Coco (2017)

Over the last seven years, more than half of Pixar’s output has taken the form of sequels to their preexisting properties (disclosure: I’ve still not seen Finding Dory or Cars 3), and of their original fare only Inside Out has distinguished itself as belonging to that higher stratosphere of storytelling for which Pixar became known long ago. No slight to Brave or The Good Dinosaur, but I’ll claim Inside Out as standing quite apart from those fine but familiar endeavors. Coco is, however, a return to form for Pixar, taking us to a new world with a fresh narrative that ends up touching a few heart (and guitar) strings.

Against the wishes of his family, who believe that music has cursed their family, young Miguel (Anthony Gonzalez) has a secret shrine in his attic where he practices guitar and idolizes the world’s greatest musician, Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt). Miguel wants to play in a talent show on Día de los muertos, but a series of mishaps drops him into the land of the dead, where he’ll need the help of the nearly-forgotten Hector (Gael García Bernal) to reach Ernesto de la Cruz and rejoin his living family.

Director Lee Unkrich has been tied up with Coco since Toy Story 3 (2010), which was arguably Pixar’s finest film in the last ten years, so it’s a welcome relief to see finally what’s taken so long. On that count, Unkrich does not disappoint; Coco is the kind of film that reminds you what truly exceptional animated material looks like when it’s married to equally compelling storytelling. Yes, it’s a version of that same Pixar plot in which a character travels through a new place in order to return home while learning something about himself in the process, but the film feels so remarkably fresh that I didn’t notice this plot similarity until I went back to my review of The Good Dinosaur to remind myself why that film hadn’t worked as well.

One of Pixar’s remarkable strengths has always been its ability to create a world, and it’s that dexterity at world-building that has made Pixar sequels so appetizing to the general public – who wouldn’t want to rejoin The Incredibles or see what else is in the Toy Story toy box? As good as those sequels have been (or are expected to be), though, revisiting a world comes at the expense of building another one. Pixar’s always been quite deft at giving us a sideways glance at our own world, seeing what’s just out of sight and asking us to reimagine – to re-envision (emphasis on vision) – how we view our toys, our feelings, our fish. Here, surprisingly soberly, Coco takes us into the afterlife, through the particular lens of Mexican culture. In so doing, the film does a remarkable job at introducing this tradition to an audience who may not know an ofrenda from an alebrije. Coco is never directly didactic, but it strikes me as a fine primer on what another culture does on October 31.

Visually, Coco is a real delight. My screening of Coco was preceded by a little vignette about how many people participated in the film and how intricate their work was, so perhaps I was readied to appreciate the many details within the film’s animation. Individual illuminated buildings, the peculiar way each skeleton walks, the delicate ornamentation on each skull – to say nothing of the trademark Pixar bouncy ball and Pizza Planet truck – all are brought to startling life with what can only be described as “Pixar showing off” (as in the best it does). Like the famous pencil adjustment scene in The Incredibles, there’s no story relevance to Miguel having only one dimple when he smiles, but it’s a moment when Pixar can flex its animation muscles and play magician with a peek behind the digital curtain and a wink at its own prowess.

At the heart of the film is a smooth, effortless narrative which feels unique and takes the audience to surprising places, both geographically and emotionally. The film’s emphasis on music, so pivotal to Miguel’s self-discovery, also feels like a revelation from Pixar; though composer Michael Giacchino (who himself makes a small cameo) always serves as a worthwhile hand on deck, Coco approaches becoming a musical in a way that most Pixar fare has not, echoing WALL·E’s use of Hello, Dolly! as Miguel makes his way closer to his idol. If you don’t leave the theater humming at least one of the tracks from the film, consult an audiologist, because the songs are so inextricable from the core narrative, so vitally integrated, that the film might not succeed without them.

Coco does succeed, though, and it’s a blessing to have films like this in the world. Without the benefit or burden of extended universes, with a runtime healthily shy of two hours, and with a style that identifies it as uniquely itself, Coco is a fine reminder of what Lee Unkrich and Pixar can accomplish when they do what they do best. And hey, if there’s a Coco 2 in the distant future, I’m all for it; they will have earned it.

Coco is rated PG for “thematic elements.” Directed by Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina. Written by Lee Unkrich, Adrian Molina, Jason Katz, and Matthew Aldrich. Starring Anthony Gonzalez, Gael García Bernal, Alanna Ubach, and Benjamin Bratt.

Bonus review! Coco is preceded by Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, in which magical snowman Olaf (Josh Gad) travels throughout Arendelle in search of a holiday tradition for Elsa and Anna (Idina Menzel and Kristen Bell). At twenty-one minutes, it’s evident that the short began life as a television holiday special in the vein of Toy Story of Terror! and Toy Story That Time Forgot, and perhaps the short would have fared better there than before a feature film, where it seems to overstay its welcome (conditioned as we are to expect an original short in the neighborhood of eight minutes). Audiences in Mexico have notably revolted, such that the short has been largely pulled from theaters there, and I do have to say that the short isn’t that bad. It’s possessing of the same charm extended from Frozen, though its songs are not quite as memorable and its story holds a little fat around the edges. But I certainly felt impatient around halfway through, so its length and placement would seem to have worked against the short. Frozen fans will love it, but the general audience might not be ready for a "short" of this magnitude.

Catwoman (2004)

I finally sat down to watch Catwoman because it was by my count the last comic book superhero movie I hadn’t yet seen (I've since been reminded of the existence of Shaquille O'Neal's Steel). And after watching it, I can confirm that Suicide Squad was actually the last comic book superhero movie I’d never seen, because Catwoman has absolutely nothing to do with the characters published by DC Comics beyond the overlapping imagery of leather, whips, and cats. But as much as it has a reputation for being one of the worst films ever made, I just can’t muster up the enthusiasm to tear it apart frame by frame, because the truth is that Catwoman is just appallingly uninspiring on every level.

Halle Berry stars as Patience Phillips, a graphic designer for a cosmetics company run by a couple (Lambert Wilson and Sharon Stone) who are more lazily written than they are evil. Patience discovers the shady truth about the company’s latest skin cream, falls victim to a corporate conspiracy, but is brought back to life by an ancient feline deity, and believe it or not the film continues to fall apart from there.

Let’s not mince words here – Catwoman is a terrible film. It’s almost entirely unwatchable, and it’s insulting how it lures in an audience with the promise of a story that doesn’t even get approximated in the film. But in spite of all the reasons I should be mad at Catwoman, I’m almost more disappointed – in the film, in Halle Berry, and in myself for going out of my way to borrow the movie and watch it. Throughout the film, I kept thinking to myself that I needed to cleanse my palate with either Batman Returns or The Dark Knight Rises, much more accurate representations of what Catwoman is supposed to be. Ultimately, I took a nap – a cat nap, if you will (maybe the only cat-related pun the film doesn’t trot out with all the subtlety of Harpo Marx’s bicycle horn) – largely because I couldn’t find the energy to do anything else.

Catwoman is a thoroughly enervating experience, and in spite of the grotesquely dizzying editing (the kind which would make even Paul Greengrass queasy), it’s incredibly boring to boot. That’s the worst thing a film can be, boring, and even at 104 minutes Catwoman feels agonizingly protracted. The script is predictable and wrought with clichés, the characters are the pinnacle of thinly drawn – so thin that Berry literally walks between prison bars – and the stakes of the film are so disjointed that you’re not sure if this is a romantic comedy between cops and criminals or a superhero film where the fate of the world rests in Catwoman’s claws.

To mirror the disjointed nature of the film, I have a series of disjointed criticisms – why establish that Catwoman stole a one-of-a-kind necklace if her identity is uncovered by a forensic analysis of lipstick? What movie did Alex Borstein’s randy friend character step out of, and can we put her back? How many times does the film need to have a “surprise reveal” that Sharon Stone is actually the villain? (I counted three.) Is this movie supposed to be in canon with Batman Returns, or does it merely plagiarize the “reanimated by cats” origin story? And has director Pitof ever actually seen a basketball game before?

Perhaps most importantly, how did this film cost $100 million to make? (For comparison, Deadpool had a reported budget of $58 million.) I can’t fathom where the money went – the special effects are dodgy, the acting is wooden, and the direction is purposeless. On top of the retrograde sexual politics and leery male gaze, Catwoman’s greatest sin is its intrinsic dullness.

Catwoman is rated PG-13 for “action violence and some sensuality.” Directed by Pitof. Written by Theresa Rebeck, John Brancato, Michael Ferris, and John Rogers. Starring Halle Berry, Sharon Stone, and Benjamin Bratt.

Justice League: Gods and Monsters (2015)

I’ve been a little lukewarm about the recent animated output from DC Comics. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for the world’s greatest superheroes, and it’s very hard to outright disappoint me when you have a film with Batman in it. But I’m somewhere between “devotion” and “obligation” when it comes to direct-to-DVD features like Batman vs. Robin, most recently. News that Bruce Timm, he of Batman: The Animated Series fame, was returning to the animated DC universe brought leaps of glee. I rushed to the store on its debut (shunning as I did its earlier digital release), and...?

It’s okay. It’s not Bruce Timm’s best work, but it is diverting enough; it’s far from DC’s recent disappointing work, but Gods and Monsters is disappointing in a different kind of way.

Imagine if you will a Justice League from a harsher world: Superman (Benjamin Bratt) is the son of General Zod, raised by Mexican laborers; Batman (Michael C. Hall) is actually the vampiric Kirk Langstrom, known to comics devotees as Man-Bat; and this world’s Wonder Woman (Tamara Taylor) is a warrior descended from the gods of New Genesis. The world fears them, and someone is murdering scientists in a bid to frame the Justice League.

I’ve often lamented the loss of Timm’s art style in DC’s animated films – in fact, I called out Flashpoint Paradox for its “choppy and bargain-bin” animation. Timm’s style has always seemed clean, perhaps because it’s quite literally the stuff on which I was raised, but he’s also in possession of an exceptional flair for design. This film’s trinity all have distinctive, original looks that convey difference while maintaining an echo with their counterparts. You’ll hear me throughout this review praise the character of Bekka, Gods and Monsters’ Wonder Woman analogue, but I must also say that I’d buy a vampiric Batman action figure in a heartbeat.

On the subject of Bekka, amid the dismal lack of female superheroes in the current renaissance, she’s far and away the most compelling character in the film. (Cinema King second-rates Batman? Say it ain’t so!) Visuals aside, Bekka’s character is intricately crafted, with a compelling personality, engaging snark in an otherwise gloomy film, and a backstory that’s worthy of Superman: Red Son in terms of alternate takes. But where Red Son had Superman’s rocket landing in Moscow rather than Smallville, Bekka hails from Jack Kirby’s Fourth World saga, the epic narrative of opposing god-planets. Timm’s visual style borrows from Kirby’s wheelhouse, but it’s Bekka’s flashback that embraces Kirby most directly, much to the glee of this reviewer. Each character gets a flashback sequence to fill out their origins, but it’s Bekka’s that I’ll be flocking to rewatch first.

Illutrating these points of difference is ostensibly a highlight of any divergent-timeline story, and director Sam Liu paces these out quite well, interspersing them throughout the film in a clear manner without frontloading all the backstory. (And don’t worry, you don’t need to have read the tie-in comics or seen the Machinima shorts, though the latter are strongly recommended.) In fact, in some ways, these are more interesting than the main plot itself, which is a bit underwhelming. Let’s say this – anyone who’s read a fair share of comics will crack the mystery almost immediately.

That brings me to my first qualm with the film (of which I have two) – who is this movie for? As all alternate takes usually do, Gods and Monsters fills itself out with a who’s-who of parallel universe versions of DC’s vast tapestry. In place of Lois Lane, we have ace reporter Lana Lang; Amanda Waller is president, Batman was the college roommate of Will Magnus, and micro-scientist Ray Palmer has a lab aide named Ryan. Now, if you’re steeped enough in DC lore to get the references, there’s a chuckle to be had – of course the power-savvy Waller would end up president – but in these moments the film doesn’t depart enough. The names are the same, and so too are the personalities, which makes this alternate-universe exercise seem a little too same old, same old. On the other hand, if you don’t know who Will Magnus is, that subplot doesn’t really go anywhere or do anything for you.

My second complaint about Gods and Monsters is that the movie never answers a central question about its team, one which could have made for a fascinating movie altogether – how did this Justice League assemble in the first place? Because Timm (a cowriter, with Alan Burnett) gave us such very engaging points of departure for the trinity, he in turn gave us characters that are monstrous mirrors of the Justice League proper – and by extension their path to collaboration was probably a bit rocky. They are, as the title tells us, both gods and monsters, and what drives three such individuals to work together? Gods and Monsters hops over the second act in favor of an underboiled third-act mystery, when I suspect the real meat was in what we didn’t see.

If it’s all addressed in the rumored sequel, spinoff comics, or second season of Machinima shorts, that’ll be fine when we get there, but as a standalone Gods and Monsters doesn’t stand enough apart to be another home run for Timm. It’s disappointing in a different way; where Son of Batman was disappointing because it never rose above the level of “generic Batman adventure,” Gods and Monsters is a bit of a letdown because it displays enough promise to remind us of what Bruce Timm is actually capable. At the end of the day, though, it is still a Bruce Timm product, which puts it at least shoulder-height above most of the other comics cartoons out there. But it does need to bear that qualifying adverb of “enough” – it is good enough, entertaining enough, and creative enough, but it isn’t transcendent in the way that I suspect most DC disciples expect.

Justice League: Gods and Monsters is rated PG-13 for “violence throughout and suggestive content including nudity.” This is somewhat bloody by DC’s animated standards, particularly because one character is a vampire. The nudity is actually an unclothed silver robot with a female body shape, though Wonder Woman makes several innuendoes as well.

Monday at the Movies - June 30, 2014

Welcome to another edition of “Monday at the Movies.” This week, we tackle two truly despicable movies.

Despicable Me (2010) – Hardcore Disney snobs like myself often miss out on good animated films from other studios simply as a matter of personal prejudice, and Despicable Me is certainly among those nearly-missed opportunities.  I say “good” and not “great” not because Despicable Me is a disappointment – it isn’t – but it never fully accesses the transcendent quality of, say, an Up or a Toy Story 3.  Instead of striving for exceptionalism, Despicable Me is quite satisfied with telling a rather familiar story; here, sinister supervillain Gru (Steve Carell) finds his heart warming when he involves three adorable orphans in his scheme to steal a shrink ray and, by extension, the moon.  It is a story, as Beauty and the Beast would have it, as old as time, but the filmmakers work to tell a solid rendition of that story.  What they bring to the table – and what I say is ultimately the film’s greatest success – is a cuteness factor that goes up to eleven.  It’s funny that Gru is somewhat sidelined (at least, for this reviewer) in his own movie; I, and I suspect other audience members as well, was more captivated by the pygmy-like yellow jabbering Minions and their setpiece antics.  The scene-stealer, though, is the youngest of the orphans, Agnes (Elsie Fisher), who has a way with both youthful naïveté (mistaking a Cheeto for a caterpillar) and boisterous overexaggeration (“It’s so fluffy, I’m gonna die!”).  Perhaps the reason these two contingents steal center stage is because the main antagonist, voiced by Jason Segel, is neither interesting nor tolerable; consequently, we want to see Gru succeed not on his merits, but rather so we can be shut of Vector and his irksome antics.  Fortunately, the film compensates with an “aww”-inspiring supporting cast.

Despicable Me 2 (2013) – As much as I liked the first film for what it was, I enjoyed the sequel even more because it rectifies the first film’s major sin and continues to spotlight Agnes and the Minions.  Carell is back as Gru, this time contracted by the Anti-Villain League to find a villain who’s stolen a MacGuffin; Gru is partnered with an affable newbie, Lucy Wilde (Kristen Wiig), while beginning to suspect Mexican restaurateur Eduardo Perez (Benjamin Bratt) of being the former villain El Macho.  By giving Gru a more compelling plotline and a more engaging cast of immediately supporting characters, the film gives Carell more interesting material, which subsequently sharpens his game.  Despicable Me 2, still directed by Pierre Coffin and Chris Renaud, is acutely aware of what worked in the first film – namely, Agnes and the Minions – and pulls off a remarkably difficult feat:  it’s a sequel with restraint.  Rather than pelt us with overdoses of essentially the same jokes, Coffin & Renaud amplify without deafening.  There are more Minions, yes, but they’re still funny because of the non sequitur nature of their nattering and flair for costuming (personal favorite: “French Maid Minion”).  Ditto for Agnes, who’s still soul-crushingly cute, but now for different reasons than before.  All told, Despicable Me 2 feels more organic, less storytelling-by-numbers than its predecessor, which makes me optimistic about the two forthcoming entries in the franchise.  These aren’t genre-bending films, nor are they tremendously innovative, but don’t mistake their unsophistication for drivel.  Despicable Me 2 is plenty of fun, with a strong additive of cuteness – a solid middle-of-the-road animated film without lofty ambitions but with instead a keen earnestness.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week for the Double-Oh-Seventh of the month!