How to Train Your Dragon (2010)

Posted on December 3, 2011 by badblokebob

I saw a trailer for How to Train Your Dragon at the cinema a few months before its release. Having never heard anything of it, I thought it looked to have basic animation and a too daft tone. I wrote it off, expecting the kind of animated movie that would be slagged off as a Pixar-wannabe… and probably still land an Oscar nomination because there never seem to be many contenders for the animated feature award. Imagine my surprise, then, when it garnered endless positive reviews and a huge box office. What?

My impression from the trailer was massively wrong. How to Train Your Dragon is, as everyone else has likely already impressed upon you, brilliant.

For one thing, it quickly becomes apparent that it’s magnificently animated and designed. What might appear smooth and simplistic at first glance actually has a lot of detail in full motion. A wonderful world is evoked with the design and the detail, of the humans’ lives and of all the different dragons. Even better is the cinematography (do you call it that in an animated film?) It’s genuinely beautifully shot. Roger Deakins — the Coen brothers’ regular cinematographer, not to mention all his other work and nine Oscar nominations — is credited as “visual consultant” and I guess that paid off.

Numerous action sequences are properly exciting, and well spaced throughout the film — it dives in at the very start and doesn’t let up. Intelligently, they’re used to build and reveal character rather than just provide an adrenaline boost. That applies to the supporting cast and the dragons as much as our hero. The flying sequences are particularly brilliant. This is one of the few made-for-3D films I’ve seen in 2D where I actually wished I’d seen it in 3D.

As noted, it skilfully finds room for characterisation and humour amongst all the battling and flying. While most of the story focuses on the relationships between Hiccup and his dragon Toothless, and Hiccup and his father, it deftly and quickly sketches in all the major supporting roles. That’s a sure hand in writing and direction, able to build whole characters and pay off their role with only a couple of lines or actions here and there. Plus, making you genuinely fond of and care for a cartoon computer-rendered fictional creature is no mean feat, and Toothless has all the personality to achieve it. Avatar wasn’t close to managing that.

Some plot beats and relationships are familiar and therefore predictable, but despite that they’re carried off with such emotion and humour that it really doesn’t matter. If you pause to think then you know how pretty much everything will pan out (though it may manage one or two surprises), but when you care about and like the characters, as I think you will here, that all becomes the stuff you hoped would happen rather than the stuff you roll your eyes at.

One thing, though: Scottish Vikings? And how did all the kids end up with American accents? There’s certainly some American Kids’ Movie Logic at work in the voice casting.

In the end, then, How to Train Your Dragon is the antithesis of my initial impression: gloriously animated and filmed (rendered?), with a perfectly pitched tone that manages humour, exciting action, soaring flight sequences and an emotional connection to its characters, both human and dragon. This would thoroughly deserve to beat most Pixar films to that Oscar, so what a shame it was up against the equally glorious Toy Story 3.

How to Train Your Dragon merited an honourable mention on my list of The Best Films I Saw For the First Time in 2011, which can be read in full here.

Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)

Posted on November 26, 2011 by badblokebob

Disney’s attempt to launch a second franchise in the mould of Pirates of the Caribbean, this time based on a long-running series of computer games, seemed to sink without trace last summer. Despite that failure, it’s not all bad.

To give a quick idea of its quality, Prince of Persia is analogous to an average entry in the Pirates series, only without the craziness and humour provided by Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow. This probably explains Persia’s relative lack of success: Pirates began with an exceptionally good blockbuster flick, and has since coasted on goodwill and affection for Depp’s character; Persia has neither of these benefits.

There’s not much to get excited about here, however. Like On Stranger Tides, it suffers from a surfeit of ideas that are equally undeveloped. Even though this shares no writing credits with that film, it’s what it most reminded me of. There’s an adventure story that wants to reach an Indiana Jones-esque style but fumbles it. It often feels like the genuinely important bits of plot and character development are quickly brushed over, instead spending inexplicably long stretches on barely-relevant asides. It jumps about like a loon too, feeling like a lot of linking scenes or establishing shots have been excised for whatever reason.

There are some good action beats, but there’s also plenty of disorientatingly-edited, CGI-enhanced sequences, as per usual for the genre these days. For the former, see for instance Dastan’s climb up the wall into Alamut (or whatever it was called), or the knife-thrower-on-knife-thrower battle near the end. For explosions of CGI, see the massive logic-shattering ‘sand surfing’ sequence in the climax. Visually they’re clearly trying to evoke 300, but without going quite so far in the stylization stakes. Also worthy of note is the opening, the latest CGI-enhanced rendition of the opening sequence from The Thief of Bagdad and Aladdin: Westernised Middle Eastern streetchild-thief chased acrobatically through streets of Middle Eastern Town by Middle Eastern Guards. (None of the above pictured.)

As this is a Hollywood version of the ancient Middle East, naturally everyone is a Westerner with deeply tanned skin who speaks with an English accent. Everyone in the past had an English accent. Jake Gyllenhaal’s accent is actually very good, in my opinion; Gemma Arterton’s voice doesn’t grate as much as it seemed to in the trailer (I have no problem with her in any other film, but there was something about the Persia trailer that made her sound… weird). That’s probably the best that can be said for either of their performances. They’re not bad, just not in anyway endearing. Dastan makes a fairly bland hero — I think he’s meant to be something of a cheeky chappy, but they didn’t get close to achieving that — whereas Arterton has the role Keira Knightley would’ve played five years ago. I think she’s meant to be a Strong Independent Princess but, much like Dastan, we’re told we should be inferring it rather than seeing any evidence of it.

Alfred Molina has the best shot at creating a likeable supporting role, but it’s a part that resurfaces for no good reason, acts inconsistently, and all his best elements are cribbed from better films. Like most of the film, then. An attempt is made to conceal that Ben Kingsley is the villain, and it might have worked if anyone else was in the role — heck, I almost believed it even with him… but only “almost”. Like most of the story, it’s all a bit stock-in-trade. It’s good to take inspiration from other action-adventure classics, but it also means that it all feels very familiar. The time travelling dagger, the film’s truly unique point, is too powerful as a plot point, meaning rules have to be established that limit its use… which means that the one unique element doesn’t actually turn up very often.

Prince of Persia is riddled with flaws, it would seem. Its characters are unmemorable, their relationships unbelievable; its plot is disjointed and, while always followable, still half nonsensical; the other half is by-the-numbers predictable; its action sequences occasionally shine, but are largely whizzily edited or CGI burnished (though, in fairness, they’re far from the worst example of either problem). I should probably dislike it quite a lot, yet while part of me says I should rank it lower than even the Pirates sequels (owing to the lack of charming characters or any trace of humour), looking back I kind of liked it. It’s not Good, but it is sort of Fine, and it’s by no means bad enough to inspire genuine hatred.

Plus, the sword-and-sandals milieu makes a bit of a change. I know we’ve had plenty of swords-and-sandals-flavoured movies in the wake of Gladiator, suggesting this is hardly unique, but whereas they’ve all unsurprisingly shot at the Gladiator mould, Persia is aiming for the PG-13 adventure-blockbusters style. It’s a shame that it’s not better, because said milieu and some of the talent involved could have produced a film in the vein of quality of, say, The Mummy, if we’d been lucky.

If you’re less forgiving than me, knock a star off. Or if you think you’d like the Pirates films better without Depp’s silly captain, maybe leave that star on.

Clash of the Titans (2010)

Posted on November 18, 2011 by badblokebob

The thoroughly blockbusterised remake of ’80s fantasy favourite Clash of the Titans came in for a sound critical drubbing on its release last year, much of it focused on the post-production cash-in 3D applied to the film. I didn’t watch it in 3D so won’t have much to say about that, but I found the film itself to be passably enjoyable.

Firstly, it’s brief — little more than 90 minutes before the credits roll. That can feel stingy in cinemas these days, where we have to pay so much for a ticket getting your money’s worth is important, but at home especially it’s suited for a quick bit of fun. Still, Titans could’ve done with more length to allow characters to grow — at times it feels like a genuinely epic tale reduced to a lengthy plot summary, speeding over the fine details in search of the next big plot beat.

There’s a fairly impressive cast — nearly everyone is famous or at least recognisable — and all of them are massively underused. Perseus’ team are dispatched in various fashions, but we don’t really care because their group dynamic has only been built a tiny bit. And I wanted to care, because there were actors I like and characters who had potential — even if most were built from band-of-warriors stereotypes — but the film didn’t do enough to allow me to. Every time it produces a good bit, it throws in some groan-inducing sentiment or cheesily pompous dialogue.

What the film is built to do is provide action sequences, though these are passable and rarely more. They’re fine while they’re happening, but pretty much forgotten after — none of it shows a great deal of inspiration. The history of film is littered with far worse examples, but that’s about the best I can say. I can see why it would be painful in 3D too: quite aside from the use of always-criticised post-conversion, and the apparent rush job on that, Letterier favours the modern action style of handheld jiggly shots and fast cuts, neither of which lend themselves to the 3D experience. Heck, even Michael Bay acquiesced to adapt his similar style when shooting Transformers 3 in 3D, so you know it must be true.

In fact, the action sequences would probably benefit from the expansion of character I mentioned before: caring about them would add jeopardy when their lives are in danger and some emotional impact when they snuff it. As it stands, Titans is an emotionally empty experience, much more so than, say, Inception, which was frequently criticised for similar shortcomings. In fairness, this is probably because critics thought Inception might deliver in such respects, while no one expected a pre-summer blockbuster like Titans to bother. And they were right to an extent, but while it’s never going to be an affecting human drama, it should bother more than it does.

Design is probably the film’s strong point, particularly sequences that feature the three witches and the ferryman. Clearly these dark, borderline-horror-film settings are the design team’s strongpoint. Elsewhere, the gods have an appealingly retro lens-flared-silver-armour look about them — I don’t remember the ’80s original very well, but one could imagine this iteration of the gods being dropped in without anyone noticing.

The CGI is complaint free, as with most well-budgeted modern flicks, apart from one glaring exception: Medusa looks almost as fake as the Rock’s Scorpion King from The Mummy Returns, which you may remember was lambasted even at the time — “the time” now being ten years ago. Oh dear. Maybe the passing years and abundance of CGI has affected my critical faculties here — that is to say, maybe side by side this Medusa would look a lot better than the decade-old Scorpion King — but, in the context of the rest of the film, that level of distracting fake-ness sprang to mind.

I’m laying into it almost as much as anyone now, but in spite of all that I sort of quite liked Clash of the Titans. It’s massively flawed in many areas, but good bits occasionally shine through. Unlike most blockbusters of the past few years, which tend to be bloated affairs in need of a good chop down, it would actual benefit from being a bit longer — some plot elements could do with greater clarity, most of the characters could do with some depth.

It’s probably all the studio’s fault for forcing major last-minute changes and reshoots. While I wound up enjoying what we got, the other version — as detailed by CHUD.com — does sound more interesting.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 (2010)

Posted on November 10, 2011 by badblokebob

While the final Harry Potter film continues to obliterate records at box offices around the world, I finally caught up on the penultimate instalment in the phenomenal fantasy series. It’s Part 1 of 2 at the end of a series that’s become increasingly serial, rather making this the Two Towers of Harry Potter films: it doesn’t begin, and it doesn’t end either.

Indeed, at times Deathly Hallows Part 1 is too heavily reliant on knowledge of the previous films, or even, for full detail, the novels. It’s understandable — you’d be a fool to take this as your first Potter film — but at times it could work a bit harder for those who don’t live & breathe Harry Potter; it could help along those viewers who could do with a little memory jog here and there. The pay off, however, comes in lots of neat or resonant callbacks across the films — Harry reminding Umbridge it’s wrong to lie, for instance — as well as within the film itself — Hermione obliviating both her parents and some Death Eaters.

Despite the series knowledge required, the well-established Potter team have created one of the series’ best instalments here. Long gone is the cartoonish frivolity of Chris Colombus’ opening pair of Children’s Films — this is Potter at his darkest, and not just in terms of the cinematography. Film franchises have come under fire for incessantly describing each new entry as “darker”, and none more so than Potter, but at least it’s deserved: this is a grim, oppressive world, where our trio of heroes are completely removed from the safety of school and on the run as fugitives. It rather negates author J.K. Rowling’s original conceit of having seven books each covering a school year, but hush, let’s overlook that (everyone else seems to).

Technically the film is well executed. Harry Potter films have had action sequences before, but few stand comparison to the bevy we’re treated to here: an in-flight fight/chase as a gang of heroes escape Privet Drive; a fast and claustrophobic duel in a cafe; the much-trailed run through a forest (interestingly realised without any score). It’s not quite an Action Movie, but if any Potter were to lay claim to that genre it could well be this one.

Elsewhere, several deftly constructed montages set the scene for what’s going on in the wider wizarding world while Harry, Ron & Hermione are on the run in secrecy. Similarly, the film massively cuts down on the novel’s interminable sequences of the trio wandering around Britain pondering things endlessly. Consequently the halfway point of the novel — Harry and Hermione visiting Godric’s Hollow at Christmas (if I recall correctly) — occurs under two hours into this 4½-hour adaptation. It’s one of the film’s best sequences though, the snow-coated village setting and almost dream-like pace evocative of both the magic and melancholy of Christmastime; its ultimately nightmarish events reminiscent of wintry fireside horror tales.

Talking of exceptional sequences, the animated one can’t go unmentioned. It’s wonderfully done, inspired by old silhouette animations, though achieved in 3D animation here, which is a pity. It’s still beautiful to look at, and it’s very fluid, but I can’t help but feel it would’ve been even more effective if they’d gone all out and done it in 2D.

Visually the whole thing is, of course, dark and gritty. I was always glad the films went for a ‘real world’ aesthetic rather than the ‘Saturday morning cartoon’ stylings of the books’ jacket illustrations, but the first couple of films still had quite a bright, primary-coloured palette. As I said earlier, everyone’s talked about each film bring thematically darker to the point that it’s become a cliché, but it’s true of the production design and cinematography too. There were a couple of scenes here where I literally couldn’t see what was going on.

Yates spoke of making this one like an “urban thriller” — and, having helmed the original State of Play, he’d know — and I think they have, more or less, in a mainstream fantasy movie way, achieved that feel. There are abandoned and decrepit industrial sites and burnt-out trailer parks to really push the feel, but it bleeds out into all the fantasy settings too. It’s cold, grey, bleak, tough — all appropriate for the dark times the characters find themselves in, if not so much for the pre-teen audience the initial books and films were suitable for. Themes of Nazi/Stalinist-style oppression are played up in the story (trials of those whose “blood status” is in doubt; listening to the radio for news of loved ones; Bellatrix’s torture of Hermione) and production design (the muggle-crushing new statue in the Ministry; the art style of anti-mudblood propaganda leaflets; the uniforms of the Ministry guards), but it’s subtle enough that it doesn’t batter you around the head.

The cast are, as ever, really just pawns in a bigger game. There are nonetheless some nice character beats — the dancing scene, for instance, which uses a Nick Cave song (in a kid’s film! Excellent). Anyone in the cast under the age of about 25 struggles to convince at one point or another, but the adult cast are as exceptional as their pedigree would suggest, even in their brief cameo-sized roles. Most impressive is CG character Dobby: Deathly Hallows takes him from being the most irritating all-CG character since Jar Jar Binks, to one who has a heroic and moving death at the climax of this film. That said, it was — much like the death of Sirius Black in Goblet of Fire — more effective in the book. However filmic the deaths Rowling writes may feel, the filmmakers seem to struggle to convert them as effectively to the screen.

And so, the ending — which isn’t, because we’re in the middle of the book. So how well does it work as, y’know, an ending? Quite well, as it turns out — indeed, one might even compare it to something like Empire Strikes Back: the gang are reunited and free of evil clutches (for now); the quest for the Deathly Hallows and the speculation of their meaning is all set up to continue in the next film; plus there’s an appropriately dramatic death. But this one was never truly designed to be an ending, so if you think about it too much it begins to work less well than if you just accept it. Still, having your villain acquire the MacGuffin we’ve been told is all-powerful and indestructible makes for a decent cliffhanger.

It’s interesting to consider that the ending was originally designed to be earlier, when Harry & co arrive at Malfoy Manor and Bellatrix sees his scar. It was moved it find an emotional connection for the ending, and I think it works. If it had ended where planned it would feel like a cliffhanger-ish point in a longer work; while there’s undoubtedly some of that in how it ends now, it’s a bigger, more dramatic point. A change for the better, then.

(As an aside, I think the order of the cast in the end credits reveals who has the best agent and whose could’ve worked harder. Have a read and think about the relative size and importance of their roles.)

Deathly Hallows Part 1 is, indeed, Part 1; but despite that it functions rather well as a film in its own right: there’s story development, character development, action sequences, and even a semblance of an ending. In terms of Being The Middle Instalment, it’s at least as successful as any other I can think of.

The final Harry Potter film, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, is released on DVD and Blu-ray in the US tomorrow, Friday 11th November, and in the UK three weeks later, on Monday 2nd December.

The Princess and the Frog (2009)

Posted on October 25, 2011 by badblokebob

With box office and critical acclaim sliding, Disney abandoned traditional 2D animation for their significant films in the early ’00s, switching to the computer-animated 3D that was doing so well for Pixar and Dreamworks. I don’t know if it helped the box office any, but it didn’t help with critics — it wasn’t the medium that was at fault, it was the storytelling. Notoriously, as soon as Pixar’s John Lasseter was put in creative control of the whole of Disney he instituted a return to 2D animation. The Princess and the Frog was the much-heralded first film after this change.

The resultant film is very enjoyable — not because it’s in 2D animation, but because it’s just good. Set in ’20s New Orleans, it retells the well-known story of a prince turned into a frog who needs a kiss to return to human form in typical Disney style: expanded, funny, contemporary, with songs. And that largely works. OK, so no individual song is exceptionally memorable, but their jazzy style suits the film down to the ground. There are no bad or dull ones (not something that can be said of even some classic Disneys, in my opinion) and all are certainly entertaining while they last. Though it’s a little brief, the villain once again gets the pick of the bunch. I’m biased that way though; others may well disagree.

It’s also a bit long. A tighter opening and, especially, journey through the bayou in the middle would’ve improved it. While I enjoyed sequences like the crocodiles, guiding fireflies or frog-hunters when considered in isolation, there are just too many stacked up back to back for my taste. The voodoo material seems like it might be a bit on the scary side for kids, though maybe that’s just because too many children’s films are sanitised these days — I agree with the regular argument that it was better when films and TV aimed at kids included a bit of a scare or sadness, rather than more modern entertainment’s attempts to keep them wrapped in cotton wool for too long. The death of a character in the climax also sits in the same vein.

One thing that can’t be faulted, however, is the animation. It’s beautifully done: backgrounds are gorgeously painted, character animation is fast and fluid. There are some stunning individual shots, like when the fireflies become involved in creating glorious lighting and patterns in the bayou, for instance. There’s a nice use of different styles when appropriate too: a blocky art deco rendering of Tiana’s dream restaurant during Almost There; a splash of something hallucinogenically psychedelic during Dr Facilier’s number.

Many other Disney films have stand-out sequences; things to latch an appreciation on to. The best often have several of these stacked up, in some cases non-stop from start to finish. The Princess and the Frog is missing anything like that (though some may grab on to Almost There or, like me, Facilier’s song), but what it has instead is a very consistent tone, where the musical numbers fit effortlessly into the flow of the story rather than stopping the film for a showpiece. This is also true of the very best entries in the canon — Beauty and the Beast, for arguably the greatest example — and while I don’t claim Princess and the Frog reaches such giddy heights, I think its consistency makes it entertaining as a whole film, rather than as an up-and-down collection of varying-quality set pieces.

Not Disney’s best film, then, but one I believe has come in for an unfair amount of flack. I really liked it.

~~The Princess and the Frog is on Disney Cinemagic today at 5:40pm and tomorrow at 4pm.~~

Tangled (2010)

Posted on October 21, 2011 by badblokebob

Disney’s 50th animated feature is Rapunzel in all but name, for no particularly good reason. It seemed to be met with universal praise on its release last year, critics hailing it as a return to Disney’s previous quality after a run of lacklustre releases, in particular the underwhelming return to 2D in the year before’s The Princess and the Frog.

Well, to get that comparison immediately out of the way, Tangled isn’t as good as The Princess and the Frog in my estimation. I’m not sure why it seems to have been more widely praised — it’s solid and good fun, but I thought Frog had more going for it.

Which isn’t to say Tangled is bad. It’s funny, which is its biggest asset, and exciting at times — as usual, the highly moveable camera of CG animation adds fluidity, speed and excitement to the action sequences, making them one of the high points.

It’s not all good and shiny though. The setting — a comedic-ish fantasy-kingdom world — can come across a bit like lightweight Shrek, lacking the anachronistic postmodern real-world references that made that film zing. Worse, the songs are distinctly unmemorable — I’d forgotten some of them by the time it came to their own reprise. A gang of thugs singing about their dreams is the best thanks to its comedy, but I couldn’t hum or sing any of it for you now. I especially lament the lack of a decent villain’s song, a number I usually particularly enjoy. It has one, I suppose, but it’s one of the weakest examples I’ve ever heard.

Tangled isn’t bad by any measure, but I don’t feel it should be the praise-magnet it became. There are certainly better Disney musicals — it can’t hold a candle to those; and there are better funny fairytales too — but at least it holds up as a solid addition to that sub-genre.

The UK TV premiere of Tangled is on Disney Cinemagic this Sunday, 23rd October, at 5pm and 9pm.

Sucker Punch: Extended Cut (2011)

Posted on October 11, 2011 by badblokebob

Zack Snyder’s fifth venture in the director’s chair is his first not to be based on someone else’s pre-existing material; or, to put it another way, the first wholly original story from the director of 300 and Watchmen. On the strength of its critical and box office reception, he may be relegated from the chance of doing such original work in future (his next effort, as I’m sure you know, will be a reboot of Superman).

I read a good summary of the critical reaction to Sucker Punch somewhere: that critics (and viewers) split into two types, one who thinks it’s a shallow story-free brain-dead over-indulged video game of a movie, the other who think it has hidden depths and themes worthy of exploration. And both sides are likely to call the other stupid, one for not being bright enough to spot the subtext(s), the other for bothering to read stuff that isn’t there. I side with the group that thinks there’s something more to the film, which, as the minority, I guess makes this review a defence.

I’m going to start by discussing the difference between the theatrical cut and this Extended Cut, because for once I think it makes a notable difference. Indeed, why this isn’t called the Director’s Cut is unclear: Snyder reportedly had to submit the film to the MPAA five times before they were satisfied to give it a PG-13; the R-rated Extended Cut restores all that, so surely it’s the Director’s Preferred Version rather than Version With Extra Stuff Bunged In? Some of it is significant in terms of clarifying the film’s story, themes and real-world/dream-world juxtapositions. If you hated the film in its theatrically released form they’d likely struggle to change your mind, but for those seeking extra clarity they may help.

From what I’ve read, there are lots of changes here and there, but it strikes me there are four major omissions or additions:

An extended Orc fight in the fantasy/dragon world. Fine.

The dance number to Love is a Drug. I’d wondered why it got replayed over the end credits! Presumably it was cut because it was a bit too much like a musical, which is an understandable (people don’t like musicals allegedly) but disappointing decision. It adds to the film though, not just in terms of being Something Different, but also showing us what the club/brothel is like during working hours. It’s a great sequence.

A climactic scene with Jon Hamm’s High Roller and Babydoll. I can only imagine how baffling it was for cinema audiences to see the Mad Men star turn up for one half-arsed scene (namely the scene which now follows the High Roller one, which had to be gutted to make sense in the theatrical version). It’s a tense, uncomfortable, challenging scene that adds a lot to chew over — especially in context of:

The smallest cut in length, but perhaps the most significant: when the Priest first brings Babydoll to the club, it’s discussed that she’s there to sell her virginity to the High Roller. Cut (like everything else) to get a PG-13 and because of the connection to that High Roller scene, it might sound like a minor omission, but restoring it clarifies both character motivation and some of the film’s themes, while juxtaposing the real world and dream world with, respectively, lobotomy and loss of virginity.

This is where the film is better than some would give it credit for: it’s not just a muddled excuse for some action sequences, it’s a dream-logic battle by a girl poised to lose her mind… or, maybe, already has. While her stepfather is taking Babydoll to the asylum for nefarious purposes, there’s little doubt in my mind that she’s already suffering serious mental health problems — PTSD, quite probably, seeing as she accidentally murdered the little sister she was trying to protect after almost being raped by the evil stepfather her dead mother has left them to. If you know anything of the crazy, fractured dreams/hallucinations someone with a damaged mind can have, and apply that to this film, it begins to make more sense as a story.

(Major spoilers in the next two paragraphs.) That doesn’t mean it isn’t a problematic depiction of this. Is the ending really saying a lobotomy is a great solution to mental health problems? It allows Babydoll to escape her guilt and remorse for killing her sister, but that’s hardly empowering — giving in to it is, thematically, tantamount to suicide. This is supposedly offset by the escape of total-innocent Sweetpea, which wouldn’t have happened without Babydoll, but that seems scant consolation. And Babydoll’s stepfather escapes unpunished, apparently! Oh dear.

That it was Sweetpea’s story all along is also an interesting conceit. Snyder does contribute to this — Abbie Cornish gives the opening voiceover, we first see Sweetpea in a stage-set like the one Babydoll was on at the film’s open, and when we enter the (first) dream world it’s Sweetpea rather than Babydoll who emerges from the rotating transition shot. But is that enough? Because we’re undoubtedly in Babydoll’s head throughout the film, the only exceptions being the real-world bookends in which we only follow her. (We do see the result of Sweetpea’s escape, but the visual style makes it clear it’s Babydoll’s imagining of what happened.) Maybe this is Snyder’s ultimate aim: it’s someone’s story told from the perspective of a (particularly interesting) supporting character. A little like the end of Super, actually.

This isn’t the end of Sucker Punch’s thematic implications though. Some say it’s a deeply misogynistic film dressed up as a female empowerment movie — look at the hyper-sexy outfits, the ultra-action, the fact it’s set in a brothel… Others probably argue it’s about female empowerment despite all that, but one of the more convincing arguments I’ve read says it’s about female oppression: these characters think they’re independent and fending for/defending themselves, but everywhere they turn there’s a man in control. Even in the dreams-within-a-dream where the action sequences take place, the girls are given orders by a male commander and they follow them unquestioningly. I suppose it’s all down to your personal perspective whether you see this as evidence of misogyny or of a deeper, more thoughtful approach. Let’s be kind and see the latter, I think — it makes the film more interesting, more thought-provoking, and therefore more enjoyable. And enjoyable is good — if you’re setting out to hate a film for the sake of hating it then… oh, then just sod off.*

A far wiser man than I once theorised that any work of art, once completed and released, belongs to the viewing public rather than the artist.** (This is a lesson I feel someone needs to put to George Lucas.) Part of what this means is, if one reads something into the work — a thematic discourse, a moral message, whatever — then it is there, whether the author intended it or not. And if the author intended a certain message and you get the opposite, well, that’s right too (heck, even if you subscribe to the notion the work still belongs to the artist and only their intentions are valid, clearly they mucked up their delivery if you got the opposite). So, in other words, it doesn’t matter whether Snyder wrote and directed his film to ponder or convey certain points or ideas, or whether he just set out to create something that was “effin’ cool maaan, with, like, action and hot chicks and stuff, dude” — what I (and other critics) have read into it is still valid. So there.

Like the rest of the film, the soundtrack is divisive. Some think it contains weak re-workings of excellent classic tracks, others that it contains interesting and appropriate re-workings of excellent classic tracks. I must again side with the latter. For instance, there’s a Queen/rap mash-up that I actually quite liked, and this is from someone who thinks the Wyclef Jean bastardisation of Another One Bites the Dust on Greatest Hits III is an offensive waste of disc space. The standout is probably the opening sequence, five minutes of dialogue-free brilliance with near-perfect visual storytelling (albeit aided by familiar imagery of abuse), set to a haunting rendition of Sweet Dreams (darkly, thematically apt for the entire film) sung by star Emily Browning herself.

Really, Sucker Punch is a musical. No, most of it isn’t sung, but every action sequence is accompanied by a cover song specially designed to fit with it, many (or all) of which in some way comment on or add to what’s happening. Not a traditional musical by any means, obviously, but the way it’s constructed around these musical/action interludes belies the truth.

Said action sequences are all inventive, but they began to feel a bit samey to me. There’s just too many, and though they should feel drastically different thanks to the variety of settings, Snyder’s style links them too well: they’re all shot in the same brown/sepia hue and our heroes all use current-day weapons and vehicles, blurring what should be a clear difference between World War I with steam-powered Germans, an Orc-riddled fantasy castle, and a robot-guarded train on a distant planet. They sound incredibly distinct on paper, but on screen it’s confusing whether they’re meant to be the same world or not. The last of these, a single-shot running gun battle along a train, should be a balletic triumph, but by this point the action’s beginning to wear. I love an action film, and especially a creatively-rendered sequence, and Sucker Punch does have a ton of originality, but there’s perhaps too much of an onslaught. Maybe it’s less battering on later viewings — another reason they cut back on it in the theatrical version, perhaps.

All of the dream levels (we go at least two deep) invite comparisons to Inception, though they’re radically different films. I’m sure there’s an argument to be made along the lines of Inception being a product of a very organised, methodical mind — all steel city blocks and precise Escher paintings made real — while Sucker Punch comes from a crazed creative place — a random grab-bag of ideas and concepts. For all those who complained that Inception’s real-world-influenced dreamscape lacked the creativity and madness of real dreams, Sucker Punch should be a marvellous experience.

Part of me wonders if, had I seen Sucker Punch in cinemas, would I feel the same way I do now? Would those big omissions have obscured the thematic depth I believe is there? To put it another way, how much do the changes really add? You or I will never know for certain. But I do think Sucker Punch has been underrated. It’s not the masterpiece I hoped it might turn out to be when I first began to notice the themes I think Snyder was (consciously or not) tapping in to, but I do think it’s a lot better and more interesting than most gave it credit for.

* This is not the same as disliking a film that merits disliking. But that’s a whole other discussion. ^

** The man in question where I encountered this theory was Russell T Davies, writing in his and Benjamin Cook’s book Doctor Who: The Writer’s Tale. A completely unrelated article that I just happened to stumble across later reminded me that credit for the concept “that once a work of art exists, it no longer matters what the author intended” more properly goes to Roland Barthes. ^

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides [3D] (2011)

Posted on September 9, 2011 by badblokebob

2011 #61
Rob Marshall | 137 mins | cinema | 12A / PG-13

No one had high hopes for Pirates of the Caribbean when it set sail for the big screen (sorry) in 2003. It was based on a Disney theme park ride, for chrissake! But no, as it turned out: a witty and exciting screenplay, some properly photo-real CG from ILM, and an immediately-iconic Oscar-nominated performance from Johnny Depp were some of the ingredients that helped it become an instant blockbuster classic.

And then, drunk on success, they churned out two disappointing, overblown sequels. Picking up on elements left vaguely dangling from the first film, the filmmakers somehow fashioned it to look like a trilogy (not that the first film doesn’t work absolutely fine by itself), and given the lacklustre critical reception and conclusive nature of the story, I think everyone assumed that would be that.

But no. Not when you’re Disney and have a franchise capable of grossing over $1 billion per film. And so here we get Pirates 4, with high hopes: they seemed aware the two-part-ish sequels hadn’t gone down so well, promising a standalone adventure that returned to the quality of the first film; it’s adapted in part from a largely unknown but beloved by those that do novel (which also inspired the Monkey Island games, which in turn contributed a lot to Pirates 1 — it’s all very incestuous); plus Disney insisting on cuts for a tighter budget suggested there’d be less of the sequels’ excesses.

It still cost $250m, mind, and the fact that’s what’s considered a cutback arguably shows.

Things start really well. The opening sequences in London are a hoot, Depp bringing some of the joy back to the character of Jack Sparrow that went awry during the last two films. We also get to see why he is actually a great hero, something occasionally lost under the drunken swaggering — look at his well-plotted escape from the King’s court, which initially looks like pure lunacy but turns out to be all clever set-up, for instance. The carriage chase through London streets that follows is good fun too, undoubtedly the film’s high point.

It’s pretty much downhill from there though. The film burns through ideas and plot points at a rate of knots. While I’m all for not stretching ideas thin — something that can happen too often in blockbuster movies these days — here the opposite is true, with not enough time devoted to explaining things, to characterisation, to making us give a damn about what’s going on or why it’s going on. They seem to think we’ll care about Sparrow, Barbossa and Kevin McNally’s character just because they were in the three previous films… and, in fairness, we do, to a point (well, the first two); but they also seem to think this will transfer to the new cast, and it doesn’t.

The love story between a missionary and a mermaid barely factors. Word was this pair would be the series’ new Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley, but whereas Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner were central to the plot of all the previous films (appearing before even Captain Jack in the first, if I recall), these two turn up late in the day and never have a chance to go anywhere. There’s also a surfeit of villains, meaning they either barely appear (the Spanish) or aren’t given close to enough screen time (Ian McShane’s Blackbeard). Every introduction is rushed, every subplot underdeveloped, every ending unsatisfactory. There’s too much, even for a movie that still runs over two hours.

There’s potential here, as there has been for all the Pirates films that followed in the wake of the first one, but as the quality continues to slip it’s becoming easy to believe that screenwriters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio hit a fluke with the quality of the first film and haven’t been able to meet it again since. And I would say most of the fault lies with the screenplay, because there’s little fundamentally wrong with the rest of it.

Except the 3D, maybe. I have no idea if this was a post-conversion or shot for real, but it doesn’t matter — it’s dull. Either things are too dark to matter, or it just doesn’t pop in the way you’d like. A couple of sweeping scenery shots aside, it offers no benefit. 3D is a gimmick and all about spectacle — I believe anyone who thinks it’s a serious filmmaking tool for the future is deluding themselves, at least until someone can prove otherwise (much-heralded work like Avatar certainly hasn’t) — but it’s a gimmick On Stranger Tides doesn’t engage with, in the process showing it lacks spectacle. And considering dark scenes obviously don’t work well in the format, I dread to think what Ridley Scott’s Prometheus will look like. (I probably won’t see it ’til 2D Blu-ray anyway, so that might be a moot point.)

I’m certain some will think my score for On Stranger Tides is generous, but despite all the flaws it still has its moments. I just wish that instead of churning Pirates films out ASAP they’d put more effort into developing the screenplay. Perhaps hiring new writers would help. But with a fifth and possibly sixth film on the horizon, and no significant change of scribe imminent, any such hopes are already dashed. And as this poorly-reviewed effort still grossed a phenomenal amount (third highest of the year; eighth of all time), Disney will still get their money and keep pumping them out. The whole situation is not so much yo-ho, more ho-hum.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides is out on DVD, Blu-ray and 3D Blu-ray in the UK from Monday, 12th September, and in the US from 18th October. Why can’t the Marvel releases from this summer be that way round, hm?

The UK TV premiere of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides is on BBC One tonight, 29th December 2013, at 8pm.

My Neighbour Totoro (1988)

Posted on August 19, 2011 by badblokebob

aka Tonari no Totoro

2011 #41
1988 | Hayao Miyazaki | 83 mins | TV | U / G

Once, a few years ago, SFX published an anime special (it was their first, I think) with a rundown of the Best Ever Anime Films. You’d expect it to be topped by something regularly cited and, considering the source magazine, science-fiction/fantasy-y — Akira, probably; or perhaps Ghost in the Shell; or maybe Oscar-winner Spirited Away. But it was actually My Neighbour Totoro that rose victorious on that occasion, an unexpected choice you could tell the magazine felt the need to justify even in the article accompanying the list. But they weren’t wrong — this is a deserving champion.

Totoro tells a charming story, where very little of significance seems to happen, yet is never dull or overly stately. It works to build a lot of character and affection for them, so that by the climax, when something definitely does happen, all the work that’s gone into the characters really pays off. It doesn’t whack you round the head with its impressiveness, in the way those other films I mentioned might, but instead sneaks up on you with the realisation that it’s a beautiful work.

The fantasy element is quite light, perhaps surprisingly considering the titular character is a giant teddy-bear-like creature. There are sequences of pure fancy, but it doesn’t saturate the film; it’s as much a gentle drama about two young girls in a new home waiting for their mother. It’s a little like Pan’s Labyrinth in this respect (or, rather, Pan’s Labyrinth is a little like this). It’s not scary in the slightest (well, maybe in the slightest, for some kids, but note the U and G ratings), but in terms of how it balances real-life dramas with the fantasy element. Only in both the real and fantasy worlds it’s a lot nicer, friendlier and cheerier than del Toro’s acclaimed fantasy-horror. To put it more succinctly, they share a similar structure and balance, but a completely different tone.

The story and characters are supported by the huge talents at Ghibli. It’s exquisitely animated, from the detailed painted backgrounds, to the well-observed character animation, down to little touches like flies around a nighttime light — things that have no need to be there but bring the frame alive. Jô Hisaishi’s music is equally beautiful. The music regularly plays more than its usual role in storytelling too, accompanying otherwise silent (bar sound effects) scenes perfectly. “Accompanying” is the wrong word — it’s not just accompaniment; it’s integral to the mood and the action. Normally such use of music is heavy-handed — “feel sad NOW”, “feel scared NOW” — but Hisaishi’s work is never that crass. It’s not omnipresent either, just appropriate; and it’s always adding something, without it necessarily being obvious what that something is.

The English-friendly version has advantages too: I love any subtitles which use semicolons. It’s not inundated with them, but there was at least one. Semicolons are so underused. I love a good semicolon.

My Neighbour Totoro is a very nice film — and not in a mediocre way. That’s not to say there’s no drama — see the climax — but there’s no enforced peril, no nasty characters. They’re not needed. It’s quite refreshing. Is it the best anime film ever? I’m not qualified to say. But it must be a contender.

My Neighbour Totoro placed 7th on my list of The Ten Best Films I Saw For the First Time in 2011, which can be read in full here.

Jonah Hex (2010)

Posted on June 28, 2011 by badblokebob

2011 #59
Jimmy Hayward | 81 mins | Blu-ray | 15 / PG-13

Jonah Hex is not a good film. Let’s just establish that, before I start being nice about it.

In fact, you don’t need me to be nasty about it — there are plenty of reviews that do that already. Those I’ve read are largely accurate. Despite that, I kind of liked the film, and not because I wanted to. I’ve read a few of the recent comics and enjoyed them, but this version isn’t really like those — they’re straight Westerns, whereas this iteration returns to a supernaturally-tinged version of the comics from some time in the past.

It’s difficult to know where to begin trying to praise Hex because, as I’ve implied, there isn’t much to praise. Unless you’re a 12-year-old boy, that is. Horses with Gatling guns! Giant cannons firing explosive balls! Corpses coming to life! Megan Fox’s corset-boosted cleavage! The undemanding pre-/early-teen is well catered for here. Possibly the undemanding child-minded adult too. I don’t think that’s why I enjoyed it though.

The movie is unrelentingly comic book, if one can use “comic book” as an adjective. Look at that last paragraph again: horses with Gatling guns? The physics of that boggles. But it has a certain Cool. The same for the ridiculously huge cannon that fires some kind of magic exploding cannonball. It doesn’t make historical sense, or even modern-science sense, but it is… well, it’s a Big Gun that makes things Blow Up. Awesome! Much of the film rattles on in this way. And rattle it does: 73 minutes before credits. As blockbuster running times spiral out of control, such brevity is almost welcome. It doesn’t feel exceptionally short, mind, except for when the plot occasionally jumps forward.

As the lead, Josh Brolin growls along marvellously. He deserves a better film. The character does too, actually. The President wants him to save America; he doesn’t care, except for that the person who needs stopping murdered Hex’s wife and child. Handy coincidence, that. There’s surely some drama to be wrung from that situation — grief, vengeance, all sorts — though no one involved seems to know how to go about it properly. The closest we get is a weird dreamy hallucinogenic fistfight. You’re right, that’s no substitute, but I did say closest.

John Malkovich does what he does as said villain. He’s been worse. Michael Fassbender is completely wasted as a henchman. I hope he was well paid. Megan Fox isn’t in it much. Her prostitute character, Hex’s new lover, is woefully underwritten and underused, turning up now and then to further the plot — usually improbably — or generally be a female. By “female” I mean “cleavage delivery device”. Considering her acting ability, her lack of presence is no real shame.

Jonah Hex isn’t good enough to be a guilty pleasure (like, say, The Transporter), nor bad enough to qualify as so-bad-it’s-good (like, say, Flesh for Frankenstein). Yet, while being fully aware it’s rubbish, I enjoyed myself. Not a massive amount, but a bit. Maybe it is one of those after all, then. It has a certain kind of B-movie charm, which is then intriguingly undercut by the A-list budget/promotion and awards-worthy cast. If it had been shot in Italy in the ’60s, a certain kind of person might just love it. Shot in America in the ’00s, however, its appeal probably lies with 12-year-old boys and… well, me, clearly.

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