REVIEW: Sorry To Bother You

One of my favorite things about film as a means of artistic expression is the way in which it allows filmmakers to present a sort of funhouse mirror version of our own reality. Where certain aspects of everyday life are tweaked and exaggerated in order to convey some sort of social commentary; it's the kind of style you find in films such as Robocop and Office Space, concealing a bittersweet truth about society behind a veneer of sardonicism and parody. After catching the trailer for Boots Riley's Sorry To Bother You before a showing of Deadpool 2 back in May, I knew it was the kind of slick-looking indie flick I just had to check out. Having finally seen it, I can definitely say that, as far as style goes, I got exactly what I was hoping for and then some. As far as everything else... well, let's just say there's a reason this particular Review took so long to post. This is the kind of movie I had to sleep on for a good long while, and I wouldn't be surprised if my opinion of it continues to change after I've hit publish. It's a very unique beast of a film, and while I'm not entirely sure that's 100% a compliment in this case, it definitely gives me a lot to talk about.

The film is set in an alternate-present version of Oakland; it's more or less the same as our world, just, shall we say, less subtle. Mega-corporations are essentially pushing exportable slave labor (seen as a fairly sweet deal by many members of the lower class), advertising has devolved to the point that brands are simply named after whatever product they're designed to move (such as "Soda Cola"), and America's number one television show is an assault on human dignity aptly titled "I Just Got the Sh*t Kicked Out of Me!"; it's a dystopia in the most mundane, everyday sense, where our collective doom is brought about by sterilized corporate overreach, rather than murderous robots or nuclear armageddon. It's here that we meet our protagonist, Cassius "Cash" Green (Lakeith Stanfield, who is way too good here to have also starred in Death Note). Low on funds and unable to find a job, Cash begins working at a telemarketing firm known as RegalView. Initially, he feels as though the job isn't cut out for him, struggling to close sales and climb the corporate ladder. That is, until one of his coworkers (Danny Glover) suggests that he use his "white voice" (a squeaky-clean overdub provided by David Cross); not so much an imitation of white people, per sey, but rather a means of code-meshing that gives off the impression that Cassius is living a worry-free life where things can only get better. With the power of his white voice, Cash becomes a superstar at RegalView, ascending to the almighty and mysterious position of "Power Caller"; however, this promotion just happens to coincide with his coworkers (along with his girlfriend, Detroit, played by Tessa Thompson) organizing a labor strike in search of better wages and benefits. I don't want to go any further into the plot, as this is definitely the kind of movie you want to go into blind, but suffice to say tensions rise between Cash and those around him after he earns his first taste of what could modestly be called success.

Like I said, I've got a lot to say about this movie, so I'd like to get everything I liked about it out of the way first. As far as visuals go, this is a strong contender for the most inventive film I've seen thus far in 2018; the cinematography gets insanely creative at times, whether it's to convey a subtextual message or to simply help sell a joke. When Cassius is on the phone with a client, he's violently transported to wherever they may be when their phone starts ringing, whether they're eating dinner or having sex on the couch. It's an inventive way to make something as milquetoast as telemarketing engaging and interesting, fully taking advantage of the visual medium they're working in. It's definitely a film with a very distinct look to it, especially when it comes to details like Tessa Thompson's various outfits and earrings (her character is an independent artist, and the film takes full advantage of this opportunity to play dress-up). This is a movie about income inequality and racially-coded language and corporate America, yet it finds a way to be fascinating from a visual standpoint, rather than just from a narrative standpoint, and that's definitely a feather Sorry To Bother You wears proudly in its cap.

I also loved the sense of humor and overall tone/atmosphere; like I said before, it exaggerates key elements of our reality, calling specific attention to details we're more or less used to seeing in our day to day lives. There's a joke later on in the film involving a rap song that made me both laugh and wince until it hurt; really, it's the film's ability to pull off moments like that that make it such an enjoyable watch. For as surface-level as some of the commentary can be, it's very smart in the way it doles it out for the first two acts. Despite how absurd things appeared, I found myself seriously invested in the moral dilemma at the heart of the plot. A lot of this is not only due to the smart dialog and writing, but also to Lakeith Stanfield; he's the perfect everyman for a movie like this, fitting right into this absurd, exaggerated universe while also staying totally down-to-earth and relatable. Just about every character aside from Cash ends up being a little hyperbolic in one way or another, so it was a smart move to cast someone so naturalistic as the focal point of the entire plot. 

SPOILER ALERT: While I don't spoil that twist (the one everyone is going nuts over), I do mention a few minor plot points. If you're looking to go in as blind as possible (which is really the only way to see this movie), be warned!

Now, if you've heard anything about this movie, you've probably heard people raving about the curveball it throws in later on in the plot; I'm going to respect the wishes of the filmmakers and not spoil it here, but I can't just pretend like I can discuss this movie without talking about it (albeit in the vaguest possible terms I can manage). While I can definitely see what Riley was going for with this plot point, I can't help but feel as though it was a punch-line to a joke nobody was telling. When the twist happened in the theater, I literally thought I was being pranked, that the entire conceit of the movie was to get people invested in an oddball but compelling dramedy about the price of success before completely going off the rails into straight-up monkey cheese territory. Now, all that said, I want to make it perfectly clear that, while it didn't really work for me, I still have to give Boots Riley and company some tremendous props for doing something so ballsy and out-there. It's really the kind of thing you have no way of predicting; if you sat 1,000 monkeys at 1,000 typewriters, they would eventually guess the plot twist to Sorry To Bother You. It's definitely a "your mileage may vary" type thing, something that no major studio would ever let a filmmaker get away with. We all act like the end of Infinity War was shocking, but it honestly has nothing on this.

While I greatly respect a filmmaker's decision to throw his audience for a loop, I still can't help but think that taking such a radical turn ended up damaging the overall narrative in the long run. In doing some research after leaving the cinema, I learned that apparently Riley had intended for the film to have a Communist message, which I found a bit concerning (for more reasons than the obvious); namely that, as far as I could tell, the film did a remarkable job of offering solid refutations to that mindset. The moral quandary that the first two acts are entirely based around involves Cash's desire to succeed, even if it means turning his back on his friends and coworkers. It's easy to see his decision as selfish at first, but we also see that he has people in his life (like his uncle, played by Terry Crews) whom he has to provide for. When Cash's friends (who aren't particularly good at their job) shame him for working hard and succeeding on his own merits, they come off as remarkably petty and hypocritical, as if Cash should allow his uncle to lose his house in order to add another body to the picket line. At one point in the movie, we learn that Detroit has a "white voice" of her own that she uses during her art installation (which is really just a more pretentious version of "I Just Got the Sh*t Kicked Out of Me!"), after she's spent the entire movie up to that point talking down to Cash for using his white voice outside of work. Steven Yeun's character (who organizes the strike in the first place) spends all of his time moralizing about unity and brotherhood and the shared struggle of the proletariat, only to act like a duplicitous, incompetent goober when no one important is watching. 

Make no mistake, Cash's hands aren't clean either (he consciously goes along with some pretty deplorable things in pursuit of a white-collar paycheck, after all), but it felt to me like the movie was doing everything in its power to avoid coming off as one-sided; all the players in the central conflict had moments where they were given realistic, human flaws, and that added a lot in terms of making this moral dilemma feel multi-faceted and real. It feels like you could make a reasonable case for either side of the argument, and it's that kind of conflict that makes for compelling drama. But then the twist happened and the film started beating us over the head with its message (which only took the form of playful and flirtatious love-taps before). When there's such a large gap between what I took away from Sorry to Bother You and what the filmmaker intended I take away from it, I seriously have to wonder where things started to get lost in translation. I certainly don't want to place this entirely on the shoulders of the film itself (Boots Riley is the one who wrote and directed it, I just paid for my ticket and interpreted what I saw from my own, lowly perspective), but I can't help but feel that something's amiss in terms of how the story is conveyed when the director's supposed intentions feel so divergent from what actually played out on screen.

For all my personal hang-ups with Sorry To Bother You, I can't really bring myself to not recommend it. There were major elements of it that just didn't land for me, but that still doesn't change the fact that this is one of the most unique films I've seen in a theater in a good long while. This doesn't feel like just another surrealist comedy, this feels like someone's unique, inspired artistic vision, and that's something I can always commend (even if, at the end of the day, it feels like it presents themes and ideas that I've seen done before and done better). The title, Sorry To Bother You, isn't only meant as a reference to the world of telemarketing, but also as something of a warning to the audience; as if to say, "sorry to bother you, but this film is gonna force you to wake up and see things as they are". I can't say for sure that Sorry To Bother You woke me up, but it sure as hell didn't put me to sleep. Avoid all spoilers, go in as blind as possible, and see what you take away from it.

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: The Lobster

Dry humor is, generally speaking, a really tricky beast to pin down. I don't like to use the phrase "hit or miss" when describing my preferences, since I usually like to fall back on some kind of gold standard, but dry humor is just one of those things that, for me, can only go one of two ways. Either it works or it doesn't; maybe I'll still be able to appreciate what the creator was going for, but it's definitely far from a sure thing for me. Films that take this approach with their tone often run the risk of feeling as though they're trying too hard, as though everyone involved isn't confident enough to find their own, properly-weird kind of weirdness to make it all come together. It requires the filmmaker to take advantage of every detail that defines film as a medium (from the cinematography, to the performances, to the sound design) to sell humor that's presented in an unconventional way; to make the unnatural feel natural in its own unnatural-ness. While it's definitely a genre with its own conventions, it can still be a challenge to do properly. For anyone seeking an example of this style of comedy done right, look no further than 2015's The Lobster.

Directed by The Killing of a Sacred Deer's Yorgos Lanthimos, The Lobster follows a recently-single man named David (played by Colin Farrell, as one of the few named characters in the film). After his wife leaves him for another man, David checks himself into a hotel in hopes of finding a new partner. As the hotel staff explain, David has 45 days to find someone new to fall in love with; if he fails, he will be turned into an animal of his choosing (he decides on a lobster, which the hotel staff assure him is an excellent choice). If this plot sounds the slightest bit absurd, that's because it is, and the entire movie reflects this in its every detail. There's an underlying surreality to everything that happens here, making it perhaps not the easiest watch for your casual moviegoer. I adored nearly everything about it, but this is definitely not the kind of film I would put on at a party (then again, I suppose that depends entirely on what kind of party we're talking about here). There's a lot to unpack, subtextually-speaking, which is one of the reasons I loved it so much.

The film acts as a biting bit of social satire, offering up an all-too-relevant critique of the way society treats the idea of being in a relationship. If you're an adult who hasn't found that special someone yet, you barely qualify as a human in the eyes of society. You're basically an animal. You might as well be dead. The Lobster confronts these ideas with no-holds-barred absurdity and the effect is as deeply resonant as it is frequently hilarious. Couples in the hotel aren't matched up by virtue of their ability to get along with one another or chemistry or anything that real, true romance is made out of. They're boiled (get it?) down to nothing more than a single, base characteristic; one man has a chronic limp, another woman suffers frequent nosebleeds, and John C. Reilly's character has been cursed with a lisp. The clock is ticking and these characteristics are all anyone really has to go off of; there's no natural love to be found among those within the hotel, it's all cold, emotionless, and born out of a desire to not be alone. To not be an animal.

Society dictates that the default end goal for a human being, the one true path to happiness and fulfillment in life, is to get married, settle down, and start a family. When prospective couples in the hotel are on their trial run to test for compatibility, they may be assigned designated children to help resolve any conflicts that arise. This is the level of absurdist dystopia Lanthimos builds for us, a world where children are accessories and relationships exist purely to fulfill a need for sex and security. It isn't so much about finding someone who truly loves and understands you as it is about having a warm body next to yours when you sleep, or an extra pair of arms to help you out if you happen to choke on a bit of food. It's been said that love and death are the two facts of life which dictate our every desire, and The Lobster takes this idea to its logical, sterile, comical extreme.

We often lie to ourselves and others in order to avoid ending up alone (or to avoid ending up with who we think of as the wrong person). There are times throughout the film where David passes up what might be legitimate shots at happiness and fulfillment, instead choosing to focus on pointless minutiae like hairstyles and accents. It's an uncompromising look at the 21st-century dating scene brought to us by apps like Tinder, where any and all personality and nuance is removed from the experience of finding a mate. We see other characters, motivated by fear of ending up alone and becoming an animal, make harsh compromises to ensure they end up with someone, anyone, it doesn't matter who. A very nice widow (played by Ashley Jensen) feels so insecure about her age, she outright offers her body up to David in the hopes that a series of sexual favors between strangers will somehow lead to a relationship. We also see one of David's few friends at the hotel (Ben Whishaw) begin mutilating himself, smashing his face into hard surfaces in order to induce nosebleeds, all so that he can have something in common with his chosen partner; something that makes them "compatible".

For as bad as things are in the hotel, we're also introduced to a colony of loners; hotel guests who failed to find anyone to pair up with and, rather than accept their fate as an animal, decided to flee and establish a commune in the nearby woods. These characters are hunted like sport by the hotel guests (each loner they tranquilize earns them an extra day to find a mate), so we're initially meant to see them as the sympathetic underdogs when compared to the oppressive, conformist horrors that lurk within the hotel. But we soon come to discover that this order of loners has their own set of rules and mores that must be followed at all times; I don't want to spoil anything, but it ends up being a very Fox and the Grapes type scenario. Truthfully, this element exhibits my only real gripe with this film, as it cleanly divides the narrative into two distinct halves, with the majority of interesting story beats and ideas residing in the first half.

Despite this feeling of unevenness, the film still manages to make you care a great deal about these characters. A true testament to both the actors and the writing, as everyone here is giving an intentionally awkward, emotionless performance. They all act like robotic, repressed individuals; you get the impression that everyone is screaming internally, desperate to express some form of genuine emotion without fear of being shunned by those around them. Like I said before, an intentionally awkward tone such as this requires a filmmaker to take advantage of every facet of film as a medium in order to truly leave a bold impression. The cinematography is flat and static, which would be a problem in just about any other movie, but here it compliments the overall tone and atmosphere. We're given a series of beautiful, but awkward shots that linger for just a little too long, at some points giving off some distinct The Shining vibes (which, despite this not being a horror film in the traditional sense, adds an exquisite kind of flair to the overall look of the film).

The soundtrack (care of Johnnie Burn) also adds to the atmosphere, though I wouldn't be surprised if this aspect was a bit more hit or miss with some viewers. It's droning and repetitive, but it also occasionally escalates to something that's downright cacophonous, both punctuating the more dramatic moments and adding a lovely comedic flair to some of the more awkward bits (such as a positively hilarious fistfight out on the hotel's shooting range). All of the awkward, stilted, inhuman moments merely serve to make the few instances of genuine love, romance, and emotion shine all the brighter. It all comes together, bolstering the underlying social commentary and wrapping everything up in a charming, sorrowful, darkly-hilarious package; many will be tempted to write The Lobster off as "weird" and call it a day, but I promise that you'd be doing yourself a disservice to stop there.

The Lobster is a true work of art, through and through. Though some scenes linger on a bit longer than they might need to and the more interesting story beats take place within the first two acts, it's still a fantastically imaginative look at one of the most frequently taken-for-granted aspects of the human experience. Love plays a part in all of our lives (whether we want to admit it or not), hence why this is a film with something to offer for everyone. If you've ever been uncomfortably single or felt disillusioned by the notion of modern love, you owe it to yourself to give The Lobster a watch. It's a film that upholds the idea that love is blind, despite existing in a cynical, material world. If you haven't found the one, there's nothing wrong with you. Though society says otherwise, you are not an animal; and even if you were, it would still be better than the alternative.

REVIEW: Help! I'm a Fish! (A Fish Tale)

Let's talk low-profile animation. Movies that are decidedly B-listers (at best) when compared to your usual Disney/Dreamworks moneymakers, assuming they even make it to theaters in the first place. The kind of movies you always see taking up space in the kids section of the bargain DVD rack, collecting dust until some nearsighted-but-well-meaning relative picks it up as a last minute birthday gift. These kinds of movies are such a fascinating mixed-bag in terms of both quality and content, especially when you factor in foreign films. Little cultural differences and regional influences in art direction can inform the overall look and feel of a film, running the gamut from something like The Little Prince to something like Ivan the Incredible. And speaking of Ivan the Incredible, today's obscure animated feature comes to us from the country of Denmark; regardless of what some of the marketing may imply, Help! I'm a Fish proves that Danish animation doesn't necessarily have to be a nightmarishly incoherent CGI fever-dream.

The story follows a rambunctious boy named Fly (Jeff Pace), his little sister, Stella (Michelle Westerson), and their brilliant-but-stuffy cousin, Chuck (Aaron Paul). After sneaking out to go fishing, the kids stumble upon the lair of an eccentric marine biologist (Terry Jones) who has developed a formula that turns humans into sea creatures. After Stella is accidentally transformed into a starfish and lost beneath the waves, it's up to Fly and Chuck to drink the potion and rescue her themselves. Fortunately for them, the professor also developed an antidote, which falls into the fins of a common pilot fish. After imbibing some of the potion, the fish (voiced by the late Alan Rickman) develops a humanlike intellect. Now calling himself Joe, he seeks to establish an deep-sea society of intelligent, talking fish (of which he is the unquestioned ruler). With only 48 hours until their change becomes permanent, it's up to the kids to rescue Stella, get the antidote away from Joe, and return to their human selves before it's too late.

On the surface, Help! I'm a Fish is fine enough. The voice acting is quite solid for an English dub and the delightfully-dated soundtrack of bouncy Scandanavian-style pop is loads of fun. It's got a pleasing visual style and a host of memorable character designs, in addition to being legitimately very well-animated for what it is. For a kids' movie about a magical science potion that turns people into fish, the script is surprisingly tight, setting up and foreshadowing important plot elements ahead of time so that everything flows in a sensible, coherent way. Functionally-speaking, it's a well-made movie, but that's not what made Help! I'm a Fish stand out to me. The thing that really struck me as interesting was just how dark and dramatic this film was willing to get.

The first thing worth mentioning is the villain, Joe. The film establishes a surprisingly mature metaphor for dictatorships; he who controls knowledge controls the populace. Joe is the keeper of the "magic potion", in addition to being the smartest thing under the sea. He controls who is worthy of the gift of sentience, as well as how smart they're allowed to get. He grants his followers enough mental capacity to speak and follow orders, but purposely keeps them duller than himself so they have no other option but to implicitly believe everything he says. While the metaphor is a little on-the-nose in this case, it's still a wildly original angle for a movie like this to pursue, given how the rest of the plot unfolds.

It's also worth noting how little the film shies away from the dramatic reality of our protagonists' situation. The ticking clock element is in full effect here, and the result is surprisingly heavy. The prospect of being forced to live out ones remaining years as a jellyfish is a worrying prospect, and the level of optimism our protagonists show deteriorates more and more as the film goes on. It may sound as though I'm hyperbolizing a bit here, but the film really does get downright dreary as it approaches the final act. There's also a surprising amount of death; there's no "fish are friends, not food" sentiment to be found here, as the shark Joe recruits as his enforcer (David Bateson) casually eats a number of characters without remorse. Usually these "tough but dopey henchman" type characters end up joining forces with the heroes in the end (typically after being mistreated time and time again by the primary antagonist), but that isn't the case here. The shark is, by all accounts, unapologetically malevolent and aggressive, taking extreme pleasure in chowing down on whatever unfortunate Joe allows him to. This is a movie about three children trapped in a fledgling dictatorship where everyone in charge wants to murder them. And it's called Help! I'm a Fish. Grim as that is, I haven't even touched on the climax yet.

Without spoiling anything, let me say this; the climax to this film is pure nightmare fuel. The rest of the movie was a tad more dramatic than I expected, but it still felt like a kids' movie. A little heavier than something like Frozen, sure, but still a kids' movie. The climax is typically where all the dramatic tension in a film comes to a head, but this movie has a tonal curve like a brick wall, veering into Cronenberg-esque body-horror at one point. If the final confrontation with Joe doesn't leave little ones wetting their underoos, we're treated to a scene that commits so soundly to selling the tragedy that occurs that it almost comes off as hilarious in a really mean-spirited kind of way. Again, I don't want to spoil anything, but this ending really needs to be seen to be believed. I'm all for children's entertainment that dabbles in the more macabre side of things, but the climax of Help! I'm a Fish is the stuff that "Top 10 Most Disturbing Childhood Movie Moments" clickbait articles are made of.

Suffice to say, I don't think this is a movie I'll be forgetting anytime soon. It's well put-together, well animated, and goes to some surprisingly dour places given that it's a movie about kids turning into cutesy cartoon fish. While I wouldn't necessarily go as far as to call it a hidden gem, Help! I'm a Fish is certainly a curiosity that I would recommend to anyone who enjoys outsider animation. By all means, grab some friends, dim the lights, and crack some jokes about Jesse Pinkman playing an obese kid who turns into a jellyfish. It's all just build-up to the insane punchline that is the hilariously bleak and traumatic climax that's sure to satisfy anyone who's ever asked "how did they get away with that?"

Credit and thanks go to Sparky from the "Help! I'm a Fan" fansite for the majority of screengrabs used in this Review.

REVIEW: Wizards

Cult classics are a tricky lot, especially when it comes to psychedelic cinema. There's always the chance that a film with a large following will simply fail to live up to the hype when viewed without the assistance of a bag of hallucinogens. All the same, there are times when one comes across an entry in this genre that amounts to more than just a trippy collection of pretty colors set to acid rock. 1977's Wizards is definitely responsible for blowing the minds of more than a few burnout college kids, I'm sure, but that's not to say that there isn't something worth exploring beneath the surface. One of the more tame creations of animation legend Ralph Bakshi (who proved that animation could be used for more than just cheery Disney children's films with such X-rated fare as Fritz the Cat and Heavy Traffic), Wizards paints an extraordinarily out-there portrait of a far-off, fantastical future over a subtextual exploration of morality and the power of propaganda.

The plot in this is a bit much to take in, but I'm going to do my best to sum it all up as succinctly as possible. In the future, the Earth is annihilated by nuclear weapons and terrorism, eradicating all life on the planet. However, over the next two million years, human life begins to re-emerge; those who populate the idyllic good lands regress into humanity's true ancestors, fantasy races of elves, dwarves, and fairies. In the heavily irradiated bad lands, humans devolve into hideous mutants, ogres, and goblins. After thousands of years of peace, two wizards are born; the good and kindly Avatar (Bob Holt) and his brother, the sinister mutant, Blackwolf (Steve Gravers). After many years, the two eventually do battle, with Avatar emerging victorious. His brother leaves for the dark lands of Scorch, vowing to return one day and reap his vengeance. If this sounds like the entire plot of the movie, I think it's worth noting that this is all mere backstory, established within the first five minutes. 

The incredibly dense prologue sets the tone for the adventure to follow, letting the viewer know that they're watching something that's about to get very strange very quickly. We then flash a few thousand years further into the future; Blackwolf is still consolidating his power and Avatar has grown old and somewhat cynical. The peaceful kingdom of Montagar has long since outlawed science and technology while Blackwolf  reigns as the ruler of Scorch, excavating ancient relics from a time before the nuclear holocaust. One such relic is an old film projector loaded with Nazi propaganda; using the ancient footage to motivate his dimwitted troops (and to traumatize his enemies), Blackwolf puts his plan into motion and declares war on the peaceful free states. It is up to Avatar, the fairy princess Elinore (Jesse Welles), the reprogrammed robot assassin Peace (David Proval), and the elfin spy Weehawk (Richard Romanus) to seek out and destroy the "dream machine", putting an end to Blackwolf's sinister machinations and preventing the second coming of the Third Reich.

I did say that this film went to some far-out places, didn't I? It would be very easy to simply brush this film off as hyper-stylized stoner fodder, packed to the brim with Tolkien-esque fantasy creatures and rotoscoped footage from World War 2 movies, but there's really a great deal more this has to offer just beneath the surface. To write Wizards off as "something cool to watch while high" (or even worse, with the old-as-time "woah, they must have been on drugs to come up with this!") is a tremendous disservice to the clear amount of deliberate thought and imagination Bakshi and company implemented when making this film. There's a reason the plot creates a false sense of build-up towards an anti-science moral, the same way there's a reason so much Nazi imagery is used throughout; Wizards is a puzzle, and it's up to the viewer to put the pieces together. Just about everything we're given serves some sort of a greater narrative purpose, even if it doesn't appear so at first glance.

At first, it appears as though the film is going for the classic "nature trumps technology" theme we've seen so many times before. The villains all use WW2-era panzers and rifles while the barefoot forest creatures fight with swords and arrows. However, the film gradually subverts the audience's expectations, espousing the merits of pragmatism and compromise. The World War 2 parallels are plain to see; the downtrodden mutants are clearly in dire straits, forced to reside in an unforgiving hellscape where both the air and water are toxic. However, they end up rationalizing their misfortune as justification to adopt the ideals of the Nazi party, lashing out at those they deem as oppressors. Meanwhile, the peaceful fairy-folk have outlawed science and put all their faith in peace and harmony and happy feelings of oneness with nature. This essentially makes for a population of complacent layabouts who fall into disorganized shambles the second their leaders are compromised; when asked why they can't simply fight back and win, a fairy mother tells her child "because, they have weapons and technology. We just have love."

It seems to be a recurring theme in fantasy fiction that there is no greater force in the universe than generic feelings of love, but Wizards is having absolutely none of that. Make no mistake, love matters a great deal, but the film shows the importance of balance in both beliefs and morals. The good creatures place far too much reliance on love, peace, and harmony, and are thus wholly unprepared for the ruthless enemies that seek to do them harm. Meanwhile, the slovenly mutants are completely devoid of such emotions, and thus end up nothing more than dull cowards with no drive or conviction. This is where the power of propaganda comes in. The propaganda used by the villains is so overt, it's easy to miss that the "good" creatures make use of it as well, albeit through subtler means. It's fascinating how quickly one is able to accept something as egregious as outlawing science and technology as no big problem at first glance; perhaps it's because so much media exists warning us of the dangers of valuing technological progress over nature, but Wizards shows flat-out that both sides of the primary conflict are equally indoctrinated in their respective dogma. 

This is, again, where a sense of balance comes into play. The film pokes fun at the superstitions and rituals associated with organized religion, yet also levels with the audience, stating that a silly, complicated moral code is better than no morals at all. We see countless creatures slaughtered by superior firepower, despite their belief in love, magic, and the natural world. In the end, the side that claims victory doesn't win because of their superior morals, but because they are willing to bend and change as is necessary, without losing a sense of who they are. This is a story where the most powerful weapon is literally the use of propaganda; it can be used to inspire both hope and fear, to keep populations complacent or rally them to commit acts of violence. The film inspires the viewer to take a hard look at their own beliefs and ponder whether or not the viewer is just as indoctrinated as those they would call enemies. By painting morality as anything but gray, the nuances of a given conflict are buried and obscured, all in favor of saber-rattling and battle cries, ensuring that a peaceful resolution remains elusive to those who need it most.

While Wizards certainly offers a lot to think about, there are other aspects of the film that don't hold up quite as well. Ralph Bakshi is a legend of animation for a reason, yet while the character designs and backgrounds are sheer works of art, the animation quality tends to wildly fluctuate from good to bad and back again. The voice acting is also relatively hit-or-miss and the plot completely falls apart when viewed as anything other than a surrealist parable on the dangers of indoctrination. It's definitely a cult film for a reason, as I could very easily see someone not picking up what the film is putting down. Personally, I was somewhat lukewarm on it at first, yet I find myself loving and respecting this film more and more the more I think about it. While it's not for everyone, Wizards is most definitely a well-crafted, thoughtful, and thoroughly bizarre work of art that has earned its place of recognition in the annals of animation history.

REVIEW: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Given that it's been several years since the Harry Potter film series came to a close (and nearly a decade since the final book was released, not counting the recent stage play), it's sometimes easy to forget just what a huge phenomenon the series was back in the day. I grew up on the stories and films, so this franchise more or less dominated a huge portion of my life; it was an ongoing event comparable to the original Star Wars saga. While I still consider myself a fan, no question, I must admit that it's been years since I've re-read any of the books or revisited any of the movies. We all assumed there would be more Harry Potter some day, whether or not it was entirely necessary. Though I doubt anyone could have guessed we'd end up with a prequel spin-off containing none of the original characters we'd spent an entire decade reading about. As is the popular trend nowadays, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them hopes to establish a cinematic universe in which the films are connected through a shared canon, while not necessarily directly related to one another. It was recently announced that this would be the first of a whopping five films (an announcement I feel holds as much water as James Cameron's insistence that there will be four more consecutively-filmed Avatar sequels released between 2018 and 2023), so the question still remains; is this movie strong enough to establish a series of its own without Harry Potter and pals picking up the slack?

Taking place in the year 1926 (nearly 70 years before Harry Potter would be admitted to Hogwarts), the plot follows magizoologist Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) as he journeys to New York City on personal business. After a mix-up with a non-wizard named Jacob Kowalski (Dan Fogler), numerous magical creatures escape Newt's enchanted suitcase and begin wreaking havoc on the city. This does little to ease the tension brewing within the wizarding community; a string of anti-muggle attacks by the infamous Gellert Grindelwald (Johnny Depp) have threatened to expose the magical world at large and inspired the rise of groups like the Second Salemers, a fanatical cult of non-magic users hoping to expose and destroy those who practice witchcraft. At the same time, a sinister presence has begun causing destruction and chaos in New York. Naturally, Newt's creatures take the blame and the task falls to him, Jacob, and Tina Goldstein (an agent for the Magical Congress of the United States of America played by Katherine Waterson) to round up his beasts before any harm can come to them (or indeed, the world at large).

It must be said, I'm eternally grateful that J.K. Rowling decided to step outside the box with this film; it would have been positively tragic had we gotten a Harry Potter prequel focusing on Young Dumbledore or the adventures of Harry's parents when they were at Hogwarts or, god forbid, a Star Wars prequel-style series about how Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort. Instead, we get something totally new and original; a movie starring the author of a textbook that is occasionally mentioned offhandedly by the main characters as a bit of set dressing. Something that, realistically speaking, has next to nothing to do with the story told in the previous Harry Potter films. It would have been tremendously easy to make a movie about Harry's kids or something equally banal and pointless; the Harry Potter name prints money, so a spin-off would be successful no matter what. It's that the filmmakers and Ms. Rowling decided to go the extra mile and make something daring and different that I respect. That effort pays off, since we get to see a whole new side of the wizarding world which we've never seen before. 

The original series hinted at international magical communities outside of England (most prominently in Goblet of Fire), but we never really got to see how things were done overseas. Unlike every other piece of Harry Potter media, the entirety of this film takes place in the United States; as is to be expected, things are done differently on this side of the pond. Instead of a Ministry of Magic, Americans have the Magical Congress. Instead of Hogwarts, there's Ilvermorny. Instead of "muggles", non-magical folk are referred to as "no-maj". While it might seem like a simple change of backdrop and terminology at first glance, the film does a fine job of making the United States feel like totally new territory in the Harry Potter universe. The events of the original story are presented as wholly irrelevant to the plot; there's a few callbacks and name-drops here and there, but the film, for the most part, plays all of its references close to the chest. There's no immersion-shattering cameo from a young Dumbledore; barring Grindelwald (who was practically as much a footnote in the original series as Newt Scamander was), any and all references to the previous films are cursory at best. This is a film that knows when it is appropriate to evoke feelings of nostalgia without distracting the audience, something that all modern revivals (from Jurassic World to Star Wars) should take note of.

That said, the film is most definitely not without its flaws. The first act is a ploddingly slow, poorly-paced jumble of scenes; while it's naturally fun to get re-immersed in the wizarding world and enjoy the drastic change of scenery and setting, the plot doesn't really begin until around thirty minutes in. Once the movie actually takes off, it's as engaging and fun as one might hope for, but the path to that point borders at being a chore at times. There were also points where the movie as a whole felt somewhat overstuffed. Sorcerer's Stone had a fairly basic plot, since it had to establish the entire world in which the story takes place. This allowed the sequels to grow more complex, since the bulk of the world building was already set up and out of the way. Fantastic Beasts operates under the assumption that viewers are already familiar with all the previous entries in the series to that point, but also has to establish its own distinct world, separate from the rest of the existing Harry Potter universe. The film clocks in at just over two hours and not a minute of it is wasted; the reason the first act comes off as so sloppy is purely due to all of the setup it needs to get out of the way before the real plot can begin. 

While I don't really have any objective issues with the story, it does feel a bit dense for the first movie in a new series. Given that he's an outsider (like Harry was, initially), it very much feels like Kowalski should have been the main protagonist (despite him not being able to contribute anything to the action-packed climax); Newt doesn't have much of an arc to speak of and, while endearing, honestly comes off as pretty flat in terms of his characterization. I also wasn't a fan of the main antagonist, Percival Graves (Colin Farrell). In a series featuring such iconic villains as Dolores Umbridge and Lord Voldemort himself, there's immense potential to be found with the Director of Magical Security for the United States. Unfortunately, this character completely fell flat for me; his goals aren't clearly defined until the very end of the film and I was able to spot the twist coming a mile away. It honestly would have been more shocking (as well as a nice parallel to Sorcerer's Stone) to have the brash, spooky jerk turn out to be one of the good guys all along, despite the protagonist's (and audience's) expectations that he was really working for the main villain the whole time. Imagine if, at the end of Sorcerer's Stone, we find out that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were totally right and that Snape was the one trying to steal the stone for Voldemort. That is essentially what the "twist" in Fantastic Beasts amounts to; in a film with so much imagination and ingenuity, it's the one glaring aspect that feels utterly mundane and expected.

Despite my reservations, I must say that Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them turned out to be a solid entry into an iconic series. I wasn't entirely sure that this movie needed to exist, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't get some powerful chills the moment the Warner Bros logo floated in through the fog to the tune of that iconic jingle. In a world of cinematic universes and soft-reboots that seem to minimize on ingenuity in an effort to maximize profit, Fantastic Beasts manages to revive a beloved franchise while at the same time doing something totally original and independent of the established iconography. It has its flaws, but I believe it rises above them and justifies its existence by simply being a very enjoyable movie on its own. I'm still not entirely sold on the idea of four more sequels following Newt Scamander and company, but this film has certainly proven that it is possible to tell a good story in J.K. Rowling's wizarding world without once saying the name "Harry Potter".

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.

REVIEW: The Iron Giant

Brad Bird's The Iron Giant is a perfect example of the importance of proper advertising. Here we have a near-perfect film which ended up definitively dead on arrival at the box office, barely making half of its budget back. Thanks to the poor planning of the Warner Bros marketing department, the film was left with little to no media tie-ins; one would expect an animated film about a boy and his giant robot to spawn a myriad of toys and books and fast food collectibles, but no such sponsorship was to be found. Because of the lack of promotion, the film failed (despite receiving universal critical acclaim and enjoying cult status to this day), thus furthering the unfortunate notion that intelligent, traditionally-animated children's films simply don't sell.

The story is a love-letter to 50's B-Movie sci-fi, taking place in smalltown America in the wake of Sputnik and the heat of the Cold War. A massive robot (Vin Diesel) careens down from the stars, landing in the idyllic suburb of Rockwell, Maine. After the amnesiac giant is discovered by a kid named Hogarth Hughes (Eli Marienthal), the two form a bond that some terrible hacks might describe as "stronger than steel". Naturally, the presence of a gigantic, mechanical colossus attracts the attention of the United States government, dispatching agent Kent Mansley (Christopher McDonald) to get to the bottom of the odd rumors and unexplained phenomena that have sprung up in the Giant's wake. The tone of the movie is as comfortable and consistent as they come; there are times when you almost forget you're watching an animated film. The Giant is by far the most fantastical thing here; everyone else acts and thinks just like real human beings. This is a movie that could very easily have been made in live-action (for an exponentially larger amount of money, of course), but the fact that it's animated allows for many subtle aesthetic touches that just help to cement the feel of the movie. The autumn leaves are just a bit more vibrant than in real life, the stars a bit brighter and more plentiful; the town of Rockwell is, funnily enough, positively Rockwellian in its cozy depiction of classic Americana.

The animation here is stunning, seamlessly blending CGI and traditional methods to create something truly timeless. This is one of those movies where the visuals age like fine wine; The Iron Giant will always look spectacular, simply because of the amount of care and ingenuity on display. The animators behind the titular giant (a character done entirely using computer animation) even factored in human errors concerning details such as line weight when animating the character, helping him blend in seamlessly with his 2-D costars. It's that kind of meticulous attention to detail that makes Brad Bird one of the finest animation directors in the industry; he knows how to manages his staff properly and inspire his team to produce the best end result imaginable.

Aside from the beautiful visuals, this is also one of the smartest "children's films" I've ever seen, to the point that I hesitate to refer to it as a children's film. It's really more of an animated movie that happens to be appropriate for all ages. The sleepy little town of Rockwell is a perfect metaphor for the time period in which the film takes place; while we may look back at the 50's with quaint nostalgia for all the diners and Radio Flyers and everything else that came with this "simpler time", underneath the surface lay a bubbling crock-pot of fear and paranoia. The Red Scare was in full swing at this point, and those fears are perfectly embodied by Kent Mansley, the film's antagonist. He's a clean-cut fast-talker who justifies his fear and hatred of the unknown as doing what's necessary for Uncle Sam. No one is certain of where the Giant came from, which means that there's a good chance it's a Russian superweapon sent to destroy truth, justice, and the American way. While the Giant DOES pose certain risks and dangers, the movie makes a strong point that, when faced with something new and different, unchecked aggression is usually a poor choice of immediate response.

Really, it's a film about outsiders. The Giant is packing some serious heat, and a deleted scene implies that he is one of many, all made for the purpose of conquest. Despite all this, thanks to a case of crash-sustained robo-amnesia, he finds himself in a very strange place with little purpose. It's a similar situation with Hogarth, living with his widowed mother (Jennifer Aniston) at home and studying a grade-level up in school (leading him to be ostracized and bullied by his peers). He's a boy who doesn't inspire much out of anyone but those close to him, a party that is essentially entirely comprised of his mother and Dean McCoppin (Harry Connick Jr), a scrapyard foreman and aspiring artist. His beatnik ways clash with the simplistic ideals of American suburbia in the 1950's; it's no wonder why he, Hogarth, and the Giant all come together as a team over the course of the film. In the end, it's the would-be weirdos, crazies, and monsters who save the day.

The movie also touches on themes of predetermined roles within society. If the movie has a takeaway line, it is likely "we are who we choose to be". The Giant has the potential, as do we all, to dismantle and destroy. Whether it be in small, subtle ways (such as fear-mongering and bigotry) or in larger, more on-the-nose ways (like taking an innocent life or ordering a nuclear strike on a small suburban town on impulse), there are times when it can be very easy to be a monster. There are some, like Mansley, who fall directly into this philosophical trap. Blocked in by the barriers we ourselves have established, we may do the wrong thing because "we have no choice". Even during the action-packed climax, the military themselves eventually stand down when they realize they aren't pursuing the correct course of action. The Giant, the military, Mansley; we all do things we may regret out of fear, but it is when we let that fear control us and taint us that we go too far. Though we may fall by the wayside and feel confined to the roles that seem almost predetermined for us, there is always a time to change. We are who we choose to be; anyone can be a monster, anyone can be a gun, but anyone can also be Superman.

The Iron Giant is close to being a perfect movie. Everything about it is gorgeous and heartfelt and just masterfully crafted. The only gripe I have with the entire film is the ending, which was clearly added in via studio mandate. If the movie was thirty seconds to a minute shorter, the film would be truly flawless, but there does exist this one irritating nitpick of mine that keeps it from "official" perfection. That said, "unofficial" perfection will simply have to do. Brad Bird is an amazing director and this movie is one of his absolute best. If you haven't seen it, do so immediately; this is required viewing for anyone who considers themselves an animation buff, cinephile, or connoisseur of cult classics in any regard.