Reviews: Les Miserables

 

            I love musicals, and my all-time favorite is Les Miserables; the epic stage adaptation of Victor Hugo’s masterpiece. As such, I looked forward to Tom Hooper (The King’s Speech)’s long-delayed big-screen adaptation with equal parts excitement and trepidation; would the story be too long and complex for the screen, necessitating lethal cuts? Would any movie be able to match the unique spectacle of the show’s famous rotating stage? Would the deep Christian themes be permitted to shine through? Most importantly, would they be able to find actors and actresses with both the acting ability and the vocal chops to carry it off?

            In post-revolutionary France, convict Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman) is released on parole after nineteen years hard labor, all for stealing a loaf of bread. Unable to find work or lodging due to his status as a convict, he ends up staying one night at the home of a saintly bishop (Colm Wilkinson, who originated the role of Valjean on stage). Bitter and hateful after his long imprisonment, Valjean steals the bishop’s silverware, but when he is caught and brought back, the bishop surprises him by claiming that not only was the silverware a gift, but that he also gave Valjean two priceless silver candlesticks as well.

            Stunned by the man’s mercy, Valjean prays for forgiveness and vows to amend his life. From there he finds himself forced, time and time again, to choose between selfishness and mercy, while his story crosses with other miserable people such as Fantine (Anne Hathaway in the film’s stand-out performance), a single mother who ends up working as a prostitute to pay for her daughter, Cosette (played as a child by Isabelle Allen and as an adult by Amanda Seyfried), who lives with the crooked innkeepers Monsieur and Madam Thenadier (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonhem Carter) and their own daughter, Eponine (played as a child by Natalya Wallace and as an adult by Samantha Barks), and revolutionary students such as Marius (Eddie Redmayne) and Enjolras (Aaron Tveit). Meanwhile, his every step is dogged by the implacable Inspector Javert (Russell Crowe), who is determined to bring Valjean back to prison.

            The story spans some twenty years, during which Valjean rises from a penniless convict to a respected factory owner and mayor, until circumstances force him to become a fugitive again. The action finally all converges on Paris on the eve of a revolution.

            I’m being deliberately vague here because I suspect most people have some idea of how the story goes, and for those who don’t I’d just as soon let them discover it for themselves. Suffice to say, what emerges is an epic story of flight, revolution, freedom, mercy, tragedy, and, above all, love.

            It has been a long time since we’ve had a proper film-musical, and most of the recent attempts at reviving it have been flaccid efforts at best, such as the by-all-accounts lame Mamma Mia and the weird, trashy Chicago. Les Miserables comes, strips off the gloves, and reminds us just what a real Musical looks like. Almost the whole film is done in music, with only brief and occasional spoken lines. Sometimes the characters will talk to each other through song, other times the songs will give voice to their inner thoughts and struggles as they wrestle with themselves, or with God.

            The story, far from being cut, has actually been expanded in some places (including a whole new song not from the play), almost always to good effect. For instance, a new scene has Valjean show Javert mercy almost from the beginning, foreshadowing a much later, and more important scene. The staging of Fantine’s dismissal has been done in such a way as to mitigate somewhat Valjean’s crucial indifference, and an effective chase scene reemphasizes how dangerous Valjean’s life has become (ending with him seeking refuge in a monastery, where the sisters pray to the tune of the bishop's song).  

            Of course, the whole purpose of a film adaptation of a stage musical is to lend the visual power of the medium to the power of the music, and Tom Hooper, together with his talented ensemble, makes full use of his opportunity. For instance you could never have shown on stage the way Javert walks along the very edge of the parapet during his magnificent Stars number, visually demonstrating his own unyielding attitude toward life.  And even if you could, you would never be able to make it as powerful as it is here, where the camera shows Javert’s point of view as he calmly looks past his own feet to the long, terrible fall he is courting with each step. Nor could the stage ever have matched the poetry of the moment where Fantine, when she reaches out for her daughter, simultaneously reaches for the cross.

            The Cross is a recurring image throughout the film. When Valjean is first released, he pauses by a rough wooden cross on a snow-swept hillside to contemplate his position. When he swears unyielding hatred toward those who imprisoned him, the camera swings around so that the cross is no longer visible, but then when he starts to look to the future, it swings around again, bringing the cross back into view. Later, when Valjean is begging forgiveness after the incident with the silver, he not only prays before the altar but two broken crucifixes lay next to him.

            This, of course, points to the movie’s recurring emphasis on mercy and sacrificial love. Valjean is faced again and again with terrible choices, with safety and comfort on one hand, sacrifice and danger on the other. After becoming mayor, he discovers that the police have captured a man they took to be him; forcing him to give up everything he’s worked for to save an innocent. Later he finds himself torn between possibly losing his adopted daughter, the only person he’s ever loved, and breaking her heart.

            The wonderful thing is that each time, when he does the right thing, Valjean grows and becomes a better person. There is always some ‘hidden benefit’ in doing the right thing, and Valjean becomes increasingly saint-like as the story goes on, gradually shedding every ounce of the selfishness that he expressed in the opening scene, becoming by degrees humble, generous, loving, and merciful.

            The movie itself embodies its merciful themes. Almost no major or minor character is left wholly unsympathetic (the main exceptions being the amoral Thenadiers). Javert, ostensibly the story’s main antagonist, not only shows tremendous courage and dignity throughout, but also, in a truly moving moment, (not in the original play) even pauses to honor a fallen enemy. Likewise the national guard who battle the heroic revolutionaries are shown to just be ordinary people doing their duty, and the commander in charge has more than one humanizing moment that shows that he is troubled by what he has to do. Then there’s Marius’s rich, snobbish grandfather, who angrily tells his rebellious grandson that he is “shaming the whole family,” but who is later seen to truly love the young man. Rich or poor, royal or revolutionary, anyone can be damned and anyone can be a saint.

            As the above indicates, the movie is gratifyingly frank about its Christian and Catholic worldview. The cross, as noted, is a recurring motif throughout, while Valjean’s story-arch is that of a sinner becoming a saint and purging his soul of every disordered desire. All the characters pray and reference God frequently, and there’s even moments alluding to such theologically complex ideas as the intercessory prayers of the saints, the Beatific Vision, and clergy acting in persona Christi. At a time when the best Christians generally can expect from the movies is for them to not be actively insulting, Les Miserables is like a long drink of cool water to one who is dying of thirst.

            Hugh Jackman as Valjean is the crux that holds the whole film together, and he rises to the occasion marvelously. He sells Valjean’s tortured struggles to do the right thing, to cooperate with God’s Grace even in the face of terrible difficulties and seemingly impossible choices. What distinguishes Valjean from everyone else is that he keeps in mind the words of the Bishop, that his soul belongs to God, so in the face of every decision and struggle he keeps his eyes fixed on Jesus, and like St. Peter walking on the water, this allows him to do what seems impossible. Perhaps this is best symbolized in a scene late in the movie where Valjean ends up literally swimming through excrement in the sewers of Paris; he can be in unbearable situations without being of them.  

            I must admit, it took me a little while to get used to his voice. Not that it’s bad, of course; on the contrary, Jackman has a beautiful and powerful singing voice that shines in some of the film’s hardest numbers. However, his voice is on a much higher octave than I’m used to hearing Valjean’s part sung as, so it took a while for me to adjust. As noted, though, he sings up a storm, excelling particularly in the quiet, introspective numbers such as Who Am I and Bring Him Home.

            I was worried about Russell Crowe as Javert. Quite apart from his more limited musical range, he struck me as being too, well, nice-looking to play Javert, whom I always picture as being extremely stern and hard of face. Nevertheless, he performed the role admirably, giving it precisely the cold, blank, mask-like expression that Javert should have, while using his considerable sympathetic qualities to make us feel for the character in the moments where the mask slips. Musically, I was impressed; he acquits himself well, particularly in the ‘conversational’ songs like Confrontation (here re-envisioned as a sword fight, which lends extra power to the number, but alas denies us the song’s chilling final verses). His biggest problem was that he felt too constrained, as though he didn’t trust himself to sing some of the more difficult notes (like the climax to Stars, which is far too quiet). 

            The best performance in the film, however, is Anne Hathaway’s portrayal of Fantine. Hathaway embodies the character, perhaps the most miserable of all the miserable people in the story, so perfectly, makes her plight so heartbreaking, that she quite simply makes the film worth seeing just for her sake. Not only is her tragic, agonized performance guaranteed to bring tears to your eyes, but her rendition of I Dreamed a Dream is the highlight of the whole film. Raw, powerful, and perfectly sung in Hathaway’s gorgeous voice, it sets a new standard by which that song should be judged.

            Amanda Seyfried also impressed as Cosette. Cosette is usually a pretty dull character, but Seyfried invests her with enough life and loveliness that we can almost buy Marius falling in love with her at first sight (their romance, arguably the story’s weakest element, works much better on film than on stage, largely thanks to some judicious use of close-ups). She handles her comparatively few numbers well in her bird-like voice, and she and Eddie Redmayne work well together.

            Redmayne himself, meanwhile, makes for fine Marius, with a strong tenor voice and a more meaty character than the play allowed (his above-mentioned grandfather, for instance, is a helpful touch not found on stage). His best musical number is a haunting rendition of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, which almost rivals Dreamed a Dream for the saddest and most moving song in the film.

 Aaron Tveit as Enjolras projects real revolutionary fervor, and belts his part out with considerable feeling. Daniel Huttlestone makes for a swell Gavroche, the street urchin: all devil-may-care, artful-dodger-style independence and earnestness (his voice is fine, though obviously immature, and Gavroche doesn’t have a whole lot of singing to do anyway). The rest of the revolutionaries, like in the play, don’t really come out as individuals, but they have some excellent moments (such as the way one of them frantically tries to call Gavroche back when he ventures beyond the barricade) and all of them are excellent singers.

             Newcomer Samantha Barks, who also played Eponine on stage, brings an effortless poignancy to the role. In particular, I want to note a scene where she is leading Marius (whom she loves) to meet with Cosette, and despite the fact that she’s taking him to another woman, whom he loves as he will never love her, she’s still all smiles and laughter just to be with him for this little while. Her rendition of On My Own is another film highlight, particularly her final, tearful repetitions of “I love him…”

            On the other end of the spectrum, Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter as the Thenadiers are an absolute scream; all bawdy humor, broad slapstick, and sticky fingers. They sing their roles marvelously (though, if we’re honest, no one’s really thinking about musical tone during Master of the House), and I love how Thenadier keeps getting Cosette’s name wrong (something I loved in the stage performance I saw and haven’t seen in any other version).  

            Finally, little Isabelle Allen is both adorable and an absolute spitting image of the iconic Cosette picture that has long since been the image of Hugo’s novel and all adaptations.

            After Tom Hooper’s sedate, stylistically reserved The King’s Speech, some were wondering whether he had the right style for an epic musical like this. Rest assured, he delivers. The movie is visually engrossing from the very first shot of a discarded, floating French flag to the final, full-cast number on the barricade. Spectacular imagery abounds; the frozen, barren landscape Valjean journeys across upon being released (symbolizing the brutal barrenness of his life), the filthy slums where prostitutes lurk, the pit-like cabin where Fantine has her first customer, Notre Dame and the Paris skyline during Stars (which is symbolically reversed for a later Javert number), and, of course, the rough, cobbled-together barricade where the revolutionaries battle the national guard.

            Not only the imagery, but the blocking is remarkable. There isn’t much of what you would call dancing in this film (except, in the end, at a wedding feast), but Hooper comes up with some clever ways to marry music and motion, such as the way At the End of the Day matches the movement of the factory workers, or how some of the notes of One Day More are punctuated with rifles being loaded with ramrods.

            Of course, the songs are all spectacular, from the opening Work Song, sung by a baritone choir of prisoners, to the tremulous Come to Me, to the boisterous Master of the House, to the heart-stirring Do you Hear the People Sing. I am not the right person to attempt to describe the music, but the artistry, the lyrical power that goes into it is breathtaking. For instance, note the way certain tunes are reused in different songs, drawing attention to the repeated themes of, say, Valjean and Javert’s different responses to acts of mercy. The story, music, and writing are interwoven in a way that, in my somewhat limited experience, I’ve only occasionally seen in other musicals. What we have here is more than just songs set to a storyline; we have a kind of total art, marrying music, acting, poetry, and literature in one awe-inspiring package.

            So is it perfect? Sadly, no. While the movie only cuts one song in its entirety (Dog Eats Dog: no great loss), it often cuts large sections from the songs it does keep, depriving us of some of the most lyrically beautiful moments in the story, and occasionally making the songs feel a little choppy. A somewhat more serious problem is that, while I adored both Cohen and Bonham Cater as the Thenadiers, the Master of the House number was a little too broad, almost cartoonish, to the extent that it felt as though it were from another film entirely. Finally, Hugh Jackman barely looks his very handsome and youthful 44, meaning that, for the later scenes when Valjean is supposed to be an ‘old man,’ he looks entirely too young for the part (Russell Crowe’s Javert has a similar problem, though it’s less crucial for him). With all the excellent makeup showcased on screen, you’d think they’d have done a better job of aging the characters. Finally, as noted, Russell Crowe just doesn’t seem as comfortable with his musical part as he really should.

            Les Miserables is a feast for the eyes, ears, and the soul. It’s easily one of the best films of the year, and possibly one of the finest movie musicals of all time.

Final Rating: 5/5. Visually, aurally, emotionally, and spiritually, this movie is a triumph. 

Reviews: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

  
          Ever since Peter Jackson’s excellent take on The Lord of the Rings (2001-2003), it’s only been a matter of time before someone – preferably Jackson himself – tackled Tolkien’s prequel story The Hobbit. Now, after nearly ten years of waiting, the day has finally arrived; The Hobbit is here.

            The film opens early on the same day that The Fellowship of the Ring began: Bilbo’s birthday party. Here we see that, while waiting for Gandalf to arrive, Old Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm) sat down and started to compose his memoirs, dedicated to Frodo (Elijah Wood). From there, the movie flashes back to an effective prologue of the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor in the Lonely Mountain, which was destroyed and sacked by the dragon, Smaug. An undisclosed amount of time later, Gandalf the Grey (Ian McKellen) finds young Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman) sitting on his front lawn blowing smoke rings. Before Bilbo knows quite what has happened, he is playing reluctant host to a part of thirteen raucous dwarves: Fili (Dean O’Gorman), Kili (Aidan Turner), Oin (John Callen), Gloin (Peter Hambleton), Dori (Mark Hadlow), Nori (Jed Brophy), Ori (Adam Brown), Bifur (William Kircher), Bofur (James Nesbitt), Bombur (Stephen Hunter), Balin (Ken Stott), Dwalin (Graham McTavish), and, the leader of the company, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage). If you can’t keep those names straight, well the book was like that too.

            The Dwarves are planning to attempt to retake Erebor from Smaug, and Bilbo reluctantly joins the party as their ‘burglar.’ But not long after they set out, Gandalf receives news from his fellow wizard, Radagast the Brown (Sylvester McCoy) that a powerful evil force has arisen in the world…

            The first of a planned trilogy of Hobbit films is an engaging, but uneven effort that would have greatly benefitted from someone exercising a little restraint on the over-eager filmmaker. Jackson indulges in his love of excess far too much, constantly threatening to derail the story. The Hobbit is, when it comes down to it, a much smaller, more contained story than The Lord of the Rings, so much so that Tolkien himself (in the introduction to the latter work) said that the whole thing would hardly be worth mentioning in the annals of Middle Earth if it weren’t for the fact that Bilbo found the Ring along the way. Alas, Jackson refuses to see it that way, and the story has been padded out to be more or less the same length as the Rings films.

            This is a mistake. For Rings the problem was what to cut and what to retain. With The Hobbit the problem is clearly how to add enough to justify the new length of time taken. The result is film that feels padded and drawn out in a way the Rings films never did.

            Oddly enough, this also leads to the problem of the timeline being too compacted. Not only does Bilbo find the Ring, but the Necromancer first comes to Gandalf’s attention and the White Council (here comprised of Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, and Saruman: with Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving, and Christopher Lee reprising their roles from Rings) is called to discuss the problem. This means that Thrain was never imprisoned by the Necromancer and that the Greenwood becomes Mirkwood more or less overnight (in the course of the story). So, unlike in the books where Sauron re-entered the world slowly, by degrees as the watch of Gondor and the Wizards slowly slackened, here it happens all at once right under their noses.

            The subplot involving the Necromancer is only one of the examples of how Jackson pads out the story, an effort that sometimes works, and sometimes doesn’t; I didn’t mind the film pausing to give us a recap of how Thorin got his name (though it might have been staged better), but I do mind the fact that barely five minutes later it stops again to give us a scene with Radagast discovering the Nercromancer (Radagast in general is unnecessary to the story and should have been left on the cutting room floor).  Likewise, the film gives us a kind of secondary villain in the form of Azog (voiced by Manu Bennett), a Goblin chief who, in the book, was killed by Dain in the Battle of Moria (and whose son, Bolg, appears in the Battle of Five Armies). Here, however, he survives and stalks the Dwarves on their journey. He’s not a terrible addition (I would have gone with just sticking to Bolg myself; maybe they didn’t want to get into familial ties among Orcs), though the fact that he looks as if he just stepped out of World of Warcraft is distracting and, frankly, he wasn’t really necessary.

            Oh, dear; I’m sounding far too negative. Padded out as it is, the strength of the story and the skill of the filmmakers nevertheless make the experience worthwhile. In particular, the sense of comradery among the dwarves and Bilbo that was so evident in the book is captured almost perfectly; the dwarves are like a band of freedom fighters (I was reminded more than once of the students from Les Miserables), with Bilbo along for the ride, and their loyalty and devotion to each other is palpable. The story arch of this film is mostly about Bilbo being accepted into the group, and while this isn’t how the book played out I can accept the film’s scenario (particularly a touching dénouement between Thorin and Bilbo that nicely foreshadows later events in the story).  

            Likewise, I rather like how the troll episode is here re-imagined as a kind of hazing played on Bilbo by Fili and Kili (the trolls themselves mesh surprisingly well with the ones in the Rings films while still getting their ‘low-class-crook’-style dialogue). The movie’s explanation of the distrust between the Elves and the Dwarves also works (though it has Thorin take things a little too far, such as when he initially declines Orchrist solely because it’s an Elven-made weapon).  I also like the more streamlined version of how Bilbo became lost in the caves and met Gollum, which allows us to have the Riddle Game and the confrontation in Goblin Town play out at the same time. 

            On the other hand, this reworking robs us of one of the key moments of Bilbo’s character development, where, after escaping the caverns, he decides that he needs to go back in and look for his friends (he ends up not having to, but the fact that he had made up his mind to is a major turning point in the book). As a matter of fact, Biblo loses most of his transformative moments so far: his decision to stand up for himself and demand the dwarves take him seriously at the party, his reluctance to return from the troll escapade ‘empty handed,’ even his first use of Sting is here transposed to a fight with Wargs, robbing the future battle with the spiders of its importance as the first time he really ‘took care of himself’ (though it is nicely foreshadowed by an exchange with Balin about how swords acquire names by “doing great deeds”).

            To some extent we have the same problem that the Harry Potter films had; the filmmakers were so concerned about getting the images and events right that they lost track of the meaning of them.     

            Not all of the book’s themes were lost, however. In particular, the Dwarven Diaspora is depicted very well, as is the sense of homelessness and injury among them in its wake (which is constantly re-emphasized to great effect). As in the book, there is some subtext of equating the Dwarves with the Jews; another ‘people set apart’ whose homeland was usurped and destroyed, and who have suffered much wrong and insult in consequence. Thorin’s fierce pride and yearning for his lost throne, like a slightly darker version of Aragorn, is well portrayed by Armitage, and I look forward to seeing his character arch completed in the next two films.

            The ‘unlikely hero’ theme is on full display here too, with Gandalf and Galadriel having an exchange about how it’s the “small things…the simple acts of kindness and love” that “keep the darkness at bay.” Certainly that’s a speech Tolkien would have agreed with, and if Bilbo only gets a few chances to live up to it so far, we’ll take it as a promise of things to come.  

Galadriel herself, meanwhile, while not really necessary to the story, packs even more ‘Marian imagery’ punch than in the Rings films, with things like Elrond referring to her as a ‘higher authority’ and her telling Gandalf to call on her in need while he reverently bows his head (these don’t exactly square with who these characters actually are in the story, but I appreciated it nonetheless).

            Finally, there’s the fact that one of the book’s most crucial moments, where Bilbo has the chance to kill Gollum and spares him out of pity, is played absolutely perfectly. This was arguably the most important moment of this part of the story, and the movie nails it, from the way Gollum inadvertantly blocks Bilbo's escape, to Gollum’s tear-stained, anguished face as he looks, unseeing, straight into his own doom.

            The Goblin Town sequence, on the other hand, is an insane, over-the-top, almost cartoonish exercise in excess reminiscent of the appallingly absurd dinosaur stampede from Jackson’s King Kong. If it doesn’t quite plumb the depths of the earlier film’s stupidity, well, that might only be because none of the participants are forty ton animals running at full gallop to escape predators barely one-hundredth of their own size. Goblin Town isn’t quite that bad, but it is jarringly silly as the dwarves slaughter goblins by the hundred while making Rube-Goldberg-esque escapes on the wooden catwalks, before the whole ridiculous escapade finishes up with a shout-out to, of all things, Jason X (I solemnly swear that I am not making that up).

            While the Goblin Town chase is the most excessive of the film’s excesses, it is by no means the only one. Was it necessary, for instance, to have Radagast ride around in a sleigh pulled by rabbits? Or to have the same sleigh feature in a chase scene reminiscent of the ‘Flight to the Ford’ sequence in Fellowship? Or to have Bilbo unwittingly used as a handkerchief by one of the trolls? Or to have a fight between Radagast and a ghost (do you notice that Radagast shows up in a lot of these)?

On the other hand, there are moments when the film just plain works. The Riddle Game in particular is absolutely sublime from start to finish, giving us a good lot of those wonderful riddles straight from the book and providing a number of strikingly iconic images of the classic scene (though Gollum’s last vow of eternal enmity with Bilbo lacks the power and emphasis it should have. On the other hand, the moment where he realizes just what Bilbo has in his pocket is strikingly powerful).  The Dwarves get to sing part of their haunting “We Must Away ere Break of Day” song, along with the boisterously hilarious “That’s What Bilbo Baggins Hates.” And, while the “Goblin Town” song didn’t make the cut, the enormously grotesque Great Goblin does get a very funny song about torture devices that is in the same spirit (hopefully later films will give us more of Tolkien’s wonderful poetry).

Possibly my favorite bit, however, is the scene with the stone giants, only alluded to in the book, and here present in a scene that captures the feel of a true fairy tale better than any I’ve ever seen; the giants are literally pieces of the mountain that stand up and start fighting, representing in a dream-like fashion what the experience of being on a mountaintop in a storm might actually feel like.

Martin Freeman as Bilbo has been a dream casting of mine ever since I saw The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and he doesn’t disappoint. Even though the film robs Bilbo of many of his best moments, Freeman still manages to project just the right blend of displaced middle-class Englishness and honest-to-goodness honor to convince us that this is Bilbo. As a matter of fact, I thought he was considerably better than Elijah Wood as Frodo (who, while he was effective, always seemed too young and lacking in the gravitas of the character). Freeman’s Bilbo is clearly an adult and his struggles with his doubts, fears, and sense of being out of his depth are consequently more engaging. The way Bilbo slowly comes to adapt to the life of adventures – strapping on a sword, shouldering his pack, thinking on his feet – is done very well, and much of the credit must go to Freeman.

Ian McKellen is as good as ever as Gandalf the Grey, although I must admit I felt that sometimes he lacked the effortless authority and strength he ought to have; he lets Thorin fluster him too much, for instance, and he only occasionally shows the casual lightheartedness Tolkien’s character had (and that he had in Fellowship). This Gandalf doesn’t casually mention the possibility of them all getting killed, or toy with the answers to serious questions. Even his introductory dissection of the phrase “Good Morning” lacks the playfulness it should have. On the other hand, he does get some good scenes, as when he recounts the story of how Bilbo’s great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took invented the game of golf, or when he surreptitiously engages in a bet with some of the Dwarves. Generally, McKellen is like the film itself; good, but uneven and often missing the point.

Of Richard Armitage I have only two complaints: he’s too young and his beard is way too small. Thorin’s beard should cover his whole chest like a grey shield, not stop just below the chin! Apart from that, however, I thought Armitage did a great job of communicating the spirit of Thorin; the sense of injury, pride, nobility, and ambition that bespeaks a deposed king. I certainly look forward to seeing how Armitage plays Thorin in the subsequent films, when his character really comes into his own.

Ken Stott as Balin is, fittingly, the second most important Dwarven character, and unlike Thorin he is pretty much perfect both in character and appearance. Balin is supposed to be the oldest of the dwarves and an old companion of Thorin’s, and Stott and Armitage have a number of nice scenes together emphasizing this. As depicted in the film, Balin acts as Thorin’s conscience and a soothing influence on the oft-hotheaded leader; a depiction that works very well and that Stott rises to admirably.

The rest of the Dwarves generally blend together (if you can remember who goes to what name after one viewing, I’m seriously impressed). Fili and Kili have more scenes than most, and of course Bombur is the subject of much slapstick, while Bofur has one very nice scene with Bilbo about what it means to “not belong anywhere.” I liked that the filmmakers clearly went to great efforts to give each dwarf a specific look, and that they preserved the mild humor of the book’s repeated, long-winded dwarvish roll-calls.

Andy Serkis as Gollum has only one scene, but it’s at the heart of the story. Of course he plays Gollum as well as ever, but I was particularly impressed at how they made Gollum into a real threat to Bilbo. Picturing the scene, I always had a hard time justifying Gollum as a genuine danger, since Bilbo had his sword and Gollum was unarmed. Add in the small, cringing version of Gollum of the movies and I wasn’t sure they’d be able to really convince me that he could actually murder Bilbo if he tried.

Well, Serkis and Jackson have convinced me, partly by emphasizing the advantage of Gollum’s ability to see in the dark, and partly by the simple expedience of having Gollum pick up a rock to bludgeon Bilbo with. Basically, Golllum comes across as nastier and more convincingly dangerous here than he did in any of the three Rings movies, which is just as it should be (reimagining him as a kind of ‘bottom feeder’ preying on goblins who fall off the catwalks was another great touch).

Other roles are generally the same as they were in the Rings movies; Hugo Weaving is effortlessly convincing as ever as Elrond. Christopher Lee gives a good turn as a pre-fallen (though still prideful) Saruman, and I actually think I liked Cate Blanchett’s performance as Galadriel better here than I did in any of the Rings movies; somehow she just seems more ethereally beautiful and Mary-like (as noted above) than she did before. Sylvester McCoy as Radagast (for all my complaints of the character) does as well as could be expected, and I admit that he does adhere pretty close to my image of Radagast as a slightly crazed hermit-wizard. The CGI-orc Azog makes little or no impression either as a villain or as a character. On the other hand, the Great Goblin (voiced by Barry Humphries) is a boisterously grotesque creature who seems like Tolkien by way of Charles Addams and is an absolute nauseating blast his whole time on screen (to the point that I wish they had dumped Azog and just made him the villain of the first film). Smaug, meanwhile, is here only present in tantalizing glimpses, but they promise a dragon that truly lives up to Tolkien’s description of him as “the chief and greatest of calamities.”

Tolkien’s Catholic Imagination is on good display here. Bilbo is essentially you average modern Englishman; insular, pampered, mildly materialistic, and without a shred of ambition or imagination to his name. Then, suddenly, he finds himself called upon to leave his comfort zone and go on a perilous journey with no promise of either success or survival, but one that will make him into a better and more ‘real’ person than he ever imagined he could be. It’s almost an allegorical representation of Tolkien’s friend, C.S. Lewis’s description of the Christian life, in which God refuses to allow us to simply remain ‘decent chaps;’ once you let Him in, He begins the painful and difficult process of turning you into a saint. Tolkien famously disliked allegory, but certainly his story is applicable to Lewis’s idea, with decent little Bilbo invited to leave his decent, respectable life and allow himself to be made into something great.

I already mentioned the powerful Marian imagery involved with Galadriel, and the famous act of mercy in which Bilbo, having Gollum in his power, stays his hand out of pity for his miserable enemy, even though Gollum both had intended to kill him already and was currently blocking his exit from the caves. The dangers of greed (foreshadowed here, but fully explored later), the importance of home, family, and tradition, and above all the preeminence of “everyday acts of kindness and love” are all on full display here. On the other hand Bilbo’s taking of the Ring here is staged in such a way that it feels much more like he actually did steal it. This may be an attempt to foreshadow the Ring’s corruptive power (with it tempting the normally-upright Bilbo into doing the wrong thing immediately), and in any case I thought it actually added resonance to Bilbo’s subsequent behavior towards Gollum, in that the Ring has already succeeded in tempting Bilbo to wrong Gollum once, but it fails when the time comes to do even worse. The fact that Bilbo took the one step but not the other down the road to evil is, in some ways, more impressive than if he had never started at all.

In summary, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey isn’t as good as it might have been. It suffers from excessive padding, over-the-top absurdity, and a failure to grasp key points of the book. Nevertheless the end result is always entertaining and, on occasion, profound. It makes me excited to see how Jackson and Co. will tackle the rest of the story.

Final Rating: 4/5. Though suffering from Jackson’s overindulgent style, the strength of the story, occasional flashes of sublimity, and Martin Freeman’s excellent portrayal of Bilbo Baggins carry it past its flaws. Firmly recommended.

Reviews: Skyfall

           The James Bond series was brilliantly re-invented in 2006 by the spectacular Casino Royale, one of the finest of the new tradition of thoughtful, comparatively restrained action films (for other examples see Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight trilogy). Unfortunately, having jettisoned much of the traditional ‘trappings’ of Bond, the series didn’t quite feel like itself after that superlative first step.

            Skyfall seems to be an attempt to address that fact; to form a bridge between the gritty realism of Casino Royale and the more traditional Bond elements: Q, Moneypenny, the brilliantly innovative gadgets, and the spectacular villain lairs with hungry pets ready to dine on enemy agents or errant henchmen.

            Not that Skyfall itself is as lighthearted as the older films. On the contrary, this may be the grimmest and most downbeat film to date (even including the tragic Casino). The movie deals with dark questions about Bond’s motives, the changing nature of the spy trade, and, especially, his relationship with his superior, M (Judi Dench) and the mistakes she’s made.

            We open with an epically out-sized chase in Istanbul (which moves from cars to motorcycles to train to steam-shovel), one so gloriously silly and improbable that it feels almost like we’re back in the old Bond universe…until the jarring sucker-punch that brings the chase to an abrupt halt and sets the stage for the rest of the film.

            See, James Bond (Daniel Craig, still imposing despite his advancing age) was attempting to stop a terrorist from getting away with a hard-drive containing the names of all of NATO’s undercover operatives working in terrorist cells. And, thanks to a call made by M, he fails and winds up declared dead.

            So, Bond settles down to a life of one-night stands, heavy drinking, and playing with dangerous wild animals (so, pretty much exactly what he was doing, only he’s not getting paid for it). Meanwhile, MI6 does its best for the next six months to recover the hard-drive with no success. Then M’s computer is hacked, MI6 is bombed, and the realization sinks in that this is more than just about counter-espionage: someone is specifically targeting M.

            Bond, upon hearing of this, comes back from the dead to offer his services. After a quick series of tests to ensure he’s fit for active duty, some brief head-butting with Intelligence Chairman Gareth Mallory (Ralph Fiennes), and a quick meeting with the new Q (Ben Whishaw, about as starkly and amusingly different from Desmond Llewelyn as possible), Bond sets off for Shanghai to chase down the terrorist (Ola Rapace) who stole the hard-drive.

            At this point the film becomes more complex and detail-heavy than I could adequately describe without major spoilers. Suffice to say, Bond is soon drawn into a deadly battle of wits with a psychotic ex-agent named Silva (chilling Javier Bardem), which includes massive acts of cyber-terrorism, cat-and-mouse games in the London underground, and, finally, an epic showdown at a place we never expected to be…

            Meanwhile, Bond rather half-heartedly juggles two different beauties: Eve (Naomie Harris), a fellow MI6 agent who’s thinking about giving up fieldwork and Severine (Berenic Marlohe), who is something of a darkly revisionist take on the femme-fatale and whose character, alas, is one of the film’s few flaws (more on that below). I say half-hearted because, while both of these women have important roles to play in the story, and Eve in particular is enjoyable to have around, neither really feels necessary to it. It’s almost like the writers only put them in because they knew a Bond film needs Bond-girls rather than that they actually wanted to have any.

            The focus of the movie is instead directed at the central ‘triangle’ of Bond, M, and Silva. The dynamic of these three is a kind of grim family feud with Bond and Silva playing the parts of the disenfranchised siblings and M their estranged mother. Both of them have reasons to feel betrayed by her, but Bond retains his loyalty while Silva’s has turned to bitterness and hatred, though even he can’t quite ignore the connection between them.

            Bond’s relationship with M is the heart of the movie; a complex, probably not very healthy, but ultimately moving bond in which M becomes something of a surrogate mother to Bond (agents refer to her informally as ‘mum’ throughout); a situation that is complicated by the fact that both Bond and M are well aware that her first loyalty is not to any of her “children” but to the broader mission (this follows through on the moment in Casino Royale where she chided Bond for not looking at “the big picture”). Nevertheless she does care about the agents to some extent, particularly Bond, and she trusts their instincts and skills more than she does the computerized gadgets and software of the new Q Branch. The cold, ambiguous, yet nevertheless real affection between Bond and M comprises some of the best writing and acting of the series to date. 

            Javier Bardem, meanwhile, makes for easily the best Bond villain of the new series and probably one of the best of all time. He’s a weird kind of cross between a frat-boy hacker and a character from a Thomas Harris novel. Fiendishly intelligent, disarmingly unpredictable, and with skills and instincts to match Bond himself, Silva is the kind of villain who makes you frustrated at the heroes for not realizing that he’s always going to be two-steps ahead of them. At the same time he gives the distinct impression of mental derangement for all his brilliance (it’s implied his mind was affected by a failed cyanide pill), such as the way he greets Bond with homoerotic advances when they first meet and seems oddly annoyed when Bond isn’t unsettled by them.

            As the movie progresses, it becomes more and more focused on the twisted family triangle of Bond, M, and Silva as rules and expectations break down and the fight becomes increasingly personal for all involved, culminating in a spectacular showdown in a place we never expected to see…

            One of the key trappings of any Bond film is, of course, the locations, and here we have some of the most spectacular of the new series. There’s the opening chase through Istanbul, with Haggia Sophia and the Grand Bazaar providing the backdrop. There’s a stunningly filmed sequence in the skyscrapers of Shanghai, lit by ever changing neon lights. There’s an incredibly tense chase through the London underground (emphasizing an earlier speech in which Silva likened himself and Bond to rats). Finally, in stark contrast to everything else is an ancient manor house on a misty moor in Scotland.

The cinematography in these sequences, particularly the Shanghai scene, is simply breathtaking, making full use of light and shadow to produce weird, dream-like effects that remain etched into the viewers mind. The Scottish sequence likewise has some breathtaking images, such as a flare shooting through the water of an ice-covered pond, or a gun-wielding figure standing silhouetted against a raging fire, his breath coming like smoke.

Thematically, the movie deals with the contrast of old and new; the old-fashioned techniques championed by Bond and M (instinct, manual involvement, detective work) are contrasted with the cutting-edge technology employed by Silva (who uses his hacking skills to control his environment to an almost god-like extent). The film incorporates this conflict into its very structure; with the story beginning in Istanbul (a key battleground in the Cold War), before jumping into the ultra-modern world of Shanghai. From there, it slowly and steadily strips away the technological trappings, going from there to a deserted island where Silva’s computers stand naked with all their inner workings exposed, then back to London and the hyper-computerized Q-Division, before finally stripping all technology away in Scotland. Moreover, to transport M, Bond chooses to ditch his modern car in favor of none-other than the classic Aston-Martin DB5 from Goldfinger, complete with ejector seat and machine-guns (in a moment that Bond fans have been waiting almost fifty years to see, those famous machine guns are finally put to good use).

The movie ultimately champions the old over the new, positing that Bond and M’s ways are more necessary than ever in the ever-changing modern world (M gets a speech in which she makes that very point), and further positing that high-technology can be a danger even to those who seem to understand it, while the simpler, old-fashioned ways are more reliable and, ultimately, more effective (particularly in a moment where Bond, confronted with a high-tech helicopter, decides on a startlingly direct method of dealing with it).

Intriguingly, in light of this championing of the old ways, the movie reveals that Bond’s family were recusant Catholics who hid priests during the Reformation. Likewise, the final confrontation between representatives of the old and new takes place in, of all places, a Catholic chapel. I don’t want to read too much into this, but it certainly is an gratifying and intriguing choice on the part of the filmmakers, shedding new light on the story and its themes.

Beyond these lofty themes, the film still has a lot to offer. There’s the gratifying return of Q in the slick, modern guise of a young computer wiz who, in one sequence, tag-teams with Bond to give him an edge on Silva. His meeting with 007 provides one of the most entertaining scenes in the film, simultaneously giving fans of the series a satisfying sense of a return to form and heralding the dawn of a new era of Q-Branch (“What were you expecting; an exploding pen? We don’t do that anymore.”)

 Ralph Fiennes as Mallory strikes an interesting note: mildly antagonistic, yet still sympathetic and with a number of surprises up his sleeve (including a last minute twist that brilliantly sets the stage for the series’ future). Naomi Harris as Eve doesn’t have a lot to do, but is an attractive and spunky Bond girl and helps provide some much-needed levity. I also would be remise if I didn’t mention the haunting opening song by Adele, which is both a beautiful number in its own right and is accompanied by some remarkably poetic imagery (which recurs in unexpected ways in the movie itself).

Meanwhile the action sequences are some of the most spectacular to date. The Istanbul sequence is gloriously outsized and silly, with conceits that hearken back to Roger Moore’s heyday. There’s a fight in a Macau casino that culminates in someone getting fed to a ravenous beast, the aforementioned chase through London (featuring a spectacular train crash, among other things), and, again, the climactic siege pitting ingenuity and resourcefulness against high-tech weaponry (I was reminded more than once of the great ranch-house attack from For Greater Glory). While I still would call the Parkour chase from Casino Royale the best action sequence of the new series, any one of these scenes from Skyfall could be called a close second (personally, I would cite the climactic siege as taking home the top prize, but I admit it’s hard battle).

While I thought Skyfall was one of the best Bond films to date, I did have a couple reservations. First, Bond twice stands back and lets innocent people die when he could have saved them. I don’t mean he could have taken a great risk, or made a desperate lunge that may or may not have worked; I mean he literally stands back and waits to make his move until after the murder takes place. I know Bond has always been an anti-hero (and never more so than with Daniel Craig), but to me this crosses the line from ‘cold’ to ‘depraved indifference’ and makes it harder to root for him. It definitely lessened my enjoyment of the film, and I think it was unnecessary.

On a similar note, the character of Severine is problematic. Her back story (she’s a victim of human trafficking) was too genuinely nasty, and her victimization was too total to simply show up and be discarded like that. It felt like an ugly scar on the film; a brief moment of extra cruelty that briefly took you out of the experience and left a bad taste in your mouth. In particular, Bond’s relationship with her was, well, meaner than a typical Bond hook-up. It felt too much like Bond was simply using her in the same way that Silva did. Basically, the subplot involving her was far too cruel and distasteful for a Bond film, even one of the new series.

Those are really my only two caveats about the film. There are a few minor points, such as a cliché and completely predictable twist towards the end of the second act, or the fact that it occasionally felt like it was running on for too long (you kept expecting each sequence to be the climax, then it would suddenly shift gears and start anew).

But the film’s strengths; the fascinating theme of old vs. new, Javier Bardem’s disturbingly effective performance, the spectacular action, the gorgeous cinematography, and the sensation of coming full circle, back to the classic Bond series that we’ve been away from for so long make it a must-see. It left me excited and impatient to see where the series would go next. The origin story that began with Casino Royale is now complete; Bond is back and better than ever.

Final Rating: 4.5/5. While slightly marred by unnecessary nastiness, it is still one of the best Bond films of all time.

Reviews: Wreck-It Ralph

 

           Sometimes an idea comes along that is so obvious and yet so brilliant that you can only bow and take your hat off to whoever came up with it. I can therefore only hope that whoever had the idea “what if we did something like Toy Story with video game characters?” is currently enjoying a nice fizzy drink on a private island somewhere.

            Really, the premise alone might have been enough to carry Wreck-It Ralph, at least for game-fans: the video-game characters of an arcade have lives outside their games and can visit each other’s games after hours. They arrive at the ‘Game Central Station’ (a power-strip), where their checked-over by a surge protector and the graffiti on the walls says things like “Aerith lives.” If the movie was nothing but video-game characters hanging out and getting drinks at Tapper, it still probably would’ve been worth seeing.

            But there is a plot, and a good one at that: Wreck-It Ralph (John C. Reilly) is the villain of a classic 80s-era arcade game called Fix-It Felix Jr. Every day he dutifully wrecks the apartment building that the egg-shaped Nicelanders inhabit, allowing the hero, Fix-It Felix (Jack McBayer) to fix it and, eventually, vanquish Ralph by throwing him off the roof.

            After 30 years of this, Ralph is bored and depressed. Every day he has to watch as Felix gets all the glory, the pies, and the medals all for defeating him, Ralph, who never gets any praise or appreciation or pies. “It sure must be nice being the good guy,” he sighs to the ‘Bad-Annon’ support group for villains.

            Ralph’s jealously and depression comes to a head at the game’s 30^th Anniversary Party, which he isn’t invited to. He talks Felix into letting him in, but soon loses his temper at the Nicelanders and storms out. Drowning his sorrows at Tapper (the bartending game), he runs into a soldier from the arcade’s new first-person shooter, Hero’s Duty. Seeing this as his chance to play the good-guy for once, he steals the guy’s armor and sneaks into the other game, which is headed by the formidable Sgt. Calhoun (Jane Lynch).

            Through a series of unexpected events, Ralph ends up more-or-less stuck in a candy-themed racing game called Sugar Rush, where he eventually befriends a ‘glitch’ (a character who was never fully integrated into the game) named Vanellope von Schweetz (Sarah Silverman), whom he reluctantly ends up helping to become a playable character.

            Meanwhile, with Ralph a no-show, Fix-It Felix Jr. has been marked ‘out-of-order’ and scheduled to be unplugged. In response, Felix teams up with Calhoun (who thinks Ralph may have unleashed a dangerous game-play element from Hero’s Duty into the arcade at large) to try to find Ralph and bring him home.

            The first thing that becomes clear about this movie is that the makers loved video games. There are so many little details, so many clever conceits that trying to list them all would easily outweigh the film’s actual script. Consider the “Bad-Annon” meeting: every single character, apart from Ralph, is from an actual game: there’s Bowser, Dr. Robotnik (from the Sonic games), Zangief and M. Bison (from Street Fighter), Kano and Smoke (from Mortal-Kombat: Kano even performs his famous ‘finisher’ move on one of the other characters!), a Zombie from Hosue of the Dead, a bunch of others I didn't recognize (though I'm sure Wikipedia will be able to identify them soon), and the whole meeting is overseen by Clyde, the orange ghost from Pac-Man (indeed, the whole meeting turns out to be set in a Pac-Man map). Later Sonic and Pac-Man have cameos, as do Frogger, Dig-Dug, the aforementioned Tapper, and Q-Bert (who, together with his supporting cast, is out-of-work due to his game being unplugged: Ralph kind-heartedly gives them a cherry “fresh from Pac-Man”).

            Beyond cameos, though, there are also brilliant conceits such as the different ways the film incorporates the game-screen. In Ralph’s game, it hangs in the sky like an enormous sun. In Hero’s Duty, it’s attached to a small robot equipped with a rifle (which turns out to have a personality of its own). I also love the creativity that went into the world of Sugar Rush, which is like something from Willy Wonka’s subconscious: towering candy-cane forests, chocolate rivers, a volcano made out of coke and menthols, and hundreds upon hundreds of sugary subjects ruled over by King Candy (Alan Tudyk).

            But though the visuals are often striking and the video game world spot-on, it’s the story and the characters that make this film what it is. In particular, the relationship between Ralph and Vanellope serves as the emotional heart of the movie. The way these two misfits come to trust and rely on each other is both touching and believable, with many heartwarming (and heartbreaking) moments along the way. It’s these two that give the movie its soul.

            Ralph and Vanellope are the most important relationship, but they’re not the only one. There’s also Ralph’s sweet friendship/brotherhood with Felix, his heroic counterpart and pretty much the only character from his own game to treat him with any kind of decency. Felix in general is a delightful character: so sweet and innocent, and yet so earnest and, yes, heroic that you just can’t help loving the little guy.

            Felix and Calhoun also develop a charmingly unexpected relationship, where the unassumingly genuine old-school hero disarms the tough, cynical FPS heroine. They don’t have as many scenes together as I might like, but their relationship is delightful and ultimately pays off in a big way. 

            The writing is sharp, witty, and intelligent. Video game jokes abound, of course (When the surge protector asks Ralph’s name, he sarcastically answers “Lara Croft”), but there are also some clever references to classic film and even a few satirical jabs at things like customs inspectors and 12-stepping groups. And I must admit, the film surprised me a few times. There were a few twists and turns that I genuinely did not see coming. In particular, a major plot point is set up mid-way through, but is integrated so well that when it pays off it’s genuinely surprising (all the more so because the way it’s established implies that what ultimately happens couldn’t happen). On the other hand, a climactic gambit is telegraphed pretty early on, though the way it plays out is unexpected and satisfying.

            The cast is absolutely spot-on: John C. Reilly projects the perfect blend of weariness, self-pity, and good-heartedness as Ralph. His deep, loud voice is equally adept at being villainous and heroic, making him ideal for the villain-hero. Sarah Silverman brings all her trademark energy and craziness to Vanellope, but also does great in the more emotional scenes (her emotionally-charged scenes are often truly heartbreaking and probably the best acting in the film). Jack McBrayer, of course, can do the wide-eyed innocent better than anyone, and Jane Lynch has one of toughest female voices in modern Hollywood, and I enjoyed the nuance with which they played their respective characters.

I was a little worried at first that Alan Tudyk’s King Candy might turn out to be simply a camp stereotype, but all such fears were soon dismissed as I got swept up in his exuberant, scene-stealing performance (he’s like a cross between Cesar Romero’s Joker, Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka, and…I don’t know, a sugar-addicted schizophrenic or something). I also have to give shout outs to Kevin Deters as the very gentle and patient Clyde and director Rich Moore as the diminutive, aptly-named Sour Bill: King Candy’s joyless, monotone minion.

The animation is simply gorgeous. There’s the worlds of Fix-It Felix Jr. and other games: perfectly rendered in 8-bit from the outside, smoother but still cartoonish on the inside. There’s the dark, gritty FPS world of Hero’s Duty, the huge, brightly-lit Game-Central Station with its hundreds and hundreds of characters milling around (including dozens of real game characters). And, most of all, the candy-coated Sugar Rush with its perfectly rendered sugar, chocolate, and incredible attention to detail (look closely at Vanellope’s hoodie: the strings are made of liquorish).  

            One thing I was surprised at was that this movie tackles some very interesting and comparatively rare themes: things like the need for adversity and sacrifice on the path to being a hero, the ill-advisedness of trying to take short-cuts (appropriately for a film about games, the movie posits dire consequences for people who try to ‘cheat’), or even the need to sometimes humbly accept unpleasant circumstances and the dangers of trying to force our way out of them. I can’t really adequately explore the film’s take on these issues without spoilers (I might do so in a later post, once I’ve had the chance to see it again), but suffice to say that Ralph’s attempts to snatch at the results of something without the necessary effort comes back to bite him hard, and that both Ralph and another character court disaster by their inability to accept their circumstances.

            There is also the rather tired theme of ‘don’t bully people who are different’ (I am getting really sick of the ‘outcast-bullied-by-narrow-minded-locals’ scenario), though it’s tempered by the fact that Ralph’s reaction to his mistreatment ends up being much worse for everyone than the mistreatment itself, as well as the implication that it was, at least partially, due more to a lack of awareness than out-right cruelty or snobbishness (likewise, the treatment that Vanellope suffers turns out to have something far more twisted than mere snobbery behind it…).

            Then there’re the sly commentaries on the nature of the gaming world, with things like Q-Bert being out of work, the tragedy of unfinished characters and levels (as well as the pride players have in discovering them), the way unplanned elements often spark unexpected reactions from the audience, and, of course, the changing nature of the game world itself with slick, graphically-powerful First-Person Shooters superseding the more light-hearted, simplistic platformers (like Q-Bert). The nature of the threat Ralph inadvertently unleashes serves as a rather wry (and alarming) symbol of the way shooters have effectively taken over the gaming world, overwhelming the more innocent games and all-too-often giving the medium a dark, monotonous feeling.

            Of course, there’s nothing inherently wrong with FPS’s, and the film doesn’t pretend it (Calhoun is one of the main heroes), but there’s definitely an expressed preference and fondness for the more old-school, good-hearted games embodied by Ralph and Felix. At the very least, the filmmakers seem to be making a plea for more balance and appreciation for the classic games.

            Video games are often a controversial subject. Those who don’t play them, or who play them casually tend to dismiss them as time-wasters; pointless exercises that kill the imagination and ruin health. Gamers, however, know that they can just as easily be lovable, moving, and soul-filled pieces of entertainment – and yes, even art. The medium is in its infancy, and can indeed by misused or abused into a kind of drug, but when you find the good ones, when you use them correctly, they can be windows into marvelous worlds with beautiful stories and beloved characters. Certain games, like certain books or certain films, seem to have ‘souls:’ gamers find themselves drawn to specific games and characters, whom they come to love and appreciate for their own sake; characters like Mario or Sonic aren’t beloved just because their games are good (Sonic hasn’t had a good game in years): they resonate with people beyond the question of game-play. Wreck-It Ralph is, in some ways, an attempt to demonstrate or celebrate this love and this ‘soulful quality’ that players find in certain games. For those who can’t see the appeal of video games, this movie provides a window into why people love them.  

             While I think this is one of the best films of the year, it is not without its flaws. In particular, the very problem that incites the plot, Ralph’s relationship with the Nicelanders, never gets a satisfactory payoff. There’s an allusion to a rapprochement and understanding, but there’s never a moment where either Ralph or the Nicelanders actually make amends or ask forgiveness for their actions.

            Another issue for me was the fact that, having built this incredible universe of multiple worlds and inventive conceits the film more-or-less confines itself to Sugar Rush for at least half its screen-time. I don’t begrudge the time we spent there, and it could be argued that the movie might otherwise have degenerated into a mere series of references and in-jokes, but it still a little disappointing.

            On the other hand, the movie never loses sight of the fact that these are video-game characters, and it keeps throwing clever game ‘tropes’ at us right up until the end (where, yes, we do get what is basically a classic ‘boss battle’).

            I went into Wreck-It Ralph with high expectations, and I’m pleased to say it pretty much met all of them. It’s hilarious, heartfelt, witty, intelligent, and the most fun I’ve had at the movies since at least The Avengers. Here was a world I was genuinely sorry to leave, characters I wanted to see again...in short, it is one of those rare films that left me wanting more. One of the best movies of the year.

Final Rating: 4.5/5. For video game fans, a must see. For everyone else, its humor, heart, and gorgeous animation make it highly recommended.

Halloween Movies: Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein

 

           For those who don’t know, Abbott and Costello were one of the funniest comedy duos of classic Hollywood; the forties’ equivalent to Laurel and Hardy. Lou Costello was the chubby, short, ‘funny man’ while Bud Abbott was the thin, taller, ‘straight man.’ Their comedy style involved a combination of fast-paced word-play (including their famous “Who’s On First” routine), broad slapstick, and the contrast between Abbott’s mild bullying and Costello’s childishness.

            By 1949, however, their films were beginning to make less and less money. At the same time, the Universal Horror series had likewise begun to falter as after a pair of “all-star” films (House of Dracula and House of Frankenstein) there didn’t seem to be anywhere for them to go. At this point, someone at Universal had the insane, yet brilliant idea to combine the two series’ and, amazingly, inexplicably, it worked!

            The plot: Lawrence Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) makes a desperate call from London to a baggage-check room in Florida. He’s answered by Wibur Grey (Lou Costello) and tries to warn him not to deliver a certain pair of packages until he can get there, but before he can explain properly the full moon rises and he transforms into the Wolf-Man (“You’re awfully silly to call all the way from London just to have your dog talk to me!”). Back in Florida, Wilbur and his partner Chick Young (Bud Abbott) deliver two large crates to McDougal’s House of Horrors. During the delivery, Wilbur witnesses Count Dracula (Bela Lugosi) and the Frankenstein Monster (Glenn Strange) rising from the crates and vanishing into the night. When McDougal (Frank Ferguson) finds his prize exhibits missing, he throws the pair in jail, from which they’re bailed out by a beautiful insurance investigator named Joan Raymond (Jane Randolph) who intends to seduce Wilbur into leading her to the missing exhibits.

            Meanwhile, Dracula is planning to revive the Frankenstein Monster to be his servant, but in order to avoid the mistake of Dr. Frankenstein he intends to use the simplest, meekest brain he can find. Three guesses whom he has in mind. To that end he’s working with Sandra (Lenore Aubert), who’s dating Wilbur (Chick, of course, can’t understand what all these beautiful dames see in Wilbur).

            Talbot makes contact with Wilbur and Chick and tries to convince them to help him destroy Dracula. Of course, Chick doesn’t believe him and Wilbur is too scared. From then on the boys are caught in the middle of all the different parties.

            Horror comedy, as I’ve noted before, is a famously tricky genre to do well. Indeed, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein may be the first successful attempt at it. Not only that, but it remains one of the best examples of the genre.

            The key thing is that the monsters themselves are pretty much played straight: Dracula is recognizably Dracula, Talbot is still Talbot, etc. Part of the reason that this works is that the horror characters react to the duo pretty much exactly as they should: by clearly being amazed that anyone could be so stupid. Talbot in particular loses his temper with Wilbur at least twice. The effect is literally as though Bud and Lou simply wandered into a horror film and the horror characters don’t know what to make of them, while the comedy duo are unprepared for the fact that they’re genuinely in danger.

            This dynamic pays off in a number of clever scenes that work equally well as horror and comedy set pieces, such as a bit where Wilbur wanders around Talbot’s apartment while the Wolf-Man stalks him.

            Scene for scene, it’s probably more of a comedy than a horror film, and the comedy is hilarious: Bud and Lou are in top form, with rapid-fire dialogue and note-perfect slapstick. Here are some of their funniest set-pieces, like the ‘moving candle’ bit recycled from the earlier Hold that Ghost (but still funny), or the bit where Wilbur ends up unwittingly sitting on the comatose Monster’s lap.

            At the same time, there’re some unambiguously creepy scenes, such as when Dracula decides to take a more direct route with Sandra, or when Talbot suddenly stops freeing Wilbur because he notices the full moon outside (“What's the matter? Is someone else coming after me?”). I also need to make note of the spectacular special effects on the Dracula-bat transformations, which are simply superb and render Dracula more active and convincingly powerful than ever (one startling scene has him meeting Wibur in the woods, transforming into a bat to chase him down and subdue him, then turning back into himself to hypnotise Chick all in the space of about a minute).

            As noted, Bud and Lou are in top form here. Most of the rest of the cast is no more than adequate. Lenore Aubert makes a sinister femme fatale, while Frank Ferguson has some funny moments as the blustering Mr. McDougal, but other than that the supporting cast doesn’t make much impression (though there’s also a surprise cameo by none-other than Vincent Price reprising his own first horror role). Glenn Strange as the Monster pretty much just has to walk around stiffly, as this Monster lacks a fully-functioning brain (he does get a couple of good scenes opposite Lou, however). 

Chaney and Lugosi, meanwhile, don’t seem to be trying as hard as usual, though they still play their iconic roles professionally. Chaney can do the ‘tragic loner’ act in his sleep, and here he projects a real sense of long-suffering and weariness at his curse. The impression is that hunting Dracula is pretty much his only purpose for living now, and he pursues his goal with a palpable single-mindedness (his impatience with Wilbur’s jokes is also a nice touch).

Lugosi, meanwhile, is a lot more lively (ironically enough) than he was in Dracula, but that can easily be accounted for by his having been more ‘in the world’ in the meantime. This was only the second and last time Lugosi assailed his most famous role on screen, but he inhabits the role as though he had only just played it yesterday. Lugosi’s Dracula is still as formidable, cunning, and convincingly dangerous as ever, and it’s actually somewhat touching to see him take the role one last time.

And it is the last time: Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein is generally considered the last of the classic Universal Horror films; the end of the story for Dracula, the Wolf Man, and the Frankenstein Monster. These characters (and others) had a very long and winding road, but it’s a road that ends here. It’s a fitting climax: Dracula and the Wolf Man have their final showdown and the Monster meets his end, once again, in fire. We’ve come full circle.

So it’s doubly fitting that Lugosi should be here as Dracula: the actor and the role that began the series is here once again to see it end. 

But enough sadness and introspection. Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein is ideal Halloween viewing: compact, scary, atmospheric, and side-splittingly hilarious. It’s simply a good time all around.

Final Rating: 4.5/5 Highly recommended to horror fans, comedy fans, and people in general.

Memorable Quotes :

Chick: “You know people pay McDougal to come in here and get scared?”

Wilbur: “I’m cheatin’ him; I’m getting scared for nothing!”

Wilbur: “You know that person you said there was no such person? I think he’s in there – in person.”

Chick: “You’re making enough noise to wake up the dead!”

Wilbur (pointing at Dracula’s coffin): “I don’t have to wake him up; he’s up!”

Chick (about Wilbur): “I’d like to know what he’s got that I haven’t got?”

Sandra: “A brain.”

Talbot: “I came all the way from Europe because Dracula and the Monster must be destroyed!”

Wilbur: “I can’t. I’ve got a date. In fact I’ve got two dates.”

Talbot: “But you and I…have a date with destiny.”

Wilbur: “Let Chick go with destiny.”

Talbot (on the phone with Wilbur): “I believe you’re in the house of Dracula right now! You can find the Monster and I’ll…” (thud) “Hello? Hello?”

Wilbur: “You’re right; we gotta search the place! You search in the basement, I’ll search outside.”

Chick: “No you don’t!”

Wilbur: “Alright then, I’ll search the outside, you search in the basement.”

Chick: “That’s different! Come on.”

Wilbur (to the camera): “It worked!”

(To Wilbur)

Dracula: “What we need today is young bloods and brains!”

Dracula: “I have other ways of securing your cooperation.”

Sandra: “You’re wasting your time. My will is as strong as yours.”

Dracula: “Are you sure?”

Talbot: “So, we meet again, Count Dracula.”

Sandra: “You’re so full-blooded: so round, so firm…”

Wilbur (nervously): “So fully packed. And I’d like to stay that way.”

Wilbur: “Franky, don’t let ‘em do it to you! Franky, I’m telling you it’s a bad deal! I’ve had this brain for thirty years, and it hasn’t work right yet. Ask me what one-and-one is; go on, ask me! I don’t know.”

(Chased by the Monster, Wilbur and Chick run into McDougal)

McDougal: “Now I’ve got you!”

Wilbur: “You sill want your exhibits?”

McDougal: “Yes…”

Wilbur: “Well here comes one of them now!”

Chick: “Now that we’ve seen the last of Dracula, the Wolf Man, and the Monster, there’s nobody to frighten us anymore.”

Voice: “Oh, that’s too bad, I was hoping to get in on the excitement.”

Chick: “Who said that?”

Voice: “Allow me to introduce myself: I’m the Invisible Man.”