REVIEW: Aquaman

As I write this Review, James Wan's Aquaman has just blown past the $1 billion mark at the international box office. Aquaman. Even as a longtime fan of the comics, I can't exactly say I saw this coming. The DCEU has been chugging by on a wing and a prayer for years now, and while Wonder Woman earned the franchise enough good will to hold onto a glimmer of hope that the worst had long since passed, 2017's utterly abysmal Justice League tanked both critically and financially. Rumors swirled about Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill dropping out of the franchise for good, the upcoming Scorsese-produced Joker movie seemed to indicate that WB was pursuing other options, and we all had to wonder if Aquaman was merely a formality at this point; the last gasps of a dead franchise, pumped into theaters for no reason beyond recouping losses. I was excited to see one of my favorite superheroes (yes, seriously) portrayed on the big screen, but even I was apprehensive of what awaited me. One mind-numbingly long screening later and I found myself feeling something I seldom feel about many movies. Aquaman is by no means what I would call a "good" movie, and yet I had an absolute blast with it. It's flawed, bloated, and verges on being totally braindead at times, but there are also elements of this movie that I feel exemplify exactly what WB should aim to accomplish with future entries in the DCEU.

Set after the events of Justice League (let's not pretend that really matters, since the characters certainly don't), we find that Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa) has taken to superhero-ing like a fish to water, known throughout the seven seas (and his quiet hometown of Amnesty Bay) as the Aquaman. The son of a lighthouse keeper (Temuera Morrison) and the renegade Queen of Atlantis (Nicole Kidman), Curry has been reluctant to confront the wetter side of his heritage, believing the xenophobic Atlanteans to be responsible for the death of his mother. This all changes, however, after he is confronted by Princess Mera (Amber Heard, rocking one of the worst wigs this side of Spirit Halloween), who informs Arthur that his half-brother, King Orm (Patrick Wilson) intends to unite the seven undersea kingdoms and march on the surface world, establishing Atlantis' dominion over the entire planet. With the help of his mentor, Vulko (Willem Dafoe), Arthur joins Mera to locate the lost trident of King Atlan, usurp his brother's throne, and take his rightful place as the one true king of Atlantis.

Right off the bat, the movie suffers from a screenplay that toes the line between harmlessly campy and comically bad (which feels like something of a motif for 2018). While I was eventually able to adjust to the movie's cheese-factor, it doesn't change the fact that some of these lines feel like they were meant to be placeholders. The cast all do their best with what they've been given, but no actor could make a gem like "Your fish-ship has been marinating in chum-butter, I'm not coming out smelling like swamp butt" sound good. It doesn't help that we're stuck with this level of dialog for, as I mentioned, well over two hours. The plot essentially condenses the first three volumes of Geoff Johns' New52 run into a single story (which makes sense, seeing as how he has a story credit alongside James Wan and screenwriter Will Beall), so things naturally get more than a little crowded. You get the impression that WB assumed this would be their only shot at making an Aquaman movie, so very little is saved for the sequel. They put all their chips on the table and it more than paid off, so while this definitely doesn't feel like a bland corporate product, it definitely gets rather clunky here and there (especially during the first act). We get Arthur meeting Mera, contesting Ocean Master for the throne, reclaiming the lost trident of Atlan, and fighting Black Manta (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), all in one movie. As a result, despite a reasonably brisk pace, the entire thing suffers from a distinct feeling of bloat. While I didn't necessarily dislike any of these storylines, I definitely would have been fine with cutting one or more in favor of saving it for the sequel; the end result is very much a concentrated dose of Aquaman, but it may prove a little too dense for anyone who isn't already a fan of the comics.

Aside from that, we have our two main leads played by Jason Momoa and Amber Heard. In my Review of Justice League, I said that they were by far the weakest links in the main cast, and the same holds true here. Don't get me wrong, they're both extraordinarily good-looking people with charisma to spare, but their relationship lacks chemistry (especially compared to, say, Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor) and their emotional range left me wanting, to say the least. The villains definitely steal the show, with Wilson and Abdul-Mateen cranking it up to 11 as Ocean Master and Black Manta. The cornball script and bombastic presentation only does these two favors, as we're treated to two separate scenes where our antagonists look right at the camera and proclaim, "CALL ME... *insert supervillain name here*!"; if that doesn't sound like the kind of thing you could get into, then I'd recommend giving the whole affair a pass right here and now. These are two comic book villains who make up for their apparent lack of depth with sheer screen presence, exemplifying just what makes James Wan's approach to this material stick the landing, despite its many flaws. Whereas other films may hesitate to embrace the over-the-top nature of adapting a superhero story to the big screen, Aquaman pulls its absurd, pulpy roots into a crushing bear-hug, splashing hefty doses of color and melodrama across the screen to remarkably fun effect.

I've noticed that many big-screen comic book adaptations (especially those found in the Marvel Cinematic Universe) are often more than a little hesitant to fully commit to the levels of absurdity found within the pages of its source material, using self-aware humor as a buffer to help sell the audience on something so seemingly childish. That isn't to say that I need my superhero movies to be dour and moody, there are definitely good ways to blend humor and intimate character drama, but there are definitely bad ways to go about it as well. If the film is constantly winking to me about how goofy the movie I'm watching is, it's only going to hurt itself in the long run. If the characters in the film don't take the situation, threat, or villain seriously, how can I, as the viewer, be expected to? This is where Aquaman uses its cheesy tone to its advantage; while this is a supremely weird, goofy movie with lots of fantastical locales and impractical costumes, the universe of the film takes itself entirely seriously. This is something the DCEU has attempted in the past, to disastrous results. Fortunately, James Wan is a talented enough filmmaker to not confuse a film taking itself seriously with being a joyless, dour slog.

This is a film that is fiercely committed to playing its role as a superhero movie, and there is zero cynicism to be found in how it approaches such a task. The tone very heavily reminds me of the Sam Raimi Spider-Man films; movies that were very intentionally made to be exaggerated, stylized, sometimes downright cartoonish action romps, yet never felt the need to justify that level of silliness to the audience by pretending it was "ironic" or "deconstructive". Aquaman wears its heart firmly on its sleeve, which I find somewhat refreshing in today's contemporary superhero scene. Its goal isn't to reinvent the wheel or get audiences to think Aquaman is a "realistic" portrayal of a superhero. The mission statement here is, without question, to entertain. And if I'm judging a film purely on how well it accomplishes the goals it has set for itself, I have no choice but to give Aquaman full marks. It's not very subtle or nuanced, there's a lot of terrible acting and dialog, and it's not at all conceptually ambitious in terms of displaying what a superhero movie can be in this modern age. But I was fiercely entertained, thanks very much in part to James Wan's talents as a director. 

There are countless other films that try to coast by on sheer spectacle and fail; Justice League is a prime example. For as messy and unrefined as aspects of Aquaman are, it at the very least feels like someone's vision, rather than a sanitized product that's been focus-tested and homogenized in an attempt to appeal to as many paying demographics as possible. And that's not to say that giving a director free reign to exercise their vision is a one-way ticket to success either; films like Batman V Superman and The Last Jedi prove that a filmmaker needs to understand and respect the subject they're working with in order to create something that, at the end of the day, isn't a frustrating chore to sit down and watch. This is something Aquaman definitely gets right, mixing goofball superhero aesthetics and melodrama with genuinely engaging direction and cinematography. It's not an exaggeration to say that the majority of this film takes place on a green screen, so when I'm praising the effects, you know it's something special. Atlantis feels like a fully realized world with countless depths worth exploring (in contrast to Black Panther's Wakanda, which felt like three soundstages and a grassy field) and there are loads of imaginative creature designs which give way to some truly spectacularly realized action setpieces (especially in the latter half of the film). There's a sequence later on in the second act involving the Trench, an ancient race of monstrous fish-people, that really exhibits Wan's talent as a horror filmmaker. Although clips from this scene made it into several of the trailers, they really don't do the sequence justice; it's clear from a quick visual gag in the beginning that he's a fan of H.P. Lovecraft, and this Trench sequence just makes me wonder how long I'm going to have to wait for an adaptation of The Shadow Over Innsmouth with James Wan in the director's chair.

While it's hardly what I'd call a groundbreaking success in the superhero genre, I simply can't hide the amount of fun I had with Aquaman. It's a movie with a myriad of problems holding it back from true greatness, yet it managed to keep me thoroughly entertained throughout its somewhat bloated runtime. There are glaring issues with the script, story, and performances, but there's such a distinct lack of cynicism here that I can't bring myself to hate it. This isn't a bad movie in the same way something like Batman V Superman or the Michael Bay Transformers films are, where the lack of quality comes off as insulting to the viewer. This is more akin to something like The Fate of the Furious, where you get the sense that everyone on set knew exactly what they were making; a bombastic, cartoonish spectacle that plays all of its candy-colored melodrama 100% straight. I caught myself groaning at the downright embarrassing dialog in the beginning, but then Black Manta shot Aquaman with an electric harpoon and said "I'm gonna gut you like the fish you are" and I realized this movie and I were, in a way, very much on the same page in regards to what an Aquaman film should be. The costumes are fantastic, the effects are impressive, and the last thirty minutes are pure visual opium. It's silly, it's stupid, and I had an absolute blast with it. If you're not a fan of superhero comics or prefer your cape stories to be a bit more on the low-key and serious side, there's little here that would be worth your time. But if you're a fan of the comics, nostalgic for a time when superheroes didn't have to be reimagined to make sense in the real world, Aquaman will definitely quench your thirst.

REVIEW: Pan's Labyrinth

Chalk this up as yet another film I've known about for ages, but have yet to seek out until just now. Much like with the Coen Brothers, I consider myself a huge fan of Guillermo Del Toro. Also much like the Coen Brothers, the amount of his filmography I've experienced firsthand is embarrassingly small. Crimson Peak just oozed style out of every pore, Pacific Rim was a ton of fun, and Hellboy 2 remains a personal favorite of mine, but I can't help but feel as though this is the film that really put the director on everyone's radar. Even before sitting down and watching it, the various creatures and images from Pan's Labyrinth were the first things that came to mind whenever I thought about Del Toro's work as a filmmaker. Having finally sat down and experienced it for myself, I feel confident in saying that, of all the Del Toro films I've seen, Pan's Labyrinth may just be the best of them all.

Set in Spain just after the end of the Spanish Civil War, the film follows a young girl by the name of Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), who is traveling with her pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) to meet her new step-father, Captain Vidal (Sergi López). Vidal has been stationed in the woods, tasked with hunting down any remaining rebels, a job he approaches with both malice and enthusiasm. It's here that Ofelia discovers an ancient stone labyrinth, home to a mysterious faun (Doug Jones). The Faun informs Ofelia that she is actually a reincarnation of the long-lost princess of the underworld, and that she must complete a series of tasks before the next full moon in order to return to her kingdom and claim her birthright. 

I'll be honest and say that I was wholly surprised to see just how much of the plot focused on the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War, compared to Ofelia's magical adventure. I was expecting something moreso along the lines of Alice in Wonderland or Labyrinth, where we spend all of a few minutes in the normal world before transitioning to a bizarre fantasy land for the remainder of the plot. Instead, the fantastical elements feel much more like an undercurrent than a primary focus; Ofelia is the only character who has any direct interactions with anything remotely not-of-this-world, so we're left wondering if what we're seeing is actually happening or if it's all simply the result of a young girl's imagination running wild while she struggles to cope with her less than ideal situation. Thankfully, the conflict between Vidal and the rebels is both interesting and compelling; this is one of the few times where, although my initial expectations were unmet, I'm not left feeling at all disappointed or wistful that we didn't get to see more of the fantasy world implied by the story. The brief glimpses we see only serve to make this fantastical realm feel all the more immeasurable. When we're given a look at what lies beyond, it doesn't feel like a soundstage, but rather a small part of a world that very much transcends the film's modest $19 million budget.

Truth be told, it feels as though Ofelia doesn't even receive that much screentime or focus from the primary plot; I was very much fascinated by Sergi López's portrayal of Captain Vidal, more than anything else. Rather than simply being an evil fascist military man, Vidal is given a rich and subtle backstory, conveyed entirely through visual indicators and context clues. He's a deeply insecure individual, obsessed with living up to the legend of his father (much like Ofelia, he's constantly preoccupied with believing in fairy tales of his own, creating a lovely contrast between protagonist and antagonist). There are brief moments where Vidal feels vulnerable and human, perhaps even relatable, but the film in no way presents these moments as an excuse for his monstrous and cowardly actions. He's a villain meant to help convey the storyteller's purpose and inner feelings, yet he never once feels at all stock, clichéd, or heavy-handed. López gives (arguably) the best performance in the entire film, and Vidal's story arc is honestly worth the price of admission alone.

Aside from the skillful way in which Del Toro tells his story, it's no surprise to anyone familiar with his work that the art direction is beyond stunning. Visually-speaking, this is a film you can completely and totally lose yourself in; the opening scenes showcasing the mountainous pine forests of Spain filled me with an urge to go hiking I haven't felt since I watched Pete's Dragon, and the cinematography of longtime Del Toro collaborator Guillermo Navarro leaves a striking impression. Everything is shot and lit superbly, in a way that feels totally natural, while also taking full advantage of film as a visual medium. It's difficult to explain, but picture something with all the visible style and flair of an early Tim Burton film, but captured within a completely naturalistic lens; a visual style that is, without a doubt, stylized, yet not in a way that's immediately noticeable or distracting.

In addition to the technical aspects of the film, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the top-knotch creature work of Doug Jones (another name that constantly appears in Del Toro's work). Jones pulls double-duty here as both the enigmatic Faun and the monstrously unpleasant Pale Man, seamlessly blending into the mountains of prosthetics and makeup he's been covered in (care of David Martí, Montse Ribé, and Xavi Bastida). When I said earlier that Sergi López arguably gives the best performance in the movie, I mean that the only other contender for that title is Jones himself. So much is conveyed through movement and body language alone, it's no wonder that Jones is considered one of the biggest names in modern creature performances. It's a true display of dedication to one's craft, making good use of the resources at hand and managing to still look impressive over the years since its release; despite being over a decade old and costing nearly half of what it took to make Snakes on a Plane (which came out that same year), the creature effects shown here still hold up (and then some), blending live actors, puppeteers, animatronics, and CGI touch-ups to create visuals that are fine-tuned to capture the imaginations of all who watch.

It's also worth noting that, while Pan's Labyrinth is most assuredly a feast for the eyes, there's also a great deal worth unpacking in terms of symbolism and metaphor. The film provides commentary on themes such as the nature of innocence and youth, sacrifice, personal independence, and the sins of past generations. Ofelia's personal story is more thematically in-tune with the Civil War plot unfolding around her than one might initially believe, and much of this can be difficult to see on a first-time viewing. The futility of war is juxtaposed alongside the often dark and cruel undertones found in many classical fairy tales and myths, merging these two seemingly divergent genres together in a way that works better than just about anyone could have predicted. It's definitely the kind of film that requires active participation on the audience's part in order to shine, I think. Many details are left open for interpretation, and to leave these threads unfollowed would be a disservice both to the film itself and the viewer.

That said, this is also a surprisingly digestible film, not overly-reliant on obtuse symbolism or deeper meaning. The story, visuals, and characters are easily engrossing enough to carry a viewing all on their own; the deeper elements are there, should you choose to seek them out (and by all rights you should choose to seek them out), but it's also perfectly reasonable to enjoy this film as just a story all on its own. I could see myself throwing this on in the afternoon, just to have something to watch, just as easily as I could see myself actively engaging in the elements that are at play just below the surface. It's my favorite kind of film, much like The Big Lebowski or Spirited Away; there are seemingly endless depths to plumb, should you feel the need to explore, but you can also involve yourself as much or as little as you'd like and still find something to enjoy. This is a dense, rich film, but by no means is it a chore to watch. That, I believe, is the mark of a truly skilled filmmaker.

What else needs to be said about Pan's Labyrinth? Incorporating classic fairy tale tropes (a wicked step-parent, a sleeping potion, etc.) with allusions to classic horror and fantasy films (The Shining, Alice in Wonderland, etc.), juxtaposed against a tale of war and rebellion, bursting at the seams with relevant (but not remotely overwrought) symbolism and metaphor, this is simply one of those films that acts as a true testament to the power of imagination. It will suck you in and place you under its spell, as it did me; I'm already eager to revisit it and see what's changed. I make no exaggeration when I say this is arguably Del Toro's finest work and you'd be remiss to wait even nearly as long as I did to give this one a watch. Definitely check it out, if you haven't already. If you already have, check it out again; there's indescribable value in revisiting films such as this, visible only to those who know where to look.

REVIEW: The Brothers Grimm

There's something to be said, I think, in defense of well-meaning schlock. Unlike your usual soulless cash-grab, an otherwise lackluster film can be elevated by some degree of creativity on the part of the filmmaker. This is something we saw last year with Kong: Skull Island; in terms of plot and character development, it was about as basic as they come. However, the cinematography, creature design, and overall atmosphere of the film illustrated just how much of a difference a little artistic effort can make. One could make a similar case, I feel, for today's subject, The Brothers Grimm. Before the mid-aughts tsunami of edgy fairy tale adaptations (Snow White and the Huntsman is likely the most infamous, but Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters is easily the most ludicrous), Monty Python alum Terry Gilliam gave us his own spin on the mythos behind the classic folk tales (and the men who collected them). It's a movie I could see working well in a double-feature with Sleepy Hollow, but I admittedly enjoyed The Brothers Grimm a good deal more (despite its flaws).

A fictitious tale of the real-life Brothers Grimm, the film paints the siblings as a pair of con-men, travelling from town to town across French-occupied Germany, using smoke and mirrors to perform phony exorcisms. After being arrested by the French military, the siblings (played by Matt Damon and Heath Ledger) are instructed to investigate the disappearance of a number of young girls in the small village of Marbaden. Suspected to be the work of fellow con-artists, the brothers are offered amnesty for their various grifts if they can expose whatever scheme is being cooked up and rescue the missing girls. However, they soon discover that the curses and folklore surrounding the supposedly enchanted forest is far more real than what they're used to dealing with. Alongside Mercurio Cavaldi (an Italian torturer played by Peter Stormare) and a hunter named Angelika (Game of Thrones' Lena Headey), it's up to Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm to solve the mystery of the enchanted forest and save a host of kidnapped children from succumbing to a grisly fate.

The most immediately-striking thing about this entire film (and my favorite detail) is the absurd-yet-macabre atmosphere Gilliam is able to establish. Before being sanitized and mass-produced into a multi-million dollar franchise by the Disney Corporation, the original Grimms' Fairy Tales was chock-full of stories of death, murder, and other assorted horrors. Cinderella's step-sisters were mutilated and blinded for their sins and the evil Queen in Snow White was literally forced to dance herself to death while wearing red-hot shoes. The content and themes of these stories tended to be a tad heavier than the usual "wish upon a star and believe in your dreams" schtick we're used to today, and it's that sense of tone that Gilliam captures magnificently here. While it is an action movie, it's not especially violent or profane, no moreso than any given Pirates of the Caribbean movie. This is a perfectly acceptable film to let children watch (almost like a more adult Over the Garden Wall), that is if you're willing to deal with the series of morbid and surreal night-terrors The Brothers Grimm is sure to inspire. 

Yes, everyone still lives happily ever after in the end, and yes, the majority of these moments employ liberal use of dodgy mid-2000's CGI, but there were a few moments where even I, a grown-ass man, found myself getting a little unsettled by just how morbid some of these sequences were. Maybe it's because so many of these scenes (again, true to their 19th century inspirations) involve horrific things happening to children; then again, it's not much of a stretch to define a scene where a small girl is eaten alive by a horse full of spiders as pure, high-octane nightmare fuel. There's also a sequence later on in which a gingerbread man forms out of a pile of mud and proceeds to steal a child's face, leaving her to stumble around blindly, attempting to scream despite not having a mouth. While some people may find scenes like this offputting, I absolutely loved it; it's all presented without a hint of shame or irony, perfectly capturing that sense of foreboding and dark humor you see all the time in old-world folklore. The film knows what it's about and it has no intention of apologizing (as illustrated in the scene in which an adorable kitten is kicked into a rotor-blade). You get the sense Gilliam wanted to present the side of these classic stories you seldom see anymore in popular culture, and it ends up being arguably the biggest feather in the film's cap.

I also adored the way that Gilliam was able to tie all of the notable Grimm folklore together, without it coming off as trite or unnatural. The idea behind the film is that Jacob (the more studious brother, played by Heath Ledger) is constantly taking down notes in a leather-bound journal, the implication of course being that these notes will eventually serve as the inspiration for the characters and stories collected in Grimms' Fairy Tales. The wicked Mirror Queen (Monica Bellucci), for example, is meant to serve as a sort of amalgam of the Evil Queen from Snow White and the titular princess from Rapunzel. The woodsman (Tomáš Hanák) is also the big, bad wolf. The film doesn't try for the overplayed "well here's what ACTUALLY HAPPENED" gimmick like so many other modern twists on classic stories, instead putting a unique spin on things that, overall, feels like a cohesive and believable backstory for each of these timeless fairy tales. Granted, I mean believable in a world with blood-moon enchantments and living gingerbread men, but the point I'm getting at is that, considering the world the film establishes, we're able to connect the dots between fiction and "reality". There are countless examples of the creative process working like this in real life (the Chain Chomps in Super Mario Bros were inspired by a neighborhood dog that would chase a young Shigeru Miyamoto around, Professor Snape was based off of J.K. Rowling's firm but fair chemistry teacher, etc.), so it's interesting to see a film work embrace its own fictional aspects and work backwards in such a way.

Attention to detail aside, I was most surprised at how taken I was with the relationship between the titular brothers; in the opening scene, we see a destitute family waiting for a doctor to help their sick little girl. Her brother returns home, only to reveal that he sold the family cow for "magic beans" that would supposedly cure his sister. As one might expect, the beans aren't magic at all and the little girl succumbs to her sickness and dies, much to the dismay of her brothers (who grow up to be Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm). It's a surprisingly dramatic origin for the two, illustrating just why they've taken up work as travelling con-artists, as well as providing context for their dynamic (both as brothers and as business partners). Wilhelm (Damon) is the more profit-minded of the two, typically taking charge; whenever anything sparks Jacob's imagination, Wilhelm is quick to drag him back down to Earth by mentioning the magic beans. And it's because of this inciting incident that, when the enchantments in the forest are proven to be real, Jacob is driven to get to the bottom of things while his brother would be content to collect what they can and skip town. If he can prove the existence of magic, then he can absolve himself of guilt for his sister's death; if magic exists, then she died because of a scam artist, rather than because of Jacob's ignorance and naïveté. It's an unexpectedly resonant aspect of an otherwise schlocky, offbeat action film, and one that I greatly appreciated in the end.

For all my praise, the film is far from perfect. The plot tends to meander about in search of something interesting to do, and scenes tend to just happen one after another. At just under two-hours, it definitely feels its length (despite some fun action setpieces scattered throughout). It doesn't exactly follow a traditional plot structure, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I have to say that this is one element where I wish Terry Gilliam had played it a tad more traditional. Your typical three-act structure is pretty hard to mess up, and while one can definitely divide the film up into a beginning, middle, and end, it's hardly three clean, even sections. The second act lasts essentially from when the brothers arrive at Marbaden all the way to the climax, and while this is where the majority of memorable scenes are found (such as the aforementioned nightmare horse and gingerbread man sequences), they're all spaced out between long spans of nothing. Our villains, while easy to root against, lack any and all subtlety or nuance and arguably the most interesting character (Angelika, a stoic hunter played by Game of Thrones' Lena Headey) is written out of the main conflict just before the final battle, relegated to nothing more than a typical damsel in distress who, oddly enough, ends up something of a romantic reward for both the brothers. At the same time, however, we also get Peter Stormare acting to the rafters as a morally-questionable Italian man. So at least there's that.

All in all, I enjoyed my time with The Brothers Grimm. It's heavily flawed, but it's also a ton of fun in a really offbeat, darkly humorous sort of way. You get the sense that there was some degree of a creative vision here, rather than just an attempt to make a cheap action movie out of some public domain fairy tales. The sets and costumes and lighting are all spectacular, as is the creature design and overall idea behind the plot. It's the kind of concept that would have crashed and burned in the hands of someone like Brett Ratner or Paul W.S. Anderson, but instead found something special with Terry Gilliam. Sure, it can technically be classified as a "guilty pleasure", but why over-complicate things? It's a fun, schlocky, imaginative bit of work that'll scare the pants off of any child you put in front of it. If you find yourself in the mood for that specific kind of fantasy film that seems to intentionally stray away from that Peter Jackson standard of "epic", you could certainly do a lot worse than this.

REVIEW: Strawinsky and the Mysterious House

As I've said before, I like to avoid punching-down on this blog, especially when it comes to children's entertainment. It's not exactly fair to critique something made on a shoestring budget and marketed to toddlers the way I would look at something like Logan or The Lobster; there definitely has to be some sort of sliding grade scale, otherwise this whole operation of mine looks totally pathetic (even moreso than it already does). I'm not here to make fun of a film because it lacks a blockbuster budget, the same way I won't go out of my way to poopoo the efforts of criminally mistreated animators. No, what I hone in on for these end-of-month Reviews is the ill-intent of the filmmaker. I'm a firm believer that, despite abundant amounts of evidence to the contrary, film is still very much an art form. In turn, laziness and greed are two motivators I simply cannot abide. Though I must say, in all my years of seeking out awful, low-budget heaps of trash to watch and the end of each month, I have never once come across something so outwardly malicious and underhanded as today's subject. Ladies and gentlemen, I present for your consideration; Strawinsky and the Mysterious House.

There's a good chance you're already aware of this trainwreck, thanks to the power of the internet meme machine. But to fully grasp what makes this 30-minute children's special such an abhorrent piece of work, I need to provide the necessary context. Fret not, The Globglogabgalab will get his in due time. Strawinsky is directed, produced, animated, edited, recorded, and distributed by a man named David Hutter; much like Tommy Wiseau (who infamously wrote, directed, produced, and starred in The Room), Hutter displays an impressive degree of confidence for someone who has absolutely no idea what the hell he's doing. He describes his brainchild as "a magical adventure inspired by the Chronicles of Narnia, Walt Disney animated musicals and the parables by Jesus Christ". At first I was totally baffled. Clearly this would end up being some sort of dime-store religious thing, but I was altogether unprepared for what Mr. Hutter had in store for me. I pondered what in God's good name the movie that gave us The Globglogabgalab could have to do with the word of the Bible, but I soon learned that my questions would be answered in increasingly uncomfortable ways as the film progressed.

We start out to find our bunch of animal friends awkwardly t-posing through the woods before stumbling upon a mysterious house, at which point the leader, Strawinsky, suggests breaking inside and having a look around. They find themselves in a basement full of books, who all implore the little critters to take a load off and read them; so far, it all seems innocuous enough, right? Anthropomorphic British animals in a magic house full of magic books, clearly they're building to some stock moral about how "reading is the most magical adventure of them all" or whatever, yeah? Well... stay with me here, because things are gonna go downhill very fast. 

It's at this point that the friends run into the house's caretaker(?), a troll who looks and sounds like a stereotypical caricature of a Scotsman. The troll mentions how the Scarlet Queen (more on her later) had commanded him to multiply a bag of gold she'd given him; his failure to increase the number of zeroes at the end of the Scarlet Queen's account balance has left him a little on-edge, as he fears what horrible retribution she would have in store for him, should he continue to fail in his quest to produce yet more money for someone who is apparently already royalty. So right off the bat, you'd assume we have our villain in the form of the Scarlet Queen, correct? A vengeful monarch obsessed with gold and negligent to the needs and concerns of her underlings; again, I ask you to just stick with me here. There's a turn coming, and it'd be a damn shame if you were to miss it.

As the troll meanders off to contemplate what hellish torment surely awaits him at the hands of the Scarlet Queen, Strawinsky decides to leave his friends to their books and explore the remainder of the house. He comes across an anthropomorphic cello who explains how she used to belong to the Scarlet Queen; the cello feels understandably forgotten (dare I say, foresaken?) at having been left to rot in a dusty old house by its previous owner. Strawinsky, ever the empathetic paragon of virtue, decides to leave the cello to its wallowing and return to the basement. It's here that he meets the true star of the show, The Globglogabgalab. Essentially, he's a massive, obese, shape-shifting slug man who feeds on the knowledge of books for sustenance. As he explains in his transcendentally bad pan-flute rap song, he is "the yeast of thoughts and minds".

This is arguably the most important moment in the entire movie, since this is where David Hutter lays all his cards on the table and reveals what this film is really about. It's like sitting in a time-share presentation; you know the sale is coming, but you're not sure when until it's too late. Up to this point, it had just been another incompetently made kids' movie with your standard sweatshop CGI, but it's after Strawinsky meets The Globglogabgalab (I refuse to type that out anymore, so hence forth he shall be referred to as G-Man) that things take a hard, sinister turn into Orwellian propaganda. After his disquieting rap number, Strawinsky floats the idea over to G-Man that maybe, just maybe, he should be careful about the books he consumes; maybe it's not a good idea to read books at all, because they can fill your head with dangerous ideas.

As if this message railing against the perils of free-thought wasn't clear enough, we then find out that all of Strawinsky's friends have turned into zombies because they read too many books. Distraught that his loyal sheep friends have grown self-aware and disappeared from the flock, Strawinsky begins desperately praying to Jesus Christ The Scarlet Queen. She arrives in a great pillar of light, leaving the troll and G-Man looking like they were just caught with their hands on the golden calf. After stroking Strawinsky's comatose buddies back to peak woke-ness (yes, the narrator uses the word "stroking"), the Scarlet Queen explains the origin of G-Man; once a beautiful forest elf, G-Man soon found himself seduced by those nasty, wicked books. He just fell in love with the written word, to the point that he grew fat and ugly. This was apparently a punishment bestowed on G-Man by God the great Elohim, an unseen deity who exerts his almighty whim on the poor pathetic pawns who populate the Earth.

It's also here that we learn about Satan the Ratking, who shows up for exactly one scene to tempt our heroes(?) through song. Faced with Strawinsky's incessant evangelizing, G-Man relents and decides to give up his precious, stupid books in favor of devoting himself to the teachings of Christianity whatever religion followers of Elohim keep up with. Despite G-Man making the correct(?) choice and bending the knee to her Scarlet-ness, the narrator makes it painfully clear that, although he has earned his seat at the table in the afterlife, he will never regain his old, beautiful body. G-Man will remain fat and misshapen for all eternity, as punishment for his heinous transgression of reading. As we all know, if there's one thing Jesus is super big on, it's petty retribution. Traits like forgiveness and "turning the other cheek" are for the other, weaker messiahs. The troll, meanwhile, decides not to follow the way of the Scarlet Queen, only because he is so terrified of the prospect of her retribution. As the Scarlet Queen ascends into the great hereafter with her cello, we're left to assume that the fires of Hell await the troll whenever he kicks the bucket (likely whenever the Scarlet Queen finds out he didn't make all that gold for her). Everyone goes home, Strawinsky vows to dedicate his life to the great Elohim, and I'm left feeling horrendously filthy for what I've just witnessed.

Is there even anything left to say at this point? I want to make myself clear, there is nothing wrong with being religious. So long as you're not harming anyone, feel free to believe in whatever you please. But I draw the line at outright propaganda, especially when it's propaganda that's shamelessly targeted at children. Taking a child to Church on Sunday is one thing, but sitting them down in front of a cartoon that outright says that God won't ever truly forgive you if you decide to read books is something entirely different. Never before have I seen such a self-destructive endorsement of organized religion; it practically comes off like satire made by a militant atheist. The positive side of religion is literally portrayed as blissful ignorance and blind allegiance while any attempt to gain knowledge is shown to be the work of the Devil. Normally, I can brush off media that's simply incompetent, but that's hardly what we're dealing with here. And yes, I recognize the irony of saying "don't watch this media that presents dangerous ideas, it pushes a narrative that we should avoid media with dangerous ideas". I'm not saying not to watch this; just don't subject your kids to this dreck. Consider Strawinsky and the Mysterious House a "must-see" in my book, just make sure you've got some manner of mind-altering substance on hand before you hit play.

REVIEW: Fullmetal Alchemist

There's a trick to getting live-action anime adaptations right; you see, the trick is to not even try. There are a scant few exceptions to the rule (though right now, the only one that comes to mind is 2008's Speed Racer, and even then that's definitely an acquired taste), but anime as a medium is just something that seldom ever translates well to live-action. It's a genre packed full of characters with over-exaggerated features and displays of emotion, with manic, physics-defying action sequences; something like Gurren Lagann would never work in live-action, just considering the scope and scale alone. The only way anime can work in live-action is if the filmmakers are prepared to get silly and inventive with their presentation (such as with Speed Racer); as Pan Pizza once suggested, it wouldn't be impossible for someone to pull off a proper live-action take on something like Dragon Ball Z or Fist of the North Star in the style of something like Kung-Fu Hustle. But such an undertaking would require equal amounts of talent and flair, a balance that Fullmetal Alchemist (the latest anime adaptation to get dumped on Netflix) sorely lacks.

Adapted from the manga and anime series of the same name, Fullmetal Alchemist follows the adventures of Edward (Ryôsuke Yamada) and Alphonse Elric (Atom Mizuishi), two brothers who attempt to resurrect their dead mother through the power of alchemy. You see, the story takes place in a fictional European country around the start of the 20th century (despite the fact that the entire cast is Japanese, but whatever) where alchemy has been refined into an advanced science. However, the ritual goes awry; due to the Law of Equivalent Exchange, the attempt at human transmutation costs Ed an arm and a leg (literally) while his brother, Al, loses his entire body. With Alphonse's soul trapped in a massive suit of armor, the two search far and wide for the legendary Philosopher's Stone, a mysterious maguffin that may hold the key to restoring their bodies. This is about all we get in terms of plot as our characters meander about from location to location for upwards of two hours, never truly advancing the narrative until the last 30 or so minutes when the film suddenly remembers that it's telling a story.

For transparency's sake, I suppose it's only fair that I admit I've never watched the anime this film is based off of. And here we come to our first major problem; this isn't an adaptation for anyone but the fans. The vast majority of dialog here is exposition used to set up a messy, confusing plot that attempts to condense however many volumes of a manga series into a single feature-length film. As a newcomer to the franchise, I was just barely able to keep up, but even then I was left feeling like this was made to be nothing more than supplementary material for those already in the know. It's less of a standalone film and more an excuse to see the events of the source material play out in live-action, so one really has to wonder why this film was even made. Considering how well the film did at the Japanese box office, it's hard to see this as anything more than a cash-in meant to make a solid chunk of change off of the curiosity of fans.

I can't imagine this was made with the intention of introducing the world of Fullmetal Alchemist to a new audience; I've heard nothing but wonderful things about the anime and manga (specifically Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood), but this movie takes a world with such a novel concept behind it and conveys it all in the most mind-numbingly boring way imaginable. Roughly the first 40 minutes is nothing but exposition and world-building, there's far too much telling and not nearly enough showing for this to really be worth anyone's time. Longtime fans will already know how everything works, so they likely won't get anything out of the plodding, clinical dialog exchanges about the rules and principles of alchemy. At the same time, it does a really poor job of selling the concept to newcomers like myself; it's an imaginative concept, but it's never really used in an interesting or entertaining way.

These are all symptoms of a greater problem, namely that the film can't decide what it wants to be. It presents this imaginative fantasy world, yet gives us exactly one entertaining action scene before the climax. There's moments of more reserved character drama, but all of it feels forced and manufactured, since our characters don't really have anything to do in terms of development. One of the best scenes in the movie is a haunting look at the darker side of what alchemy can create (fans of the series will immediately know what I'm talking about), but it comes completely out of nowhere. We start out with a boring but overall upbeat fantasy story, then take a hard turn into outright body-horror for a few minutes, and then it's never mentioned again. I'm not saying that every movie has to have the universally safe appeal of a Marvel blockbuster, but some tonal consistency would be nice. 

It's only exasperated by the fact that our protagonists don't really have much in the way of personality. I suppose Alphonse is nice, whereas Edward... well, Edward is really just kind of there. He wants to fix his brother's body, I get that, but he really doesn't have anything resembling a personality. He's just a bland excuse for a protagonist; despite all the dramatic yelling he does, he felt entirely devoid of any and all passion. Maybe something was lost in translation, but I honestly felt like the true star of the show was Colonel Roy Mustang (played by Dean Fujioka). A no-nonsense military official with the power to manipulate flame, Mustang is briefly introduced in the first act before being all but forgotten until he reappears in time for the climax; the climax, I should specify, is the one part of this movie that actually works. The action isn't especially spectacular, but the film had all but completely deprived me of characters with personality and stakes and emotions up until this point. I understood Mustang's motivation, I sympathized with his position, and above all, he actually does stuff, unlike Ed and Al. I wouldn't be surprised if Mustang got more screentime during the last 30 minutes than the titular character does, he just completely steals the movie. This should have been called Flame Alchemist, I'd gladly watch an entire movie about him. Unfortunately, it's all just too little, too late.

To give credit where credit is due, the special effects are quite solid for a film out of Japan; Japanese CGI has never been anything spectacular, but one could be forgiven for assuming Alphonse's suit of armor is a practical effect. The idea of using alchemy like a superpower is pretty inventive; characters make walls and pillars burst out of the ground, using the environment itself as a weapon. While the special effects somewhat limit things, you still get the feeling that the filmmakers were very excited about pulling off this kind of action with a cast of physical actors. However, the half-decent CGI doesn't change the fact that every member of the cast looks like they're wearing the cheapest pre-made cosplay the studio could afford. Edward in particular looks especially ridiculous, Yamada's natural hair poking out underneath one of the worst wigs to hit the big screen since Fant4stic's Invisible Woman. I can only assume this was a big-budget blockbuster, so one really has to wonder why the costumes look worse than the majority of what you'll find at your local anime convention. I know it might sound cheap to knock a film for something as seemingly inconsequential as the quality of the costumes, but it was something that never ceased to pull me out of the movie. 

Like Death Note, this is a project that apparently meant a lot to the people making it; director Fumihiko Sori has been quoted as saying "It is my dearest wish to turn this wonderful story into a film, and it is not an exaggeration to say that I am living for this reason", and that he "wants to create a wonderful film that uses techniques that challenge Hollywood". While this kind of attitude is nothing but admirable, it doesn't change the fact that Fullmetal Alchemist just doesn't have much to offer anyone other than hardcore fans of the original series. The tone and pacing are all over the place, our protagonists have next to nothing interesting to do, and worst of all, the entire thing was just so boring. This isn't even a spectacularly bad movie; it's semi-competent, and that almost makes it worse. I actually had a better time watching Death Note, since that was at least so bad it was hilarious. Meanwhile, Fulllmetal Alchemist ends up feeling like nothing more than a chore to get through. The last thirty minutes is pretty solid, but that's about the highest praise I can offer it. Judging from the movie's box office returns in its native Japan (and the supremely confusing post-credits stinger), I can only assume there's going to be a sequel, so maybe they'll get it right next time. In the meanwhile, if you're a Fullmetal Alchemist novice like myself, save yourself the trouble and just watch Brotherhood.

REVIEW: Fantastic Planet

As I've gotten older, I've developed a growing fascination with outsider animation. Don't get me wrong, I still greatly enjoy the annual fare from Disney and Pixar, but there's something special about the outlandish, surreal, and decidedly more adult-oriented animated films of the 70's and 80's; something that was definitely lost around the time of the Disney Renaissance. With Disney cornering the market on squeaky-clean family fun, there existed a clear niche for animation that explored themes and ideas that the House of Mouse wouldn't dare touch; a niche that was soundly filled by filmmakers like Ralph Bakshi and Don Bluth. It was imagination unrestricted by the limits of the MPAA, and it pains me to see such fantastic examples of creative expression dragged down by the most braindead form of praise art can possibly recieve; "woah, they must have been on drugs to think of this!" Whenever anyone says this, it essentially means that they have such a limited imagination that the only conceivable way a human could create anything even the slightest bit innovative or out of the ordinary is by way of a hefty dose of psychedelics. Which, to clarify, doesn't mean that drug-use didn't influence some of these films (especially considering the era they were born from). But the fact of the matter is that movies like today's film, Fantastic Planet, have far more to offer than just some trippy visuals. Behind all the surreal imagery and whacked-out animation lies subtext, and it's this vital facet of storytelling that elevates films like Fantastic Planet above simply being the cinematic equivalent of a lava lamp.

An adaptation of the 1957 French novel, Oms en série, the film takes place in the distant future, on the far-away alien world of Ygam. Long after wiping out their own civilizations on Earth, humans were brought to Ygam by the Draags, an advanced race of blue giants. On Ygam, humans (known as Oms, a play on the French word "homme") are regarded as little more than common vermin; while a good number of Draags have domesticated Oms they keep as pets, there are also roaming colonies of savage Oms who are routinely exterminated (not unlike rats or mice). The film follows one Om in particular, Terr (voiced by Barry Bostwick in the English dub); orphaned as a baby, he finds himself adopted by the daughter of a Draag diplomat, eventually escaping and joining a wild colony of Oms with the intent of ending the oppression of his species once and for all.

The most immediately striking aspect of the entire movie (and the detail which lead me to eventually watch it) is the art design, care of painter/writer Roland Topor. Given the setting and themes of the story, it's immensely important that Topor was able to create a world that looks truly and honestly alien in nature; none of the creatures on Ygam even remotely resemble anything on Earth, and the eerie landscapes help foster an atmosphere of unfamiliarity and foreboding. It all really adds to the situation the Oms find themselves in; you're able to get a powerful sense of how far humanity has fallen and how separated they are from the civilization we know today (even if their base instincts and motivations remain more or less the same, but more on that later). Admittedly, there are moments here and there where the design falters and aspects of the Draag civilization end up looking as though they're simply meant to appear strange for strange's sake; this isn't a film like Treasure Planet where every single aspect of the film's visuals are designed with the idea that it must serve some sort of in-universe purpose. Then again, one must think of the artist's intent when judging aspects like this; world-building isn't exactly meant to be the main takeaway of Fantastic Planet. The subtext is meant to be the primary focus here, and in that area it very much succeeds (but again, more on that later).

My only other gripe with the design of this film is the limited animation. Whereas films like Yellow Submarine give the impression of a watercolor painting brought to life, Fantastic Planet feels much more akin to the work of Terry Gilliam (who, coincidentally, would release his animated short, The Miracle of Flight, just a year later). While Topor's designs are hauntingly beautiful, the animation at play simply doesn't do them justice; everything moves in a very stilted, deliberate manner and character movements tend to lack any and all sense of weight. I also wasn't overly fond of the soundtrack (care of French jazz pianist, Alain Goraguer); while some praise the psychedelic atmosphere the score brings to mind, I found that it just didn't work for me. This is a thoughtful, surreal experience filled with haunting visuals and themes drenched in existential dread. It feels like exactly the sort of concept that would be best complimented by an equally eerie orchestral or prog-rock score, only to be undercut by a dated and altogether unfitting collection of funky beats and wah-wah guitars. This is a score that would have worked perfectly in just about any other film, but just feels wrong here. Then again, it could also be argued that the ill-fitting music and limited animation only serve to enhance the existing atmosphere of unfamiliarity and unease, so these are aesthetic details that (much like the all-important subtext) are free to be left up to the viewer's individual interpretation.

As I mentioned before, inspired visuals can only support so much. While it's very much true that film is a visual medium, it is the way that movies are able to combine all manner of sensory expression that sets film aside from other artistic outlets. When a film ignores any of the tools provided, focusing purely on visuals and ignoring its story (or vise-versa), it is doing itself a disservice. In the case of Fantastic Planet, you come for the tripped-out visuals, but stay for the thought-provoking subtext. The film raises a number of intriguing (and, depending on your perspective, uncomfortable) questions about the nature of life and sentience. What makes the life of one being inherently more valuable than another? By what standard do we judge if a living thing is sentient, or civilized, or even alive? There's obviously a clear "how would you like it?" aspect regarding man's relationship with the natural world, but in truth there's so much more here to unpack and explore. It's very easy to feel inherent sympathy for the Oms, the same way it's very easy to feel a deep resentment towards the Draags. We want to side with the downtrodden and oppressed humans over the beady-eyed, emotionless aliens, despite the fact that the Draags are us. They adhere to their own, odd social rituals and exert callous control over the natural world without a care, simply because they've deemed themselves the most advanced race and that gives them the right to do as they please. 

There's an obvious environmentalist tilt to the whole thing, but it never feels so cut-and-dry, so narrow in scope. One could also easily view the conflict between the Oms and the Draags (in which one species, deemed inferior by those with more power and technology, is systematically exterminated) as an allegory for genocide and racism. The Draags don't think much of the Oms until the Oms become educated and organized; then the downtrodden and oppressed suddenly become a legitimate threat to their oppressors, and only then is peace and equality considered to be an option. Personally, I took the film as a metaphor for how humanity is often manipulated into destroying itself by any number of higher powers (be it competing governments, religions, or what have you); the Draags often make their domesticated Oms fight for each other's amusement, inspiring internal conflict and squabbling among the oppressed, preventing actual progress from being made towards freedom, enlightenment, and prosperity. Whatever your personal interpretation, they all feel equally valid. Not in a half-baked, lazy kind of way, as though the filmmakers didn't put enough thought into what they actually wanted to say with this film, but rather in a sense that denotes extreme care taken on the part of the filmmakers to ensure that the underlying messages could be conveyed to any number of perspectives. The fact that this film is open to so many interpretations could easily come off as needlessly vague in theory; in practice, however, it feels like anything but, and it's this kind of potential for exploration that represents what I consider to be Fantastic Planet's true worth as a film.

In terms of entertainment, I'm not 100% certain I'd recommend Fantastic Planet to just anyone. While I definitely took a lot away from it, I wouldn't exactly call this an "entertaining" movie; despite being just over an hour long, it's quite slow-paced and very dense from a conceptual standpoint. It's not the kind of thing I see myself ever throwing on to unwind after a long day at the office. That said, as a film, I consider this to be mandatory viewing, especially if you consider yourself a fan of animation. The art direction is worth the investment alone and the underlying themes and messages are sure to stick with you well after the credits finish rolling. This is the kind of movie I can't help but recommend everyone watch at least once (although I'm sure repeat viewings will do nothing but enhance one's overall experience). If you feel as though you're in the proper mindset for something in this wheelhouse, you'd be hard pressed to go wrong with giving Fantastic Planet a watch.

REVIEW: Otto is a Rhino

Look, I said I was gonna do it, and by God I'm a man of my word. This is the end; the final entry from Crone Film that I'm subjecting myself to. I thought it would be good for a laugh at first, watching Freddy Frogface and Ivan the Incredible, but I think it's safe to say that I've simply said all I can say about these films. This is the final nail in the coffin; my obsession with Crone Film ends with Otto is a Rhino (yes, I know what the poster says, but the title card at the beginning of the movie says Otto is a Rhino, so there). Like the other films in this cracked-out trilogy, this is based on a Danish children's book, only it's been stretched out to fill just over an hour runtime. Again, I'm not sure if it's just a poor adaptation or if the books these films are based off of are equally as intolerable, but I'm also not sure it matters. Otto is a Rhino is an outright chore to get through, and I wouldn't expect anything but at this point.

The plot involves the same gross, ugly kid that appears in every one of these movies. Only this time, he finds a magic pencil that he uses to make a giant, yellow rhino. That's about the entire plot in a nutshell; a rhino appears in an apartment building and the entire rest of the movie is simply characters reacting to this oddball occurrence. There's no adventure or fantasy or anything at all engaging, just a bunch of unlikeable characters attempting to benefit from a sentient being born from someone's wall. "Let's bring a rhino to life" is the farthest this story wishes to experiment with the idea of a magic pencil that can make anything real, and I'm not sure if we're better off or not for that lack of imagination.

Really, "lack of imagination" sums up the entire film. There's no amount of whimsy or wonder like one might expect from a plot like this. The titular rhino isn't anyone's friend; it's a big, gormless animal with all the situational awareness of a houseplant. You look at all the other children's films where our kid protagonist makes a fantastical friend, films like The Iron Giant and Pete's Dragon, and you can get a sense of all the hard work that went into making the Giant and Elliot into actual characters rather than just plot points. Here, Otto the Rhino is just a prop for our host of equally dim characters to react to. It's not even made clear that he understands who the children are or how they brought him to life. It's Frosty the Snowman if the titular character was brought to life with a sub-zero IQ; we can't feel any sympathy for something that displays all the sentience and personality of a bootleg Chia Pet. Otto doesn't even get into any comic hijinks. He's tremendously docile for a rhino, content to just stand in one place and eat the drapes. It's the cinematic equivalent of an imaginary friend who does nothing but teach children how to do their taxes.

The human characters aren't much better, each one displaying a dizzying single personality trait. The cowardly kid is scared. His father is a jerk. The firemen are all idiots. It's not like I was expecting Alan Moore's Watchmen or anything, it's a children's film adapted from a children's picture book. It's okay to have flat or static characters, as long as they have something interesting to do, and that's where this film really shoots itself in the foot. They present a world of literally endless possibilities, where anything you can draw can come to life, and decide to waste that potential trying to get a rhinoceros out of an apartment building. Even that barebones description sounds too imaginative and exciting for this movie, considering most of the conflict revolves around the success of an independently-run café.

Let's pretend this isn't a problem; say this is meant for actual toddlers with the attention spans of goldfish. Sometimes a children's book doesn't really need to have a point or message, so long as it gives young kids something novel and interesting to latch onto that will get them interested in reading. Curious George is a series built entirely around the concept of a monkey being a monkey in different places, we don't always need to inspire an epiphany in every four year old just before nap time. But if this is truly meant to be something mom and dad can throw on for an hour of peace while Junior sits in the playpen, why is it so all-around unpleasant? Why does every character have beady little eyes and bulging Gary Busey teeth? Why are there references to casual sex, binge-drinking, and polygamy? It's a children's film where the only people who are going to get anything out of it are those who imbibe copious amounts of mind-altering substances beforehand. Believe me, for as much as I'm bashing this abomination, I can't imagine it's anything but a rollicking good time if you and your friends find yourselves half in the bag (especially if there are any animation students present).

It's about now that I wonder if there's even any point in giving my final thoughts on Otto is a Rhino. Like I'm going to actually recommend this to anyone but drunk or stoned twenty-somethings who have nothing better to do. Look, I'll be blunt; if you're a parent, give your child something better than Otto the Rhino. When you find yourself in a position to decide what entertainment your child gets exposed to, take care enough to give them something better than this. Sure, sometimes you really just need them to sit in front of the TV and shut up for a few minutes so you can hyperventilate into a paper bag (and maybe scarf down some uneaten mac and cheese) without being hounded. Believe me, I get it. But it can't really be understated how much of an impact the media we consume has on the people we end up becoming, especially as children. I can't even compare Otto is a Rhino to something like McDonald's, that's how unsubstantial it is as a piece of children's content. If you make the decision to fill your child's head with garbage like this, you're potentially depriving them of extraordinary parts of our culture. Films can change our lives, and it's your responsibility as a parent to make sure that it's for the better. Rather than... whatever the hell this is.

If you liked this, be sure to check out The Jurassic Mark Podcast!