neatly, but the bulk of the film balances it all amazingly well.

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The sheer length and scope of Princess Mononoke are enough to make it a landmark anime, even if it’s not for all ages. It played a role in bringing Studio Ghibli to greater attention in the West and, like Akira, showed audiences that anime could be intricate and mature and more than Saturday morning cartoon fare. Though I find several of his films more engaging than Princess Mononoke, if you want proof of Hayao Miyazaki’s talent as a filmmaker, this is it.

Best line: (Hii-sama, the wise woman of Ashitaka’s village) “You cannot change fate. However, you can rise to meet it, if you so choose.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S.G. Liput
433 Followers and Counting

 

The Age of Adaline (2015)

01 Thursday Dec 2016

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If I had all the years ahead,
My future stretching infinite,
I’d laugh at death and waste my breath
And take my time to start and quit
And eat more than I would admit.

No matter what the daily rut,
I’d rarely worry with my glut
Of days and decades in reserve,
For patience straightens every curve
And makes all roads a new shortcut.

Or so I think….
As days and decades further sink
Into the endless stream I cross,
Along with friends and love that ends,
This gift may be an albatross.
Who wants an eternity of loss?
________________

MPAA rating: PG-13 (could even be PG)

The Age of Adaline is the kind of film that I knew I would enjoy based solely on the trailer and the ingenious title with a double meaning. I love films that follow one character through decades of drama, and The Age of Adaline does so with a fantasy twist reminiscent of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Winter’s Tale. As the opening narration explains, Adaline Bowman lived a normal life in the early 1900s, full of the typical joys and sorrows, but an accident that should have killed her instead gave her inexplicable longevity. She never ages past her original 29 years, and while many women would consider that a blessing, it feels more and more like a curse as the decades pass, friends and family get older, the world changes, and she doesn’t.

Blake Lively was the perfect choice for Adaline, embodying both World War II-era and modern-day elegance and giving the audience an essential glimpse into her emotional state. A tear-jerking look-back at all the dogs she has owned over the decades was a brilliant way to help us understand her magnified grief. Flashbacks are used to good effect with the same purpose, clarifying why Adaline is always on the run from potential love interests and anyone who might catch on to her secret…that is, until she meets the charismatic Ellis (Michiel Huisman) and the familiar William (Harrison Ford).

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The Age of Adaline fulfills its fantastical, romantic purpose with a sophisticated polish, both in the big picture and the details. (Anthony Ingruber as a young William was scarily good with his Harrison Ford impression. Look at him in the picture above; why isn’t he being considered for that Han Solo spinoff?) Unfortunately, the film does slip on occasion, specifically when Adaline’s “miracle” takes place, the narrator giving some hogwash about an undiscovered trait of DNA that freezes the aging process. Groundhog Day didn’t try to explain Bill Murray’s time loop, nor did Benjamin Button spell out Brad Pitt’s backwards aging. They didn’t have to, and The Age of Adaline’s attempt to explain the unexplainable falls flat, I’m afraid. In addition, the emotions at play aren’t as deeply wrought as in similar films, and I couldn’t help but feel that I’d seen the final scene of hopefulness somewhere else before.

My VC and I have similar tastes for this genre, and she enjoyed it too, sort of, saying afterward, “It was a great movie, except it’s ridiculous.” Blame the pseudo-science I mentioned earlier for that, but the “great movie” part still remains, thanks in large part to the outstanding performances across the board. Sometimes when a film is my kind of movie, I can forgive and even ignore its faults. The Age of Adaline fits that bill, and my expectations were met.

Best line: (Ellis) “You know they have a saying in Italy. ‘Anni, amori, e bicchieri di vino, no che contato mai.'”
(Adaline) “Years, lovers… wine cups?”
(Ellis) “Years, lovers, and glasses of wine. These are things that should never be counted.”
(Adaline) “You have no idea.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S.G. Liput
428 Followers and Counting

 

Your Name (2016)

22 Tuesday Nov 2016

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If someday I should forget you
Or the moment that I met you,
I hope, easing your regret, you
Know, although you fade
In memory, your soul and mine
Are too attached to disentwine.
You are the one for whom I’ll pine
Till all the world’s unmade.
__________________

MPAA rating: Not rated yet (should be PG, maybe PG-13)

I’ve been awaiting Makoto Shinkai’s next feature film for some time now, and it seems that his latest movie has finally earned him acclaim and notice outside of anime fan circles. Kimi No Na Wa, or Your Name, is being heralded as proof of Shinkai coming into his own as “the new Hayao Miyazaki,” and this his fifth feature film has been hugely successful in Japan, where it is currently the seventh highest-grossing film ever.

Honestly, I’m just thrilled that I was able to see Your Name so soon after its release (as opposed to waiting perhaps a year for the DVD), but the fact that it is such a winner for writer/director Shinkai makes it even better. I’ve had a rocky regard for his past films, which are always visually beautiful and emotional but range from confusing (The Place Promised in Our Early Days) to depressing (5 Centimeters Per Second) to absolutely wondrous (Children Who Chase Lost Voices). I can’t say Your Name is the faultless masterpiece that many reviewers are making it out to be, but it’s an enchanting and praiseworthy fantasy drama that seems like the culmination of all that his less successful films tried to be.

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On the surface, Your Name is a body-swap comedy between a city boy named Taki in Tokyo and a country girl named Mitsuha. Sick of her provincial surroundings and embarrassed by her feminine duties at her grandmother’s Shinto shrine, Mitsuha wishes she could be a handsome boy in Tokyo in her next life, a fancy that soon becomes reality. At random times, the two wake up in each other’s bodies and awkwardly try to live each other’s lives until they can get back to their own the next day. Their memories of the other-body experiences remain hazy afterward, like a dream, but the reactions of their friends and family make it clear that the switch is indeed real. Through notes, advice, and complaints left for each other, they get to know each other on a deeper level than most, while having a key element of any relationship—face-to-face contact—just out of reach.

Based on the trailers, one might think the body-swap humor was the main point of the film, but it actually makes up only the first third, with the rest of the film taking a far deeper and more meaningful course. Had the film remained like the first forty minutes, it would have been a somewhat fun and strange if unremarkable story, but as long as the tonal shift doesn’t bother viewers, it’s the final hour that explains Your Name’s popular acclaim, going off in unexpected and poignant directions. While publicity shots like the one below suggest that Taki and Mitsuha have greater contact, they’re separated by more than distance for the majority of the film. When they do have fleeting connections, it’s the stuff of cosmic, tragic romance, which brings people like me close to tears, even if I don’t quite get there.

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Your Name does stumble on occasion, particularly when Shinkai indulges in repeated music video-like montages, like the one at the end of 5 Centimeters Per Second. The J-pop contributions of the band Radwimps actually complement the film well, but the montages sometimes give the film a rushed quality that could have been improved. The non-linear storyline also leaves the significance of some scenes in doubt, especially at the beginning… that is, until the importance of certain flashbacks becomes clearer. I would highly recommend seeing the film more than once, since the layers of its plot are better appreciated when viewed with the whole picture.

Other traces of Shinkai’s past work actually improve on his portfolio. Like The Place Promised in Our Early Days, there are a boy and girl’s sci-fi-ish separation and the threat of massive destruction, while the presence of a comet streaking across the sky brings to mind the space probe of 5 cm. One moment toward the end was even straight out of the unsatisfying conclusion of 5 Centimeters Per Second, prompting me to say “No, don’t you dare end it like that!” Luckily, it didn’t. I also appreciated a neat little cameo for a character from Shinkai’s previous film The Garden of Words.

Your Name is as beautifully animated a film as any I’ve seen in recent memory, with Shinkai’s usual attention to detail for light and shadow being exemplified. A sojourn to an expansive crater out in the countryside is especially memorable, with some gorgeous fall colors on display. Details abound, both in the scenery and the story, and attention is paid to fleshing out not only Taki and Mitsuha but also their friends and family members, making for a comprehensively touching film.

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There’s so much to admire in Your Name, from the intricate but engaging plot to the moments of visual beauty, that few should mind its weaknesses, such as the quasi-spiritual “explanation” for the body swap itself. It has a good chance at snagging a Best Animated Feature nomination at the Oscars, which would make it the first non-Studio Ghibli anime film to do so, and even if I suspect Zootopia is the favored winner, Your Name would also be deserving. I still consider Children Who Chase Lost Voices to be Shinkai’s unsung masterpiece, but films like it and Your Name are what might make him a household name one of these days.

Best line: (Mitsuha’s grandmother, to Mitsuha/Taki) “Treasure the experience. Dreams fade away after you wake up.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S.G. Liput
424 Followers and Counting

 

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.

Image result for kubo and the two strings 2016

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

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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

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

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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

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

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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

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

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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