Casino (1995)

The Martin Scorsese showcase continues here at The Cinema King with 1995's Casino, Marty's second and final collaboration with writer Nicholas Pileggi, his third and final with Joe Pesci, and his eighth and (to date) final with Robert DeNiro.

In many ways, the idea of this film being a "final" film is brutally apparent, as the film is another rise-and-fall story - albeit heavy on the "fall." When the film begins, Sam "Ace" Rothstein (DeNiro) has it all: a foolproof way to beat the odds whenever he bets, a kingdom in the form of the Tangiers Hotel and Casino, and a beautiful wife Ginger (Sharon Stone). His childhood friend Nicky Santoro (Pesci) doesn't have quite as much, but he comes to Las Vegas in order to take what he doesn't have. Ginger, meanwhile, has her jewelry, her former pimp (James Woods), and her problems with substance abuse. These three, against which is set the ultimate fall of Las Vegas from the Mafia's hands into the hands of corporate American tourism, have everything to lose, and their own personal ambitions make sure of it.

I've always thought of this film as the unofficial sequel to Goodfellas, both because of the DeNiro/Pesci/Scorsese reunion and because of blatant thematic similarities that make these two almost impossible to watch or review separately. Viewed almost back-to-back, I'm prepared to say that Goodfellas is the better of the two, but only in the same way that The Beatles are better than The Rolling Stones; that is, though both have undeniably epic qualities to them, there's something a little more polished about the former that makes the coarser qualities of the latter more difficult to appreciate. While Goodfellas is a 10 in my book, Casino hits closer to a 7 or an 8, for reasons to be discussed below. [Be warned that I'm going to begin discussing the film's main themes, which in turn involves some reveal of the film's ending. Though it pains me to do this for any who haven't seen the film, a) you already know my take on Casino, and b) Scorsese movies are always best discussed like Shakespearean tragedies instead of conventional Hollywood films - with full view of the ending, which is less about surprise and more about revelation.]

The atmosphere of finality pervades the entire film, so much so that its ending is entirely gloomy and perhaps unsettling for many viewers. Where Goodfellas ended on a sadly poignant note, marking one man's fall and the very personal toll it took upon him, Casino represents the end of an era - and not just in a metafictional kind of way, though this being Scorsese's final Italian Mafia picture counts, too. Casino is all about the ways that personal vice destroy lives, which are in turn interconnected with other lives. Sam, Nicky, and Ginger represent a precarious pyramid perched atop an even larger pyramid, and the actions of one could topple the whole thing like a house of cards. Nowhere is this more apparent than in a key scene in which one mob underling's grumbles in his family's deli end up on an FBI wiretap, which subsequently leads to increased federal scrutiny, which then leads to the fall of the mob's control of Las Vegas. Yet within this issue is the microcosm of Sam Rothstein and his own personal trials - very few of which he passes in the long run.

Not to mention that almost everyone ends up dead at the film's conclusion. Where prison and ignominy awaited the Goodfellas, almost all the characters in Casino who don't go to prison wind up buried in a hole in the desert - a denouement composed in montages of operatic brutality which reflect none of the lighthearted sensibilities that governed Goodfellas. Perhaps, then, my comparative favoring of Goodfellas over Casino stems from the degree to which the respective endings leave me feeling fuzzy; there is very little joy in Casino, which plays out much more like an epic tragedy than a personal narrative about individual consequences.

The performances aren't quite as good as in Goodfellas, due in part to the conspicuous absence of the uber-talented but perenially underused Ray Liotta. DeNiro isn't as strong here as previously, though he's a few steps above phoning it in; his portrayal of Rothstein is believable but not layered enough to be abundantly interesting. His character is one-note and a little predictable, making the film overall less enjoyable. Pesci, though, steps his game up a notch; where Tommy DeVito was unpredictable in terms of his violence in Goodfellas to the point of being surprising each time he lashed out, Nicky Santoro is a con man of the first order, never telling anyone but the audience what he thinks and what his angle is. Scenes where he tries to play Sam and Ginger against each other mark high points in his deception, and his cognizance of his own culpability in their collective fall is sterling - not to mention the fact that he's angrier here than ever. Don Rickles and James Woods turn in small parts, with Rickles revealing he's actually a talented dramatic actor while Woods is perfectly sleazy and entirely loathsome. And major props to Ms. Stone for making Ginger out to be a wholly repulsive character; she's a few levels above merely irritating because her acting allows us to understand her character (though we certainly shouldn't agree with her).

The camerawork by Scorsese is as stylized and stunning as before, with quirky camera angles, inventive use of freeze-frame (although one moment freezes almost too long, to the point where I actually got up and walked over to my DVD player to check for scratches), and helpful employment of multiple narrators to enrich moments on screen; though DeNiro and Pesci provide the bulk of narration, the most useful voiceover comes from Frank Vincent as Frankie Marino, who complements his own performance by letting us know why he's lying to his boss and informing us about the kinds of emotions that are being concealed by a suspiciously stony exterior. If I had a complaint about the direction of the film, it's that Casino is three hours long. The story sprawls (but never stalls), making itself into an epic (there's that word again) that feels complete. Consequently, though I'm griping about length, I'm not sure what I'd cut; Scorsese has kept everything essential in the film, and so all I'm left to grumble about is an abbreviated attention span. Good work, Scorsese, but I as a viewer will take the heat for the film's runtime.

This is starting to sound like a bad review, but it's really not. Casino has less to immediately enjoy and more to savor in the long run. With the end in sight, multiple viewings help the perspective and the focus become clearer. What's more, I think this movie lends itself more to thoughtfulness than to appreciation. Where it's easier for me to gush about the things in Goodfellas that I love, Casino makes me pause and reflect a bit more. In the moment, there aren't as many gut-busters - though there's no shortage of moments where you'll say, "Rock on, Scorsese" - and so I encourage you to go thoughtfully to Casino, ready to think before you can fully enjoy the filmic bouquet.

Though not quite as magical as Goodfellas and perhaps a bit too long for some viewers, Casino is nevertheless a fine outing for Scorsese and a more than adequate swan song for many of his collaborators.
No surprise, Casino is rated R "for strong brutal violence, pervasive strong language, drug use and some sexuality." This one is even more violent than Goodfellas, with incredibly violent and gruesome moments littered with more than 400 F-bombs (and a few C-bombs tossed in for good measure), as well as substantive abuse of drugs, alcohol, and chain-smoking. and several characters are depicted having sex though brief rear nudity is shown once out of focus.

Toy Story 3 (2010)

I'm starting to feel a little bit old, particularly because I can remember vividly standing in line for Toy Story 2 with bated breath, dying to see my favorite toys (well, except for my Batman action figures) back in town.

That was eleven years ago. Here I am, all grown up - like Andy - in a transitional state of my life, with a third installment of the Toy Story franchise in theaters. I admit to some trepidation preceding my experience with the theatrical run, in part due to the historically low track record for threequels - which I feared might put a damper on what might otherwise have been a successful series of films from the folks over at Pixar.

Oh, ye of little faith. Toy Story 3 is everything a moviegoer - and a franchise fan - could want: a delightful and fulfilling follow-up, a fresh and fun film, and escapism at its effervescent peak.

The toys are indeed back in town, but not for long; owner Andy's off to college, and the fate of the toys is in flux. Sheriff Woody (voice of Tom Hanks) is the odds-on favorite to accompany Andy as he moves out, leaving Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) and the others - including cowgirl Jessie (Joan Cusack) and trusty steed Bullseye, Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head (Don Rickles and Estelle Harris, respectively), piggy bank Hamm (John Ratzenberger), and dinosaur Rex (Wallace Shawn) - bound for the attic. A twist of fate, however, brings the toys first to the curb on garbage day and inevitably to be donated to Sunnyside Daycare. Though Sunnyside - and its feudal lord Lotso Huggin Bear (Ned Beatty) - welcome the toys with open arms, it seems all that glitters is indeed not gold, and perhaps there is no worse fate than being played with.

I've extensively praised the voice cast for both the first and second films, so suffice it to say that no one sleeps through their performance. Hanks is pitch-perfect overconfident as always, and Allen is exuberantly boisterous as ever. Rickles, of course, can do no wrong in my book, and I particularly loved the "Get a haircut" shoutout to his standup comedy routine. What's especially worthy of note in this one is the crop of new additions to the voice cast. Beatty is a knockout as Lotso, capturing the multifaceted nature of the character and even making us believe that he smells like strawberries. A new group of toys - belonging to a little girl named Bonnie, a near clone of Boo from Monsters, Inc. - is introduced here, and they're among the cuter ones of the bunch; lederhosen-garbed Mr. Pricklepants (Timothy Dalton), triceratops Trixie (Kristen Schaal, late of Flight of the Conchords), and unicorn Buttercup (Jeff Garlin) are all fun and interesting characters worthy of their own spinquel (a word I think I coined, meaning a spin-off/sequel), though I could do without the one-dimensional (pun intended) Dolly (Bonnie Hunt). But my favorite new character here is Michael Keaton as Ken, Barbie's on/off boyfriend who embodies the "It is better to look good than to feel [or even be] good." Keaton, with his signature comedic timing, brings Ken entirely to life here, capturing all the narcissism and simplicity of what is essentially an accessory to a girl's toy (though he objects to all of the above).

Director Lee Unkrich takes the helm from John Lasseter for the third outing, though the transition is seamless. The screenplay is first-rate, opening new ground on a series I had assumed was closed. Where the first and the second films shared plot points, the third one stands on its own fairly well, opening itself to a new generation while keeping the diehard fans (the "Andyites," as Pixar refers to the audience who grew up with Andy) satisfied and smiling. I was particularly pleased with how generic the film felt, in the most positive sense of the word; nothing seemed forced, but rather the daycare plotline felt like the next logical step in the narrative trajectory of the franchise (in a way that the rejected "Buzz gets recalled" plotline did not). The film has plenty of surprises, even for a seasoned filmgoer; I had a similar experience with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, where characters in peril still put me on the edge of my seat even though I know the impending doom is an artificial threat. So kudos to Unkrich's team for making the certain destruction facing our characters actually seem threatening and not formulaic.

Kudos also for a great visual look to the film. With an attention to detail on minute features like Jessie's yarn hair and the mesh tutu worn by Bonnie, the effects are polished (representing Pixar at the top of their technical game), and the stylized look of the film has a sharp glow to it that is comforting on an unconscious level and attractive on a conscious one. The characters all have intricate designs that speak to their personalities, particularly with the new faces; I'm struck by the implicit irony in a lot of these characterizations, as with the dour-faced clown Chuckles and the lumbering Vader-esque Big Baby (who is perennially reliable for those uncomfortable "creeeeeeepy" laughs).

On one level, I feel silly writing about the technical merits and narrative accomplishments of the film; part of me wants to shout, "It's a kids' movie! Stop looking for opportunites to brandish some literary analysis!" But on another level, I'm conscious of the fact that this is a Pixar movie, made by people who absolutely love their job and put as much of their passion into the finished product as possible so that an audience can derive the greatest quantity of enjoyment from it. To overlook the minutiae bubbling beneath the surface, to decline the chance to open the veritable toy chest that is this film would be to do a disservice to the creators of the film. But it's also easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees. I can get caught up, for example, in the myriad Star Wars references (there's a particularly pointed reference to the climax of Return of the Jedi, though not as direct as Toy Story 2's shout-out to The Empire Strikes Back) or in the quiet message delivered by Sid's cameo as a garbageman. But by doing that, though, I might forget that this is a movie that is first and foremost meant to be enjoyed.

To borrow a page from Ken's book, then, Toy Story 3 is simply "cool and groovy."
Aww, look - Toy Story 3 is rated G, but without any qualifying statements like "mild peril."

Toy Story 2 (1999)

Cinema King to Star Command - come in, Star Command. I've uncovered evidence of a sequel being better than its antecedent, something I haven't said since The Dark Knight (okay, High School Musical 3 can count).

On my way to reviewing all the Pixar films, a head cold and a lack of enthusiasm led me to skip over A Bug's Life (coming soon, I promise) and hop right on over to Toy Story 2, which I fondly remembered as a fantastic film but hadn't seen since its theatrical release. Fortunately, the film is still as shiny as Buzz Lightyear's laser beam and genuinely touching, to boot.

Where the first film dealt with the basic rules of the Toy Story world (toys animating when their owners aren't looking) and Buzz Lightyear's identity crisis, the second film puts the dramatic onus on Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks), who finds out he's a rare collectible toy with an exhibit in Tokyo just waiting for his presence. Buzz (Tim Allen, delightfully bombastic as ever) leads the rest of the toys on a rescue mission to save Woody from the thieving clutches of collector Al (a wonderfully skeevy Wayne "Newman" Knight) before it's too late.

The script here is positively brilliant, lifting visual cues and plot points from the first Toy Story and turning them on their respective heads. If Buzz did something in Toy Story, Woody does it in Toy Story 2. Now if that sounds like lazy writing, it very well could have been were it not for the clever and fun way in which the modestly familiar plot is delivered. In addition to revisiting territory covered in Toy Story, Toy Story 2 adds a great deal to the franchise's mythology, including a supporting cast for Woody - featuring Joan Cusack as yodeling cowgirl Jessie and an adorably Harpo Marxist trusty steed named Bullseye - as well as the introduction of the Evil Emperor Zurg, around whom are centered some of my favorite scenes of the film. (The film's opener, pittting Buzz against Zurg in the latter's stronghold, is spectacular but takes a backseat to Zurg's superb revelation: "No, Buzz, I am your father!")

With all of the same voice cast returning from the first film, there's little to cover that hasn't already been said in my previous review. Hanks and Allen are still fine choices (Allen still coming out on top, especially when drawing subtle distinctions between Buzz and Utility Belt Buzz), and the supporting cast - especially Don Rickles as Mr. Potato Head and Wallace Shawn as Rex - shines. I've praised Knight, and Cusack's all right (though Jessie tugs at every heartstring when Sarah McLachlan sings "When Somebody Loved Me," a moving piece about being forgotten by someone who loved you), but Kelsey Grammer and his gravitas-laden voice is solid as Stinky Pete the Prospector. And let's not forget a charming cameo by Robert Goulet, who sings "You've Got a Friend in Me."

But what makes the film positively glitter is the fact that the filmmakers love making movies - and it shows. Between loving allusions (Star Wars sounds pepper the effects library) and downright good filmmaking, the whole movie carries with it an atmosphere of self-enjoyment and nostalgic appreciation for "the good ole days." That, I suppose, is what makes the film most abundantly rewatchable - if you want to remember the good ole days, the best way to do that is with a film that does exactly that.

Ride like the wind, Bullseye! On to Toy Story 3 with no reservations!


Toy Story 2 is still rated G.

Toy Story (1995)

The great Pixar review experiment begins with a look back at 1995's Toy Story, which I'm glad to say held up a little better than Raiders of the Lost Ark did last season. That's not to comparatively evaluate the films, but Toy Story - seen by an older me - held more surprises and unremembered gems than the oft-viewed Indiana Jones picture did.


The plotline of toy rivalry competing for the affections of owner Andy is the stuff of the animated Hollywood bible by this point, but for those of you just tuning in: Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks) is Andy's favorite toy... until birthday gift Buzz Lightyear of Star Command (Tim Allen) upsets the delicate balance in the playroom. When a plan to recoup Andy's affections goes awry, Woodyd finds himself and Buzz fighting for their toy lives - literally, if vicious neighbor Sid has anything to say about it.


The visuals aren't as polished as later Pixar ventures (see WALL-E if you want photorealism), but the fanciful nature of the animation helps give Toy Story that "toys come alive" feel that warms our hearts. What does an even better job at bringing the film to life is a stellar voice cast that perfectly matches each character's appearance and personality. American favorite Tom Hanks is a knockout as Woody, capturing all of the sheriff's emotions (running the gamut from beloved leader to childhood favorite to dawning jealousy) and good-ole-boy charm without missing a beat. And, though I've become a huge Don Rickles fan (he voices Mr. Potato Head) in the intervening years since '95, the real star in the voice cast is Tim Allen, who comfortably dons Buzz Lightyear like a spacesuit and takes risks by flirting with an overly bombastic performance in order to fully capture the mildly delusional toy's bravado.


Both Billy Crystal (turning down the part of Buzz, a move he'd later regret and atone for by voicing Mike in Monsters, Inc.) and Mattel (who withheld Barbie from the film, expecting a flop) didn't think Pixar could dream the impossible dream of a computer-animated film, instead believing the digital wunderkinds to be tilting at windmills. But what makes the film a first-rate success isn't just the pretty pictures and soothing sounds (including a downright touching soundtrack from Randy Newman). It's the story, a solid piece of writing that speaks to every generation who beholds it (well, except for Andy Rooney, I'd bet). There's enough in here for kids and adults to appreciate, and they'd better appreciate it because Toy Story is better crafted than a lot of other pictures out there today. The script is expansive, creating a new world with new rules (especially appertaining to when toys can and cannot animate themselves) in a brilliantly digestible manner. And it's touching, too, tugging at those heartstrings right before reawakening the kid you adults thought you'd put away with the rest of the bricabrac in your toybox.


Food for thought: where's Andy's father?

Toy Story, not surprisingly, is rated G, though a few younger viewers might be perturbed by discussion of toy homicide, particularly within Sid's yard. Sid is one of the creepiest characters ever animated, and his army of Frankensteinian toys may give the faint at heart the willies.