Moana Review

Where most animated kid movies rely on current pop-songs to make their films meet the definition of "musical," Moana, the latest Disney Princess flick, aces that criteria and rewrites it. From the directors of Hercules and The Princess and the Frog, among others, this fifty sixth animated tale from the house of mouse tells a rather simple story with a level of narrative cohesiveness that Frozen lost by the time they time Elsa ran off and, sign, let it go. Sometimes restraint can make things grander.

Dwayne Johnson plays Maui, a demigod shapeshifter, who is inadvertingly destroying the lovely world of Moana, played by Auli'i Cravalho, a spunky and rebellious daughter of a village chief. Her mission, to restore beauty and life to her island, takes her not only on and under water, but also across caves and mountains, but each feel distinct, whether it is echos in the former or a passive breeze on the latter. Colors change, sometimes drastically, to paint the mood, and one sharp swap to bright purple roughly halfway through the 103 minute long movie, happens during a song!

On the subject of songs, though only time will tell whether or not they are memorable, not only get kids dancing in the theater but also help move the story along. For example, Maui sings (with surprising grace from the former wrestler) a humorous theme song to boast about his achievements, with a thick layer of cocky machismo of course, to distract titular Moana while he attempts to steal her boat. Lesser films would have simply injected a song before using trite dialogue to progress the story. And it happens again, when Tamatoa, a giant crab who likes shimmering things (trust me, it makes more sense when watching the movie), moves character development along in an otherwise random tune about his shiny shell. Only the best musicals make the songs feel integral to the plot, and of Disney's own, this is an achievement.

The animation itself, predominately 3D but with some 2D work, is exceptional, crafting a lush world, often with jokes both in the foreground and in the background. Wide pans of the camera expose the peaceful village doing mundane tasks with the level of goofy charm that only the directors of Aladdin could conjure up. Late in the film the top-billed duo are pursued by a gang of coconut pirates, where seemingly thousands of animated coconuts captain a Brobdingnagian ship in a large scale portraiture of swashbuckle and slapstick.

Distinct here is the lack of a love interest, for either of the main characters, which trades our ears another sappy love song for one of the more creative compositions here. More importantly it gives our heroine more important things to think about than a man, and trust me, I am a guy and I cannot think of another reason why woman put up with us other than for procreation. But most egregious is the lack of a solid villain, perhaps the only gripe here. Half the fun of Disney films are the villains, especially when you have the makers of Jafar and Doctor Facilier helming this one.

Its Hawaiian-backdrop is a wise one; a destination pined for by many on their pipe dream of a vacation, takes liberties only to exaggerate what is wonderful about the environment. Right down to the sand, so detailed you would swear you could feel the grainy material under your bare feet. Compare that to other, less films, whether from Disney or a rival: Zootopia, a fine film in its own right, simply replaces humans in sprawling urban landscapes with animals- what world does that create? Or The Secret Life of Pets, where similar cityscapes contain both humans AND animals, albeit a highly caricatured one. Here, you want to be in this world, both the real and the cartoon versions.

One peculiar thing I noticed was that when Moana, marked the next chief of her village, goes against the tradition of her father (and his father, and so on) by placing a seashell instead of a stone slab one the top of the long aforementioned mountain top. The film ends with a seashell atop a tall tower of flat rocks, presumably signifying her love of the ocean, but what does the next chief do? Crush the shell by placing another stone? Or do they put another seashell on top? I do not think those stack too easily.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them Review

I can imagine that J.K. Rowling, in 2011 after the premier of the last Harry Potter film, looked at all the money she had made and said "yeah, I'd like to make more," which is exactly how this film ends up feeling. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is the name of this first Harry Potter spin-off, and it achieves something only the first two film's could: whimsy. The plot, in where Newt Scamander, played by Eddie Redmayne, arrives in New York with a suitcase packed with fantastical creatures, and inadvertently unleashes them in the Big Apple. He and his friends set off to recapture them, and this sort of "monster-of-the-week" story helps imbue the 133 minute long film with more fancifulness than all of director David Yates' previous Harry Potter films combined.

Every creature, there are only a handful to collect, range wildly in size, shape, and visibility, and these computer-generated monsters are charming with a certain "bull in a china shop" behavior. This alone should have been the movie; having a group of heroes try and acquire all of this lost creatures without being noticed by non-magic folks, in the film called "No-Maj." But there is a needless story about evil "Obscurial" reeking havoc on the city, an ill-defined threat that drags the film's early scenes of energetic fun into a tired exercise of bleak politics and a most exhausted "good vs evil" plot device.

Newt's friends include Tina Goldstein, played by Katherine Waterston, a frisky and often ignored witch, Jacob Kowalski, played by Dan Fogler, a portly muggle- oh sorry, "muggle" is synonym for the aforesaid "no-maj." Hey, these movies do not make money based on consistency. There is also Queenie, played by Alison Sudol, the younger sister of Tina who falls for our corpulent human. Their lack of initial chemistry becomes their chemistry by the time the curtains close, who have a welcome awkwardness to all their hand holding and flirting. Rounding out the supporting cast are Credence Barebone, played by Erza Miller who gives an uncomfortable performance that treads the line of good guy and bad guy, and Collin Farrell, who plays Percival Graves and is in charge of capturing our hero Newt due to the Magical Congress of the USA, or MACUSA for short, believing that he is responsible for the mysterious "Obscurial" that has been troubling the normal people of NYC.

But that leaves us the audience with two options for Graves, as we know Newt is not accountable for this "Obscurial:" either Graves is wrong, or he is a bad guy. There is no other option for him, and by the time the film's twist rolls around, the audience groans having already knew it several scenes ago. Plus, his name sounds like it should have "Darth" before it- but I digress.

The actual nuances of the plot are simple only on the surface, and threads of complexity instantly turns into bogged confusion, and to attempt a summary using my "no-maj/muggle" fingers would do no justice to its fans, so I won't. But there is something here that still makes no sense; a wand is what grants wizards and witches their power, but in several scenes here a simple twitch of the hand can summon magic. How!? There have been nine films and they still do not explain this? Maybe they did and I just fell asleep- if that is the case, I bet it was during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Fabulous character Jon Voight makes what feels like a cameo, playing the father of a US senator who is killed by the film's main villain, that aforementioned underwhelming cocktail of murkiness and CGI. He carries his scenes with a sense of importance even when his only part in the film is bulking filler. But there is a scene at the end, where the final big action set piece takes place and all the nearby "no-maj" crowd and stare in confusion and distraught. The wizards, once the dust settles and the post credits are nearing, decide to use a most convenient potion which wipes clean the memories of all the human spectators. That got me wondering, does that mean Jon Voight's character will just forget his son's death just like all the magical explosions he just witnessed? I am sorry, but that is terrible and inexcusable- even if it is just a fake-movie-father and a fake-movie-son. I hope at least they attended the fake-movie-funeral.

Doctor Strange Review

Doctor Strange is perhaps the least "Marvel" of any Marvel film; one part low-rent sci-fi film, two parts Harry Potter, with a dash of Star Wars. Only it cost more to see, is less whimsical, and is less entertaining.

Doctor Strange himself is not so much a marvelous man but a man made of the parts of other more marvelous people. His attitude more smug than Roger Moore's James Bond or Tony Stark, only with less glib quips to reply with. But his intelligence, apparently he is a world acclaimed neurosurgeon, is matched by no other, except when he drives his expensive looking car, and passes cars at high speeds on a twisty road like a high school flunky trying to impress his date. Hopefully in the inevitable sequel he will take bus.

And in one particularly egregious scene, bad guy Kaecilius stomps on by and defeats a long-trained "sorcerer" of good almost as soon as he is introduced. Yet when our hero is attacked, one with significantly less training, he is able to dodge attacks and trap, or well, seemingly at least, the attacker. Doctor Strange should be named "Doctor Lucky."

But his powers, the powers of waving his arms and summoning fighting utensils, are completely his own; I have never seen another movie where the hero fights with glowing yellow lines of CGI.

The visuals, the film's primary selling point, are grand and spectacular, but they are undermined by the excessive exposition, which provides constant yet cloudy reasons behind every crazy sight flying from the screens and towards my 3-D glasses. You know the best scenes in Ridley Scott's 1979 flick Alien? They are the ones where your eyes are in awe at the wondrous visuals, and leave your mind to fill in the blanks. Here, everything is explained, but it is filler explication of metaphors and pompous statements under the guise of answers.

The action is surprisingly brief here, but with all the talk of other dimensions it is a shame everything dilutes to generic kung-fu fight scenes over green screen set pieces. And with so much happening on buildings that are being twisted and turned, punches or throws lack any weight. My ears tell me there is a body being tossed around, but that contradicts what my eyes tell me.

Look, I am not adverse to silly, excessive visuals; remember, I gave Independence Day: Resurgence three stars. But here, there is no fun in all the visuals. Everyone speaks in somber tones and of this looming threat of the evil villain and his evil intentions, that there is not any room for energy or the impression that doing good can be, even once, enjoyable.

The plot is loquacious and confusing, and is only aided by the visuals, so I scoured the film in tedium looking for oddities to keep me from falling asleep in the leather reclining chairs. One thing to note is how the good guys keep their books, thick with the many secrets to the over-explained yet somehow opaque powers. Yes, they are kept in a library, but the most important ones are suspended with front facing with chains. First thought was these chains prevent those unworthy from opening them, but these chains broke free by any character who touches them- so why have them chained? There is a throwaway gag not far in the movie about the wifi password, but why these uber-important books are not digital only seems like an oversight; this Kaecilius guy does not look the type to be very good with computers. Plus, it would have saved the poor librarian, in the film's cold opening, a decapitation.

Hacksaw Ridge Review

 

Ever hear of that 90's flick From Dusk till Dawn? It is a cult classic film, famous for numerous things but perhaps most for its abrupt tonal shift; starting as a cold, bloody thriller to a bloody vampire flick. Right now, and for about half the film, the Robert Rodriguez feature has nothing to do with with Hacksaw Ridge, the latest Mel Gibson film. Things begin so innocently, telling the story of two young boys play under the overbearing supervision of their mother, played generically by Rachel Griffiths, and the passive disinterest of their soused father, played more effectively by Hugo Weaving. One day, during rough play, our main protagonist, Desmond, picks up a nearby brick and slaps his sibling, Hal, in the face. This solidifies his faith in God and sets the religious and anti-violence theme of the remainder of the movie, but it is such an unanticipated and brutal scene that it is difficult rooting for someone who we were introduced to smacking his brother with a brick. Maybe the film is actually a metaphor for poor parenting.

Years later, Desmond, sans brick, is grown up and becomes infatuated by a local nurse, played by the very charming Teresa Palmer. They meet by chance, but our protagonist wastes no time asking her out, then for her hand in marriage. The two almost have a chemistry, but Desmond, played by the dopey faced Andrew Garfield, does his best impression of Forrest Gump, giggling and looking unconcerned throughout much of the 131 minute flick. And even when he channels emotion, he still cannot help but add an ounce of smugness.

Desmond joins the army, in the footsteps of his brother, but as a conscientious objector, with the intent of becoming a medic. His squad consists of one-dimensional guys, all with a single niche that serves as the only way the audience can identify them, i.e., there are two guys who gamble, one who reads, one who dreams of going to Hollywood, you know the drill. Under command of Sergeant Howell, played by Vince Vaughn, gives a bizarrely bipolar performance, who goes from barking orders with a goofy sense of misplaced humor to genuinely displaying compassion for Desmond at whim. Perhaps that is another one of Howell's eccentric jokes.

He passes each day of training with flying colors, that is, until he is instructed to pick up a gun, which he refuses. This leads to scenes of impotent courtroom drama, where his otherwise drunkard father swoops in to save his son from going to prison for insubordination. Charges dismissed, Desmond and his team get sent off to the Battle of Okinawa, where they must climb the titular "Hacksaw Ridge."

Remember when I referenced "From Dusk till Dawn?" Remember that almost egregious shift in tone? Well, that change in tone is escalated here, where blood splattered from both sides of the war, guts explode out of soldiers and there is an almost voyeuristic focus on the numerous decapitations and gunshot wounds. But it never lingers on any image for long, as there is always another soldier to watch- watch as his head vomits his brain from an unseen marksman. There is zero relief from the onscreen violence, and even less preparation for it, as this harsh tonal change happens without warning. It is a rollercoaster ride, only it is one that once you drop, you never stop dropping; I wish I was not tall enough to ride it. The remainder of the movie reaches down your gut and rips up what ever it could grab.

The film depicts the adversary, the Japanese military, as hollow gunslingers who are happy charging blindly into the Americans. There is no identifying with them, they have no personality and are as mindless as an extraterrestrial in a summer blockbuster. And when the Americans win the battle, the film expects you to share the victory with them, to share the patriotism. Look, I know what happened, and I know that this is a movie, but for a film that begins so anti-gun and anti-violence, there is a lot of killing of man. There was a guy in the seat behind me, who spend the entire movie coughing like he was auditioning for a cold medicine commercial. I am not sure which I was more disgusted at.

I can admire the film's craftsmanship and appreciate it's brutality, and it gets high marks for its professionalism and effectiveness. But walking out after seeing it, I felt uncomfortable and fatigued, and even with a happy ending, I did not feel happy. If you go into the theater already disliking the notion of war, this film will make you hate it. And you will also hate yourself if you eat before you see it.