REVIEW: Welcome to the Dollhouse

The disconnect between reality and entertainment can be a fascinating pitfall to watch a film circumvent. Coming-of-age stories all but rely on being relatable to their audience, yet there has to be some element of exaggeration in order for the plot and characters to come off as engaging and entertaining. You definitely can make a film that's essentially a 1:1 portrait of everyday life, but it's then that you start to stray into mumblecore territory; while there's nothing particularly wrong with that genre as a whole, it's far from what most would consider conventionally entertaining. At the same time, placing too much stake in caricature and entertainment value can result in something too absurd for audiences to connect with; a fun time, but nothing more. Adolescence is a time mired in profanity and sex and a seemingly unbridled capacity for cruelty, yet these elements of the human experience are frequently watered-down into something more palatable for general audiences (not to mention the MPAA). We get no such worries with Todd Solondz' 1996 directorial debut, Welcome to the Dollhouse, a film that just toes the line of absurdity to the point of matching up perfectly with our collective recollections of middle school.

This is a film that, despite a solid pace and well-organized structure, doesn't have much of a plot. We're simply given a glimpse into the tumultuous life of eleven-year-old Dawn Weiner (Heather Matarazzo); with a name like that, we can imagine the hell she is forced to endure day in and day out at school. It certainly doesn't help that she's gawky, immature, and all-around unpopular. We would hope that poor Dawn is offered some respite in her own home, but no dice; she's the oft put-upon middle child, sandwiched between an overachieving big brother (Matthew Faber) and a tooth-achingly adorable little sister (Daria Kalinina). Like so many her age, Dawn is trapped in that dead-zone between childhood and adolescence; she wants to be popular, but she also doesn't care for the social politics that dictate daily life at school and would much rather just play in her clubhouse. She finds herself at an age where being yourself is the easiest way to become a target and retaliation against injustice is discouraged at every turn. I can remember being told in school that, if we were ever being bullied, the LAST thing we should do is fight back (I'd later learn this was especially true if said bully was someone with authority over you, like say, a second-grade teacher). Fortunately for me, my parents instilled in me what a load of bull that was ("you'll get in trouble at school, but we promise you won't get in trouble with us"); unfortunately for Dawn, she lacks any such support system at home. No matter where she goes or what she does, this is a kid stuck in her formative years who simply can't get no satisfaction.

I feel it's inevitable (when talking about this film about a bullied and neglected young girl) to not draw some comparisons to Carrie. I've only just watched Welcome to the Dollhouse recently and have already recommended it to friends as "like Carrie, if Carrie didn't have her powers". It gets the job done, but the film is really so much more than that. The thing about Carrie in comparison to Dollhouse is that Carrie White is a character who finds herself very much in a "horror movie" situation. This is where that exaggeration I mentioned before comes in, in the form of situational hyperbole; her mother is a religious fanatic who locks her in a prayer closet, she's outright assaulted by all the popular girls at her school, and this all comes to a head with a telekinetic cocktail of death and destruction. As relatable as the themes are, it's still a fantastical situation; not everyone has been pelted with tampons in the locker room showers or doused in pig's blood at their prom. Everyone, however, has been called a name at some point in their life. Everyone has suffered the pain of being someone's second choice. Everyone has buckled under the pressure and said something they'd later regret. Despite being a more grounded portrait of the adolescent experience than Carrie, Welcome to the Dollhouse is, in some ways, a horror movie in its own right.

It's this kind of raw, complex humanity that makes this film truly shine. Dawn often comes off like a chosen martyr, suffering the slings and arrows of her ruthless classmates and her loathsome mother. Yet at the same time, she's far from innocent. Hers is a character with deep flaws who, like so many kids, will lash out when she doesn't fully understand how to process her emotions. In one particularly brutal scene, we see her viciously admonish her best (and only) friend, assuming that he can't hear her over the phone. Of course, he hears the whole thing and is understandably destroyed by this betrayal; we know Dawn doesn't really comprehend the power of her own words, otherwise she wouldn't throw terms like "faggot" around with such reckless abandon. But that doesn't exactly do much to lessen the sting.

We see these flaws paralleled with the character of Brandon, played by Brendan Sexton III. When he first appears, he's a clear and present antagonistic force in Dawn's life; a troubled and downright despicable young man whom we want nothing to do with. It was around this point in the plot that I found myself constantly hoping that Dawn would strike back against her oppressors; that she'd tell off her mother or fight back against the bullies at school, raise a little hell in the name of well-deserved retribution. But as the film goes on, we learn more about Brandon and come to realize that his situation, in many ways, mirrors Dawn's; he's just more comfortable with retaliating than she is. It's a thought-provoking revelation, in which we realize that this character we're made to initially dislike is merely acting out in the ways we wish our protagonist would. That "be careful what you wish for" mentality is an undercurrent throughout the entire film, and not once does it feel hackneyed or clichéd. Dawn wishes to be just like everyone else, not realizing (until it's too late, of course) that "everyone else" is a cruel, uncaring monster. 

The other predominant theme here is, above all else, dissatisfaction (take a wild guess what Rolling Stones song Dawn's brother is practicing with his band the first time we see her at home). The movie revels in bucking your standard coming-of-age tropes and trends, reminding us that, in real life, there isn't always a crystal-clear resolution. The nerds and geeks who get bullied day in and day out seldom ever rise up and gain acceptance from their peers, the maladjusted misanthrope rarely has a heart of gold, and the loveable loser typically doesn't get the girl. Lessons are rarely learned until much later on in life (if they're ever learned at all) and children, while innocent in their own kind of way, possess remarkable talent when it comes to abusing, ostracizing, and brutalizing their peers. Not to paint this film as bleaker than it is (the humor here is pitch-black, but it's by no means an unpleasant film to watch), but there are several moments where we think we know what's about to happen; "this is the moment where she gives a big speech in front of the whole school and wins them all over", or "this is the part where everyone learns their lesson and becomes her friend", or "this is when her mother realizes the error of her ways and apologizes for not taking her feelings into consideration". Time and time again, we're proven wrong. This is not a story totally devoid of hope or happiness or optimism (the ending is, like most of the film itself, almost sweet in a bleak, sardonic kind of way), but there are no easy answers or fairy tale endings to be found here.

While Solondz manages to relay this theme with admirable consistency and attention to detail, it also proves to be the film's greatest downfall. In keeping with the undercurrent of dissatisfaction, there are a number of elements here that fall flat, most notably of which is the ending. Again, while I enjoyed Solondz's thematic integrity in ending the film the way that he did, crafting an intentionally unsatisfying ending doesn't make said ending any less unsatisfying for the viewer. There are a number of plot points that are left unresolved, not to mention seemingly-major characters who simply disappear from the film altogether after certain points. It's understandable, considering that everything (from the story to the characters) is crafted to buck genre conventions and deny the audience closure, but making the film a less-enjoyable experience on the grounds that it's thematically-appropriate seldom ever works out in the film's favor. It's an idea that works in concept; looking back, I can appreciate making the entire film itself into a sort of meta-statement, writing characters out of the plot the second they cease to contribute to Dawn's story (not unlike how people tend to drift apart in real life). But at the same time, there's a part of me that was genuinely emotionally invested, so it feels as though the film gets in its own way in that regard. It's a double-edged sword to be sure.

Despite my hangups, I still found Welcome to the Dollhouse to be a fantastically-made film, holding back just enough to keep things from feeling unrealistically cruel. The end result is a biting, deeply-resonant piece of work that made me laugh and squirm in equal measure. It's the kind of film that inspires the kind of questions that keep you up late at night; was I the Dawn Weiner of my middle school, but I was just too oblivious to realize it? Or worse, was I one of the other kids, consciously making someone else's life a living hell just because that was how the law of the jungle worked back in the day? In a sea of films that aim to make us feel a wistful kind of nostalgia towards our formative years, Welcome to the Dollhouse serves as a blunt rebuttal, arguing that maybe we should all be glad the godforsaken ordeal that was middle school is long since over and done with.

REVIEW: Tarzan

The Disney Renaissance of the 80's and 90's tended to follow a pretty standard formula; adapt a classic fairy tale into an animated musical. Maybe toss in a celebrity voice or two, write Alan Menkin a check, and you've got a hit on your hands. The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin all fit into this same mold, as timeless as they are. Personally, I find the films near the end of the Renaissance (or even immediately after it) to be more interesting overall. They mostly maintained that same classic idea of loose adaptation, but with a more varied pool of source material than before. Rather than lifting inspiration from the tales of The Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Anderson, the Disney films of the mid-late 90's (and even the early 2000's to some extent) branched out and took more risks; there was more creative exploration than ever before. We got Shakespeare performed by talking lions, Robert Louis Stevenson set in space, and Tarzan, a more comparatively-grounded interpretation of a classic piece of literature (although the titular character's movements took visual inspiration from professional surfers, so I suppose that's a radical enough creative decision by my standards).

The film opens as a British couple and their infant son are marooned off the coast of Africa. After his parents are killed by a leopard, the baby finds himself adopted by Kala (Glenn Close), a silverback gorilla who recently lost her own child. Dubbed Tarzan by his adoptive mother, the titular hero (Tony Goldwyn) struggles to find his place in a jungle where he is the only one of his kind. Just as things are looking up, however, the situation becomes more complicated with the arrival of an English exploration team led by Professor Archimedes Q. Porter (Nigel Hawthorne, in his final role) and his daughter, Jane (Minnie Driver). Along with them is Clayton (Brian Blessed), a scheming hunter accompanying the expedition as a guide. As Tarzan discovers for the first time creatures who are like him, he's forced to decide who his true family is and where he truly belongs.

First off, I love Disney's abilities to get me so invested in something as simple and dry as the story of Tarzan. The "ape-man" archetype is such a played out trope, yet the main character comes off almost like a superhero (despite just being an agile guy in a loincloth). The first act alone is like a compact film in and of itself, showcasing Tarzan's origins and youth, concluding with a confrontation with the leopard that killed his parents. The film wastes no time whatsoever in getting the audience invested in what's happening character-wise; the action is pulse-pounding and kinetic, yet there's also more than a few moments where I found myself getting legitimately misty-eyed. It's a film that hops from tone to tone with surprising grace and finesse, where we're just as immersed and attentive during the quiet moments of introspection as we are when soaring through the treetops at a breakneck pace.

Of course, this coming from Disney in the late 90's, the animation on display is both stellar and revolutionary. The production team behind the film developed a new program called Deep Canvas that allowed the film's artists and animators to create CGI backgrounds that took on the appearance of traditionally-painted murals. The effect is both seamless and gorgeous, holding up remarkably well nearly twenty years later. This period (just before the release of Shrek in 2001) was the peak of mainstream animation; while plenty of modern films such as The Peanuts Movie and The LEGO Movie find interesting ways to use CGI to their advantage, there's simply no substitute for the kind of 2D animation we got back in the day. Even a film as fantastic as The Incredibles is starting to show its age, but Tarzan will look this gorgeous forever.

And that's to say nothing of the soundtrack. Now as much as I still think that South Park got robbed at the Academy Awards (and as much as I love the retribution Matt Stone and Trey Parker have taken over the years), there's no denying that Phil Collins did a tremendous job with the soundtrack. Given the overall darker, more dramatic tone of this film, it would have felt odd having some of these characters (especially Tarzan himself) break into song as in previous Disney musicals. Collins' drum-heavy pop-rock manages to meld perfectly with the animation and overall aesthetic of the film without feeling the least bit jarring (the Son of Man sequence in particular is a favorite of mine); each musical sequence is essentially a gorgeously-animated music video, dodging that recurring musical pitfall of "the characters sing about whatever it is they're currently doing as they do it". There's a bit more nuance to the whole thing and it really goes a long way in striking the proper mood.

The cast here is quite strong, if not entirely utilized to their fullest. Tony Goldwyn does an excellent job as Tarzan, particularly in how he conveys the sense of contrast between when he's speaking to humans and animals. Amongst the apes, he's as eloquent as anyone, but his language is much more limited when it comes to speaking proper English. He manages to strike a good, natural balance without falling into the same tired "me Tarzan, you Jane" schtick we've seen a hundred times before. I also quite enjoyed Lance Henriksen (but really, when don't I enjoy Lance Henriksen?) as Kerchak, Tarzan's reluctantly adoptive father. This character has a surprising amount of depth and nuance for how little screentime he has, and I found his arc to be one of the more touching aspects of the story as a whole. Brian Blessed is of course wonderful as the villain, Clayton, and Glenn Close does a superb job of capturing that motherly spirit (as if Mother Simpson didn't illustrate that well enough). We also have Wayne Knight and Rosie O'Donnell as Tantor and Terk, two of Tarzan's animal friends and the primary comedic relief. This is the only part where the film really feels noticeably lacking, as these characters don't really have anything interesting or funny to do. Compared to other Disney comedic relief of this era (Mushu in Mulan, Timon and Pumbaa in The Lion King, etc.), they just don't stack up.

The character who completely stole the movie for me, however, was Minnie Driver as Jane Porter. This character is just so much fun and it's clear what a massive impact Driver's performance had on Jane's mannerisms and animation. She displays so much energy and emotion, never once feeling like a bland love interest or clichéd fish-out-of-water. She's clever and capable, but she also has moments of awkwardness and absurdity. It's not too often you get to see a female protagonist get involved in physical humor; it's a refreshing twist on the kind of protagonist-love interest relationship you see in this sort of movie. The sequence where Tarzan and Jane first meet (pursued by a pack of angry baboons) is one of my favorite scenes out of any Disney movie, just because it strikes that screwball action/adventure tone so perfectly. The scene which immediately follows, whereupon Tarzan finally understands just what he is, is wonderful for an entirely different reason; the chase is fun, energetic, and comedic, while the quieter interaction that follows is far more subtle and heartfelt by comparison. Its a pair of scenes that sum up the sides of this character's personality perfectly, and a big part of what makes her work so well is Minnie Driver's performance (Fun Fact: her "Daddy, they took my boot!" monologue was entirely improvised).

Overall, I have to say it's a shame that Tarzan, like so many other Disney films of the late/post Renaissance period, never seems to get the respect or adoration it so sorely deserves. It's the kind of film I would very much love to see come out of the Disney Animation Studios again; not only in the sense that it's traditionally animated, but in that it's a more low-key, inventive choice in film than what one would usually associate with Disney classics. Rather than your standard fairy tale or folk legend, Tarzan is an adaptation of a pulp novel from the early 1900's mixed with Phil Collins music and animation inspired by extreme sports. It's the kind of thing that you wouldn't necessarily immediately associate with the word "Disney", and that's precisely why I love it so much. Princesses will always be a safe bet, but after the box office numbers pulled in by Frozen. Zootopia, and Moana, I think it's safe to say that Disney can afford to be a little more daring a little more often. The fact that Zootopia (a cutesy talking animal flick that turned out to be a film noir crime-mystery about casual racism) performed as well as it did gives me hope that we'll see movies as nontraditional (or at least, nontraditional in a Disney sense) as Tarzan, Treasure Planet, and Atlantis sometime again soon.

REVIEW: The Prince of Egypt

Believe it or not, the 90's wasn't just a renaissance for strictly Disney animation. Back before they were playing second-fiddle to Pixar and licensing every children's book under the sun, Dreamworks Animation was one of the few studios whose films proved to be worthy competition for those coming out of the Disney Animation Studios at the time. The best strategy for co-existing with a media empire as massive as the House of Mouse, I've found, is to embrace the things that are simply too risky for Disney to touch; the best parts of non-Disney theme parks are always the thrill rides and PG-13 elements that you'd never find within the walls of the Magic Kingdom. The same could be said when it comes to making movies; The Prince of Egypt is an exemplary example of an animated musical that goes directly for straight-faced drama instead of action, adventure, and comedy. Dreamworks Animation got its start, comprised mostly of ex-Disney animators, making films like The Prince of Egypt; gorgeously animated with a distinctly non-Disney edge. Then Shrek came along, won an Oscar, and ruined everything. Still, no amount of mediocre computer-generated comedies starring pop stars who can't act can erase the fact that Dreamworks has made some truly amazing animated films, and The Prince of Egypt is most definitely one of their best.

The film is a re-telling of the story of Exodus; after the Pharaoh Seti (Patrick Stewart) calls for the death of all newborn Hebrew males, a desperate mother named Yocheved (Ofra Haza) hides her son in a basket and sends him floating down the Nile River. The baby is discovered by the Queen of Egypt (Helen Mirren), who adopts him as her own, naming him Moses. After years of living as Egyptian royalty, Moses (Val Kilmer) is shocked to discover his true heritage. He goes on to become the chosen messenger of God (Kilmer and various others), attempting to convince his brother, Rameses (Ralph Fiennes) to free the Hebrew slaves so that they may be delivered unto the promised land. 

The film hits many of the same beats as its original inspiration, The Ten Commandments (Jeffery Katzenberg originally pitched the idea to Disney, who rejected it); however, this take on the story trades raw spectacle for a much more intimate, human story. The film focuses less on biblical scale and more on the relationship between Moses and Rameses, two men raised as brothers, made reluctant enemies by the circumstances they find themselves in. While a fair amount of the film focuses on ideas like hope and faith (sometimes to a fault), the core conflict plays out like a melancholy tragedy. Rameses is portrayed as downright sympathetic, forced to pay for the sins of his father. He's torn between affection for his brother and his desire to live up to his duties as Pharaoh. We're treated to an excellent scene early on that establishes Rameses' entire character, as his father warns him how "one weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty". This becomes his driving motivation for the rest of the film. We not only understand what Rameses wants, but we understand why he holds such aspirations.

We're given a similarly intimate look at Moses' struggle; as one would expect, the story ends more-or-less happily. Moses is successful in liberating his people and they begin their journey to the promised land. However, Moses' victory hardly comes without a cost. Every plague that the almighty bestows upon Rameses' empire falls on Moses' conscience; the film goes to great lengths to illustrate just how overwhelmed Moses is with the burden of being God's chosen messenger. Like Rameses, he is forced into conflict out of circumstance. However, unlike Rameses, Moses hopes to atone for his past, rather than live up to it. Our protagonist and antagonist are reluctant reflections of each other, making for an extremely resonant emotional core to this larger-than-life tale.

This is of course helped along, not only by the stellar cast (Fiennes is electrifying), but by the incredible animation. Subtle use of CGI mixed with fluid traditional animation creates a gorgeous, timeless art style that holds up nearly twenty years since the film's release. Everything is animated as if it were a live-action film, employing dynamic angles and meticulous framing that is only enhanced by the animation. It's a thematic feast for the eyes that makes Dreamworks' eventual decline into dated pop-culture references and bland CGI all the more depressing (thankfully more How to Train Your Dragon films are in the works and Captain Underpants at least looks visually interesting, but I digress). The songs are also tonally-consistent, which is of monumental importance in an animated biblical epic. If but a single musical number was too juvenile or silly or (god forbid) dated, the entire film would have suffered. Thankfully, the songs end up making for some of the most striking, iconic scenes in the entire film (particularly The Plagues). Even the most "comical" song in the movie (sung by Steve Martin and Martin Short, playing a duo of scheming court magicians) comes off as contextually appropriate and even somewhat foreboding.

Really, if I must criticize the film for anything, it's that the ending isn't as melancholic as I would have liked. The entire conflict is scaled down to focus on Moses and Rameses; in the end, the main difference between them is that Moses still feels sorrow over coming into conflict with his brother while Rameses has been consumed by vengeance and rage. The cost of freedom for his people is constantly weighing on Moses' shoulders, yet the ending is lighter than one would expect given the tense, emotionally-charged climax. For as well-developed as both of these characters are, some more conflict and emotion on Moses' part would have gone a long way in the grand scheme of things. He's cursed to not only be the protagonist, but to also be the voice of God; any chance of him making a mistake or failing in his mission is more or less out the window after his encounter with the burning bush, making him the less-interesting of the two main characters. I would have liked to have seen a little more gloom and struggle in that regard, but this hardly sinks the film or makes the conflict any less hard-hitting.

The Prince of Egypt is, in many ways, an underrated gem. This time of year, it seems like something of a tradition to take in a viewing of The Ten Commandments; while it's undoubtedly a classic, I feel as though there are many ways in which this telling of the story of Moses manages to top the original. It's an adaptation which deserves to escape the shadow of its predecessor and shine on its own numerous merits. This film is the complete package; a powerful story conveyed through powerful performances and powerful visuals, all set to a powerful score. If you want to see a strong example of the maturation of animation from an era where classics were made and released annually, look no further.

REVIEW: Fargo

I like to call myself a fan of the Coen Brothers; in reality, I'm a bit of a poser, considering that, up until now, the only one of their films I'd seen was The Big Lebowski. A little shallow to declare myself a "fan" after watching just one film, perhaps, but then I really did just like it that much. Of course I knew I had to explore their other works, and what better place to continue my journey than with the film that really put Ethan and Joel Coen on the map. I am of course referring to their 1994 film, Fargo.

After getting himself in deep through embezzlement, car dealer Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) concocts a scheme to stage a kidnapping. He hires two thugs by the name of Gaear and Carl (Peter Stormare and Steve Buscemi) to abduct his wife, Jean (Kristin Rudrüd), and contact him demanding ransom. Jerry will then extort the ransom money from his father-in-law, pocket half of it, and use the rest to pay off the kidnappers for their services. The plan goes sour, however, and several people are killed. As Jerry's scam spirals out of control, it is up to Police Chief Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) to get to the bottom of things and see those responsible put behind bars.

First and foremost, the film is gorgeously shot. Taking place in the American Midwest during the wintertime, snow is naturally everywhere. It's a very white film, literally; in any exterior scene, snow simply dominates the landscape. This leads to a gorgeous bit of visual contrast whenever a death occurs outside, the red blood clashing against the cold, clean white. It makes for a strong visual metaphor, of how something horrid and sinister can invade a landscape so pure and untouched. Really, that's what the entire film is about; perceptions contrasted against what lies within.

Anyone who's seen this movie knows about the accent; with the exception of Buscemi and Stormare, every cast member speaks in a thick Minnesotan tongue, tossing out "you betcha"s and "oh gosh"s with expert skill. It gives everything about the environment of the film a folksy, naive sort of tone; a perception that is shattered when we are shown who these characters truly are, deep inside. For example, take Macy's Jerry; he's a meek family man who is constantly emasculated by both his work and his father-in-law. He hardly swears and wants to cover up his wrongdoing seemingly for his family's sake. That said, he hopes to accomplish this by arranging his own wife to be kidnapped. He keeps all of that impotent rage bottled up inside him, and on the few occasions it escapes, this meager car salesmen turns into an enraged child, throwing brief-but-violent temper tantrums. He strikes you at first as too much of a wimp to hurt anyone, but it's only as the movie goes on that you really start to understand just how despicable and ruthless he is. He's an expert in denial, convinced he's doing what he's doing for the right reasons, even after things have clearly gone too far.

On the flip-side, we have Margie. Quiet, friendly, and seven months pregnant, you wouldn't immediately peg her as a "hero" in the usual sense. Everything about her seems so quaint, yet she's by far the strongest force for good in the entire film. She's no loose-cannon cop on the edge, just a small-town Police Chief trying to do her duty. You really get to know her as a person; in the same way that this humanization makes Jerry all the more deplorable, it makes Marge that much easier to root for. You get a sense of who these characters are as people, rather than as protagonists and antagonists, and that adds a tremendous amount to the weight of the plot. The film has a relatively relaxed pace, but the brief, surprising moments where the tension is ratcheted up become that much more effective thanks to this sense of contrast. If there's one thing this film truly understands, it is contrast, in every sense of the word.

As one would expect from such a cast, the performances here are all spectacular. Steve Buscemi is doing his usual skeezeball routine and it works as well as it always does. I love watching him fly into a rage; something about it is so genuine and real, which makes it that much more entertaining. Peter Stormare says very little but leaves a big impression, managing to convey a very threatening demeanor with little dialog and a lot of murder. Frances McDormand is a delight, coming off as one of my new favorite protagonists of all time. Margie is just so darn likable and easy to pull for, and this is entirely thanks to McDormand's performance. There's no weak link here, but for me the highlight of the cast was definitely William H. Macy. There's so much subtlety and nuance to the character of Jerry, from the way he talks, to the way he moves, to the way he has his brief, impotent fits of rage. His character simply wouldn't have worked, had Macy not understood everything that makes him tick. It's a wonderful thing, watching his scheme slowly deteriorate from just another day at the office to a total debacle that blows up in his face. Come for William H. Macy, but stay for Frances McDormand, that's my advice.

Fargo is, as is to be expected, a wonderful film. Brilliantly shot and wonderfully nuanced, it's just one of those movies that feels good to take in. It does a dozen things at once and succeeds at all of them, never once feeling trite or boring (despite the easygoing pace). The cast is excellent, the cinematography is gorgeous, and the general environment and atmosphere is very unique, especially given the type of movie this is. It's a plot that very easily could have been conveyed as an action-thriller, with pulsing bass and gravely-voiced antiheroes. Instead, the film goes for something a little more subtle and out-there than your usual murder plot fare. If you're looking for a true blue classic, look no further than Fargo. It doesn't disappoint.

REVIEW: Small Soldiers

Since I started this blog over a year ago, it's been a stellar excuse to discover new films that may have passed me by. By the same token, it's also an excellent excuse to rediscover old films from my youth. Movies that I remember watching endlessly, but haven't seen in well over a decade. Movies like Small Soldiers. For me, this was just another late-90's action flick with a badass toy line; I could care less about the plot or characters, it was all about the special effects and the merchandise. I honestly hadn't seen this since I was around five years old, having rented it countless times from the local Blockbuster. Since then I couldn't help but notice how no one seems to talk about what, at the time, felt like a very prevalent movie to me. Perhaps it was just the power of advertising and action figures warping my impressionable young mind, but Small Soldiers struck me as anything but obscure back in the day. It was because of this dissonance that I felt it deserved a revisit; imagine my surprise to find out that it was in fact directed by the mastermind behind Gremlins, Joe Dante.

This makes perfect sense, seeing as how this movie is positively oozing with Dante's trademark themes and motifs. After the Heartland Toy Company is acquired by military contractor GloboTech Industries, toy designers Larry and Irwin (Jay Mohr and David Cross) are pressured to come up with the next big thing; a state-of-the-art toy that "plays back". Seeing no other option to meet his deadline, Larry uses his new security clearance to order a surplus of advanced microchips from the company's military branch. The chips are used in a new line of action figures; the Commando Elite, a stalwart brigade of army men sworn to destroy a gentle race of monsters known as the Gorgonites. The toys find their way into the hands of Alan Abernathy (Gregory Smith), who tries to sell them in his dad's struggling toy store. Naturally, putting military-grade hardware inside action figures proves to be a less-than-smart idea, as the toys awaken, escape, and begin waging war on one another.

Watching this movie as an adult, it's painfully obvious that Joe Dante directed this. It's very much in the same mold as Gremlins, condemning society's over-reliance on technology, as well as the blatant ruthlessness that lies at the heart of big business. It falls into that same category as films like Robocop or Videodrome, in which a critique of society is conveyed through over-the-top action, mutilation, and one-liners. The CEO of GloboTech (Dennis Leary) scoffs at the idea of educational toys, instead opting for a line of in-your-face military action figures. The Commando Elite come off like G.I. Joe on steroids (all, coincidentally, voiced by the cast of The Dirty Dozen, with the exception of Richard Jaeckel, who died prior to shooting), making a bold statement about how we readily present concepts of war and violence to children as a game in exchange for profit. The Gorgonites (all voiced by members of Spinal Tap, plus Frank Langella) are clearly a more imaginative, inclusive concept for a children's toy, yet end up branded as cannon fodder enemies for the Commandos to blow away. Ironically enough, the film's darker content was reportedly toned down in order to more effectively market a toy line to children (like myself).

The cast is surprisingly varied; as mentioned, this movie acts as a stealth-reunion for both The Dirty Dozen and This is Spinal Tap. We have Frank Langella giving a very Peter Cullen-esque performance as Archer, leader of the Gorgonites, as well as Tommy Lee Jones providing the voice of Chip Hazard, the commanding officer of the Commando Elite. The film also features a young Kirsten Dunst as a bland and forgettable love interest, Kevin Dunn in the same high-strung dad role he would later play in Michael Bay's Transformers movies, and voice cameos from Jim Cummings, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Christina Ricci. This is also, most notably, the final theatrical role of the late, great Phil Hartman. I didn't expect to feel any wild emotions at the end of Small Soldiers of all things, but it's hard not to get misty-eyed when the credits end with a simple blooper and the dedication, "for Phil".

As much as I enjoyed the cast and the special effects (care of another dearly-departed master of his craft, Stan Winston) and the general Joe Dante-ness of this movie, there's no denying that Small Soldiers isn't without its problems. The whole thing can, at times, come off as a not-as-good Gremlins and, while the practical effects remain excellent, the CGI hasn't aged particularly well at all. The romantic subplot is entirely superfluous and out of the blue, which isn't helped by Dunst and Smith having practically negative chemistry with each other. Their attempts at flirting are downright painful to listen to and she initiates their relationship without ever consulting or dumping her current boyfriend. When it's not coming off as painfully awkward and forced, it settles for totally skeezy instead. 

I also honestly wasn't that sold on the Gorgonites; I remembered them having a much larger role when I was a child, but that's likely because of how prevalent they were in the merchandise. The vast bulk of the screentime is given to the Commando Elite (which is earned, since they're easily the best part of this movie), leaving little time for us to care at all about Archer and his crew of quiet monsters. As they explain, the Gorgonites are programmed to do exactly two things; hide and lose. As great as their designs are, we don't really end up caring about them since they don't have any agency. We're meant to care whether or not these toys are destroyed or not, despite the fact that they're hunks of plastic with low-self-esteem. It honestly feels like the film originally only featured the Commando Elite, only for the Gorgonites to be thrown in to appeal to kids (and, of course, sell action figures). It's a damn shame, since there's few things I find more tragic in a film than wasted potential, especially in regards to wicked cool creature designs.

Despite my gripes, I still found Small Soldiers to be a fun time. It drags here and there and the characterization is either a total bore or nowhere to be found, but it definitely makes up for it in terms of sheer wackiness. There's a part of me that will always have a soft spot for this kind of movie, where there's a big threat in the heart of a suburb in Anytown, USA, and the only person who knows what's really going on is the troublemaking kid whom no one believes. It's a fistful of beefy metaphors wrapped around a whole lot of animatronic army guys getting blown up and set on fire; considering the plot, I don't know what else one could realistically ask for. It's far from Joe Dante's best, but I'd definitely say it qualifies for cult status, considering how often it made me smile. Check it out.

REVIEW: Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island

The 90's was a tremendous time for traditional animation. The Disney Renaissance was in full-swing, but it's also worth noting that it was an especially strong era for Warner Bros Animation as well. With television offerings like Animaniacs and Batman The Animated Series and films like The Iron Giant and Mask of the Phantasm, the studio had a lot to offer cartoon fanatics back in the day. For me, one of WB's most memorable productions was Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island, a direct-to-video film that premiered on Cartoon Network on Halloween night, 1998. Considering it's been years since I've watched my copy (naturally, recorded off the TV onto a blank VHS tape), I figured it was high-time I revisited the film that many credit with reviving this classic franchise from the clutches of Saturday morning stagnation.

As the story begins, the Mystery Inc. gang has given up the ghost and disbanded; Velma (B.J. Ward) runs her own book store, Shaggy and Scooby (Billy West and Scott Innes) are employed as bumbling customs agents, and Fred and Daphne (Frank Welker and Mary Kay Bergman) work together on a successful television show. As the production is about to embark on a road trip to investigate hauntings across the country, Fred is inspired to get the gang back together for old times' sake. The crew eventually find themselves in New Orleans, investigating a reportedly haunted plantation house on Moonscar Island, the former hideaway of a legendary pirate. Tales of mysterious disappearances and vengeful ghosts pique the gang's curiosity, but things take a turn when actual zombies begin to rise from the bayou; as the film's tagline says, "this time, the monsters are real!"

It's really a brilliant subversion of expectations; throughout the entire first half of the movie, the gang's skepticism is played through the roof. They question every remotely spooky thing they see, immediately searching for a projector or rubber mask. The idea of making the threat of a Scooby-Doo story genuinely supernatural is a stroke of genius; by packing the first two acts full of standard slapstick antics, it sets the stage for a major tonal shift once the zombies are revealed to be real. The first three-quarters of this movie are lighthearted and slow-moving, exactly what one would expect out of a Scooby-Doo film. There's lots of gags about Scooby chasing after cats and eating big sandwiches, almost to the point that it becomes tiring. However, this is all merely set dressing for the main event that is the climax.

I won't spoil the ending here, but it goes to some genuinely dark places. The movie starts and ends as classic Scooby-Doo, but the last twenty minutes in-between is essentially an animated horror film. The opening scene is an upbeat chase through a spooky castle as the gang is pursued by a swamp monster, while everything past the halfway point involves the honest-to-god rotting corpses of Confederate soldiers and pirates clawing their way out of the soil to limp after our protagonists. There are even some zombie tourists in there, implying that the Mystery Inc. gang aren't the first folks to stumble upon Moonscar Island and run afoul of the living dead. It honestly justifies the entire film all on its own; as corny as the tone was for the majority of the runtime, it all works in favor of subverting the audience's expectations and making that tonal shift hit that much harder.

I also can't praise the film's presentation enough; the animation was done by Japanese studio, Mook Animation (responsible for animating such works as SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron and Tiny Toon Adventures). Every scene taking place at night is full of heavy shadows that almost give things a stylized, hyper-realistic feel, as if we're watching a moving blacklight poster. I know the era of ink and paint is long gone (and that the upcoming S.C.O.O.B. will be computer animated), but I've always felt that this style was an ideal fit for Scooby and the gang, and would kill to see it used again in some capacity. Hanna-Barbera was not a studio known for its animation, so it's nice to see a property so ripe for spooky atmosphere done justice in terms of visuals. The 90's kid in me would also be remiss if I didn't mention the soundtrack, featuring original songs by Skycycle. Put simply, they shred. If you've never had It's Terror Time Again stuck in your head, then you've never seen this movie.

Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island is a fresh, original, well-animated entry in a franchise that is seldom known for being any of those things. It could be argued that the vast majority of entries into the Scooby series follows the "fake monster unmasked by meddling kids" formula; there are a few exceptions, of course (such as the more recent Mystery Inc. series), and Zombie Island is fortunately one of them. It's very much a film aimed at children, but the lighthearted beginning and middle work in service of a dark, exciting, and at times genuinely scary end. It's just over an hour long, so if you're a meddling kid with some free time on your hands, you really don't have any excuse not to check this out.

REVIEW: Ed Wood

It's no secret that I'm a tremendous fan of the early works of Tim Burton; while his more recent turnout has left me wanting, it's inarguable that the man possesses a great knack for thematic styling, showcasing the strange and unorthodox in the spotlight it is so frequently denied. Like Batman and Beetlejuice, Ed Wood is the story of a societal outcast in a world that seldom understands or appreciates what they have to offer. Unlike those other films, however, I believe that Ed Wood alone holds the distinction of being Burton's finest work of all time.

Taking the form of a pseudo-biography, the film follows the man who would go on to be known as the worst director of all time, Edward D. Wood Jr (Johnny Depp). Struggling to break into the film industry, Wood finally gets his shot after befriending aging horror icon, Bela Lugosi (Martin Landau); even though Lugosi's career was essentially over, his remaining star power is enough to jumpstart production of Wood's first feature film, Glen or Glenda. What follows is the story of an eternal optimist, never giving up on his dreams despite essentially the entire world imploring him to do so. While the events shown in the film aren't exactly 100% accurate (it's been said that the real Lugosi never possessed such a penchant for profanity), the overall story is put together in such a fashion that capturing the spirit of Ed Wood and his cohorts is the primary goal (which the film accomplishes soundly).

Surprisingly, this is one of the few Tim Burton films that lacks the more recognizable staples of his signature aesthetic. As the plot is based on a true story, the whole thing is more reliant on the characters to drive the tone and emotion. Burton's visual flair is still very much present, just moreso understated and subtle than usual, and the film is better off for it. Shooting the film in black and white is a stroke of brilliance; like Young Frankenstein, this is a movie that simply would not work nearly as well had it been shot in color. The grayscale adds just the perfect old Hollywood tone that completely immerses the viewer in the time period. There's also some truly magnificent camerawork and shot composition at play here; for instance, take note of the first and last times we see Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi on screen. Scenes and shots from Wood's various films were recreated with admirable attention to detail, and it's the clear amount of effort given to seemingly negligible minutia like this which makes this film so much fun to watch. It's a feast for the eyes that manages to establish a strong emotional connection to the viewer to boot.

The performances here are all top-knotch; not a single weak link exists within this cast. The role of Ed Wood was the part Johnny Depp was born to play; there's not a single person who comes to mind who could do the job better. Depp's notorious for being something of a chameleon when the part is anything beyond "weird guy in a weird hat", and Ed Wood is no exception. He completely buries himself in the part; everything from his inflections to his eyebrows convey his tireless optimism and dedication to making his movies, no matter the cost. Martin Landau's portrayal of Bela Lugosi won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, an accolade that is well-deserved. He plays Lugosi in a way that is hilarious for the same reason it's so heartbreaking; we get to see this iconic actor end up a foul-mouthed, misanthropic old has-been, which is really quite funny, except for when it's not. The film doesn't shy away from Bela Lugosi's very real battle with morphine addiction, and it never ceases to cause a chill whenever it's brought up. Depp and Landau share a magical chemistry on-screen, resulting in one of the most genuinely feel-good cinematic friendships I've ever seen.

The supporting cast is littered with great talent like Sarah Jessica Parker, Bill Murray, and Jeffery Jones. Special consideration must be given to George "The Animal" Steele, for his spot-on portrayal of Tor Johnson; whether this is a testament to his acting ability or an unintended insult, he does an amazing job regardless. Vincent D'Onofrio has a short cameo as Orson Welles, with an uncredited Maurice LeMarche providing the voice. While the dub is a bit jarring at first, the effect is really quite uncanny and made for one of my favorite scenes in the entire film. As I said before, this is very much a character-driven film, so it's monumentally important that the cast is as strong as it is. If the majority of the performances were mediocre, the majority of the film would be mediocre. Fortunately, the performances here are fantastic, and the rest of the film follows suit.

Ed Wood is an all-around wonderful film. It's a look at one of the most bizarre visionaries to ever live that manages to be just as earnest as its main character. While the films of Edward D. Wood Jr are remembered as "so bad they're good" at best, Ed Wood does not seek to make fun. Rather, it celebrates the titular director's legacy, not for what it was, but for what he as a filmmaker represented. The integrity of an artist's vision, the tireless pursuit of one's dreams, and the constant reminder that you should always appreciate your own work, as there is no guarantee that anyone else will. If you haven't seen this yet, you're truly missing out. It's a love-letter to the underdogs that fits like a fresh angora sweater. Check it out.

REVIEW: The Big Lebowski

The Big Lebowski is one of my favorite films of all time. I could watch it a million times over and discover something new with each viewing. It combines elements of comedies, mysteries, westerns, and film noir, while at the same time taking inspiration from the works of authors such as Raymond Chandler and Mark Twain. While it was hardly a runaway hit when it opened in March of 1998, the film has gone on to become a cult classic, the namesake for two different breeds of African spider, and the basis of an entire religion. Suffice to say, it's a masterpiece. Sit on back, crack open a good sarsaparilla, and allow me to explain why.

The movie begins in 1991 Los Angeles with a case of mistaken identity; after being accosted by two thugs, Jeffery "The Dude" Lebowski (Jeff Bridges, in the role he was born to play) seeks compensation from the other Jeffery Lebowski (the late David Huddelston), a crippled billionaire. It seems this Lebowski's young trophy wife, Bunny (Tara Reid), had accumulated a sizable debt with a porn producer/loan shark by the name of Jackie Treehorn (Ben Gazzara), and his goons attempted to collect from The Dude by mistake. Everything seems cut-and-dry until Lebowski contacts The Dude, informing him that Bunny has been kidnapped. The Big Lebowski enlists the help of The Dude (who in turn enlists the help of Walter and Donnie, his bowling teammates played by John Goodman and Steve Buscemi) to drop off the ransom; the plan goes swimmingly until Walter suggests they keep the money for themselves and give the kidnappers a decoy. What follows is a complex mystery filled with twists, turns, and revelations, all in the name of avenging a rug that really tied the room together.

This movie is a film analyst's dream. Every last detail, from the dialog to the sound effects to the music is handled with the utmost care. Notice how a ringing phone always heralds an important change. Or how the condition of The Dude's apartment and car gradually deteriorate as the film progresses and the situation becomes more convoluted and dire. Or even how the vast majority of the film's iconic conversations at the bowling alley are conveyed via long, uncut takes. The Dude is a simple guy with a simple quest, but this is a film with enough depth to warrant hours upon hours of dissection and discussion. It's a perfect choice to introduce someone to the concept of studying a film's aesthetic; a kind of artistic gateway drug. Once they start to recognize how much of an impact these subtle-yet-intentional touches can make on a film, they'll never look at the medium in quite the same way again.

On paper, it's merely the story of a fella who wants to get his rug back, but in truth, it's about much more. The film is a clear commentary on the societal differences between the upper class and the so-called lower class. As Sam Elliot informs us in the beginning, The Dude is unapologetically lazy; he's not currently employed and spends most of his time smoking weed and going bowling. However, despite his layabout lifestyle, The Dude is very much a positive figure. He's found a way to live his life in which he is both comfortable and in a position to harm no one. His is a mellow existence, going with the flow and bringing little aside from good times and positivity into the lives of his fellow man. On the flip side, we have the other Jeffery Lebowski; fabulously wealthy, but altogether incompetent. He's a self-absorbed stuffed shirt who looks down on people like The Dude, referring to the poor or unemployed as "bums". He's seldom anything but an antagonistic force for the entirety of the movie, hammering in the film's overall theme that it's not what you have that matters, but what you choose to do with what you've got.

Aside from all of that, the film is flat-out hilarious. It manages to be one of my favorite "film" films and one of my favorite comedies all at once. Bridges, Goodman, and Buscemi have amazing chemistry together; it's nigh impossible to picture their dialog as having originated on a script, given how naturally their discourse flows right off the rails. Whenever John Goodman opens his mouth, you know something amazing is going to come out; he's the most quotable character in this supremely quotable movie. As I write this, I'm looking at the "Nobody F*cks with the Jesus!" poster I've got hung above my door. I love every aspect of this movie and I want nothing more than to submerge myself in it, to see it everywhere I go. Every performance is notable, from the main cast, to comparatively smaller roles like Jeffery Lebowski's yes-man, Brandt (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Jesus Quintana (a pederast and bowler played by John Turturro); everyone manages to leave an impression, no matter how big or small their role is. It's a movie with no real lows or weak links, everything's remarkably consistent quality-wise despite how eccentric the plot is.

In all honesty, what else can I possibly say about The Big Lebowski? What possible justice could I do it? It's one of my favorite movies of all time and, in my humble opinion, one of the best movies of all time. Though the story progression may come off as dauntingly absurd to some, there's honestly something for everyone to appreciate. It's a film that can be enjoyed as much as the viewer is willing to explore it, and I find that that's something both rare and special. This is a movie you could easily write an entire academic paper on (I would know, seeing as how I've done just that); at the same time, you could definitely just pop it in after a long day and lose yourself in the iconic bits of roundabout dialog (as I did tonight). It's a tremendously versatile piece of film. If you haven't seen it before, obviously, I recommend it. Give it a watch, and remember to take it easy. The Dude abides.

REVIEW: South Park- Bigger, Longer, and Uncut

Usually on this blog, I'll take a look at a movie that I've never seen before; it keeps things fresh and exposes me to a vast number of movies I may not have checked out otherwise. However, sometimes it's refreshing (funnily enough) to kick back with an old classic that I've seen a million times before. A film that I could probably recite from start to finish with close to 100% accuracy. A film that manages to be biting, hilarious, and perpetually relevant (in addition to being a strong contender for my personal favorite musical of all time). Ladies and gentlemen, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut.

The plot of this film is about as meta as they come. After the boys attend a screening of the new Terrance and Phillip movie, South Park Elementary becomes a hotbed of profanity and Canadian toilet humor. Enraged that their sweet, impressionable children have been warped by this bawdy foreign smut, the mothers of South Park form an anti-Canadian activist organization looking to censor the film and ban anything deemed harmful to the innocent children of America. What starts as a simple protest erupts into an all-out war between the USA and their neighbor to the north; to make matters worse, the ruler of the underworld, Satan himself, is planning to ascend to the mortal plane and conquer Earth with the help of his lover, Saddam Hussein. It's as manic a plot as is to be expected from South Park, but to put it simply, as is stated multiple times in the movie, "it's about censorship".

Over the soon to be 20 years of South Park's existence, Trey Parker and Matt Stone have proven themselves to be master satirists, and BL&U is no exception. Despite the film very clearly taking place in 1999 (Bill Clinton is in the White House, Conan O'Brien is still hosting Late Night, and Windows 98 is a recent release), the overall message of the dangers of censorship and well-meaning intolerance ring true to this day. The film toes the line of being a bit too on-the-nose at times (the Academy Award-nominated "Blame Canada" ends with a gathering of parents proclaiming that "we must blame them and cause a fuss before someone thinks of blaming us"), but it is this refuge in audacity that makes the film such a brilliant joy to behold. In an era where parents are still ignorant enough to take their children to see Deadpool, only to complain to theater staff after witnessing the "Calendar Girl" sex montage, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut is a film with a timeless tale to tell.

The film also targets the MPAA (and American society in general) for the odd double-standard of embracing depictions of violence while abhorring naughty language. The list of things deemed "offensive" is growing and changing with each day, and this movie seeks to put everything in perspective. This is a film made in 1999 in which Saddam Hussein is the primary antagonist; though it's mentioned in the beginning of the movie that he was killed by a pack of wild boars, the real-life Hussein was very much alive at the time of the film's release. In a brilliant move, South Park frames its detractors as the mothers in the film; people who, despite their good intentions, are altogether more concerned with potty language than the brutal dictator amassing his power. It's a film that forces anyone who's ever gotten up in arms about "offensive" media, humor, or language to take an objective look at what it is they're fighting for, consider all the other problems plaguing the world at that moment, and then decide if this is truly the hill they wish to die on.

Any discussion of this film would be utterly incomplete without mentioning the fantastic musical numbers. While Book of Mormon stunned the uninitiated, BL&U and Cannibal! acted as early proof that Parker and Stone could construct a musical that's as airtight and masterful as it is irreverent and profane. The songs in this film lampoon every classical musical trope under the sun, from the "it's morning in my little town" opening numbers of Beauty and the Beast and Oklahoma! ("Mountain Town"), to the "longing for something more" Disney ballads of Alan Menkin ("Up There"), to the elaborate, flashy production numbers of Busby Berkeley ("I'm Super"). The film is like a skewed crash-course in musical history. Juxtaposing the upbeat, campy trademarks of classical musical theater with the sardonic, raunchy, and often bloody subject matter makes for a movie that's effective as both satire and a legitimate musical in its own right.

Though it may sound out of place to say this about a cartoon with construction paper characters and fart jokes galore, I consider South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut to be a nearly perfect film. It's as smart as it is hilarious and manages to be one of the seldom few television-to-film adaptations that remains totally accessible to those who aren't familiar with the original show without suffering quality-wise in the slightest. The humor hits hard and often, the songs will remain in your head for days, and the commentary provided proves that a film doesn't have to be self-serious Oscar bait to have something intelligent and relevant to say. If you enjoy film as an art form, this is a movie you simply have to watch. Check it out, and Viva La Resistance.