Between one parent and one child,
Their love is uncomplicated,
Even if they’re not related
Or may feel somehow exiled.
Will it change, their love compiled,
If a parent is located
From which they were separated
And the two are reconciled?
Some may fear they’ll be reviled
At reunions long-awaited,
Yet how can love be ever faded
Between a parent and their child?
________________
MPAA rating: PG
It may have seemed that DreamWorks was just planning to milk its past success with minimum effort when it released a third Kung Fu Panda in the usually lackluster month of January last year. However, Kung Fu Panda 3 managed to exceed expectations and end the franchise on a surprisingly solid note, building on its prequels with a satisfying conclusion.
After the final scene of Kung Fu Panda 2, where Po’s real not-dead father Li Shang (Bryan Cranston) realizes his son is alive, we get to see father and son reunite early on, only to be threatened by a new adversary named Kai (J.K. Simmons), a yak from the Spirit World who drains others’ chi energy. While Kai builds an army by turning kung fu masters into jade zombies (yes, jombies), Po (Jack Black) follows his father to his home in a distant village of pandas, where Po hopes to train but ends up enjoying the life among his own kind that he never knew.
Kung Fu Panda 3 continues the strengths and weaknesses of its predecessors, including some stellar fight choreography and animation, as well as a lack of character development for Poe’s comrades, the Furious Five, except for Tigress (Angelina Jolie). Where it excels in the character department is Po and his two fathers, adoptive goose father Mr. Ping (James Hong) and his biological father Li. I love how Mr. Ping has grown from an eyebrow-raising gag in the first film to a real source of heart for these movies. Here, he finds himself jealous of Po’s excitement at finding his father and wrestles with how to react to this new monopolizer of Po’s attention. Meanwhile, Li may seem selfish or unwise at times, but it’s easy to sympathize with both fathers. In addition, the fact that Li seeks out Po after realizing he’s alive makes his absence a whole lot more understandable than, say, the willing separation of Hiccup’s mom in How to Train Your Dragon 2.
Kung Fu Panda 3 does a lot to bring the franchise full circle, particularly in the return of the deceased Master Oogway (Randall Duk Kim). True, it sidelines formerly major characters like Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) and bears similarities to the first film, but Po’s family dynamic and the Spirit World villain help it stand apart. The village full of Po’s fellow lazy pandas was also cute and endearing for the most part, where I expected it to be lame and silly. Aside from the action sequences, I especially admired one underplayed sacrifice that was easily Poe’s most heroic moment of the series.
All in all, Kung Fu Panda 3 is a worthy and funny finale for a series I didn’t expect to like when the first film was released back in 2008. DreamWorks has maintained its quality in both animation and story, creating a trilogy where it’s hard to say which of the three is the best, though I’m partial to the second movie. Why it was released in January, I don’t know, but Kung Fu Panda 3 is one of DreamWorks Animation’s stronger sequels.
Best line: (Shifu) “If you only do what you can do, you’ll never be better than what you are.”
I wrote to the storks with a simple request,
A baby, just one, and I wanted the best.
I wanted him perfect, no colic or crying
Or being a pest by not always complying.
And potty-trained too, with no changing a diaper,
And energy neither too boring or hyper.
And give him a lovable heart of pure gold,
To love me, respect me, and care when I’m old.
So when there’s a well-behaved angel on earth
In stock, send at once. (So much simpler than birth!)
And what did those long-necking lummoxes send
But a baby like so many others to tend?!
Since he first arrived, he’s incessantly cried
And stunk before I even brought him inside.
And all the bird left me was this little note:
“We’ve tried to match most of the wishes you wrote.
But you should just know that the son you desired
Has years of hard work of assembly required.”
____________________
MPAA rating: PG
Storks didn’t look all that impressive when it came out last year, just another maverick animated film struggling to reach even DreamWorks quality. When I actually gave it a chance, though, it turned out to be a pleasant surprise, more humorous and heartwarming than I would have guessed, and a solid if hyperactive cartoon that the Warner Animation Group (who also produced The Lego Movie) can be proud of.
There’s no denying that the premise of Storks is a bit gonzo, making an entire, half-baked plot out of the myth of storks delivering babies, which I can only assume was invented so parents could appease their kids’ curiosity without broaching the birds-and-bees speech. In this world, storks have switched from baby delivery to package delivery (after all, someone says, “there are other ways of making babies”), after an incident left them unable to deliver young Tulip to her family. Tulip (Katie Crown) grows up as a ward of the storks’ Amazon-like company called Cornerstore.com, and, after she impetuously activates the abandoned baby factory and creates a little girl, she and the corporate ladder-climbing Junior (Andy Samberg) try to deliver the baby to her family without alerting their authoritarian boss Hunter (Kelsey Grammer).
The storyline is loose and frenetic, with enough rapid-fire jokes that the plot often seems like just an excuse to string together random gags. The upside is that many of these gags are actually funny, particularly a baby-loving pack of wolves who somehow manage to morph themselves into vehicles to give chase. While the action draws inspiration from the likes of Monsters, Inc. and Shark Tale, the constant jokes keep it fresh, and things move along at a pleasant clip. Most of the voice actors do good work as well, especially Katie Crown, whose exuberance makes Tulip a lovably upbeat character. The animation is also quite good, easier on the eyes than the hyper-detail of The Lego Movie and occasionally stunning with the bigger set pieces.
That being said, there’s bound to be a joke or two along the way that falls flat, and some do. The worst, though, is the character of an attention-seeking pigeon (Stephen Kramer Glickman) who tries desperately to be integral to the plot, such that the writers obviously thought he was hilarious. Yet his awkwardness is so aggressively unfunny that it drags the film down every time he appears onscreen. If ever there was a side character that needed to be rewritten or cut altogether, it’s the pigeon.
Overall, though, Storks was a fun watch with some surprising heart. Despite the innate weirdness of the whole storks-making-babies thing, there are some touching moments and themes, like the value of spending time as a family and achieving a sense of belonging, with some familiar overtones of Meet the Robinsons thrown in. In addition, I liked that there was a subtle, though probably unintentional, pro-life sentiment in how Hunter and Junior refer to the infant as “it” to avoid a connection while Tulip insists on calling it a baby. Storks may be too hyper and scattershot to win any awards or popularity contests, but it’s an amusing jaunt of absurdity.
Best line: (Hunter) “Look at that sunrise. How can you not look at it?” (Junior, trying to humor his boss) “If I go blind, it’s worth it!”
To some, a forest holds mere trees,
With empty air between,
While one who knows to notice sees
A firmament of green,
Of life and lives and rarities
That few have ever seen.
What wonderments may hide out there
I cannot dare to guess,
But those who speak of creatures rare,
Withdrawn from man’s progress,
Perhaps perceive that empty air
Cannot be magicless.
_________________
MPAA rating for 1977 version: G (maybe PG)
MPAA rating for 2016 version: PG
With Disney so dedicated now to translating its past canon of animated classics into live-action films, it’s rather disconcerting that their attempts thus far have been fan favorites, like Sleeping Beauty or Beauty and the Beast, but not the lesser entries in Disney’s catalog. While remakes of The Black Cauldron and The Sword in the Stone are supposedly in the works and would be welcome, Pete’s Dragon is the first recent remake that actually had a chance of surpassing the original simply because the original is fairly lame. Yet, even though a simple updating of the tale could have sufficed, writer-director David Lowery took the essentials of the first story and transformed them into something closer in spirit to E.T. than to their source, providing an example of improvement for future Disney remakes to follow.
Let’s take a look at the original, a film whose “classic” status is more reliant on its age than anything else. The first Pete’s Dragon sees young Pete and his sometimes invisible dragon Elliott escape from a wicked foster family and seek a home in the seaside town of Passamaquoddy, where kind lighthouse keepers (Mickey Rooney, Helen Reddy) take him in and sneaky snake-oil salesmen (Jim Dale, Red Buttons) plot to capture Elliott. It’s a family-friendly musical in the vein of Mary Poppins, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the key difference being that it came out in 1977, a less innocent time when ultra-sincere stories like this began tasting too saccharine.
The silly musical numbers and childish wish fulfillment simply don’t work as well here, thanks to some dreadfully gee-whiz acting from young Sean Marshall as Pete. There’s a notable lack of Disney magic, perhaps due to a new generation of animators (including Don Bluth) taking the reins at the time, and some elements are downright unpleasant, like the abusive backwoods Gogans, headed by Shelley Winters, who want Pete as their personal slave. The songs range from forgettable to embarrassing, but Helen Reddy’s “Candle on the Water” is a beautiful exception and even earned an Oscar nomination.
I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on the original Pete’s Dragon. If I’d seen it as a kid, maybe I’d consider it a classic, as I do Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. The merging of animation and live-action is actually done quite well, and there are some fun moments sprinkled throughout the tiresome ones, like Mickey Rooney’s panic over seeing Elliott or the visiting mountebank who can’t pronounce the name of the town he claims to love. It was also neat seeing Jim Backus of Gilligan’s Island appearing as the town’s mayor. By the overly heartwarming ending, I even was able to recognize why others might find this as charming as Elliott himself. Yet my adult sensibilities couldn’t let me overlook its glaring flaws and often laughable excesses, like the soap opera twist at the end that explains away a character’s year-long absence with amnesia. With these earnest family films, it’s a fine line between delightful and cloying, and Pete’s Dragon is one member of the Disney canon that could have certainly benefited from a remake done right.
Thankfully, almost forty years later, that remake arrived. I debated on whether to call this review a Cartoon Comparison or a Version Variation since the original’s dragon was animated and the latest Elliot was CGI, but since CGI is still animation, I opted for a Version Variation. (Did anyone else notice that the 1977 dragon was named Elliott with two t’s, while the more recent one was Elliot with one t?) Yes, in the 2016 version of Pete’s Dragon, there’s still a boy named Pete and a giant invisible green dragon, but that’s really all this film has in common with the original. Gone are the brutish hillbillies. Gone is Dr. Terminus, the greedy charlatan. Gone are the musical numbers and the silly tone. Whereas established fairy tale films are expected to follow the same beats as their predecessors, Pete’s Dragon took the bare minimum of inspiration from the 1977 movie and made something new yet affectionate out of it.
Young Pete (Oakes Fegley) is still an orphan, but the beginning actually shows the loss of his parents and how his first encounter with Elliot saves him, after which the boy grows up as a wild child with his protective dragon friend in the remote woods of the Pacific Northwest. In place of Helen Reddy’s beer cask-skipping lighthouse keeper, Bryce Dallas Howard is pleasantly down-to-earth as Forest Ranger Grace Meacham, and her father (Robert Redford) still tells tall tales of spotting an enormous dragon out in the woods. When Pete is discovered and falls into Grace’s charge, the same familial bonds and adoptive hopes develop as in the first film, only done better and with more subtlety. In lieu of the covetous swindler who wants Elliott for elixir ingredients, the villain role goes to Karl Urban as Gavin, the brother of Grace’s lumberjack boyfriend. His desire to capture a fantastical creature isn’t the most original element, but he’s more like Peter Coyote’s man with the keys from E.T. than an outright villain, and a good moment toward the end reaffirms that he does care more for his family than about fame and fortune.
The latest Pete’s Dragon is perhaps a bit too slow in spots, but it’s an appealing contrast to the frantic comedy of most family fare these days. Unlike the 1977 film, all of the human performances are natural and endearing, and Elliot himself is masterfully brought to life in all his fluffy green dragon glory, behaving like a giant dog at times, which is perhaps different from the whistling original but not at all in a negative way. And as a huge Lindsey Stirling fan, I have to mention her lovely and wistful song “Something Wild” that easily makes my End Credits Song Hall of Fame and was my #4 song of last year.
Of all the live-action remakes Disney has created and planned, Pete’s Dragon seemed an unlikely contender, with a lackluster original with limited appeal. Yet even if it’s not the most entertaining entry, Pete’s Dragon may be the best live-action translation yet. While Cinderella and The Jungle Book did their sources justice, 2016’s Pete’s Dragon blows its predecessor out of the water, from the much more intimate change in tone to the uplifting final scene that offers a happy ending to Elliot as well as Pete. Notably distinct without the need to be edgy or revisionist, it’s a gentle remake that Disney would do well to learn from.
Best line from 1977 version: (Merle Gogan) “Say, have you seen anything of a mean, fresh kid, about yea big? Answers to the name of Pete.” (Hoagy) “Half of the kids here in this town answer to Pete. Other half don’t answer.”
Best line from 2016 version: (Mr. Meacham) “There’s magic in the woods, if you know where to look for it.”
Rank for the 1977 version: Dishonorable Mention
Rank for the 2016 version: List Runner-Up
(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a poem inspired by the art in the margins of medieval manuscripts, which, if you look it up, can be pretty darn bizarre. One popular subject I noticed was anthropomorphic animals standing up like humans, and this film immediately came to mind.)
What wonder-filled world have I wandered into,
So foreign to me and yet home to this zoo?
What strange sort of people inhabit this land,
Where hopefully eating the tourists is banned?
I’ve never seen animals walking like men,
Except for a viral show-off now and then,
But I, as a visitor, now must take care
To not let the seven-foot pig see me stare.
They fight and converse, like us humans, I guess;
Some threaten and hate, and some hate a bit less.
Now new cartoon worlds don’t appear every day.
The strangeness is fading; I think I may stay.
__________________
MPAA rating: PG-13
I don’t know why it took me so long to finally see The Boy and the Beast, considering how much I love director Mamoru Hosoda’s previous film Wolf Children. It feels both very similar to and very different from that film, but it carries the same creative touch that sets Hosoda’s films apart from Studio Ghibli or other anime.
The director seems to alternate the gender of his protagonists (a girl in The Girl Who Leapt through Time, a boy in Summer Wars, a young woman in Wolf Children), and The Boy and the Beast is much more of a male-centric story, as the name implies. After an introduction explaining how two fighting masters are preparing to face off for the rule of a parallel world of beasts, we’re introduced to Ren, a nine-year-old human who has run away from home and become deeply bitter after the death of his mother. A chance encounter with a hooded and gruff bear-faced stranger captures his curiosity, and he follows him through an alleyway portal to the beast world, a disorienting scene reminiscent of the spirit world’s emergence in Spirited Away. Though mocked, feared, and bullied in this land of walking, talking animals, Ren becomes the grudging apprentice of Kumatetsu, a warrior preparing to fight for his world’s lordship who also happens to be a juvenile ruffian. The two learn from each other, Karate Kid-style, and the mutual chips on their shoulders help them form a uniquely short-tempered bond.
Among the similarities to Wolf Children (aside from the appearance of wolf-headed background characters) is the theme of choosing where one belongs. While the earlier film made Ame and Yuki choose between life as wolves or as humans, The Boy and the Beast presents Ren with an analogous decision between the rough-and-tumble warrior life among beasts or the more scholarly and even romantic pursuits among his own kind. One of my favorite sequences is when Ren is older and connects with a female student who tutors him, a very sweet montage recalling the touching beginning of Wolf Children. Yet this film also faces the dark consequences fostered by bitterness and feelings of not belonging, which can threaten to swallow up their owner, here literalized as a soul-corrupting monster to be confronted.
Where The Boy and the Beast falters is oddly enough its key dynamic, the relationship between Ren and Kumatetsu. The way their antagonism belies deeper respect and affection is well-developed, but the constant yelling at each other becomes tiring after a while, making me wish for the far quieter tone of Wolf Children. In addition, the mythological world of the beasts remains a bit alienating at times, not helped by the long Japanese names many of them possess; the story runs a bit too long; and the big, action-packed, touching, meaningful finale may look impressive, but it only makes sense because the story says it does.
The Boy and the Beast has a lot to appreciate. I was particularly impressed by certain fluidly crafted shots, such as first-person perspectives that zoom through a scene or tracking shots that slowly extend to reveal something off-screen. The detail of the animation is beautiful, especially in that finale I mentioned, and, if you can get past the frequent yelling (which isn’t uncommon in anime), there’s an engaging tale of finding unconventional family at its core. It didn’t speak to me personally like Wolf Children did, but I can see someone else being equally as fond of it.
(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a georgic, which I may have confused with a pastoral, but both have to do with agriculture or country life. It may have only a thin connection to the film reviewed, but this is what came to mind.)
It’s easy to forget the joy
Of life dependent on my touch,
Of plants that never would have grown,
Sprouts that might have bent to stone,
Animals safe in their zone,
Pride in lifetimes all my own,
Though they don’t know it much.
So many want adventurous
And thrilling lives at large,
For every sight to be unseen,
Nothing staid or too serene,
Changed before it feels routine,
Nothing but a glowing screen
To be within my charge.
Adventure, danger have their place,
But when the thrill is gone,
They too will wish for their homestead,
Fruitful loam and flower bed,
Trust in what yet lies ahead,
Smaller lives now comforted
By one to rely upon.
________________
MPAA rating: PG
The Good Dinosaur is quite the mixed bag for Pixar. If DreamWorks or Blue Sky had made it, I might rank it among their best work, but for Pixar, it’s a weak entry in a filmography full of instant classics. There’s nothing especially wrong with this story of a timid young Apatosaurus named Arlo who is separated from his mountain farm and forced to survive and eventually bond with a human “pet” he names Spot, but like Brave, it’s Pixar at its most unoriginal. The plot borrows heavily from the likes of The Land Before Time, The Lion King, and Ice Age, and yet it still has moments of wonder, pathos, and heartwarmth (that’s a word now) that are staples of Pixar’s brand of storytelling.
I suppose my biggest beef with the film is the creative choices of its animators. On the one hand, the scenery clearly modeled off Wyoming’s Grand Tetons and Yellowstone is absolutely stunning, perhaps some of the most gorgeous animated landscapes ever; and on the other, the dinosaurs themselves are as cartoonish and unrealistic as possible. Nothing’s wrong with the animation quality, and a closer look at the dinos reveals more detail than is seen at first glance; but their general design looks like Play-Doh next to the realism of the backgrounds. It looked suspect in the trailers, and as good as Pixar’s animation is, I feel it was just a bad creative decision, making me miss the realism of Disney’s Dinosaur.
On top of that, The Good Dinosaur really is a missed opportunity. The stated premise is that the meteor never wiped out the dinosaurs, so millions of years later, it’s dinos that have risen to the point of an agrarian/herding society. I suppose their presence is meant to explain why humans never got past the caveman stage, but is that really the best that the creative minds at Pixar could come up with? Based on the description, I was imagining a modern-day world with humans and dinosaurs living side by side in some kind of fusion civilization, but there’s nothing here that couldn’t have feasibly happened millions of years ago. I feel like the “millions of years later” aspect was included just so that Pixar could put a dinosaur and a human together without drawing the ire of evolutionist date critics. A movie can suspend the disbelief of a dinosaur family farming, so isn’t the human-dinosaur pairing within the realm of credibility for a cartoon? For the world to be like this millions of years later is kind of a letdown.
Wow, two whole paragraphs of gripes might make you think I hated this movie, but I did enjoy it. The overall story may be simple and unoriginal, but Arlo’s journey to gain courage fosters a familiar kind of inspiration. The comedy is hit-and-miss, but there are a few dramatic moments that resoundingly hit home, whether it be the beyond-words stick-figure bonding between Arlo and Spot or the ghostly dream Arlo has at a crucial juncture. I also loved some magical scenes with fireflies and Sam Elliott’s role as a T. Rex cowboy, even if the dynamics of this dino-world remain underdeveloped. By the end, The Good Dinosaur may be disappointing by Pixar’s standards, but by anyone else’s, it’s a decent animated coming-of-age story that, like Arlo, proves stronger than its failings.
Best line: (Poppa) “Sometimes you got to get through your fear to see the beauty on the other side.”
(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a ghazal, an Arab poem form of couplets with repeated last lines, into which I tried to incorporate this interesting title.)
They thought they knew what to expect, until they were eleven.
The number of chosen elect jumped from ten to eleven.
This wasn’t the plan; they were told there were ten in the test,
Until it began to unfold, and they counted eleven.
Though tempted to end it because of the unwanted guest,
This crucial attempt at advancing meant all to eleven.
No danger, no drawback would ruin their chance to be best;
Game-changers, they saw, could distinguish the ten or eleven.
The challenge was simple: survive as a team coalesced,
But must the plans alter when ten are progressed to eleven?
___________________
MPAA rating: Not Rated (should be PG, due to a little brief nudity)
In seeking out hidden gems among anime, one need not focus on current releases, since there are plenty of older films worthy of greater recognition. Based on a 1975 manga, They Were Eleven feels very much like a classic, not just classic anime but classic science fiction, the kind of story that feels like an influence on sci-fi to come. Ten finalists of what is basically Starfleet Academy have one final test to gain entrance: a team exercise where they must survive together on a derelict ship for 53 days. The only hitch is that once the random candidates gather on the ship, they discover there’s an eleventh member, and no one knows who the extra is or what their intentions are.
With a plot that recalls Star Trek: The Next Generation and Ender’s Game and may or may not have inspired elements of them, the film does an excellent job balancing its diverse cast. This kind of ensemble in animation is rare, but the varied character designs help to differentiate the cadets on board, who include a king, a cyborg, two alien species, an apparent girl named Frol who insists she’s a man, and a young psychic named Tada, who serves as the main protagonist. All of them have different reasons for wanting to attend the academy, and their personalities often clash as they encounter obstacles, dangers, paranoia, and sabotage.
Except for a few explosive scenes, there’s nothing particularly special about the animation; it’s solid, and serves the story well enough, as does the English dub, which only feels notable because it features Steve Blum and Wendee Lee before they were paired again in the excellent Cowboy Bebop dub. They Were Eleven is a consistently interesting mystery, and while the ending isn’t exactly a big shock, it explores its sci-fi themes with intelligence, particularly Frol’s side plot that manages to both challenge and embrace traditional gender roles. It may not be well-known, but They Were Eleven deserves to be.
(The prompt for Day 7 of NaPoWriMo was to write a poem centered around luck or fortuitousness, such as finding something you didn’t know you’d lost.)
I found a lonely Lego head
That rolled out when I moved the bed,
A static smile on its face
And of his body not a trace.
What toys I’d played with in his stead—
He did not care, his smile said.
Where he was from, I could not say,
Nor what I’d used him for that day—
What worlds and exploits I’d created
Before he was decapitated,
Perhaps a knight as dragon prey
Or zombie falling to decay.
Though gone was every fellow piece,
His smile never seemed to cease.
Alone no more on outcast ground,
His hopes were met, and he was found.
His smile chides my lack of peace.
I wait, as well, for my release.
________________
MPAA rating: PG
When The Lego Movie burst on the scene in February of 2014, it’s safe to say that it surpassed expectations. Many smaller and lamer Lego animations had preceded it on television, and mediocrity seemed to be its destiny. Then lo and behold, the reviews came back positive, and directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, also behind Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, proved they could breathe hilarious life into the most unlikely subjects. I can’t wait to see what they do with the upcoming Han Solo spinoff.
The Lego Movie is hard to sum up because it’s a lot of things at once. At one level, it’s an ultra-fast-paced adventure about a normal nobody named Emmett (Chris Pratt), drawn into a larger world of Master Builders to thwart the evil plans of a tyrant (Will Ferrell). You know, typical hero journey stuff. Yet, at the same time, it’s an ironically self-aware multiverse of franchise crossovers, a stimulating commentary on specialness and self-invention, a critique of the extremes of both conformity and anarchy, a cornucopia of parody opportunities, and even a transcendently sweet example of the value of playtime. You know, not so typical animated stuff.
With its constantly frenetic pace designed for short attention spans, it’s not always easy to keep up, but there’s literally something for everyone to enjoy and laugh at. The characters are as diverse as they come: you’ve got instruction-following everyman Emmett, who discovers the Piece of Resistance and is suddenly labeled “the Special”; love interest Wyldstyle (Elizabeth Banks), who’s an obvious imitator of Trinity from The Matrix; Batman himself (Will Arnett), whose eccentricities are raised to jerk levels; the wizard Vitruvius (Morgan Freeman), whose prophecies are true because they rhyme; and ever-joyful Unikitty (Alison Brie) from Cloud Cuckooland, who for some reason is my favorite of the bunch. Not to mention the enormous supporting cast of foes and friends from franchises only a Lego movie could mash together.
Overall, The Lego Movie is a good amount of fun with some surprising depth for those looking past the vibrant colors and manic action. It’s not quite as funny as it tries to be or as sensational as its biggest fans treat it, but the sheer number of jokes and themes on display manage to hit more than they miss. The computer animation is unique in how it appears as stop motion, and this visual distinction heightens the sense of watching Lego creations that could actually be built if they moved with the imagination-directed smoothness of those microbots in Big Hero 6. The film’s hyperactivity would be harder to watch in larger doses (which is why my VC didn’t care for it), but the sharp social satire and brilliant cacophony of spoofs distinguish The Lego Movie as “special” among modern animated films.
Best line: (Emmett, upon being told of the villain and his evil corporation) “President Business is going to end the world? But he’s such a good guy! And Octan, they make good stuff: music, dairy products, coffee, TV shows, surveillance systems, all history books, voting machines… wait a minute!”
When I am dead, my soul no longer here,
What happens to my body is unknown.
‘Tis but a shell, an empty souvenir
Of my time in a world from which I’ve flown.
Most likely, it will end up in the ground,
A monument for time to chip away,
But if some more productive use were found,
Its former owner would not have a say.
If man no longer buried his remains
And flouted promises of “rest in peace,”
His conscience would be numb as it disdains
What once deserved respect upon decease.
What world of Frankensteins I’d leave behind
If man were to defile his own kind!
________________
MPAA rating: should be PG-13 or maybe older
The Empire of Corpses looks like an incredible, action-packed, thought-provoking movie, but it’s not. It just looks like one. Based on a novel by a Japanese author dubbed Project Itoh, who died of cancer before the book’s completion, this anime zombie film sets up an alternative steampunk version of Victorian England, where technology has allowed mankind to reanimate the dead as essentially robotic slaves, programming them to perform menial labor as a growing workforce in the world economy. These walking corpses can be recognized by their pale gray skin and passive expressions, but though they seem to understand and follow orders, they are without a soul. Into this hypothetical world is placed an amalgamation of historic and literary figures, a la The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. John Watson is the hero, a corpse scientist who has resurrected a dead friend he renames Friday and now searches for a way to return his soul. Blackmailed by M of the James Bond franchise, he sets out in search of the fabled research of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, aided and impeded by the likes of Ulysses Grant, Thomas Edison, and characters from The Brothers Karamazov and The Future Eve.
While that description sounds rather awesome, especially when paired with a world full of brainwashed zombies, The Empire of Corpses seems eager to spoil a good thing. After the adventure begins on a thrilling note, it quickly descends into opaque philosophical pondering and inscrutable character motivations. After watching it all the way through, I recognize a worthwhile, imaginative story, full of food for thought, but actually watching it scene by scene can easily frustrate and confuse. By the end, the villain’s revealed plot (the second villain since one wasn’t enough) is baffling and poorly explained, making it clear just how vaguely defined the laws of this corpse technology are.
I hate to be so negative, especially when The Empire of Corpses looks so amazing. The animation is crisp and atmospheric and brings this theoretical world to life in ways that far surpass the deficient script. I’m glad I saw it, if only for the visual flair, such as the thrill of seeing a woman on the back of a galloping stagecoach mowing down zombies with a flamethrower. The action scenes are exceptional, but it makes it that much more disappointing that the rest of the film couldn’t measure up.
The Empire of Corpses is not without its virtues; I would just like it much more if it made more sense. It does feature some intriguing themes about life and death and manages to create a unique entry in the zombie genre, complete with zombie suicide bombers. The English dub is actually quite good, but the animation is the main attraction for fans of the medium, though certain scenes can get bloody (begging the question of why a dead corpse would bleed). This film is one of three anime movies based on Project Itoh’s novels (the others being last year’s Harmony and this year’s Genocidal Organ), and I certainly hope the other two have more than visual merit alone.
Do you value your life,
All you have, all you know?
And for what would you trade it,
I wonder?
Could you ever decide
To what lengths you would go?
Would you grieve when you’d paid it,
I wonder?
I would never regret,
Says the fool, feeling smart,
To confirm his conviction
Till later.
But regrets always come
When we think with our heart.
‘Tis our own contradiction
And traitor.
___________________
MPAA rating: All not rated (should be PG-13)
Don’t judge a book by its cover, or in this case, a show by its genre. I would think most people even mildly familiar with anime have heard of magical girl shows like Sailor Moon or Cardcaptors, where a group of girls typically gain powers from some adorable talking creature and become cutesy superheroines. Not to dis those shows, but it’s the kind of formula that works well for kids yet becomes insufferable to outsiders and even older former fans, like me. Yet about six years ago, Puella Magi Madoka Magica (that’s Latin, by the way, not Japanese) revolutionized the genre under the mature eye of writer Gen Urobuchi. In American terms, that’s like Christopher Nolan directing a Barbie movie and making it awesome.
Since I’ve been reviewing only films up to this point, I’ll point out that Puella Magi Madoka Magica (I’ll just call it Madoka Magica to save time) isn’t just a TV show; it had a film follow-up subtitled Rebellion, and before that was released, the 12-episode series was edited and retooled as two theatrical films, the first called Beginnings, the second Eternal. Thus, that makes Madoka Magica eligible for my top movie list and well worth reviewing, since it happens to be my third favorite anime series, after Cowboy Bebop and Steins;Gate.
The odd thing about Madoka Magica is that it was marketed like any number of similar shows, light and innocent, and since it was original and not based on a manga, viewers had no idea what to expect. The opening credits are overly bright and cheery and the first couple episodes are nothing out of the ordinary, with the typical banter and buoyancy of color-coordinated middle-school girls, but don’t let that fool you. This series goes to some very dark and very emotional places, and it confirms the unwritten rule of watching at least three episodes of a given series before you write it off.
After school one day, Madoka (the one with pink hair) and Sayaka (blue hair) are rescued from a dangerous witch by upperclassman Mami Tomoe (yellow hair), who became a magical girl by making a deal with the talking animal-thing Kyubey: magical powers and the duty of battling witches in exchange for a single wish. At first, they’re awed by the potential of such a pact, but neither can bring themselves to trade away their old lives. Meanwhile, a black-haired new student and magical girl named Homura seems to have a mysterious mission to keep Madoka from accepting Kyubey’s deal at all costs. The story may threaten to lose your interest at first, but then comes a moment in the third episode that changes the entire tone of the show, a scene so sudden and shocking that it has burned itself into my memory, even though I knew about it beforehand. From there, the story spirals into tragedy, heartache, and themes far deeper than one would expect going in.
The characters are still young and naïve, and they buckle under the weight of the hard, regrettable choices placed upon them. They expect frilly costumes and to help people, and while there’s some of that, before long they must deal with disillusionment, death, lies, time travel, and the laws of thermodynamics. (Told you this wasn’t a typical magical girl show.) The catalyst for all this is Kyubey, who seems like a cute sidekick at first but holds much darker intentions with his Faustian contract. Even with his passive demeanor, high-pitched voice, and blank stare that gets creepier with time, he’s such a manipulative, logical little bugger that, by the end, I hated the very sight of him. He’s also essentially unkillable, but it was satisfying whenever anyone tried. Homura’s story in particular overshadows everyone else’s, and while she’s a mystery for most of the series, her backstory is remarkably compelling.
Like the story, the art style is also distinctive and layered with atmosphere. The animation of the real world is evocative on its own, often setting the mood with stylized angles and amber-tinged sunsets, and the character’s eyes have a unique sketched quality to them. Things get bizarre, though, whenever a witch appears in its labyrinth, not as a pointy-hatted antagonist but as a collage of stop-motion cutouts that go deep into surreal territory. The combination of the traditional animation with this dreamlike setting is often nightmarish and complements the story’s descent into misfortune, while certain scenes in silhouette are both beautiful and disturbing, incorporating artistic details evoking similar themes to Faust and The Little Mermaid. The action scenes are also very well-done, often with spectacular explosions. Boy, this series has everything.
I feel like I’ve been reviewing Madoka Magica the show rather than the movies, but the first two films basically are the series, with the first eight episodes making up Beginnings and the final four forming Eternal. They actually translate quite well, skipping over some of the awkward moments at the beginning and keeping only what’s necessary to the story, while retaining important character moments, like Madoka’s insightful conversation with her mother. Eternal has one extra battle scene and some revised animation but unfortunately includes some cutesy montages that feel out of place since the story’s tone had already changed drastically from the beginning. However, it does follow the same plot to the same heart-tugging finale. The series is full of tragic events that make me want to tear up just seeing the characters, but despite some overwrought execution of the cosmic twist at the end, the conclusion is sublimely bittersweet.
And then… they had to ruin it with a third movie. Rebellion may be more cinematic than the first two, but it’s nowhere near as successful. It tries to replicate the bait-and-switch of the series, with a lighthearted beginning that gets darker as it goes, but it does so by presenting an alternate version of events with an explanation far too long in coming. I suppose it’s a little satisfying to see the characters in the carefree life they thought they’d have as magical girls, but it indulges for too long. Sure, the plot eventually makes sense, but it’s not good when even those familiar with the story are utterly confused for over a half hour.
It’s not all bad. Once the plot deepens, it gets more absorbing, and the eventual reveal of the mystery reconfirms Kyubey as the most hateful cat-bunny-thing imaginable. There’s also an epic gun battle between two popular characters that is jaw-droppingly awesome and may be the action high point of the series. If only the rest of the story could live up to it. One side character has little reason for existing; the surreal visuals are the rule rather than the exception now, as if the filmmakers took turns animating their most unsettling drug trips; and the final twist took Homura’s obsession with Madoka in a wholly unsatisfying direction. And then it ends, with a brand new conflict introduced and no resolution. No! There’s talk of a fourth film in development, and while that may improve things if they can end it right, it doesn’t make the disappointment of Rebellion any better right now. Sequel-makers constantly ignore this demand, but don’t continue a series unless you can end it just as well as it already had!
The final movie aside, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a brilliant and memorable series, well-written, poignant, and impressively visualized. The music is haunting, the animation arresting, and the character motivations powerfully nuanced yet pitiful and open to interpretation. It’s the kind of psychological story that leaves me with a persistent melancholy long after it’s over. I’m including a fan-made music video down at the bottom (set to one of my favorite Florence and the Machine songs) that might give you an idea of its peculiar power. For anyone still reading this who may be hesitant to check out a magical girl series, I can only say one thing: Don’t judge a book by its cover. You’ll be glad you didn’t.
Best line: (Kyubey, the loathsome, logical little scumball) “Why is it that when humans regret a decision they made based on their own misunderstanding, they feel resentment toward the other party?”
Tied with his punch-worthy “If you ever feel like dying for the universe, call me. I’ll be waiting.”
Rank for Beginnings and Eternal: List-Worthy
Rank for Rebellion: Dishonorable Mention
Insults bring about turmoil.
Injuries cause blood to boil.
Sin and sufferings embitter,
Making spite a heavy hitter.
Malice merits some requital;
Are not victims so entitled?
Vengeance is a worthy cause
For those who follow their own laws.
And when reprisals hit their mark,
The soul falls further into dark.
Revenge does what justice intends,
But when it starts, it never ends.
___________________
MPAA rating: PG-13
I love animation, whether it be Disney, Pixar, anime, or any number of cartoons on television, so I’ve never thought of myself as prejudiced against animated media. (Would that be called an animationist?) My VC is of that mind, considering animation to be, if not inferior, then at least less effective than live action, and we’ve had some strong disagreements on that front. However, I’m split over the various DC animated films that have been released direct-to-DVD over the last decade.
While they all seem to attract excellent voice casts and usually critical appreciation, I can’t help but feel they are second-tier animations. Why else would they be released direct to DVD? The few I’ve seen have been good, but even acclaimed ones like the two-part The Dark Knight Returns seem to fall short of greatness because, well, they’re animated. No, now I feel guilty for even saying that. It’s not that they’re animated; it’s that the animation seems less of an effort and causes me to lower my expectations, even though The Dark Knight Returns is undoubtedly better than, say, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.
All this debate is to provide context since I’ve now seen an animated DC film that does stand toe-to-toe with its live-action cousins. Batman: Under the Red Hood holds to the much darker trend in the DC animated universe, evident right from the beginning, where the Joker (John DiMaggio) mercilessly beats the second Robin/Jason Todd with a crowbar and Batman (Bruce Greenwood) arrives too late to save his sidekick. Jump ahead five years to Gotham City, in which a new vigilante called the Red Hood (Jensen Ackles) keeps criminals in line by becoming a feared crime boss himself. As Batman investigates this lethally skilled foe, his past confronts him in ways he never expected.
Deserving of its 100% Rotten Tomatoes score, Under the Red Hood would have been fantastic enough with its explosive action sequences, but the triple confrontations between Batman, the Joker, and the Red Hood cut right to the heart of Batman’s morality. He and the Red Hood agree that criminals must be kept in line, yet their methods are diametrically opposed, with killing as the great line that Batman refuses to cross, for reasons rarely so compellingly delivered. Their final faceoff provides both tragedy and food for thought, an epic clash of moralities backed by the dark madness of the Joker. This version of the Joker is memorably malicious and unpredictable, and even if DiMaggio still sounds a little like his Adventure Time and Futurama characters, he once again proves how playing the Joker brings out the best in an actor, even a voice actor (except Jared Leto, that is).
Watching Under the Red Hood, I was tempted to throw it into the good-not-great category, but animated or not, it’s a mature and outstanding Batman movie. I wish the ending wasn’t so ambiguous, but this film gives me hope that perhaps other DC cartoons will be better than I’ve given them credit for.
Best line: (Red Hood, about killing the Joker) “What? What, your moral code just won’t allow for that? It’s too hard to cross that line?”
(Batman) “No. God Almighty, no. It’d be too damned easy. All I’ve ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn’t go by I don’t think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he’s dealt out to others, and then end him.”
(Joker) “Awwww, so you do think about me.”
(Batman) “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place, I’ll never come back.”
