I thought “Kung Fu Panda,” was it. THE most spectacular animated feature I had ever seen. My emergency supply of child-like credulity was almost exhausted as I watched that movie, complete with Kung Fu trained leopards, tigresses, turtles and of course, Pandas. Little did I know that Pixar had this neat little trick up their sleeve, called WALL-E; which succeeds at being three things at once: an enthralling animated film, a visual wonderment and a decent science-fiction story. That it achieves all this mostly without spoken dialogue is all the more astonishing.
Nearly 700 years in the future, Earth is an uninhabited wasteland. Pillars of trash dot the city skylines and the planet is surrounded by a garbage belt. Pollution, has driven all life into space. The robot WALL-E has remained behind, slowly doing his job day-in and day-out: collecting and compacting trash, then neatly stacking it. His only companion is an indestructible cockroach. It is lonely being WALL-E. He comes home at night to a big storage area, where he has gathered a few treasures from his scavengings of the garbage and festooned them with Christmas lights. He wheels into his rest position and goes into sleep mode. Tomorrow is another day: One of thousands since the last humans left the Earth and settled into orbit aboard gigantic spaceships that resemble spas for the fat and lazy.
Then, one day, WALL-E's ordered life is interrupted by the arrival of EVE, a robot sent by a spaceship for reasons revealed later in the film. She's sleeker and more advanced than WALL-E, who is visibly smitten by her. They form a fragile bond - until EVE unexpectedly shuts down. WALL-E first tries to revive her, but when that doesn't work, he is satisfied with protecting her until her spaceship returns. Unwilling to lose his new friend so quickly, WALL-E hitches a ride and soon learns the fate of those who abandoned Earth so many years ago.
One can guess, as soon as WALL-E starts, that it isn’t the average Pixar film. Instead of the vibrant colors we have become accustomed to, especially since the soft focused riot of vibrancy in Finding Nemo, this movie is suffused with browns. What is being shown, after all, is a post apocalyptic world where almost all life has ceased. The music is also atypical for a Disney animated movie. Instead of jovial tunes by Phil Collins or Alan Menken, we have excerpts from "Hello Dolly!!”, Louis Armstrong's "Le Vie en Rose," and "Thus Spake Zarathustra" (popularly known as the "Theme from 2001").
A lot of thought must have gone into the design of WALL-E, for whom I feel a curious affection. Consider this chunk of tin beside the Kung Fu Panda. The panda was all but special-ordered to be lovable, WALL-E, however, looks rusty and hard-working and plucky, and expresses his personality with body language and (mostly) with the binocular-like video cameras that serve as his eyes. Indeed, WALL-E has a heart to equal many of the Pixar/Disney releases to precede it, including Toy Story and Finding Nemo , but a sensibility that is more mature. This is one of those recent rare animated films that adults can attend without children in tow. And of course, central to WALL-E's narrative is the romance between the lead character and EVE. What's amazing about the way these two interact is that the animators are able to humanize them through tiny gestures. Neither has a real face and they rarely speak anything more than electronic approximations of their names, yet we grow to care for them as deeply as we might for any flesh-and-blood couple facing impossible odds in a live-action movie.
WALL-E involves ideas, it involves a little serious work on the part of the audience, and a little thought. It raises the bar and reminds viewers of the not-so-long-ago era in which every new computer animated film was a revelation. This movie possesses a vibrant heart and a solid story. The characters, despite being made of metal and having circuit boards for brains, are more human than the average protagonist in a summer blockbuster. Please do watch if you haven’t already. Resistance is futile.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
CAST AWAY
A modern day Robinson Crusoe story weaved by actor Tom Hanks himself along with screenwriter William Broyles and directed by the man who gave us that classic, Forrest Gump- Robert Zemeckis. Wondering why I’m not talking of that one instead- after all it won Hanks his second Academy Award. Here’s why.
(For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, read no further)
Hanks plays Chuck Noland, a FedEx efficiency genius. When his plane crashes in the South Pacific, Chuck spends the next four years on an island, all alone. The film carefully avoids the random island clichés. There are no sharks, no natives, no survivor cameos. There’s not even a musical score, the world’s laziest trick to steer emotions. There is just the sound of water, wind, insects and Chuck talking to a volleyball he names Wilson.
Sounding dull? It’s everything but. Hanks performance is a lesson in acting as he pulls off the part of a man losing his sense of himself in fractional gradations with masterful ease. Cast Away maybe a lesser talked about movie when you compare it to Forrest Gump or Philadelphia or Saving Private Ryan, yet it has the clear distinction of being the only Tom Hanks movie to star no one but Tom Hanks.
There has been some talk about how the run-up to the crash sequence and the tragedy itself is a bit over-the-top, especially as it occurs only hours after Chuck has handed a small yet conspicuously ring-sized box to his girlfriend Kelly, played by Helen Hunt in the movie. And of course the hero survives because we’re just about ten minutes or so into the movie. But, skeptics be damned, Cast Away’s finest moments consist of Hanks parading around the beach solo- I’d never have thought it’d be such a gratifying experience-just watching someone doing something. Chuck learns how to make a fire, catches fish from the water, deals with a toothache, and Hanks turns all this into something immensely enjoyable and terribly unbearable, strangely at the same time- which is a colossal testament to his artistry.
(For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, but are still reading, read further at your own risk)
Well. Chuck does make his escape eventually (obviously). And once he is back in civilization is where the movie bogs down a bit. There is the angle of the lost love (which could have been done without), and the angle of Chuck’s rehabilitation and reconditioning has been sort of painted over, which is sad and, frankly, unrealistic.
But until then, Cast Away is funny, fierce and heartfelt. Tom Hanks delivers an emotional tour de force and it wouldn’t be too far from the truth to say that everything else in the movie, the supporting cast, the editing, the camerawork - everything else is completely swept aside to make way for our survivor.
(For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, read no further)
Hanks plays Chuck Noland, a FedEx efficiency genius. When his plane crashes in the South Pacific, Chuck spends the next four years on an island, all alone. The film carefully avoids the random island clichés. There are no sharks, no natives, no survivor cameos. There’s not even a musical score, the world’s laziest trick to steer emotions. There is just the sound of water, wind, insects and Chuck talking to a volleyball he names Wilson.
Sounding dull? It’s everything but. Hanks performance is a lesson in acting as he pulls off the part of a man losing his sense of himself in fractional gradations with masterful ease. Cast Away maybe a lesser talked about movie when you compare it to Forrest Gump or Philadelphia or Saving Private Ryan, yet it has the clear distinction of being the only Tom Hanks movie to star no one but Tom Hanks.
There has been some talk about how the run-up to the crash sequence and the tragedy itself is a bit over-the-top, especially as it occurs only hours after Chuck has handed a small yet conspicuously ring-sized box to his girlfriend Kelly, played by Helen Hunt in the movie. And of course the hero survives because we’re just about ten minutes or so into the movie. But, skeptics be damned, Cast Away’s finest moments consist of Hanks parading around the beach solo- I’d never have thought it’d be such a gratifying experience-just watching someone doing something. Chuck learns how to make a fire, catches fish from the water, deals with a toothache, and Hanks turns all this into something immensely enjoyable and terribly unbearable, strangely at the same time- which is a colossal testament to his artistry.
(For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, but are still reading, read further at your own risk)
Well. Chuck does make his escape eventually (obviously). And once he is back in civilization is where the movie bogs down a bit. There is the angle of the lost love (which could have been done without), and the angle of Chuck’s rehabilitation and reconditioning has been sort of painted over, which is sad and, frankly, unrealistic.
But until then, Cast Away is funny, fierce and heartfelt. Tom Hanks delivers an emotional tour de force and it wouldn’t be too far from the truth to say that everything else in the movie, the supporting cast, the editing, the camerawork - everything else is completely swept aside to make way for our survivor.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS
Scarcely ever have I felt the presence of Evil so manifestly demonstrated in film as in the first appearance of Anthony Hopkins in "The Silence of the Lambs." As he stands perfectly still in the middle of his cell floor, arms at his sides, there is this instant sense of a savage animal completely confident of the brutality coiled up inside him. His speaking voice has the precision of a man so arrogant he can barely be bothered to address the sloppy intelligence of the ordinary person. The effect of this scene is so powerful that it underlines the rest of the movie, lending terror to scenes that do not even involve him.
The notion of the beauty and the beast is of course central to most horror stories, but, watching "The Silence of the Lambs" for possibly the fifth time recently, I began to fully appreciate how the movie incorporates most great universal phobias and dreads- involving not only cannibalism and the skinning of people, but also kidnapping, being trapped in the bottom of a well, decomposing corpses, large insects, being lost in the dark, being tracked by someone you cannot see, not being able to get people to believe you, creatures who jump from the shadows, people who know your deepest secrets, doors that slam shut behind you, beheadings, bizarre sexual perversions, and being a short woman in an elevator full of tall men.
The way great entrances in movies go- Hopkins’ is prepared carefully and diligently. He is a brilliant psychiatrist and a mass murderer and the coolness that exudes from him even when he is behind bars (and unbreakable plexiglass) is characteristic of his “cannibalistic” instincts. Of course, if the movie were not so well made, it would be ludicrous. Bold experiments like these lure filmmakers to take chances and punish them mercilessly if they fail. The director, Jonathan Demme, is no doubt aware of the hazards of the trade but does not hesitate to take these chances. Hopkins’ opening scene could have gone over the top, and in the hands of a lesser actor almost certainly would have. But Hopkins is of the great British tradition of actors who internalize instead of overact, and his Hannibal Lecter is as paradoxical as he should be- savage yet sophisticated, endearing yet brutal. Jodie Foster, on the other hand, though inevitably upstaged by Hopkins’ rich and gruesome performance, captures one’s attention by her character portrayal of Clarice Starling, a young FBI trainee who is used as bait for Dr. Lecter. Her steadiness and pluck are at the heart of the movie as her inexperience, uncertainty and plain fear reflect beautifully in Foster’s pale, translucent face.
Some interesting aspects have been provided for her character: She is "one generation up from white trash," as Lecter correctly guesses; she tries to disguise her accent, and she has to muster up all of her courage to order a roomful of lascivious lawmen out of an autopsy room. The movie has an undercurrent of unwelcome male attention toward her character; rarely in a movie have I been made more aware of the subtle sexual pressures men put upon women just with their eyes.
Against these qualities, the weak points of the movie are probably not very important, but there are some. The details of Foster's final showdown with another psychopath killer are scarcely believable and Director Jonathan Demme lets Lecter get away with some unnecessary display of blood and gore as he deceives his captors.
But against these flaws are balanced true suspense, unblinking horror and an Anthony Hopkins performance that is likely to be referred to for many years when horror movies are discussed.
The notion of the beauty and the beast is of course central to most horror stories, but, watching "The Silence of the Lambs" for possibly the fifth time recently, I began to fully appreciate how the movie incorporates most great universal phobias and dreads- involving not only cannibalism and the skinning of people, but also kidnapping, being trapped in the bottom of a well, decomposing corpses, large insects, being lost in the dark, being tracked by someone you cannot see, not being able to get people to believe you, creatures who jump from the shadows, people who know your deepest secrets, doors that slam shut behind you, beheadings, bizarre sexual perversions, and being a short woman in an elevator full of tall men.
The way great entrances in movies go- Hopkins’ is prepared carefully and diligently. He is a brilliant psychiatrist and a mass murderer and the coolness that exudes from him even when he is behind bars (and unbreakable plexiglass) is characteristic of his “cannibalistic” instincts. Of course, if the movie were not so well made, it would be ludicrous. Bold experiments like these lure filmmakers to take chances and punish them mercilessly if they fail. The director, Jonathan Demme, is no doubt aware of the hazards of the trade but does not hesitate to take these chances. Hopkins’ opening scene could have gone over the top, and in the hands of a lesser actor almost certainly would have. But Hopkins is of the great British tradition of actors who internalize instead of overact, and his Hannibal Lecter is as paradoxical as he should be- savage yet sophisticated, endearing yet brutal. Jodie Foster, on the other hand, though inevitably upstaged by Hopkins’ rich and gruesome performance, captures one’s attention by her character portrayal of Clarice Starling, a young FBI trainee who is used as bait for Dr. Lecter. Her steadiness and pluck are at the heart of the movie as her inexperience, uncertainty and plain fear reflect beautifully in Foster’s pale, translucent face.
Some interesting aspects have been provided for her character: She is "one generation up from white trash," as Lecter correctly guesses; she tries to disguise her accent, and she has to muster up all of her courage to order a roomful of lascivious lawmen out of an autopsy room. The movie has an undercurrent of unwelcome male attention toward her character; rarely in a movie have I been made more aware of the subtle sexual pressures men put upon women just with their eyes.
Against these qualities, the weak points of the movie are probably not very important, but there are some. The details of Foster's final showdown with another psychopath killer are scarcely believable and Director Jonathan Demme lets Lecter get away with some unnecessary display of blood and gore as he deceives his captors.
But against these flaws are balanced true suspense, unblinking horror and an Anthony Hopkins performance that is likely to be referred to for many years when horror movies are discussed.
SCHINDLER'S LIST
I am thankful this film exists. Steven Spielberg delivers a genuine work of art- the film is a triumph of restraint and intelligence- the most definitive Holocaust drama.
The movie is 184 minutes long, and like all great movies, it seems too short. It begins with Schindler (Liam Neeson), a tall, strong man with an intimidating physical presence. He dresses expensively and frequents nightclubs, buying caviar and champagne for Nazi officers and their girls, and he likes to get his picture taken with the top brass. He wears a Nazi party emblem proudly in his buttonhole. The authorities are happy to help him open a factory to build enameled cooking utensils that army kitchens can use. He is happy to hire Jews because their wages are lower, and Schindler will get richer that way. Thus, here is a man who saw his chance at the beginning of World War II. His goal was to become a millionaire. Schindler's genius was in bribing, scheming, conning. He knows nothing about running a factory and finds Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley), a Jewish accountant, to handle that side of things. Stern moves through the streets of Krakow, hiring Jews for Schindler. Because the factory is a protected war industry, a job there may guarantee longer life. But even as the movie progresses, by the end of the war, Schindler had risked his life and spent his fortune to save those Jews and had defrauded the Nazis for months.
Why did he change? What happened to turn him from a victimizer into a humanitarian? It is to the great credit of Steven Spielberg that his film does not even attempt to answer that question. Any possible answer would be too simple, an insult to the mystery of Schindler's life. The Holocaust was a vast evil engine set whirling by racism and madness. Schindler outsmarted it, in his own little corner of the war, but he seems to have had no plan, to have improvised out of impulses that remained unclear even to himself. In this movie, the best he has ever made, Spielberg treats the fact of the Holocaust and the miracle of Schindler's feat without the easy formulas of fiction.
The relationship between Schindler and Stern is developed by Spielberg with enormous subtlety. At the beginning of the war, Schindler wants only to make money, and at the end he wants only to save "his" Jews. We know that Stern understands this. But there is no moment when Schindler and Stern bluntly state what is happening, perhaps because to say certain things aloud could result in death. Stern, in fact, becomes Schindler's conscience in a process of awakening that begins during the liquidation of the Krakow ghetto. Sitting mightily on horseback, gazing down at the chaos, Schindler spots a little girl in a red coat (the only bit of color in the black-and-white frame) wandering through the crowd. Spielberg and screenwriter Steven Zaillian don't hype this wake-up call too much, but the point is clear: Drawn into identification with this lonely, anonymous girl, Schindler sees the Jews as actual, suffering people, not cheap labor. And he launches a conscious, aggressive plan to save as many of them as possible, losing his fortune in the bargain.
This subtlety is Spielberg's strength all through the film. His screenplay, by Steven Zaillian, based on the novel by Thomas Keneally, isn't based on contrived melodrama. Instead, Spielberg relies on a series of incidents, seen clearly and without artificial manipulation, and by witnessing those incidents we understand what little can be known about Schindler and his scheme.
We also see the Holocaust in a vivid and terrible way. Spielberg gives us a Nazi prison camp commandant named Goeth (Ralph Fiennes) who is a study in the stupidity of evil. From the verandah of his "villa," overlooking the prison yard, he shoots Jews for target practice. Goeth is one of those weak hypocrites who upholds an ideal but makes himself an exception to it; he preaches the death of the Jews, and then chooses a pretty one named Helen Hirsch (Embeth Davidtz) to be his maid and falls in love with her. He does not find it monstrous that her people are being exterminated, and she is spared on his affectionate whim. He sees his personal needs as more important than right or wrong, life or death. As Amon Goeth, Ralph Fiennes is magnificent.
Shooting in black and white on many of the actual locations of the events in the story (including Schindler's original factory and even the gates of Auschwitz), Spielberg shows Schindler dealing with the madness of the Nazi system. He bribes, he wheedles, he bluffs, he escapes discovery by the skin of his teeth. What is most amazing about this film is how completely Spielberg serves his story. The movie is brilliantly acted, written, directed and seen. Individual scenes are masterpieces of art direction, cinematography, special effects, crowd control. Yet Spielberg, the stylist whose films often have gloried in shots we are intended to notice and remember, disappears into his work. Neeson, Kingsley and the other actors are devoid of acting flourishes. There is a single-mindedness to the enterprise that is awesome.
At the end of the film, there is a sequence of overwhelming emotional impact, involving the actual people who were saved by Schindler. We learn that "Schindler's Jews" and their descendants today number about 6,000 and that the Jewish population of Poland is 4,000. The obvious lesson would seem to be that Schindler did more than a whole nation to spare its Jews. That would be too simple. The film's message is that one man did something, while in the face of the Holocaust others were paralyzed. Perhaps it took a Schindler, enigmatic and reckless, without a plan, heedless of risk, a con man, to do what he did. No rational man with a sensible plan would have gotten as far.
The French author Flaubert once wrote that, "An author in his book must be like God in the universe, present everywhere and visible nowhere." That would describe Spielberg, the author of this film. He depicts the evil of the Holocaust, and he tells an incredible story of how it was robbed of some of its intended victims. He does so without the tricks of his trade, the directorial and dramatic contrivances that would inspire the usual melodramatic payoffs. Spielberg is not visible in this film. But his restraint and passion are present in every shot.
The movie is 184 minutes long, and like all great movies, it seems too short. It begins with Schindler (Liam Neeson), a tall, strong man with an intimidating physical presence. He dresses expensively and frequents nightclubs, buying caviar and champagne for Nazi officers and their girls, and he likes to get his picture taken with the top brass. He wears a Nazi party emblem proudly in his buttonhole. The authorities are happy to help him open a factory to build enameled cooking utensils that army kitchens can use. He is happy to hire Jews because their wages are lower, and Schindler will get richer that way. Thus, here is a man who saw his chance at the beginning of World War II. His goal was to become a millionaire. Schindler's genius was in bribing, scheming, conning. He knows nothing about running a factory and finds Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley), a Jewish accountant, to handle that side of things. Stern moves through the streets of Krakow, hiring Jews for Schindler. Because the factory is a protected war industry, a job there may guarantee longer life. But even as the movie progresses, by the end of the war, Schindler had risked his life and spent his fortune to save those Jews and had defrauded the Nazis for months.
Why did he change? What happened to turn him from a victimizer into a humanitarian? It is to the great credit of Steven Spielberg that his film does not even attempt to answer that question. Any possible answer would be too simple, an insult to the mystery of Schindler's life. The Holocaust was a vast evil engine set whirling by racism and madness. Schindler outsmarted it, in his own little corner of the war, but he seems to have had no plan, to have improvised out of impulses that remained unclear even to himself. In this movie, the best he has ever made, Spielberg treats the fact of the Holocaust and the miracle of Schindler's feat without the easy formulas of fiction.
The relationship between Schindler and Stern is developed by Spielberg with enormous subtlety. At the beginning of the war, Schindler wants only to make money, and at the end he wants only to save "his" Jews. We know that Stern understands this. But there is no moment when Schindler and Stern bluntly state what is happening, perhaps because to say certain things aloud could result in death. Stern, in fact, becomes Schindler's conscience in a process of awakening that begins during the liquidation of the Krakow ghetto. Sitting mightily on horseback, gazing down at the chaos, Schindler spots a little girl in a red coat (the only bit of color in the black-and-white frame) wandering through the crowd. Spielberg and screenwriter Steven Zaillian don't hype this wake-up call too much, but the point is clear: Drawn into identification with this lonely, anonymous girl, Schindler sees the Jews as actual, suffering people, not cheap labor. And he launches a conscious, aggressive plan to save as many of them as possible, losing his fortune in the bargain.
This subtlety is Spielberg's strength all through the film. His screenplay, by Steven Zaillian, based on the novel by Thomas Keneally, isn't based on contrived melodrama. Instead, Spielberg relies on a series of incidents, seen clearly and without artificial manipulation, and by witnessing those incidents we understand what little can be known about Schindler and his scheme.
We also see the Holocaust in a vivid and terrible way. Spielberg gives us a Nazi prison camp commandant named Goeth (Ralph Fiennes) who is a study in the stupidity of evil. From the verandah of his "villa," overlooking the prison yard, he shoots Jews for target practice. Goeth is one of those weak hypocrites who upholds an ideal but makes himself an exception to it; he preaches the death of the Jews, and then chooses a pretty one named Helen Hirsch (Embeth Davidtz) to be his maid and falls in love with her. He does not find it monstrous that her people are being exterminated, and she is spared on his affectionate whim. He sees his personal needs as more important than right or wrong, life or death. As Amon Goeth, Ralph Fiennes is magnificent.
Shooting in black and white on many of the actual locations of the events in the story (including Schindler's original factory and even the gates of Auschwitz), Spielberg shows Schindler dealing with the madness of the Nazi system. He bribes, he wheedles, he bluffs, he escapes discovery by the skin of his teeth. What is most amazing about this film is how completely Spielberg serves his story. The movie is brilliantly acted, written, directed and seen. Individual scenes are masterpieces of art direction, cinematography, special effects, crowd control. Yet Spielberg, the stylist whose films often have gloried in shots we are intended to notice and remember, disappears into his work. Neeson, Kingsley and the other actors are devoid of acting flourishes. There is a single-mindedness to the enterprise that is awesome.
At the end of the film, there is a sequence of overwhelming emotional impact, involving the actual people who were saved by Schindler. We learn that "Schindler's Jews" and their descendants today number about 6,000 and that the Jewish population of Poland is 4,000. The obvious lesson would seem to be that Schindler did more than a whole nation to spare its Jews. That would be too simple. The film's message is that one man did something, while in the face of the Holocaust others were paralyzed. Perhaps it took a Schindler, enigmatic and reckless, without a plan, heedless of risk, a con man, to do what he did. No rational man with a sensible plan would have gotten as far.
The French author Flaubert once wrote that, "An author in his book must be like God in the universe, present everywhere and visible nowhere." That would describe Spielberg, the author of this film. He depicts the evil of the Holocaust, and he tells an incredible story of how it was robbed of some of its intended victims. He does so without the tricks of his trade, the directorial and dramatic contrivances that would inspire the usual melodramatic payoffs. Spielberg is not visible in this film. But his restraint and passion are present in every shot.
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