REVIEW: Frankenweenie

As I've said time and time again, if there's one genre I'm willing to go to bat for it's children's horror. When we're young, the things that scare us can be some of the most spellbinding; when I was little, I was scared to death of the Xenomorph and Lon Chaney's Wolfman, but that didn't stop me from doing extensive research on various movie monsters during my middle school lunch breaks (thanks to the timeless and wonderful series of books from Crestwood House). Horror, as a genre, plays on such base, instinctual emotions, it's easy to see why so many kids like myself end up so inspired by the things that scare us at a young age. It's fun to be scared, especially around Halloween, which is why I find myself with just a teensy bit of positive bias when it comes to discussing films like Tim Burton's 2012 animated spoof, Frankenweenie.

Based off of Burton's 1984 short of the same name, the story follows a young science prodigy by the name of, what else, Victor Frankenstein (Charlie Tahan) and his pet dog, Sparky (the immortal Frank Welker). After Sparky is tragically hit by a car, Victor, overcome with grief, decides to exhume his best friend and resurrect him with a good ol' bolt of lightening. Once Victor's secret is revealed, however, all manner of chaos is unleashed on his sleepy hometown of New Holland once his classmates create monsters of their own. Truthfully, the most interesting part of the story is the monster mash climax, but that doesn't change the fact that this is one of the most loving tributes to the classic Universal age of monster movies that I've ever seen.

It's no secret that Tim Burton's output has been... shall we say, lacking, as of late. One only needs to compare his earlier films (Ed Wood, Beetlejuice, Batman, etc.) to his post-2000 work (Planet of the Apes, Alice in Wonderland, Dark Shadows, etc.) to get an idea of what I'm talking about. His penchant for originality seems to have fallen by the wayside in favor of putting Johnny Depp in an increasingly ridiculous series of hats. That said, Frankenweenie very much feels like a film that Burton wanted to make, rather than one he was, say, contractually obligated to make. Tim Burton's love for classic monster movies is more front-and-center here than in any of his other films (save perhaps Ed Wood). The whole thing is done in black and white, one of Victor's classmates looks and sounds like Boris Karloff, and there are references to everything from Gremlins to Gamera to Horror of Dracula. It's a veritable moving museum of horror history cameos and references.

Frankenweenie is, overall, a very feel-good kind of tribute to a timeless subgenre and feels entirely within Burton's classic wheelhouse; for anyone like me who adores his older work yet feels like he's lost his touch as of late, it's very much a ringing endorsement to Tim Burton's enduring talent as an artist. At the same time, I've got to appreciate how much this film commits to being a monster movie. For the most part it's a good-natured boy and his dog story, yes, but Frankenstein's creation is easily the most inherently gruesome of all the classic monsters. It's very possible to (forgive the pun) produce a relatively toothless vampire or werewolf story, but Frankenstein's monster, by default, always boils down to a collection of body parts being stitched together and ripped back from the afterlife by the cold hand of science. This is a children's movie that, despite its tongue-in-cheek tone, doesn't miss out on a few macabre gags and spooky moments; the creation scene is played 100% straight (and may have been my favorite moment in the entire film) and the climax is full of enough monster madness to give the kiddies a well-intentioned fright. It's a nice tonal equivalent to something like Ernest Scared Stupid or Monster Squad, in that it works as both a fun kids movie and a legitimate, all-ages monster film.

Truthfully, if there's one thing I really have to dock the film for, it's that it doesn't go far enough in terms of dour tone and story beats. Spoiler alert, but the dog lives (un-lives?) happily ever after. The movie constructs this potentially hard-hitting scenario; Victor refuses to admit that Sparky is gone for good, hence why he sneaks into the pet cemetery, retrieves his dog's corpse, stitches it all together, and hits him with a gigawatt. His parents explain that, although Sparky may be gone, he'll still live on in Victor's heart. It's at this point that we get what might be my favorite line in the movie: "I don't want him in my heart. I want him here with me." It's the one bit of emotion that hits hard and feels real; Victor comes off like an actual child experiencing his first encounter with grief. everything else admittedly feels a bit cheap and unearned. We're sad when Sparky gets hit by a car because Sparky is a dog and it's always sad when animals get hurt in movies. The film has a legitimate shot at something truly moving, but passes it by in favor of something altogether safer.

We're given a moral about how we shouldn't fear or reject things simply because we don't understand them; Victor clearly doesn't understand death, yet he subverts it at every opportunity. Sparky lived a full life and a full afterlife; he brought joy to those around him and even managed to save everyone in town once things started to get out of control. It would have been much more fitting and meaningful, I think, had Sparky actually perished saving Victor during the climax. Not only would it mimic the classic tragedy one finds in so many classic monster movies, but it would also bring the overall message full-circle. Victor learns to accept Sparky's passing and keep his furry friend alive, not through mad science, but through his thoughts and memories. You could even have a little end bit where it's revealed Sparky had puppies with Winona Ryder's dog; Son of Frankenweenie!

Then again, that's me looking at this movie through the eyes of an adult. For its target audience (i.e. children), this is sure to be a Halloween standard. Sure, it's a little safe in terms of content. It's not particularly deep in terms of story or characterization, but it makes up for it in sheer gumption and love for its inspiration. I, a jaded twenty-something film student, came away wanting, yes, but a kid on a monster kick is going to absolutely adore Frankenweenie. Maybe it'll even inspire younger generations to explore the classic monster films it was based on? If that's the case, then I'd say it most definitely did its job. Check it out, it's a cute, upbeat little flick.

REVIEW: Baby Driver

It's no secret that I'm a tremendous fan of the works of Edgar Wright. I'm rarely ever not in the mood to watch Shaun of the Dead and I consider Hot Fuzz to be one of the finest comedy films ever made. Even films of his that I'm comparatively lukewarm on like Scott Pilgrim and The World's End are still pretty spectacularly well-constructed films. The man is a true auteur, with a distinct visual style and a real knack for details. I hadn't heard much of Baby Driver leading up to its release, but once I heard that Edgar Wright was at the helm, I knew it was something I would have to check out.

The plot focuses on the titular Baby (Ansel Elgort), a teenage getaway driver who's something of a prodigy behind the wheel. Hoping to get out of the world of organized crime after repaying his debt to an enigmatic kingpin played by Kevin Spacey, Baby finds himself dragged back in for one last big score. While trying to bury his criminal past, he ends up romantically involved with a young waitress named Deborah (Lily James); this complicates matters, as Baby tries to balance both sides of his life while making sure no one he cares about gets caught in the crossfire.

In many ways, this is a by-the-numbers heist story; we've all heard "one last job, and then I'm out" before, but it's that unique Edgar Wright flair that makes this movie stand out among the rest. We learn at one point that Baby was in a deadly car accident as a child; not only did this accident kill his parents, it also cursed him with a chronic case of tinnitus. In order to drown out the ringing, Baby is never without one of several iPods, all jam-packed with classic songs from every genre imaginable. Much like Guardians of the Galaxy, Baby Driver features several sequences choreographed to popular music. That said, it's worth remembering that this is Edgar Wright in the director's chair, so this goes a bit farther than simply playing a pop song during an action scene.

I'm tempted to outright call this a musical, as everything, literally everything, from gunshots to graffiti to the editing itself, is synced in tune to the music. This is the kind of movie you can watch again and again, noticing some new bit of visual artistry each and every time. There's tons of blink-and-you'll-miss-it details and long, unbroken shots, to say nothing of the pulse-pounding car chases. This movie has some of the best car chase sequences I've ever seen, and I say this having watched The Blues Brothers. There's an abundance of practical special effects at work here, lots of tricky camera angles and real stunt drivers working on large, impressive sets. Combined with the sublime cinematography of DoP Bill Pope, Edgar Wright manages to give us something that is the very definition of the phrase "a feast for the eyes". Baby Driver is, technically speaking, a work of art. Which is a shame that the other, more narrative-based elements of the film pale in comparison.

For as good as the film looks, elements such as story and characterization feel a little half-baked; there's nothing out and out bad here, per say, but at some points it can distract from the rest of the film. The romance comes off as very under-written for how much focus it receives; we're supposed to care most of all about Baby and Deborah's relationship, yet they don't really have any reason to be interested in each other. They have fairly good chemistry and they both enjoy music, but that's more or less where their similarities end. They aren't given a chance to grow and develop as a couple before they're both ready to drop everything and drive into the sunset towards mystery and adventure. Deborah in particular is far too forgiving in regards to what she has to endure in the latter half of the film, killing any and all tension as to how their relationship will end up; she's with Baby till the end of the line, even though it's not really explained why. 

The story also dips considerably in the middle, struggling to maintain the sheer energy and excitement brought on by the first and final acts. There are also some plot elements that feel more than a little rushed for convenience's sake; this is a movie that keeps a fairly brisk pace, but every now and again something will change just a tad too quickly, to the point that the emotion the filmmakers seem to be going for doesn't feel entirely earned. There's one moment in particular during the climax involving Kevin Spacey's character, Doc, that left me scratching my head. I won't go into it for sake of spoilers, but his sudden shift in character development felt completely out of left field and really took a lot of focus away from what was otherwise an exciting and thoroughly engaging finale.

I think that one definitely has to be in the proper mindset to fully appreciate this movie. Despite its trendy, modern flair, this is a very old-school story in terms of the way the narrative and characters work. The romance is simple, the plot moves quickly, and if you stop to ask questions you're going to miss all the beautiful scenery. Things like half-baked subplots and under-developed characters are problems, yes, but the rest of the movie works so well that it's very easy to overlook these problems, so long as you watch from the proper point of view. True, I didn't really feel anything for the romance between Baby and Deborah. But at the same time, literally everything else about their story and the way it was told commanded my attention. This is a movie that understands that film is very much a visual medium; it favors style over substance, but that doesn't mean there's no substance to be found. By the end of it, I was very much rooting for Baby to make it out okay and I really wanted to see the villains get what was coming to them. This is thanks, not only to the engrossing visual style, but to the stellar performances of everyone headlining the cast, ESPECIALLY Jon Hamm and Jamie Foxx. These two completely stole every scene they were in, especially if they happened to be on-screen together. 

Baby Driver is not a perfect film, but like most of Edgar Wright's work, it's close enough. There wasn't a moment during this movie that I wasn't enjoying myself and this is definitely the kind of thing you want to see in a movie theater. Not just because it's very visually engaging, not just because it's a blast with a good sound system, but because, at this point in 2017, Baby Driver is literally the only movie I've seen in theaters that wasn't a superhero film, sequel, reboot, or remake. It's an entirely original, standalone R-rated film with more love and care than the vast majority of summertime releases, and that's definitely something worth supporting.

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: Cats Don't Dance

The 90's was an interesting time for feature-length animation. With the Disney Renaissance beginning with The Little Mermaid in '89, the House of Mouse essentially dominated the era with films like Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast. Due to Disney's widespread popularity, this put other studios in an interesting position; animated musical comedies clearly printed money, yet simply copying the Disney Princess formula rarely resulted in a hit (films like Thumbelina and Quest for Camelot are a testament to this). In order to survive, films that didn't come out of the Disney Animation Studios usually had to provide something different than the standard fairy tale adaptation. This led to a number of notable films that I'll likely take a look at down the line such as The Iron Giant, The Road to El Dorado, and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. These less-celebrated films have always fascinated me; thanks to Disney's massive marketing machine, the stories and characters of the Disney Renaissance never truly went away. You're much more likely to meet a young child in this day and age who knows who Ariel and Simba are than one who's seen The Swan Princess. Today's Review focuses on one of the more forgotten non-Disney films of that era, Cats Don't Dance.

Determined to make it in the movies, an upbeat and optimistic cat by the name of Danny (Scott Bakula) leaves his home town of Kokomo, Indiana for 1930's Hollywood. Like every story about a wide-eyed dreamer who moves to a big city to make it happen, Danny soon realizes that the motion picture industry isn't nearly as ripe with opportunity for animal actors as he'd hoped. Despite Danny's natural musical talent, he's relegated to simply playing the part of a background animal in the latest vehicle for the diminutive Darla Dimple (Ashley Peldon/Lindsay Ridgeway), a not-so-subtle parody of Shirley Temple with an even less subtle temper. Befriending a beleaguered secretary by the name of Sawyer (Jasmine Guy/Natalie Cole), Danny and his fellow animals try to break free from the mold and prove to the studio that you don't need to be human to make it in the movies.

The first point I have to award in the film's favor is its aesthetic; I will forever be a huge sucker for old Hollywood, and this is a movie that revels in that era. It's no secret that Gene Kelly had a hand in the dance choreography here (coincidentally, this is his last project and is dedicated to his memory), as every Randy Newman-penned musical number is just chock-full of that jazzy, Singin' in the Rain-esque energy. From various Hollywood landmarks to a bundle of cameos from caricatures of the era's biggest stars, this is a film that perfectly captures that optimistic feel of 1930's Hollywood, yet is able to present it through a more contemporary lens. It doesn't hurt either that the story (about a band of talented performers who, despite their skills, are considered second-class citizens, relegated to playing second-banana to an adorable child star) works as an allegory for the issues of racial representation in the motion picture industry around that time. All in all, it's an excellent premise that is unfortunately held back from greatness by that which should reside at the heart of its story; the film's protagonist.

While Scott Bakula has a great voice for the part and the animation on Danny is top-knotch, it doesn't change the fact that, as a character, he's one of the blandest protagonists I've ever seen in a movie like this. There's a point at which your starry-eyed dreamer ends up being just a bit too starry-eyed, and Danny is clearly far past that point. Even when his dreams are crushed, he's back to his usual perpetually smiling self after just one song. He's a static character with absolutely no edge to him; by the end of the movie, he's no different personality-wise than he was at the beginning. You'd expect some lesson to be learned but no; despite things looking grim in Danny's darkest hour, the day is saved simply by trying again. I suppose this is a positive lesson, sure, but it's hardly a dynamic or interesting one.

Sawyer, on the other hand, is a far more interesting character who truly deserves to be the focus of this film. The basis behind her character is that she was once like Danny, hoping to make it big singing and dancing in the pictures. As we find her, her dreams have long since been crushed and she's resigned herself to living the menial life of a secretary for an animal talent agency. There's a deep rooted pessimism to her character that resonates in a much stronger way than Danny's blind, childish optimism. When a protagonist is already humbled, it makes it that much easier for us as an audience to root for and identify with them. Her story of learning to believe in her dreams again is a much more interesting, satisfying one than Danny's story of simply trying really hard until he accomplishes his goals. It even feels as though the movie subconsciously knows that Sawyer is the real protagonist here; not only is she given the best songs, but she's the focal point of the big showstopper that makes up the film's climax. This movie's biggest sin is that we spend more time with Danny than with Sawyer, and that aspect is what keeps it from achieving true greatness.

As I mentioned before, I absolutely love the setting and premise of this movie, but special consideration must also be given to the animation and character design at work here. The film didn't exactly have a Disney-sized budget to work with (and even then, it barely made back 10% of what it cost to produce), but everything still manages to look gorgeous and fluid in motion. The characters all have the feeling of classic Warner Bros cartoons on a more modern theatrical scale; Darla Dimple and her hulking valet, Max (director Mark Dindal, as a perfect parody of Erich von Stroheim's character from Sunset Boulevard) make for wonderful villains, both in terms of visuals and characterization. From Darla's sickeningly pink mansion to the way the frame is often forced to work around Max's titanic scale, this movie is just a joy to look at. The end musical number in particular is a surprisingly strong sequence on its own, managing to get me totally invested and tapping my toes to boot.

Aside from Danny, pretty much nothing about this movie is bland or boring. It's a colorful send up of classic Hollywood tropes with enough catchy songs, lively animation, and clever in-jokes and references to entertain anyone from little kids to aging cinephiles. It's not a perfect movie by any means; frankly, it's understandable why, in 1997, Cats Don't Dance bombed spectacularly while Disney's Hercules made a modest profit and continues to be popular to this day. That said, I don't regret my time spent watching it in the slightest. If you're feeling nostalgic for that time when high-quality, traditionally-animated feature films were a yearly institution, Cats Don't Dance is definitely a flawed but overall enjoyable relic from that magical era.